#Cars in City Ghost fandom

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached - Part 15

First | Masterlist

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Fandom: DP x DC Summary:

Danny is just trying to build a portal home, becoming a thief was just an unfortunate side effect of that goal. Now if only this vigilante family would just leave him alone. Especially Red Hood - the semi retired crime lord whose ghost-like presence keeps drawing Danny to him.

Danny shouldn’t have come back here. It was too risky. They had a way to disable his powers now, and Danny couldn’t let his mind dwell on that or he would freeze in terror, he had to focus on the present and not what happened the other night. At present he was looking up at the apartment where Red Helmet had taken him. 

It could so easily be a trap. 

But facts. Red Helmet had not stuffed him into a tiny electrified cage while he had the chance. He may of course have thought he had more time before Danny’s powers returned, but he hadn’t taken advantage. He’d stopped questioning when it was clear Danny wouldn’t talk. And- Danny’s throat closed and he fought a sob - he’d just sat there with him, invited him to lean on him and rested an arm around him. 

Just thinking about it made him ache with longing. Two days alone, hiding and licking his wounds, had only highlighted his loneliness. He’d tried to keep busy, to work on the portal, but it was limited how much he could do with a broken wrist. He’d stolen a brace, something he at least hadn’t been discovered at. The feeling of being watched crawled all over his neck whenever he didn’t have his back to a wall. 

Danny just hoped his wrist would grow together right. He couldn’t go anywhere to get the position of the bones checked. It wasn’t usually something he worried about. His healing was normally so fast and it’d always gone fine. But usually he was hurt in ghost form, not human form. Usually he had a better supply of ectoplasm. His ribs still hurt on deep inhales and it had been more than a month since he’d been crushed underneath Red Helmet on that rooftop. 

Danny had no clue how long bones took to heal on normal humans.

He didn’t know if he should be worried - he was worried. If his wrist didn’t heal right, it would make it harder to work on the portal. Danny needed to finish the portal. For a moment he felt faint as the delay stretched out indefinitely in his mind’s eye, and he had to lean back against the wall behind him to steady himself.

His hands shook as he closed his eyes counting his breaths: in, hold and then out slowly. In again- It would be alright. It was just a minor setback. Hold- He would heal. He would heal fine. And out- He would finish the portal. He would go home. 

He couldn’t dwell. He had to focus on the here and now.

Bricks were digging into his back. Flat pavement was under his shoes. Noise of cars driving through puddles, people walking, someone talking on the phone. City smells in his nose: smog, damp garbage, he wrinkled his nose; someone had pissed somewhere nearby and it was rank. The earlier rain clearly hadn’t been kind enough to wash it away. 

Yeah, that was about all the grounding Danny could take. He blinked open his eyes. The overcast sky left the city gray and dim. Across the road, 5th floor, 7th window counted from the right, that was were Red Helmet had taken him. 

Danny should not be here. It was objectively a terrible idea. 

And there he was again, trembling, because this could be a trap (and Danny had had enough of traps). But also he was so fucking tired of feeling like he was a pile of yarn, stacked too high in his arms so bits of him kept rolling off and unwinding and it was all he could do just to pick up the pieces and keep himself together, never mind actually taking a step.

He hated it. 

What was he even doing here?

He didn’t owe Helmet for not trapping him, for not being terrible, for being warm and gentle. Danny grit his teeth. He should not feel guilty for leaving without a word when he discovered his powers were back.

But he did.

Helmet had mentioned something about anger, and that Danny quieted it. He could have been lying, but to what purpose? To capture Danny? He’d already had him helpless? And he’d seemed genuine, his eyes had seemed so tired and pained, and boy did Danny know tired and pained. 

Danny’s longing stretched towards the apartment, before he harshly reeled it in and stuffed it back in his wayward core, ignoring the pain as he did so. That was another thing. He’d said he felt Danny’s call for him. Danny was torn about how to feel about that, and until he sorted out his feelings he had to keep a tight lock on what he might be projecting. 

It also meant Helmet could sense him, possibly from further away than Danny’s ghost sense detected Helmet’s not-quite ghostliness. At least if he was projecting, which he wasn’t. Not right now, and he would keep that locked tight, even if it felt like a hand squeezing his core. 

The one good thing about Gotham was that not a single person looked twice at some anxious, scruffy looking young man standing too long in one place. Danny picked restlessly at the straps on his brace. 

He had to make a choice. He either had to go or leave. It was too dangerous to stay out here in the open. He took a step- and left. He cursed himself for his weakness all the way back to his lair.

He returned the next day to the same pointless, time wasting result.

The day after that he forced himself to not set his feet on the ground. Invisibly, he flew right up to the wall next to the window. The drapes were still drawn, on all the windows that had to belong to this apartment. His ghost sense didn’t activate, even this close, but that didn’t have to mean anything. Danny could only detect Helmet like that, the apartment could be crawling with the rest of the vigilantes. 

It could still so easily be a trap, just waiting for him to stick his head through the wall.

He reminded himself that Helmet already had had his chance to capture him, he hadn’t take advantage. But that was the logical side of his brain and the paranoid one yelled so much louder. Danny was not a stranger to cruel tricks of pretend compassion. 

Still, this was the third day he’d been back here, and he couldn’t go on like this. He needed to know. One way or another, he needed to know for his own peace of mind. For his core which wouldn’t fucking quit it with the longing; single minded pile of useless instincts, is what it was. 

It didn’t mean he had to be risky about it. He’d spent a while thinking about it and if it was a trap, they’d expect him to come through the outer wall. Danny had other options. 

Mentally apologizing to whoever was the upstairs neighbor Danny slid through the wall of that apartment instead - thankfully it didn’t seem anyone was home. Danny lowered his shoulders in relief, and flew across the similar open floor plan, when he reached the kitchen, he halted in the air. 

He took a deep steadying breath, refusing to dwell anymore. If something he happened it happened and he would deal with it - one way or another. Then he stuck his head through the floor. 

It took a moment for him to orient himself, but most importantly he quickly discovered the apartment was empty. And as he looked over to the drape covered windows, nothing seemed to indicate a set trap. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a suddenly exhausted sigh, as the tension left him. 

Something caught his eyes on the kitchen island. He tilted his head, not believing his eyes. That was his backpack! Just sitting there, innocent as if it belonged there and Danny hadn’t lost it and several days worth of food. Danny slid the rest of the way down through the ceiling and absently righted himself as he went. He dared not set down his feet on anything. 

Carefully, he floated over to the backpack and inspected it, not daring to touch it. It was definitely his and not a well made copy. He ran his hands methodically through it intangibly searching for trackers and other technology that could have been hidden in its weave. There was nothing. For all intents and purposes that was his backpack, though of course his phone wasn’t in there anymore. 

Impulsively, he grabbed it and hugged it to his chest. He closed his eyes as he tried to breathe steadily. He was not gonna cry. It was just a stupid old bag - but it was also one of the few things he’d had of home and he’d thought he would never see it again. 

When he got himself back under control, he realized there was more on the table. His brain refused to comprehend what he was seeing because it just couldn’t be. Hesitantly he reached out and picked up the metal cylinder; the spectral calibrator. It just couldn’t be. Why would it be here? It had to be left on purpose, but why?

There was a yellow post-it note stuck to it and Danny rotated it until he could read, expecting an explanation of sorts, instead it just said in all-caps “FOOD IN THE FRIDGE.”

Bewildered Danny looked to the fridge. He’d honestly not even noticed its presence before, it had just been part of the kitchen backdrop, like the sink, the stove and the numerous cupboards.

He put the spectral calibrator in the backpack and put it on, just in case he needed to make a quick exit then floated over to the fridge. It looked like a regular fridge. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Gingerly he opened it, ready to go intangible at any moment. He let the door swing open, waiting, but nothing happened.

The fridge was well-stocked with bottles of water as well as pop and electrolyte drinks. There were also two shelves with shrink wrapped sandwiches right at the height of Danny’s head. They were labelled: chicken-bacon, ham-cheese, egg, tuna, falafel and dated with todays date. Helmet had been here today. Danny’s eyes were wide as he looked from the selection to the post-it he’d left on the table. It was an offer to take something, right? 

But why? Why would he do that? Why would he leave Danny’s bag here and the calibrator? What game was this?

Hesitantly, he picked out a water bottle and turned it around in his hands. It was sealed and didn’t look like it had been tampered with. He picked out more random bottles. Everything seemed fine. The sandwiches could have been tampered with. They could be drugged. But that wouldn’t be a problem as long as he took the sandwiches with him. If he got knocked out for a few hours in his lair that didn’t matter. 

It seemed unlikely they would poison him after all that trouble they’d gone through to capture him. So at most it would probably be something to put him to sleep. 

Exhaustion hitting him suddenly, he realized he’d been using his powers too long. Letting gravity take him, he leaned against the kitchen island behind him. His vision swam a bit as he wiped sweat off his brow. That was the trouble with having a human body, gravity did actually exist for it. It felt a bit like he’d run a marathon. 

He let out a slow breath, debating, then grabbed a bottle of cola - he recognized the Zesti brand. He could use the sugar.

The sugar worked fast. Eating something substantial would be better, but Danny was not eating anything here. He started packing sandwiches into his bag and a couple more of the Zesti bottles. And when he felt he shouldn’t burden it’s old seams anymore, he stopped. 

Potentially drugged or not, eating something other than dry granola bars would be good. 

He left and like a coward, he was glad Helmet hadn't actually been there; even if Danny still hadn't figured out what his deal was. That was future Danny's problem now.

-

Yeah I don't know what's with my strange productivity either, next part is also nearly done but then we'll run into a good deal of stuff that's just plain unwritten.

Also do you have any idea how hard it was to get Danny to go into that apartment? He's just so cursed skittish, this part wasn't meant to be this long - my notes for this was just basically "Danny goes back to the apartment to find his backpack, the calibrator and food left for him" - sigh.

If you wanna follow the story you can subscribe via the masterlist

Update: next

[tiffanys-aus-and-headcanons]

Terrible Visions

A scrambled timeline is a timeline that has proceeded much like ours, except that some particular facet has been mixed up all over the place. For example, in the scrambled timeline we will consider today, our world's fictional stories have been told by different people, and in different ways.

Bryan Lee O'Malley, in this alternate timeline, is best known as the cartoonist responsible for Homestuck, a popular comic series about a group of children who become embroiled in a cosmic-scale video game known as Sburb. Although Homestuck is probably most often associated with the cult classic Edgar Wright-directed film adaptation released in 2016, the comics themselves are highly-regarded, and the film brought a new audience to them. Netflix has commissioned an animated continuation, The Homestuck Epilogues, which is due to be released soon.

Andrew Hussie, on the other hand, is a figure you're likelier to know if you're overly online. His "MS Paint Adventures" series - most notably including Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, which is kind of like Homestuck but weirder and hornier - have firmly remained a fixture of obsessive Twitter fandom culture. It doesn't help that the best-known iteration, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, is infamous for stretching thousands of pages of meandering digressions out of a simple and focused narrative starting point. Scott Pilgrim fans have developed something of a toxic reputation, which is not entirely deserved - although of course Knives discourse is interminable, and back in the fandom's heyday there were reportedly incidents of fans assaulting each other "for being evil exes".

Scott Pilgrim fandom was very big back in the day, though, and consequently it was a nexus for other creative figures who would go on to surpass Hussie. Perhaps foremost among these is indie developer Toby Fox. He was literally living in Hussie's basement when he produced ROSEQUARTZ, a universally-beloved retro Goonies-like RPG about a human hybrid boy born to a race of gem-based aliens. He's now developing an episodic spiritual successor, RAZORQUEST, with more overtly dark themes. It revolves around an inheritance dispute among a demon-summoning family.

Other foundational figures in this timeline's internet culture include Alison Bechdel, who helped get the webcomic scene started. Although she's now more seriously acclaimed for her personal memoirs, her gaming webcomic Press Start To Dyke, which premiered in 1998, was once everywhere. It had a broad appeal, and at its height, it was common to see even straight guys sharing pages from it. Time has not been especially kind to it, though, and at this point its main legacy is test.png, a meme spawned by one of the comic's most ill-advised pages.

Then there's John C. McCrae, more often known by his pseudonym Wildbow. A prolific and reclusive author of doorstopping "web serials" - long-form fiction published online - McCrae's best-known serial is still his first, Wind, a noir superhero story set in an alternate history where capes are mostly just a subculture of unpowered vigilantes. Wind landed in a culture already rife with comic book deconstructions, like Alan Moore's 2002 graphic novel Worm Turns, but it nonetheless managed to stand out from the pack with its extensive cast of characters and its themes of coordination problems and the end of the world. Later McCrae web serials include Part (the first "Otherverse" serial; an urban fantasy story about a couple who die in a car accident and find that they have become ghosts), Tear (a "biopunk" story set in a collapsing underwater city), Warn (the controversial Wind sequel), and Play (the second "Otherverse" serial, set in a small Indiana town that helps hide a psychic girl from the CIA).

Last and perhaps least, we should discuss J. K. Rowling. Far and away the most famous of any of these authors, Rowling's name is inseparable from the YA series that she debuted with, the Luz Noceda books, which remain her one successful work. Although it was heavily derivative of older fantasy novels - like Jill Murphy's Academy For Little Witches, or Philip Pullman's Methods Of Rationality trilogy - Luz Noceda was still a monumental and unprecedented success in the publishing industry, and the film adaptations were consistent blockbusters. The final book, Luz Noceda and the Watcher of Rain, contained some allusions to a romantic relationship between Luz and her recently-redeemed associate Amity. Rowling confirmed that this was her intent in subsequent interviews and indicated that she had fought her publishers for it; the film would then go on to escalate matters slightly further.

There have been many lengthy and heated online arguments as to whether the references in the book itself constitute text or mere subtext. Whatever your stance on this discourse, a new complication has been introduced recently: although she has put out no official statement on the matter as of yet, it has become quite apparent from Rowling's shrinking network of contacts and her conspicuous silences that she is certainly TERF-sympathetic, and likely an outright TERF herself. For many, this is leading to a critical reevaluation of the social values inherent in the Luz Noceda series; others, to say the least, are holding off on that kind of reappraisal.

Anyway, Scott Pilgrim just beat Luz Noceda in a Twitter poll for Most Gay Media, and people are piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissed

[batfambyval]

okay. So.

Serious Red Robin theory coming.

Tim wasn’t put in the Lazarus Pit. But. That doesn’t mean they didn’t use it on him. The pit’s healing properties have been shown to work in small portions. Like, the healing is proportional to the amount of lw used.

The cave with the pit isn’t exactly a sterile environment. So either the pit was needed or it was an attempt to put Tim off balance, a psychological weapon. Though the White Ghost’s reaction to the assumption seems to dispute that. If the pit’s healing is proportional to the amount used it makes sense that the psychological effects are to, along with the duration of those side effects.

Ra’s had serious reasons to use the pit on Tim, between the additional room for emotional manipulation and Tim’s life threatening injury which wasn’t immediately treated and was in fact exacerbated like, a lot… yeah. Tim lost a lot of blood. He lost was stabbed in the organ that filters blood: meaning all your blood passes through your spleen. He was bleeding out, he should have died, he dragged himself and another person to a car, drove said car back to the city, and got them both up to the penthouse. Recovering from that would take a long time, he shouldn’t have survived at all. But he healed quickly and well, it isn’t an issue, it happened and it was over. I know we as a fandom like to have fun with Tim’s missing spleen and what that means but… canon didn’t and looking back I feel like there was a lot pointing at the pit being used in a much more insidious was, not just in the logistics of Tim’s recovery.

Ra’s was insanely trusting of Tim. Not just in his ability to do what he wanted but in his belief that Tim would ultimately come around to his way of thinking. Now, I can obviously see that Tim was in a very vulnerable position and if Bruce hadn’t actually been alive Ra’s could definitely have succeeded. But it feels like more than that, especially with Tim’s ensuing behavior. A lot of his time with the league is glossed over or seen from Tam’s perspective, but Tim was acting different. It’s easy to attribute this to the objectively terrible situation and the year he’s had, but his behavior isn’t the same as it was at the beginning of the run either. And the difference in behavior fades. As Red Robin Tim is more ruthless and pragmatic, mostly due to necessity. Even stealing from a museum and fighting for it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. He still did it. But he was still acting like Tim, making jokes and doing his best to diffuse the situation and keep everyone alive. After the surgery his focus gets even more single minded. He barely puts up a fight about leading the league. Of course partly for Tam, and he tried to keep killing to a minimum but cmon. He was leading the league of ASSASSINS. There were assassinations happening. People died when he blew all the league bases and he barely registered that beyond thinking that the council of spiders probably made it out, implying part of him knew death was a possibility and he didn’t care. But he didn’t think about the moral implications of that in a way that was very reminiscent of Jason’s selective morality. If he had stopped to think about it he wouldn’t have done it, but he was focused to much on beating Ra’s, on not compromising, that the complexity of the situation didn’t sink in. The obvious effects of his actions, the possible deaths and injuries of anyone inside a league stronghold wasn’t acknowledged while the underlying message sent to his opponent was the only thing he could think about. Just like when Jason attacked Tim at Titans Tower to send a message to Bruce despite his hardline stance against hurting kids.

So. The League did use the pit on Tim, just a little. Maybe two tablespoons in the wound to accelerate recovery and weaken his morals a bit. It would certainly make a lot of sense. And the writer did change when Tim came back to Gotham so it’s entirely possible that it was meant to be touched on later but was discarded.

[eetherealgoddess]

So I feel like I wrote my last two stories a little mid so hopefully this is more detailed and well written. Also brought back the language barrier cuz I love it too and haven’t written a story with it in a while. :)

ꨄRabid Loveꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Hybrid Au

❦Your deceased grandmother’s will passed down wealth, a mansion in Japan, and five exotic hyrbids❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

❣︎A little love between some of the characters as well❣︎

Not fully proofread!

Japanese language is red

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Rabid Love

The manor sits on top of a hill, distant from the busy streets of the city near. Trees cover the surface, surrounding as if a natural gate. Very few houses of the same build sit near amongst the land that stretches along. It had been a few weeks since your wealthy grandmother passed down the hybrids that you’re going to live with in her enormous house. You weren’t too excited about the news at first, having heard nothing but the word “responsibility” pop into your brain, however you couldn’t help but accept the gift once the will was stated as you sat in the chair of the office.

Once all was set, you moved yourself as well as your belongings into the mansion she once lived in, sort of creeped out by the fact that her ghost may or may not be lingering. Regardless, the situation had been unsettling considering she died inside the home. You mentally shook your anxiety away as you gathered your things from the car, thinking about how you and the hybrids would get along. The note she left had warned you of all concerns as well as facts about them.

So far you only knew that they are all males, adults, and two out of five of them are biologically related. They are broad with strong personalities. They can take care of themselves for the most part and were sort of like her sons. All of the males have the alpha gene which is the only thing you have to worry about, as a female yourself considering their weird dominance obsession. It is common for male hybrids to compete for superiority, especially when it comes to humans. It’s a surprise that these particular beings even got along as well as they do.

They were already situated in the house so you were the outsider coming in, having had an estranged relationship with your deceased grandmother for the majority of your lives. It wasn’t until a few years before she died you reached out, finding out that she had moved to Japan and started a new life away from the family when you were a child. It was sweet, the time you spent together before she went into hospice and gave into the light. You were at peace that she was no longer in physical pain so you were able to mourn in a brighter way, the thought helping you feel better.

Once you made it to the door, you took a deep breath and walked into the manor to begin your new life, set for the rest of your days by the blessing from your grandmother’s will. When you finally walked in, you were met with the smell of vanilla with a pinch of cinnamon, the beautiful decor shining amongst the white walls, reflecting off the marble floor perfectly. You weren’t used to such luxury, your gaze stuck on the maroon furniture placed in the foyer. A long staircase wrapped around a pillar to the left of the entrance facing inside.

You walked further, passing the foyer and walking through the arch. A butler stood, greeting you as he grabbed your luggage, leading you to your new bedroom up the stairs. You eye the doors you pass as you both stroll down the hall. He bows once you make it to the room before leaving you to your lonesome. You eye the large bed that you couldn’t wait to lay in for the first time. It looked far better than anything you’ve ever slept on, including the pillows.

You set your luggage down and gaze at the rest of the room, glancing at your balcony as well as the television and electric fireplace under it. A maroon rug on the cream carpet placed in front of the bed as well as an ottoman, and a walk-in closet near the bathroom’s door that’s connected through the bedroom. You decide to unpack your stuff later, eager to get meeting the hybrids over with as soon as possible. When you walk out of your room, you check the halls both ways as you listen for a presence near, to no avail. You move to the staircase before ascending down all the while gently holding the railing.

You walk through the foyer, surprised to not see any butlers or hybrids as you make your way to the living space. You perk up when you hear rustling in the kitchen, rushing to the area. You see a cabinet open, covering a face as they’re bent over, blonde tail sticking up as they search for something.

“Hey.” You say, attempting to make your presence known though you watch as the person ignores you and continues their hunt. You stood awkwardly as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

Damn. Should I walk away?

Finally the male grabs whatever he was looking for and stands up straight, closing the cabinet’s door before looking at you as he tears the bag of a snack. His blonde hair sways as his attention shifts to you, dark eyes boring into yours as he takes a bite. His ears stick out above his head, perking up as he chews.

“Who are you?” He says, accent thick even with his mouth full, swallowing before taking another bite. One of his hands is placed in his pocket as his tail sways to the other side. His face holds an unreadable expression.

“Y/n. I’m G/n’s granddaughter.” He hums before nodding, staring at you for a little longer before walking towards the doorway, turning slightly to the side to eye you.

“Mikey.” He says before disappearing into the hall. You stood frozen in your position.

I guess that wasn’t so bad. That must’ve been the lion. He was shorter than I thought he’d be. Four more and the hardest part will be over.

You walk out of the kitchen and head out of the den down the second hall. You hear music from a familiar videogame you once played, following the sound as you prepare yourself to meet whichever hybrids are playing the game. When you reached the closed door, your hand wrapped around the doorknob. You twist the object and push the door open, entering the large room that seems to be the game room, considering the futuristic look and electronic devices that surround the area. A large flat - screen displays the game as you face the back of the gaming chairs that hold two people.

You notice one of their tails hanging to the side of the chair, indicating one of the leopards your grandmother noted. “They come off mischevious though they do have a sweet side once you surpass that phase, but don’t forget that it isn’t a facade. They find amusement in others’ suffering.”

You’re glad she was honest though it didn’t calm your nerves in the slightest. Hybrids are known to be dangerous by nature considering their societal views of the world surrounding them. It comes from a survival instinct that somehow turned into play. They are intimidating creatures, especially when they are exotic which is why they are so expensive. You move into the room further before clearing your throat quietly.

“Hello.” You state, awaiting a response as the screen continues on. The only one who acknowledges you is the person who turns their head on the left, revealing tiger ears as their golden eyes meet yours. His lips upturn into a wide grin, turning in his seat to where he sits sideways, the tiger tattoo on his neck prominent under his long black and blonde hair, as well as the tail that sticks out on the other side of the chair.

“Hey there.” He greets. “Do you know Japanese?”

You shook your head as your hand reached the back of your neck in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly. “Nah. Sorry about that.”

“You knew you were moving here yet didn’t bother to learn basic Japanese? How smart of you.” Another voice says from the seat next to the tiger who chuckles in response.

You didn’t know what the first part of his speech was, but considering the last part of it you could tell it probably wasn’t the nicest statement. Irritation creeps in but you didn't want to assume the worst so you ignored the remark.

“Kazutora.” He states before nodding over to the man who sits next to him. “That’s Rin.”

“Cool. Y/n.” You respond.

“Well, nice to meet ya, Y/n. I guess I’ll see ya around.” He says before giving you one last smile and turning back in his seat to face the screen. You nod to yourself before leaving the room with a “You too.”

You sigh as you make your way out of the hall and towards the staircase. You walk up the stairs heading to your room before deciding to find the last two cats. Then you can breathe and focus on unpacking. As you walk past the upstairs balcony, you stroll down the hall that holds the doors to the bedrooms. You notice a cracked door as well, whispers and the sound of a man talking low. The closer you get the more your eyebrows furrow as you hear wet smacking sounds. When you look through the crack, your hand covers your mouth as you eye the display.

Long pink hair drapes over the shoulders of the man bent over with his face against the bed, a red hue covering his face as drops of sweat cause his skin to glisten. His eyebrows are furrowed as his nose scrunches, fingers gripping the comforter as his body rocks against the man behind him while his ears are flat. The jaguar’s tail is held behind him by the long haired leopard’s hand, naked body glistening with sweat along with highlighting the large tattoo embedded on his torso, all the while he pounds into the man below him. His other hand grips his hips, claws piercing the skin as their skin smacks together. Both men pant while releasing occasional moans and praises.

Once your eyes make contact with purple you swiftly move away and rush towards your room, slamming the door behind you as you press your back against it. You had not expected any of that but you didn’t plan to act weird about it. It just caught you by surprise as well as making you embarrassed for being caught watching.

You sigh before turning your own tv on and beginning your unpacking process. Once you finished you heard a knock at your door. You yell, “Come in!”

The door opens to reveal the butler from earlier.

“Dinner is ready, madam.”

“Oh, thanks. Also, you don’t have to call me madam.”

“Yes, L/n” You shrug as he leads you to the empty dining room. You sit in one of the chairs and watch as the chef comes out with a covered plate, setting it in front of you before lifting it to reveal your delicious smelling dinner. You didn't hesitate to dig in, causing some to drip out of your mouth. You’ve honestly never tasted something so delectable in your life. You down the plate of food so fast, you take a second to breathe before you ask for more, tempted to get up on your own and grab it from the chef’s station.

“You’re gonna choke if you slurp it down like that again.” A voice says from the entrance of the room, causing you to turn your head in their direction. You immediately felt warmth in your face when you see the leopard from earlier, his long black and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, swaying as he walks in before sitting at the table.

His ears stick up as his tail moves to rest against his lap, fingers connected as his face leans on the back of his hands. His leg crosses as a sly smile falls along his expression. A strand of hair falls in front of his face as his droopy eyes gaze at you from across.

“I’ll be fine.” You respond just as another plate of food is placed in front of you. “Y/n.” You shake off your anxiety considering it’s really not a big deal. They could’ve at least closed the door.

“Haitani Ran.” He offers a hand, dark claws out causing you to hesitate before accepting with your own.

He takes the opportunity to lift the back of your hand to connect his lips, releasing you as he licks the taste of your skin off his lips. You ignored the residue tingle left on your hand and began to eat your second plate. You glance at the other men who entered the room, noticing all of them except the lion.

They all sit in their seats, Rin beside Ran and the pink haired male next to them. Kazutora takes a seat next to you.

“Wonder what’s on the menu.” Rin states sarcastically.

“Our favorite as always.” Ran responds with a knowing look.

“How do you think she’ll react?” Kazutora asks with amusement.

“She wouldn’t know the difference, you know how dense humans are.” The scarred male says.

You wish you would have at least looked into a translation tool of some sort because you try telling yourself that they’re just having a normal conversation but you feel like you’re being shit - talked. You know that it’s a ‘you’ problem but the tone and energy that comes with their speech has been off.

“Hey, I’m Y/n.” You say to the male you have yet to meet. He gives you a bored look before stating, “Sanzu.” Mikey finally entered the dining room with his arm rubbing against his tired eyes. He heads to the seat on the other side of you and sits after pulling the chair back. He leans over the table with his head lying on his palm.

“Had a nice nap?” Kazutora questions.

“Not long enough.” He says with a soft voice.

“You came earlier than usual.” Rin says before turning to his brother. “You owe me.” To which Ran rolled his eyes.

The same chef as earlier, along with a few others came out with covered plates and set them in front of the hybrids. They also poured their preferred beverage into the wine glasses. Your eyebrows furrowed as to how you forgot to ask for your own drink or why they didn’t have a cup already out like everyone else.

Well, I am new so it’s probably nothing personal.

When they lifted the cover, you eye the chunks of raw meat along with the side dishes surrounding the plate. The smell was enticing though you’ve never been one to enjoy raw food in fear of the repercussions.

I guess they are technically big cats so it’s healthy for them.

You’ve never seen meat that looks quite like what’s on their plates. You watch as Sanzu rubs his meat into the red substance that puddles around it before lifting the chopsticks to his mouth.

“What is that?” You hope to not come off rude or ignorant though you were just so curious you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Some of them gave each other looks all the while snickering or rolling their eyes.

“Fresh human.” Mikey says casually before taking another bite. Your eyes widen, hand holding your own chopsticks pausing as you stare down at your plate.

“Don’t worry, your dinner is animal meat.” The golden eyed tiger reassures you. Unfortunately, you’ve seemed to have lost your appetite.

“So, how do you obtain human meat?” You ask.

“By cooking a human.” Rin snorts. You glare at his smart ass answer and look over to the others.

“Your grandmother has freezers full of cut human slabs by those who signed off on donating their body parts to the Hybrid - Food Society Association.” Ran explains before taking another bite of food.

“They’re cleaned thoroughly before they’re slaughtered considering most donations are only after they’re dead.” He continued, “lucky for us only the healthiest of humans are chosen to be a meal specially made for the exotic hybrids such as us.”

How have you never heard of this before? Then again they only make normal pet food for non - exotic hybrids. You’ve never even been around a regular hybrid let alone the type you have to live with now. You nod your head as you prevent the bile from coming up your throat. You know that humans are technically just chunks of meat with legs, still on the food chain for other species and even on their own at times. You still couldn’t help but feel disturbed. They could decide to eat you at any moment and you’d be done for.

You turn to the chef and give your thanks before standing up and nodding a dismissal to the rest of the men, heading to your room so you could take a moment to relieve yourself of the anxiety forming. When you reached your bedroom, you decided to take a shower, gathering a pair of pajamas before entering your bathroom and turning the faucet on. After your shower you completed your nightly routine and hopped into bed.

After a few hours of scrolling and not being able to sleep, you climbed out of bed and walked through the hall to the staircase. Once you reach the den, one of your eyebrows raise at the tiger who sat on the couch leaned over. As you walked around you noticed the tray on his lap as well as the opened wrap in his hands that he brought to his lips to lick the lining before rolling the leaf, closing around the green flower. His ears perked up as he turned slightly to look at you.

“Want some?” He says with a smile and tilted head, holding the joint up.

Sitting on the balcony connected to his room, you both pass the stick as you converse about whatever comes to mind, slight laughter along with semi - deep conversation that’s lingering between the surface and depth. A moment of silence included with the level of ganja consumed enhanced your need for sleep, you lying on the ground as your legs hang off the edge of the balcony. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel weightless under the moonlight. Your steady breathing caught Kazutora’s attention.

He turns back to look at you before finishing off the roach and ashing it out. He tossed it below, the burnt leaf disappearing into the forested area. He leaned back, connecting with the floor as he turned his head to the side to observe your sleeping face. His own expression is stoic besides the light pink hue that lingers on his face. After lying there for a moment, he sits up to lean over you and sniff near your neck, your distinct scent fuming his nostrils. One of his hands move to your shoulder as he grips the skin, sniffing a little harsher than before to receive every fume that comes from you.

A few weeks pass and you find yourself with a casual routine. Fortunately, you’ve bonded well with Kazutora though that’s not much of a surprise since he was the most welcoming. His extrovertedness did well with helping you out of your comfort zone. Today you went out to run errands. Eyeing the building to your left and noticing that it is a bakery, you decide to run in and buy a case of Mikey’s favorite treat. You knew he was running out so a quick pit stop couldn’t hurt.

When you arrived home you dropped the case on the kitchen counter before quickly taking your own stuff to your room, planning to place it in the right area once you finished setting your bags on the floor. When you made it downstairs, you stopped to see Mikey opening the case you had set on the counter. When he grabs the snack, he opens the package and sets the treat between his lips, fangs glistening before he takes a bite.

“Thanks.” He says before walking out. You shrug before sneaking one of your own and setting the rest in the pantry. You knew that he’d eat all of those within the next two to three days so you thought to snatch one to try before he eats them all.

A few days pass and he asks if you can style his hair so he wouldn’t have to. You didn’t think pulling half your hair up in a ponytail could be that much work but to each their own. You didn’t mind styling his hair, the soft strands entangling your fingers as you pulled it up to wrap the band around the section once you were finished brushing the mane. You thought his ears would make it harder for you but there was no trouble at all. He stared at the tv all the while you completed the ponytail.

From that day on he would automatically show up in your room and position himself on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. You never complained nor rejected him. It was quite the bonding experience even when you two didn’t talk at all. More weeks passed and he gradually showed more comfortability around you, making excuse after excuse just to touch you such as making you carry him, lying his head on your lap, or spooning you whenever he’d ask to sleep in your bed. You found the behavior adorable and the company appreciated.

A couple months passed and you were walking up the stairs to your bedroom after a smoke session with Kazutora. When you opened your door, the putrid smell smacked your face before you eye the red liquid from the freshly slaughtered human arm lying on your comforter. You covered your mouth before bile shot up your throat and caused you to vomit on the floor. Dry heaving and gagging, tears fall down your face at the burning liquid from your throat as well as the stench filling your nostrils.

“What a sight.” A voice says behind you though you’re too distracted to notice, running to your bathroom before slamming the door shut. Laughter filled the room.

After you got yourself together you were met with an ‘apology’ from Rin and Sanzu, though it only consisted of, “It was just a prank.” Ran offered for you to sleep in his room until the mattress and sheets were replaced, to which Mikey and Kazutora tried to argue against in order for you to stay with them instead.

A few months pass and you wake up in the middle of the night. You felt the urge to walk down the hall considering the loud noise that startled you awake. Once you did, you found one of the bedroom doors open. Walking in, you gasped when you see Sanzu on the ground completely out of it with his eyes barely open and head leaning against the wall. You immediately take action and stick your fingers into his throat forcing him to vomit whatever he consumed. Once he came back to consciousness you wrapped your arms around him and cried on his shoulder for his safety, his own eyes staring ahead into the space across from where you sat.

Unknown to you, after a week passed he made himself a routine of observing you while you slept. Sometimes he would even climb in the bed, accidentally waking you up though you weren’t concerned, embracing the jaguar in your arms as you fell back into slumber.

One day, you just couldn’t take your eyes off of Ran’s long hair. You asked if you could play with it, as it reminded you of the mannequin heads you received as a little girl. He didn’t mind. As a matter of fact he fell asleep numerous times on your lap, nuzzling comfortably against your thighs as your fingers traced his scalp. Sometimes, he’d even ask you to downright scratch his head, his body reacting slightly as the tingles go straight down his spine. It was cute.

A month passed and you were walking through the rest of the mansion you had yet to see. You almost passed a room until the leopard patterned ears caught your attention. You watched as Rin worked out in the gym, lifting large weights. You eye the matching tattoo that sits on the opposite side of his brother’s torso. Never really exercising consistently, you walk into the room and grab the smallest weights as a joke before standing next to him and lifting your own, giving him a humorous smile. He side glances at you before you turn away, continuing to lift as you miss the red hue forming on his face.

A year passed and you decidedl that it’s time for you to meet other humans who reside in Japan. Having been slacking on your social skills, you couldn’t help the nerves that struck when you went out to meet a group of people you’ve never met before you were hit up on social media. You made sure to dress appropriately considering you all would be bar hopping and running around the booming streets of a popular city. The night was spent with pure joy and good energy as you all roamed the area. The hours reach the am and you finally return home, a little tipsy as you stumble into the foyer.

“Where were you?” You almost jolt out of your skin when you try passing the den, turning to see Kazutora sitting on the sofa with a leg crossed.

“Oh, you scared me.” You giggle in relief. His expressionless gaze caused you to quiet down before you responded to his question. “I went out with some people I met.”

“Who?” He asks in a serious tone. You raise one of your eyebrows.

“What is this an interrogation?” He holds his hands up in surrender with a sheepish smile.

“It was just a question.” You sigh before shaking your head.

“I-I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive.” You drop your purse on the floor before sitting next to him.

“It’s alright. Wanna smoke?” He questions before he feels your head leaning against his shoulder. Your quiet breathing indicated your slumber. He sits up and turns his body towards you, shifting you to lean back on the couch before diving into your neck, sniffing the scents from the various humans that had been in your presence. His expression turns into irritation, a drop in his stomach as he feels the need to scrub your body clean of the stench that surrounds you. Instead, he helped you to bed.

A few weeks pass and you go on a date. The meeting was nice and the guy really made your day with his gentlemen - like behavior. You stepped out of the car after he dropped you off. He walked you to your door before you gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him, “Bye.” When you entered the door, you were immediately grabbed by the arm while you were sniffed by Rin.

“Gross.” He hissed before dropping your arm and walking away. Leaving you confused as you stood in your spot. On another occasion you were in the middle of braiding Ran’s hair while he faced you with his legs over yours, both of you sitting on your bed.

“Wouldn’t you rather watch tv than me?” You chuckled. He shook his head with a smile.

“Nope.” He says before pushing you on your back and climbing on top of you, nuzzling his head between your shoulder and positioning himself comfortably enough to nap. You roll your eyes and shift your attention to the flat screen while caressing his back until you fall asleep on your own.

When you went to the bathroom after you both woke up and he left your room, your eyebrows furrowed at the marks left on your neck. Tracing them as you stared deeply into the mirror. You confronted him though he promised to not do it again, he didn’t listen. You begin to hide it with makeup when going out only for the foundation to show up missing each time, causing you to stop buying new products considering they’d disappear anyway.

“Master, my dorayaki is gone!” Mikey whines as he sits on top of your lap, legs circled around your waist as you sit on the sofa in the den. You pull him back by the arms while giving him a look.

“Mikey, I’ve already told you to stop calling me that.”

He continues to whine about his missing dorayaki, ignoring your statement as he calls you the preferred name over and over.

“I can’t get you more if you don’t get up.” To which he replied, “Then take me with you.”

“You’d still have to get down.” He paused above you, sniffing your neck before you felt a long wet muscle leave a trail of moisture.

“Mikey!” You gasp.

“All I can smell is Ran’s stupid scent on you.” He hissed before he continued to lick and mark up your neck with his own scent. You ignore the chills running up your back as you attempt to push him off though his grip is keeping you locked. His tail wraps around one of your arms while his hand grabs your other wrist, preventing you from pushing against him. You huff frustratingly.

You’ve been noticing the absence of a few of your clothing. The only thing you know is that someone has been stealing from your dirty clothes basket. It probably doesn’t worry you as much as it should but you couldn’t really do anything about it without the risk of accusing the wrong person and causing a problem. It wasn’t until one night you walked into Sanzu’s, seeing him naked and asleep as he held one of your favorite shirts. Your eyes widen at the pair of your panties tangled around his limp cock.

You immediately leave the room, shutting the door behind you and walking back to your bedroom. You brush the memory off as something to do with their instincts and comfortability or something, you don’t really know how to react to that. You didn’t bring it up nor did you say anything about it to anyone else. You’ve caught a few of them either having intercourse or masturbating but never once with your clothes. Not until then or until you ended up finding Kazutora sniffing your panties with drowsy eyes all the while Mikey pounding his ass above him, his head leaning on the tiger’s back while he gripped his waist. Now that was a sight you hadn’t expected to see at all.

You just thought that they all had a harmless crush on you and didn’t know what to do with it besides their sexual escapades so you didn’t say a word. You didn’t find a problem with their behavior until you had a visitor. You had no idea why they acted so rudely to your new friend, her being a girl who you were not attracted to in the slightest way sexually or romantically. It was clear the platonic friendship you had going on but for them to just outright go out of their way to aggressively make her uncomfortable is insane to you. You refrained from inviting anyone else over. It seemed to have just gone downhill from there.

One night you woke up and felt cold air hitting your whole body which made no sense considering you fell asleep warm in your pajamas. What you hadn’t expected was the moisture hitting one of your nipples nor the muscle sliding against your clit. Two pairs of purple eyes glower at you all the while continuing their assault. Claws slightly penetrate your thighs as well as the breast that’s being held against a mouth. Your hips buck before you sit up and push the older brother back, as well as the head of the younger.

“Rin! Ran! What in the fuck?!” You exclaim.

You had them all sit down in the den, the males holding expressions of boredom or little care for what you were going on about. You set boundaries about everything that had made you uncomfortable. The only reason you were explaining anything was because they are all hybrids and have different sets of rules and social constructs than regular humans. Although disturbed you decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, hoping things would get better.

You made an unfortunate decision, attempting to invite another friend over, this time a male. Considering there had been some time that passed and the hybrids had listened to your concerns, you thought that you could finally have some company. It was very late by the time you both realized the time, you being nice and offering him to stay in one of the guest bedrooms and sleep over. When you hadn’t heard from him or seen him walk out of the room, you decided to check in. Only for you to let out a scream of terror at what was left of the mauled body lying on the bed. You couldn’t stop trembling as you hyperventilated, Kazutora rubbing your sides as he held you against his chest while the maids cleaned the mess.

A few days pass as you stay locked in your room. You get up from the bed and head to your grandmother’s old bedroom on the other side of the mansion. You searched for anything that could notify you of the violence that occured. Some piece of information on how to stay safe or figure out how to lessen their weird behavior. The only thing you found was your grandmother’s journal. You sat in your bedroom and read the entire passage. Your hands tremble as realization smacks you in the face. When you couldn’t find anyone upstairs, you rushed down to the game room after passing the empty den.

All of them were either sitting on gaming chairs or the couches, focusing on what was displaying on the screen. You walked to the tv, unplugging it and throwing the journal on the ground. You contemplated just making your exit quietly but you were so angry you acted out of emotion.

“What the fuck did you do to my grandma?! Who are you and what was your plan?”

They all stare at you with absent expressions. The only thing that could be heard was your heavy breathing.

“What are you talking about?” Kazutora questions. You shake your head.

“No don’t fucking try to manipulate me you know exactly what I’m talking about!” You say before grabbing one of the unused controllers near the tv and chucking it at him, only for him to dodge it.

“And what do you think you’re gonna do about it, huh? She’s dead and you’re lucky we spared you.” Rin says with irritation. Your eyes widen.

“Lucky you spared me?! Your plan was to kill me after poisoning her to death so you can steal everything from us!” You exclaim. “You lied to her and she was too old to notice that she even wrote it herself! You knew she didn’t have her right mind so you manipulated her into thinking you loved her!” The sound of another controller breaking catches your attention.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. We loved her like our mother.” Sanzu growls.

“Then why did you gradually kill her to steal from her! You don’t do that to people you love!”

“It wasn’t part of the plan to bond with her. She was just some old rich lady before we got to know her.” Ran says with a stoic expression. You scoff.

“Oh please! You’re fucking terrible!” You exclaim before walking to the exit. Before you could leave the room you were snatched by your arm.

“Where are you going?” Mikey questions while gripping your arm with his claws slightly piercing your skin, dark eyes glaring into your own orbs.

“Away from you freaks.” You hissed attempting to pull your arm away from him only to get thrown on the ground. You land with a thud along with a grunt when the back of your head meets the carpet.

Before you can get back up, you’re forced on your back, Mikey climbing on top of you and pinning you to the ground.

“LET ME GO!” You roar, fear mixing with the anger as the grip on your wrists tighten. His tail wraps around your neck in a tight hold, blocking your airway while he stares down at you with a cold look. You stare wide eyed as you struggle in his hold.

“Calm down, Y/n.” Kazutora says as they all gather around, him crouching down to eye you from above.

“Knock her out already.” Rin states before Sanzu pressed harshly against your pressure point, causing you to go limp immediately.

“It’s okay.” A voice cooes in your ear from behind. Heat covers your body as you groan while slowly coming to reality. The only light is the moonlight reflecting into the room, causing a hollow glow. You feel your own body rocking as the feeling of being stretched from below causes you to gasp. Hands grip your shoulders as your stomach is pressed against the bed. You hear panting behind you as kisses are placed on your neck and shoulder.

“I… hah, love you so much. Fuck!” Kazutora breathes out as he rocks his lower body against yours, sliding his thick erection out of your body before shoving it back inside deeply, purposefully aiming himself to hit the spot he knows will drive you crazy. You look up wide eyed at purple eyes that stare down at you from above, cock in hand right in front of your eyesight as he kneels on the bed.

“M’ so close. G-gonna fill this pussy up with my fucking cum.” His hair drapes over your back as his thrusts harden. He pulls his hips back before pressing them against your ass, accelerating his steady pace as he aims his head perfectly against your g - spot. You whimper as you bite your lip, tears streaming down your face as you turn your head the other way to not face the older Haitani. Only to be met with icy blue orbs glowering down at you with a twisted look of lust on his expression, such an intense gaze that forces you to shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the time to pass and this to be over.

Kazutora’s thrusts become harder as you feel a rise of your own stomach, the stimulation getting the best of your body before you release, the male over you holding his hips against your ass before he shoots ropes of cum inside of you. Breathing heavily, you feel his weight lift off of you before forcing you to turn over on your back. You cry out when Mikey crawls in between your legs, holding your legs up as he positions himself to push inside.

“I hate you! I-I hate all of you!” You hysterically cry, using your fists to bang against Mikey’s chest before Rin appears in your vision, grabbing your chin as he leans over, red hue covering his cheeks.

“Shut up.” He says before forcing you into a passionate kiss.

Once they were all done taking their turns with you, you were carried to the bathroom to get cleaned up by Ran. Your limp body is exhausted from being used by the stronger species, worn out and broken from the inside out. You knew that the next day would be spent planning your escape.

[ladamedusoif]

Rockford, P.I.

Or: the one where Tim Rockford is a ghost hunter

Inspired by the incredible PPCU AU moodboards by @almostfoxglove!

Pairing: Paranormal Investigator!Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Content notes/warnings: 18+ MDNI; F!Reader; no physical description of Reader; Tim Rockford AU; Reader is Tim’s occasional partner in the business; established working relationship and friendship; friends to lovers; spooky shenanigans; implied smut; fluff; ghosts; references to death; references to alcohol use; references to drug use; strong language; cliches and most likely a lot of stuff that’s not correct about paranormal investigations.

Author's note: I loved @almostfoxglove's PPCU AU moodboards so much and I've been thinking about this story for a while, so when better to finish and post it than Halloween? I know I haven't written in a long time - since the summer, I think - and at the weekend certain discourse made me want to just give up completely and delete every word I'd ever posted. But this was nearly done, and I feel like at least some people might like to see it. So here you are. Happy Halloween, Oíche Shamhna shona daoibh.

And thank you to @mescalpascal for beta-ing this and not letting me get away with just giving up - with writing, fandom, everything.

To find more of my work and get alerts when I post new writing (which will hopefully be more frequently!), follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Ghost divider by @wethairjoel

“Rockford, PI - Tim speaking. How can I be of assistance?”

Tim spins in his battered desk chair, phone tucked against his shoulder and box of leftover takeout still in hand as he listens to the person on the other end of the line, nodding and “uh huh”-ing every so often.

He stops spinning. He puts down the box of cold lo mein. He grabs a pen, and frantically begins taking notes. He asks the caller to send as much information as they can via email.

And then he calls you.

Other little girls at school wanted to be princesses or singers or models or movie stars. You? You wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Forget clean-cut TV stars or the latest cookie-cutter boyband member, your first love was Dr Egon Spengler.

Fast forward a few decades, and your dream had become reality - kind of. Your doctoral thesis on the interplay between reported paranormal activity and its representation in popular culture had produced a few well-received articles and earned you a positive reputation in the admittedly rather specialised world of paranormal and psychical research. It had not, unfortunately, led to a glittering academic career.

Instead, you made a living with a part-time teaching gig at a university combined with a little freelance consultancy work for movies and TV shows, almost all of which ditched your nuanced advice and produced yet another cliched depiction of “ghost hunters�� screaming on camera.

And then there was Tim. You’d met a long time back, after a talk you’d given in the city about change and continuity in the concept of the “haunted house”. He was sitting in the front, diligently taking notes and nodding along as you spoke, eyes warm and encouraging - and he immediately made a beeline to ask you for coffee as soon as the Q&A wrapped up. 

Before you parted that evening, he handed you his card.

”Rockford, PI. You’re a private investigator?”

Tim shook his head. “Paranormal investigator. Helps to have most people think it’s the other kind of PI, though.” He called you from time to time, asking for your help on specific cases, sometimes enlisting you as a partner for the duration of an investigation. You always welcomed the extra income, but in truth you helped him out for the sheer love of it - for the chance to feel like a real Ghostbuster, even if Tim worked in business attire instead of boiler suits, and to spend time with one of the few people in the world you felt really got you.

You peer out at the English countryside from the window of the car Tim hired at Heathrow, straining to see something of the allegedly “green and pleasant” land through the miserable grey haze and sheets of rain. The navigation on your phone announces the final turn for your destination. Tim, still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, approaches cautiously and takes the left turn onto the long driveway.

“Whoa.” His voice is awestruck as the car arrives at the enormous country house, now a luxury boutique hotel catering to the rich and famous in search of an exclusive retreat. “We’re a long way from poltergeists in Poughkeepsie.”

You shrug as Tim drives into the small, discreet parking lot to one side of the building. “I’ve done some work on a couple of Gilded Age mansions. This isn’t going to be all that different, right?”

“True,” he muses, climbing out of the car and setting to work unpacking your luggage: a suitcase each, plus several hard-sided cases of vital equipment for conducting the investigation, labelled ‘Scientific Instruments’. “And they did say they think it’s only one manifestation.”

You chuckle as you help him wheel the cases from the car towards the hotel entrance, where a man in elegant livery is already rushing to greet you with a brass luggage trolley. “One manifestation? Please. We got this, Rockford.”

That evening, unpacked, freshened up, and after a dinner meeting with the hotel owner, you and Tim decamp to the library - now a comfortably-appointed lounge with its own bar - to compare notes. The two of you are the only residents, the hotel having temporarily suspended operations in order to deal with the spectral guest.

He hands you a glass of whiskey and settles beside you on the Chesterfield sofa, hair still damp from his earlier shower and his customary attire replaced by a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks more boyish, the grey patches in his beard notwithstanding, and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“So: first impressions?”

You take a sip of your drink and reach for your notebook. “First impressions: they must be pretty freaked out to temporarily close down a hotel over one spirit, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s unusually troublesome - they mentioned strange things appearing on bedroom walls, guests waking to the sound of a voice shouting for help, weird stuff turning up on TV channels... And they do pride themselves on the whole ‘idyllic rural retreat’ brand, which a ghost doesn’t exactly fit with.” He sips his whiskey and thinks. “Did you find out any more about the death here a couple of years ago?”

”I did - it was weirdly under-reported, given that a celebrity was involved, but I guess people had much bigger things to worry about during the pandemic.” You flip to a different page. “Nothing I found out seemed to contradict the owner’s version of events, though I’m sure they’d be careful to control the narrative if there was anything to hide.”

Tim sucks his cheek, deep in thought, and nods. “I guess we can’t proceed until we see how this thing is manifesting for ourselves. You have everything you need for the surveillance in your room overnight?”

You nod. “And we’ve got the kit set up in the other parts of the hotel the owner mentioned. I think we’re good to go, Timothy.”

He grins, eyes sparkling, and clinks your glass.

Jetlag doesn’t stop you waking as soon as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek around the heavy drapes that adorn the windows of your large bedroom. You’re checking the recordings and readings taken in the room overnight, looking for any indication of paranormal activity, when your phone buzzes with a message from Tim.

Nothing in my room overnight. Anything in yours? 

Not that I can see. You want to check the other equipment before breakfast?

Sure thing. Race you to the Full English.

“Oh, it’s on, Rockford,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for leggings and an old hoodie. You slip on a pair of Crocs, already bracing yourself for Tim’s inevitable comments about your choice of footwear, grab your keycard, and slip out of the room.

It’s quiet in your absence, save for the gentle sound of birds singing outside, the wind occasionally rattling your windows - and the increasingly steady beeping now being emitted from a little device Tim had given you, designed to measure sudden shifts in psychical energy. 

None of the other devices set up elsewhere in the hotel had registered anything out of the ordinary. Tim, typically, is philosophical.

“We just have to wait, do some more research in the meantime, speak to the staff. How’s that breakfast?” He sips his coffee, mug looking comically small in his large hand, and gives you a mischievous look.

“The bacon’s delicious, the mushrooms are great, the eggs are perfect… but I don’t think Cumberland sausages are for me.” You poke at the thick, half-eaten link sausage on the plate. “Not least because ‘Cumberland sausage’ sounds like a fuckin’ euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Tim laughs, the warm sound resonating in the empty dining room. He tops up his coffee and reaches for another slice of toast, and you realise that he seems…different.

“Rockford?” He looks up at you, toast crumbs in his moustache. “What’s going on with you? You aren’t normally this, uh, jolly on a job.”

He swallows his toast and drinks his coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a fascinating case, and I guess I’m just really happy that we’re working together again. Even if you’re wearing those.”

Tim gestures with mock scorn towards your brightly-coloured Crocs, before giving you a sly wink. 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to comment on my sartorial choices, Rockford? Or do you want me to talk about your rotating selection of striped ties from Sears?”

After breakfast, Tim decides to take advantage of the on-site pool and you return to your room for a quick shower before beginning the first round of interviews with hotel staff. The beeping noise is audible before you’ve even reached the door.

You steel yourself and gently enter the room, slowly moving in the direction of the little device on its tripod, various alert lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of its insistent beeps. You transcribe the codes on its screen into your notebook and take a quick video, ready to show Tim as soon as possible. Cross-legged on the floor, you close your eyes for a moment, steadying your breathing.

“I can’t believe they let in someone else wearing Crocs. So much for their fuckin’ dress code.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sound of the male voice behind you, on the other side of the room. American. West coast, you think. A little…affected? 

In other words: that’s probably not a member of staff.

You get to your feet and turn, slowly, in the direction of the voice.

There, on the other side of the room, sprawled on the sofa, is a man you think must be in his early 40s. His hair is wild, wavy, dark; his eyes obscured by a pair of vintage Ray-Bans. He’s wearing a brown teddy coat, which has slipped open to reveal a shirtless torso and a flash of tummy. A pair of loose grey shorts, wooly socks, and fucking Crocs complete his outfit. 

Definitely not staff.

Though your heart is pounding out of your chest, you find the strength to speak. “Are you a spirit?”

The man slips his glasses down his nose and gives you a withering look. “What the fuck else do you think I am? And while we’re here - why is that…thing making so much noise?”

“It’s to read changes in psychical activity,” you explain. “So it’s probably picking you up.”

The man thinks about this for a couple of moments, as if chewing it over. With a jolt, you realise two things: firstly, that in all your years of working with the paranormal, you’ve never actually seen a ghost, at least not in this form; and secondly, that you recognise this figure.

“So you do know who I am,” he drawls, pushing his glasses back up his nose and lying back on the couch. Shit, he’s more powerful than you suspected - he can pick up on what you’re thinking.

“It’s…it’s you. The dead guest.”

He exhales dramatically and flops his arm over the side of the sofa. “I have a name.”

You rack your brains, afraid to look away to grab your notebook in case he disappears.

“You’re…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

Tim Rockford is on his twentieth lap of the pool when a slow, steady buzzing noise catches his ear, coming from the direction of the tote bag he’d left poolside with towels, a t-shirt, and shorts. He hauls himself out of the water and roughly dries off his face, hair, and hands before rummaging in the bag. “Fuck!”

He’s half-wet and breathless when you open the door to your room, his fist still raised as if ready to continue the frantic hammering that had signalled his arrival. 

“Jesus! You okay?”

He’s turning and twirling around the room, glasses on and fogged up from the residual humidity of his body, holding up one of his own psychical activity detectors. “You…fuck,” Tim hisses as he tries to catch his breath. “You saw it? Where is it?”

“So I’m an it now?”, Dieter drawls, now hovering - literally - in the area of the large bay window. 

“He’s there,” you gesture, calmly, as if being in a room with the spectral manifestation of a dead Hollywood actor was an everyday occurrence. “By the window.”

Tim stares directly at Dieter, but doesn’t register anything. Dieter roars with laughter.

“Oh, babe! Looks like you’re special.”

“I’m special?”

Tim swivels at the sound of your voice, confusion written all over his face. Dieter sidles up to the other man, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and you’re struck by a kind of resemblance. Tim shivers.

“He can’t see or hear me. Most people can’t, which makes haunting the fuck out of this place hilarious,” the actor explains. He takes a seat on a vanity table near the window and looks a little wistful. “Annika was the last person who could see and hear me,” he sighs. “Kinda nice to be…” - he wiggles his hands in the air - “visible again.”

“He…he says I’m special because I can see and hear him, and you can’t. Most people can’t. Is this…normal? Am I normal?”

Tim crosses the room and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, none of what we do is normal. But yes, this is not unusual.”

Dieter immediately launches into a Tom Jones impersonation, gyrating in exaggerated fashion towards Tim, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. Tim looks hurt.

“Oh! Oh, Tim, no, I was rolling my eyes at him. Not you. Shit, this is going to be confusing, isn’t it?”

The crinkles that form around Tim’s eyes when he smiles make a welcome appearance, and his dark eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “I’m sure we can work out a system for keeping communication clear. Usually, when a manifestation is only visible to one or two people, it means they have some kind of need, or something unfulfilled. And, I guess, they think the witness can give it to them.”

You glance over at Dieter, who is still gyrating. He lowers his sunglasses and grins at you lasciviously.

Over the next couple of days, you and Tim interview hotel staff and examine some of the areas affected by the haunting, to establish a pattern for the manifestation’s - for Dieter’s - behaviour. 

“The random murals appearing overnight aren’t that disturbing, I suppose,” you muse, noting down the details of the artwork Dieter had left in one guest bedroom.

“Depends on what you consider disturbing, though.” Tim rubs a finger against the paint, examining the powdery residue. “I wouldn’t like to wake up to an extra-large rendering of Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ on my hotel room wall.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Well, fair. Though it’s weirdly good, for a ghost.” 

Your psychical activity detectors start to beep in unison and you turn to each other before you spy Dieter, lounging on top of a wardrobe. He’s clad differently, today, this time sporting a green robe, a baggy purple t-shirt, and striped lounge pants. 

And the Crocs.

“I am good. Honestly, if they’d got my heart going again I think I’d have quit Hollywood, y’know? Jacked it all in, got clean, got into art properly. Make sculptures, paint, run a gallery or some shit.”

“He’s talking to me,” you explain to Tim, before turning back to Dieter. “So you’re hanging around here because you didn’t get to make the art you dreamed of?”

“Ugh. I don’t have to explain myself to you people.”

And he’s gone.

In the evenings, the hotel insists on serving you and Tim dinner as if you were ordinary guests, not paranormal investigators tasked with eradicating the ghost of an Oscar-winning Hollywood enfant terrible from the property. The lone waiter serves your five-course meal with the kind of exaggerated formality you had only ever seen in films or TV shows about royalty, respectfully pointing out the various cutlery and accoutrements needed for each course in a low, somewhat fawning voice.

“And voilà, Mr Rockford, your seabass.” He lifts the dome from Tim’s plate and does a little bow. 

Tim is chewing the inside of his cheek and turning pink as the waiter leans closer to his ear.

“A reminder, sir, should you require it, that the fishknife is that delicate little marvel on the right. Bon appétit.”

Tim says nothing as the waiter makes his way across the vast, empty dining room, watching for the door to the kitchens to close properly before he lets out a belly laugh so huge it almost rocks the table you’re seated at. You raise an eyebrow and pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Are you quite well, Tim?”

He’s taken off his glasses and is rubbing tears from his eyes, unable to control his laughter. “Why did he say that about the fishknife? And the fucking dome? I shouldn’t laugh but…”

“You mean you didn’t need to be reminded that the fishknife is a delicate little marvel?” 

Your attempt to replicate the waiter’s tone sets the two of you off this time, and you’re still laughing about it by the time you retreat to the lounge with a gin and tonic each. 

This was the longest you’d ever spent in Tim’s company, you realised one night, sitting with your feet tucked under you on the large leather sofa. There was a lot that you didn’t know about each other, but being stuck in a haunted hotel is nothing if not an ideal opportunity for getting to know someone better. 

You are listening to Tim animatedly telling you about one of his strangest cases. His face lights up when he talks about his work, big hands gesturing for emphasis, eyes bright and focused on you. He listens to you with the same commitment and interest, keenly asking questions and taking in your every word.

When you lean in for a goodnight hug before parting ways, he seems surprised - but pleased, somehow, as he returns your embrace.

Your TV is on when you return to your room. The tell-tale beeping from the psychical activity monitor gives him away immediately.

“Dieter.”

He’s lying on your bed, propped up on one arm, green robe wrapped around him. “Heyyyyyyy. Hope you don’t mind. Wanted some company and I’ve haunted the fuck out of everyone else around here.”

You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of water. “I don’t mind. But if I let you hang out with me you have to answer my questions.”

He groans and flops back onto the bed, though his body makes no indentation in the bedclothes. “FINE. But you have to answer mine.”

“Fair.” You settle beside him on the bed, trying not to overthink the fact that you were literally hanging out with a dead man. “What the fuck are you watching?”

He runs his fingers through his hair in irritation and points at the 90s sitcom he’s watching on some random-ass cable channel. “Allegedly this is a British remake of Who’s The Boss but like, it’s fucking shit. No Danza, no party.”

You pause for a moment. “Speaking of party…can you do drugs, if you’re a ghost? All the evidence would suggest you can’t, but I’ve never actually heard from someone with first-hand experience.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Dieter grimaces. “I literally threw a couple of tabs of acid through my stupid fuckin’ ghost body, didn’t I. Just…whoosh.” He gestures with his hand. “I feel so real, y’know? All corporeal. But then you try to get high and bam. No can do. I can’t eat or drink, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

He stares at you. “Why do you get to ask two questions in a row? My turn.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your water, noticing Dieter staring longingly at the glass.

“Fine.”

He cackles and claps his hands together. They make no sound.

“Are you and Magnum P.I. fucking? You’re fucking, right?”

“Um, no?” You take another sip of water and swallow hard. “No, we are not fucking. We’re colleagues.”

Dieter mimics you, note-perfect, and cackles again. “Bullshit. He’s down so fuckin’ bad for you.”

“Tim is not ‘down bad’ for me, as you put it.”

He sits up, moving into a kind of lotus position. “He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I know he is because I can literally sense this shit. And I can definitely sense that you’ve got a crush on ol’ Columbo down the hall. Which is fair, I guess. He’s pretty hot.”

You can feel the heat rising to your face, but maintain what you hope is a neutral expression. 

“Oh, Scully is trying so hard not to let her crush on Mulder show.” He smiles a smug, satisfied grin.

“Is he Magnum, Columbo, or Mulder, Dieter?”

“All three, baby.” He hovers about a foot above the bed, pointing at you accusingly. “And you should put him out of his misery. Want me to go check on him for you, see if he’s thinking about you right now?” Dieter wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to get a ghost trap and put you in it.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?!” Dieter seems unreasonably excited. 

“Do you want to be sealed up in a little trap, or would you prefer to continue having free rein?”

He sighs and descends back to the bed. “Ugh. Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong.”

Dieter fucking Bravo. He was haunting your brain, as well as this hotel.

His insistence that Tim had a thing for you - and vice versa - now coloured every interaction, every conversation between you and your colleague as you tried to discern any evidence that Dieter was right, or that disproved his theory. To your horror, you began to unconsciously hope that he wasn’t just winding you up.

He quickly got in the habit of appearing in your room just before bedtime: staying for a little chat, dodging any of your questions that veered too close to the essential truth of why he hadn’t completely passed over to the great beyond, and asking repeatedly if you and Tim had “got around to fucking” yet. 

“It would be kinda hard for us to get around to fucking with a fucking ghost in my room, don’t you think?”

He laughs his wheezy rasp of a laugh and crosses his hands over his tummy. “Listen, the more the merrier, babe.”

A few moments pass before you break the silence. “Why are you so obsessed with us, with me and Tim, with us getting together?”

He pouts and stares into the middle distance. “I guess…hmm. I want people to get what they want, love-wise.” Dieter discerns your incredulous glance. “What? I mean it! I’m a big fan of romance and happy endings.”

“You can’t blame me for being sceptical, Dieter.”

Tension crackles in the air. When he speaks again, he’s very quiet. 

“Just because I didn’t get a happy ending in life doesn’t mean I can’t believe in them.”

Dieter’s big, dark eyes - or the spectral impression of his big, dark eyes, now trapped in some in-between place, neither here nor there - look at you with absolute sincerity. 

“Is that why you’re still here?”

He turns away. 

“I don’t know why I can see you, Dieter, or what you need me for, but there’s got to be a reason for it. And I can’t help you until you talk to me.”

He huddles deeper into his green robe, and you exhale. 

“Fine. You’re not wrong. You’re right, in fact.”

He doesn’t move, but you can almost feel his ghostly ears pricking up.

“I’m right?”

You close your eyes and bite your lip. “Fuck it. You’re right, I… I think I do have a crush on him.”

This time, you swear you can hear Dieter smile.

“On who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.” He chuckles to himself.

“Oh, fuck.” You bury your head in your hands. “Why do I need to say it, when you can sense what I’m thinking?”

Dieter rolls over and props himself up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Because it’s very fucking satisfying. For me.”

“Fuck you, Dieter Bravo. Fine. I - I have a crush on Tim. Happy?”

He nods, and points in the direction of Tim’s room, down the hall. “Mmm. And now you need to tell Timmy so that he can tell you he has a crush on you and then you can go off and have lots of weirdo paranormal-obsessed babies. If that’s a thing you want, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dieter’s eyes widen. “Okay? So, you’re just gonna tell him?”

“I’ll tell him… but only if you let me help you.”

“No deal. Fuck you two, keep on being idiots.”

“I thought you loved happy endings, romance, all that?”

“Nope.” 

You shift on the mattress to face Dieter, and speak more gently this time. “Do you want to be stuck here forever, Dieter?”

He hesitates. “Nope.”

“So, should we make a deal?”

He talks and talks all night, floating around the room, resting on the vanity, on the armchair, on the bed, and at one point drifting in and out of the bathroom - even with the door closed.

And you listen. You listen like Tim listens to you: engaged, curious, open, kind, even, trying to get to the root of what’s keeping this man trapped in between worlds in a luxury hotel in the English countryside.

Unfinished business is a common explanation for why ghosts hang around, you’ve realised. A desire for vengeance, too. Sometimes spirits just want to stay around their families and friends. Once, a long time ago, a client of Tim’s described the work as being like a kind of doula, for ghosts. 

“You help them get out of the in-between,” the lady had said, after Tim had solved the ongoing hauntings in her family’s ranch house. “They just need someone to hold their hand, I guess. Well, maybe not literally.”

Watching and listening as Dieter talks about his life, his death, his successes, his failures, you become ever more keenly aware of how right she was, and more focused on getting him to where he needs to be. To peace.

He descends gently to the ground in front of the TV set. “I can’t deny that the whole Beetlejuice shtick has been fun, most of the time,” he says, sadly. “But you’re right, I don’t wanna be stuck here for the rest of my life. I mean, the rest of my death. I mean -”

“The rest of your afterlife.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“Dieter… do you think you might just be afraid?”

“Afraid?” His eyes are wide and frightened, giving you his answer without a word.

“Afraid to let go. Afraid to move to the next stage, whatever that is.”

“But that’s just it.” Dieter stares at his Crocs. “You said it. ‘Whatever that is.’ I don’t know what’s there.”

“No one does, though. And most spirits don’t end up haunting entire hotels, they just…pass through.”

He nods. “I guess I always had to stand out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you agree. 

He takes a couple of moments to compose himself. “I… I saw whatever the fuck comes next when my heart stopped. Bright light, all that shit. Fuckin’ near-death experience, except I was actually dead.”

“But you didn’t pass through?”

“I feel like my entire self just went ‘fuck this, I’m not done’. But I couldn’t come back, y’know?” He tugs at an errant curl. “I guess…fuck. I didn’t want to be forgotten. Wanted to know I could live on, maybe.”

“You don’t have to stay in the in-between to live on, Dieter. The work speaks for itself.”

He groans. “Some of it does. Never got to rebuild properly, though. Whole lotta shlock in there and one fuckin’ Oscar.”

You bring yourself to the ground beside the spectre. “That’s one Oscar more than most of us will ever have. And plenty of people who died before their time still live on in their work.”

“If you mention the 27 Club to me I will actually haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Noted.” You smile at him, cheered by the sight of a little grin on Dieter’s lips. “But you know it’s true.”

“I just never got the happy ending.”

He looks so sorrowful in that moment that you wish, more than anything, that you could hug him - make him flesh and blood, just for an instant again, so he could know the comfort of a warm embrace.

“Maybe the happy ending is off there in the hereafter.”

Dieter arches an eyebrow. “Do you actually believe that?”

You grin and chuckle. “Honestly? Fuck knows what’s after all this. I think I’d rather not know. But even if it’s just a bright light and bam, that’s it - you’ll live forever, Dieter Bravo.”

Tim is bed-headed and bleary-eyed when he opens his door to you at 6.30am, but he smiles widely when his vision focuses and he recognises your face. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he gestures to the bed, before blushing a little. “Or I can move my clothes off the armchair, if you’d prefer.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress and shake your head. “It’s perfect here, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I think Dieter’s…”

Funny how, in spite of doing this job and researching these phenomena for so many years, some cases just get to you. A sob catches in your throat as you try to find the words.

“I think the haunting problem is solved, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes widen in amazement and he sits beside you on the edge of the bed. “Your doula skills, right?”

You nod, tears still threatening to fall at any moment. His strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, keeping you safe as you cry against his broad chest.

“Please do feel free to stay for the next couple of days, of course.” The hotel manager is effusive and grateful as you wrap up the debriefing session later that morning, standing up to shake your and Tim’s hands in turn. “The rooms are booked, we won’t be reopening to other guests until we can redecorate the affected bedrooms. It’s on us, an extra little thank you for dealing with our, uh, friend.”

After lunch, the two of you walk through the property’s walled gardens and admire the various topiaries and water features. All the while, your promise to Dieter lingers at the forefront of your mind.

You said you would tell Tim how you felt, if Dieter let you help him. And he did. And now…

Fuck. And you wouldn’t put it past Dieter Bravo to somehow find his way back from the hereafter, just to haunt you out of spite.

You look over at Tim, who’s taking a photo of the hotel buildings from the gardens, and feel a surge of affection, mingled with anxiety. What if Dieter had got you right, but Tim wrong?

He catches your eye and grins at you. “Hey, come in for a photo?”

You pose beside an ornamental fountain, Tim concentrating as he sets up the shot. He beckons to you. 

“How about a selfie, maybe?”

His arm snakes around your shoulders as he angles the phone towards the two of you and captures the moment: he, suit on but tie loosened, eyes twinkling; you, smiling broadly into the lens.

He brings you a gin and tonic, settling in beside you on the Chesterfield sofa and clinking his glass of whiskey to yours. In the last few days the ritual has become familiar and comforting; and with a jolt you worry that this might be the last time you enjoy it together.

Tim sips his drink in contented silence, watching the flames of the large, open fire. 

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes meet yours as you turn to face him. “I’m…”

Dieter Bravo is going to haunt you if you don’t do this.

What if this is your happy ending?

A large swig of G&T, to fortify your resolve.

“Um, I’ve really enjoyed this whole case, working with…being with you.”

Tim smiles softly. “Me too. It was nice to get the chance to get to know each other better.”

Another fortifying sip. 

“I was wondering…uh. Shit. Maybe, when we get back, would you -”

Your voice dries up in your throat. The next words are barely more than a whisper.

“Would you maybe like to get a drink or dinner sometime? With me?”

For an instant, you can see that Tim is on the verge of brushing it off, of asking why you're being so strange about this, of saying that you regularly meet for coffee if you’re both free, talking about that diner you sometimes go to.

And then the realisation sinks in, and his face softens into a huge smile.

“I would love to take you for dinner. And drinks. Whenever you want, wherever you want.”

He puts his glass down and moves closer to you. Your fingers reach for the end of his tie as your bodies shift ever closer, until he’s holding your face in his hands and his mouth is on yours, kissing you with warm intent.

You’re about to pull him down to the couch, his hands already snaking up under your blouse, when a stern cough makes the two of you jump.

The hotel’s only waiter casts a disapproving glance in your direction and shakes his head as he processes through the lounge to the main bar. 

Your hand reaches for Tim’s and you lead him towards the hallway and the main staircase leading to the bedrooms.

The morning is grey and dreary, rain already pelting against the windowpanes as the dawn light struggles to break through the dark clouds. You press a kiss to Tim’s bare chest as you slip out of bed to use the bathroom, padding swiftly across the deep-pile carpet so as not to wake him. 

The green robe hanging from the hook on the tiled wall of your bathroom is unmistakable, but even so you have to pause for a moment to be sure it’s real. You run your fingers over the textured weave and fabric, noting how (surprisingly) good it smells - faint whiff of weed notwithstanding.

Tim stirs as you close the bathroom door and walk back to the bed, blinking awake and greeting you with a delighted smile.

“Good morning. Nice robe.”

“A movie star gave it to me,” you explain, shedding the soft green garment and pulling Tim’s naked body to yours before he can ask any further questions.

(Sorry, Dieter. Love you.)

[callmerainman]

Cameras | Reigen Arataka x fem!model!Reader

plot. The last thing you expected when you entered the office of Reigen Arataka, was to be head over heels for him. Reigen can't seem to believe it himself when Dimple points out that the beautiful model who came in his office for help is, in fact, flirting her way towards him. It's your first time chasing a man and not the other way around, and it's so much fun.

fandom. mob psycho 100

word count. 2.2k

tags. fem!reader, reader is a model, flirting, seducing, awkwardness, suggestive tones, implied sexual reference, oblivious Reigen Arataka, photoshoots, smoking, wingman Dimple.

part. 1/2

An elegant smile softly spread across your face, your hands touching your soft hair with delicacy, your legs crossed under the wooden desk. And, hard to ignore, your foot moving slowly in a circling motion. Your classy composure hides your real emotions so well, you're a woman of style. But, in reality, you're completely losing it.

Shit, he's handsome.

The blond man sitting in front of you is explaining his parcels and exorcism plans as he moves his hands left and right. He looks serious, professional, and focused. His name is Reigen Arataka, or The Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century. You didn't know anything about him until twenty minutes earlier, when you entered his office.

You work as a photo model in a well known modeling agency in Seasoning City. You recently started catwalks, but you're mainly featured on local fashion magazines covers and billboard signs across the city. Your career is going well, except for this feeling that you just can't shake off. In the last few months, every time you pose for a picture you feel a haunting presence weighing on your shoulders. It's like a cold, gloomy breeze. It didn't stop you from getting your work done, but it was more energy consuming than it should be. You didn't believe in ghosts, to be clear. But your friends suggested you call a psychic, and so you did. You chose the cheapest in town, just to give it a try. But nothing could have prepared you for this situation.

«So, considering the context, I think the best exorcism plan is the second in my list, miss»

You snap back to reality and quickly realize that you didn't listen to a single word he said. Too busy staring at the smooth gestures of his hands. You have to play it cool.

«How about you come with me to my next shooting? I have to get there in 30 minutes. Maybe you can take care of the problem on the spot. I'll be glad to pose for you if it can help, Reigen-san» you smile, resting your chin on your open palm.

It's weird. Usually men were the ones who chased you, and fell for you right on the spot. This is your first time being head over heels for a man, and at first sight too. You can't exactly pin point what it is that makes you twirl your hair around your index, and smile so intently. Maybe his ginger hair, or the way he articulates words. Or his grey suit and eccentric pink tie, and charismatic smile.

The man exudes sex. In sort of a pathetic, sketchy way.

«Fine by me» Reigen replies.

You clap your hands together and spark him a shiny smile «Great! Let's go then!»

As you go ahead to bring your car in front of the building, Reigen closes the office. Mob is at school and no clients are expected to come for the next few hours.

The conman trots down the stairs quickly so that he can go wait for you outside the building. But he feels a presence floating behind him.

«Oi, Reigen»

Reigen turns around and grumbles as his gaze meets a familiar green cloud.

«What, Dimple»

«That lady is most certainly hitting on you»

Reigen almost trips down the stairs. He quickly recollects himself as he stops in the middle of the stairwell.

«That's not true»

«Pff» the spirit spits «it's so obvious»

Reigen descends the stairs again, the sound of his shoes stomping on the floor booming in the echoey building.

«It's not obvious because she's not hitting on me! You're just saying it to make fun of me»

The green spirit floats backwards, in front of Reigen's face. He looks dead serious.

«Look man, I would never use such a poor excuse for a joke. I mean, a knockout of a model hitting on you? That would be too unrealistic!»

Reigen rolls his eyes and just keeps going, trying to ignore Dimple.

The latter agitates a little green arm in front of his face «Hellooo? She was literally eating you up with her preying eyes! Basically giggling and kicking her feet like a schoolgirl! And what about the "I'll be glad to pose for you~"»

Dimple channeled his most feminine, high-pitched voice to say that. Green little hands intertwined, eyes glittering and lashes fluttering. It pisses Reigen off.

«Miss (Y/N) is not hitting on me. And even if she were, obviously in a very parallel and distant world, I would never get my way with her. She's my client, and I'm a professional»

«Whatever you say dude...I warned you»

Dimple didn't pop out until later on, when you and Reigen get to your modeling agency. Everything is ready for today's photoshoot: lights, cameras, setting. As Reigen wanders around pretending to scan for spirits, you're approached by your publicist, Haru.

«Is he the male stripper we rented for Sakura's birthday?» she asks, pointing a finger towards Reigen.

«What? No! That's the psychic you suggested I call!» you exclaim.

«Oooh! Is he here to help you exorcise that spirit?»

«We don't know if there's a spirit yet, but he's here to help me out»

«And how are things going?»

«I want to sleep with him»

«(Y/N)!»

«I'm sorry, I can't help it!»

«Okay, I'll reschedule your Christmas jumpers shooting for next week. No big deal even if we don't do it today. Now go put some lingerie on»

«I love you so much, dearie»

In the end, there really was a spirit giving you a hard time during shootings. Or, to be specific, a curse. Dimple was able to detect it in no time, a cloud of gloomy, red smoke hovering over your shoulders. He absorbed it completely and you immediately felt the pressure on your back being released. Your pics came out perfect, flawless. You even put some extra work with that lingerie since you had a guest. And you did catch his brown eyes getting lost in the fabric of your garments, not without a sprinkle of guilt. It was a sight you yearned from men. Seeing them guilty for how mesmerized they are. But Reigen was dense. All afternoon you sent many hints that you, in fact, were flirting with him, but he didn't catch them. You still have time. Of course you have no idea that the one to get rid of the curse was Dimple, Reigen played it out as if he was the one doing all the magic. Dimple got accustomed to it.

«Thank you so much, Reigen-san» you smile, stunning as always. You already changed in your casual clothes, your body covered in a long, beige trenchcoat.

«No big deal, it was a small fish»

Dimple rolls his eyes behind Reigen's shoulder, but you can't see him. The sun is setting behind the building of your modeling agency. Reigen is smoking a cigarette, he asked you in advance if it bothers you, and you asked if you can join him. Reigen takes a quick glimpse at you. Even the way you smoke transpires elegance. His cheeks are lightly powdered in pink.

«I feel kinda bad though, I didn't pay you enough»

«No need to feel bad, I'm confident in my pricings»

«So you're gonna reject my drink invitation?»

Reigen chokes a puff of smoke. He throws you a quick glance and sees you smiling calmly, smoke slowly flowing out of your half-open lips. Dimple's words started floating in his own head. Was he right all along? Or you're just being nice? Do you really want to go out for a drink? Then, words just spill out on their own.

«Never said that»

You take a hit of your cigarette «Good, I'll lead the way»

There's something in your presence. So resolute, classy, confident. A different kind of confidence compared to Reigen. You always know how to behave, how to present yourself. It's hypnotic, magnetic even. Reigen can't help but be left speechless. He would lie to himself if he said that you weren't the prettiest woman he has ever seen. As you two walk towards your parked car, Reigen feels a familiar presence again.

«I told you, dude! She's all over you!» Dimple exlciams, waving his cloudy hands in front of Reigen.

«Shut the fuck up, she's not!»

You turn around «Did you say something?»

Reigen shakes his head vigorously, a bead of sweat running down his temple in embarrassment «N-nothing!»

The lounge bar you picked looks too expensive for Reigen's pockets. But you assured him that the drinks were on you, and ignored his insistence in paying. So now you and Reigen are sitting in front of each other, still dressed as you were this afternoon. He kinda feels out of place with his office suit on. But you fit the luxurious atmosphere so well. Your figure, your red dress, your make-up and smile. The way you talk, and laugh, and politely order two martinis. This place looks like it was made for you and you only. Talking with Reigen is an experience that you honestly expected very much. He's an interesting person, he's kind, funny, and smart. You didn't get the hots for him only for his looks. You understood the kind of person he was the moment he started listening to your problems this afternoon. He might look like the average japanese functional working citizen, but you saw right through him immediately.

And Reigen thinks the same of you. You're not only extremely attractive, confident and classy. You're cultured, intelligent, witty. He feels like talking to you is so easy, a feeling he didn't always get from others, or at least it wasn't often reciprocated. He wants to listen more of your words, of your mind. He's slowly getting hypnotized. You have a way with words, with gestures. The way you place your hand on your chin, or tuck hair behind your ear, is not casual. Everything you do is measure and balance. And the way you listen to his most complicated thoughts makes him want to tell you more, to stay a bit longer. He's enjoying himself for once in a while, laughing without thinking about anything else.

You put down your martini after taking a sip «By the way, Reigen, I think my photoshoot came out really, really well»

In a slow, sensual movement, you cross your legs under the table, your dress brushing against your bare skin with a velvet-like sound. You let one of your heels hang from the tip of your foot, then drop it down to the floor completely. Without any premeditation, you let your foot travel up Reigen's leg, first his ankle and then all the way up under the fabric of his pants.

«Maybe you should come to all my shootings from now on» you coo.

His shock is evident. Reigen locks his lips and holds his breath as he feels your foot stroking his leg under his pants. He wants to say something, but he can't.

Is she playing footsie with me?!

And then, for only God knows how many times, Dimple pops out again behind him, making Reigen jump on the spot.

«I fucking told you man!»

«I'm flirting with you, Reigen-san»

«Okay Dimple maybe you were right but what the fuck do I- say what?!»

You suppress a small giggle «I said that I'm flirting with you, Reigen. Since you didn't really seem to catch it»

Reigen is too stunned to speak «Oh!»

«I can stop though, if you're not interested in...more. Pursuing men so much is not my style. But I don't regret trying»

Your foot falls down from his leg and gets back to your heel, sliding it inside. You rest your chin in your hand, scanning Arataka's face for a reaction. He looks so embarrassed that it has you concerned. Did you go too far? To be completely honest, you liked messing with men. Making them look at you, leaving them speechless. But in a completely harmless way. Your last wish was to make Reigen uncomfortable in any way. You're about to say something, but you get interrupted.

«No, it's fine!» Reigen yelps, a nervous smile cracking on his face.

He mentally facepalms himself for sounding too excited, and too high pitched. But the reassuring smile you show him makes all his worries fade away. He doesn't feel judged, or under scrutiny.

«I-I mean» he resumes «I won't hold back if you're interested in...more»

Jesus he feels so stupid. But maybe you like stupid. It's written in the way you lean forward on your shared table, your hand reaching for his pink tie. You lightly pull it to encourage Reigen to come forward as well, sensually stroking it with two hands as you see his throat gulp out of nervousness.

«I'm glad to hear, Reigen. Otherwise I would have felt very lonely tonight, in my apartment»

«Good...»

Then, you let go of his tie and get up from your seat, and Reigen does the same. Mustering up some courage, Reigen extends his hand for you to take it. You happily oblige, placing yours in his palm. With a satisfied look on your face, you proceed to walk out of the lounge bar, hand in hand.

Without you noticing, Dimple appears in front of Reigen one last time.

«Can I come?» he asks.

«Fuck, no!» Reigen growls under his teeth.

«What did you say?» you ask.

«Nothing!»

[madhatterbri]

Ghost Of You | HOOK

Summary: AEW visits Y/N's town after HOOK and you break up.

Author's Note: @99hook told me to do it. 😂 Also, I believe that this song was about Selena. Let me be delulu.

@plentyoffandoms @theworldofotps @multi-fandom-things730

HOOK laid in his hotel bed thinking about you. Tuesday nights while he was in your city, you would visit him. The two of you would spend the night cuddling and just talking about life. Now, he felt empty inside. He missed your touch the most. The way your soft fingers would trace the tattoos inked on his body.

He rolled over and placed his hands over his face. The sunrise started to creep into the window. HOOK peered at the clock. The green numbers showed 7:30. He hadn't realized he had spent the whole night thinking about you. He stood up from the bed and closed the curtains. He needed to try to sleep.

Once he laid back in bed, his half closed eyes turned to the other side of the bed. A faint vision of you appeared before him. You reached out, and he swore he could feel your fingers trace his tattoos. He reached for his chest to grab your hand but felt nothing. Buried in disappointment, he fell asleep.

👻

HOOK pulled up to the arena later than he expected. Time seemed to always not be on his side. For a guy so young, he always thought he had more time. Now, it seems like he never had enough. The time he had with you wasn't enough. He needed more, much more.

He stepped out of the car and walked inside the arena to get ready. Hours before Dynamite would be spent with you messaging him how excited you were to see him in the ring in person. HOOK grabbed his phone to message you. The cursor flashed, waiting for him to message.

He knew you moved on. You may have blocked him off all social media, but his boys hooked him up. You looked so refreshed and happy with the new guy. Sometimes, he wondered if you ever thought about him during your free time. He decided not to message you.

👻

HOOK's entrance theme played through the arena. The cheers from the audience made him feel slightly better. He walked in the ring and crossed his arms over the turnbuckle. He looked out in the audience, hoping to see your smiling face.

He wasn't surprised when you weren't out there. The seats you normally sat in left vacant. He looked away once the referee grabbed his attention. HOOK looked at the seats one last time. The vision from last night suddenly appeared in your seat. You gave him a quick smile and wave.

He smiled briefly and focused on his match. The handsome devil finished his opponent off with a Redrum. The arena exploded in cheers. HOOK looked at the ghost of you. You gave him another big smile and celebrated with the rest of the audience.

👻

HOOK dropped his gym bag on the hotel floor in his room. His body sore from his match. He tried to stretch out his muscles, yet it was no use. A cold shower would at least help with the soreness.

After his shower, he sat on the bed and sighed. Nothing could make you come back. He betrayed your trust. The one thing he told you he would never do. He didn't blame you for leaving him behind. You crossed a bridge that he couldn't follow.

The ghost of you came back to visit him one last time. He could feel your hands massage his sore shoulders. He sighed happily and rested his head in his hands. HOOK knew you weren't there, but that didn't mean he couldn't find solace in this.

If he couldn't have you, he'll settle for the ghost of you.

[novasolstarr]

Your art is so cool, when I got followed back this was my honest reaction:

I just got into the fandom recently due to playing pressure (and because of a certain fish) so yeah, overall very appreciated that I would get followed back! cool art btw!

IM GOING TO CRY ON EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU BLBLBL

I Am tERRIBLE with words but really and truthfully this means a lot, LIKE HBWBWBVLVL I NEED THERE TO BE A WAY FOR ME TO PROPERLY RESPOND TO ALL THESE AT ONCE

@ruzhuzhu YOU ESPECIALLY LIKE HBBWB DUDE YOUVE GOT FANTASTIC TRADITIONAL ART AND YOURE COMPLIMENTING M E?? I will sit there and stare at it for SO LONG it was genuinely jarring seeing an artist like yourself following me. You are not the only one who appreciates seeing some good traditional art around or even just some pencil work. See lots of paintings but never people just having fun with the good old pencil and paper

@crow-withaphone YOU AS WELL, THE ART IS GENUINELY SO FLUID AND SO FUN the style is SO SILLY /POS I love me some good round styles I don’t ever see them enoUGH

INFACT YOU ALL, THE WHOLLLEEE LOT OF YOU

GET LINKED

I REALLY HOPE THESE FORMAT RIGHT

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 13 - Pregnancy

Sister Imperator x Reader

After realising just what Nihil was, Sister Imperator leaves the Ministry to go to a small Abbey down on the southern coast of France where she meets you, and she’s very pregnant.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 11k.

Reading Time: 47 min.

Warnings: cunnilingus, mentions of cheating, pregnancy kink,

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

Author’s note: Hi, all!

This turned out a lot more different (and longer) than I intended… but here we are. I kind of got a bit lost in this story and as I didn’t want to come back to it later, I thought I might as well begin and end it here. Oh… and wasn’t actually a great deal of pregnancy kink in the end. Please enjoy!

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Recommended listening: Love In The Dark - Adele.

The sea breeze was sharp but welcoming as Sister Imperator stepped off the train, her coat whipping around her in the biting wind of the southern French coast. It was a relief to stretch her legs after the gruelling, seemingly endless journey—a 6 a.m. start, boarding the early train from Rome Termini before dawn. The carriage had been old, with stiff wooden seats that groaned with every twist and turn as it crawled through the Italian countryside. Noisy and jarring, it had offered little in the way of comfort, but at least it had granted her solitude—a gift she had come to cherish now more than ever. Her journey had been punctuated by stops in Genoa, then Nice, each transfer a reminder of how far she was running, how deeply she needed to disappear. After two more trains, she finally arrived in Cassis, a town so small and quiet it felt like a dream. Compared to the suffocating halls of the Ministry, with its endless scheming and heavy shadows, this town was as foreign as it was liberating. She wasn’t sure if it would save her or bury her alive.

The cliffs rose in the distance, ominous and beautiful, their jagged edges mirroring the raw, torn feeling in her chest. The abbey, secluded and hidden, waited for her just a short walk away. The sea breeze tugged at her, its cold fingers brushing her skin like a cruel reminder of everything she was trying to leave behind. As her feet touched the platform, she felt the weight of her decisions. She was here now—there was no going back. And yet, even with the fresh air on her face and the calm that Cassis promised, doubt gnawed at her.

The twenty-hour journey had been both a blessing and a curse. In the silence of the train cars, she had been forced to relive it all. The agony of seeing the only man she had ever cared for, ever loved, buried between the thighs of another woman—another Sister of Sin, no less. The image of him, eyes dark with lust, thrusting into her, taking what was once hers, had played like a sick loop in her mind. She could still hear the Sister’s moans, wanton and triumphant, as she rode Nihil with the same wild abandon Imperator had once possessed. Once, she and Nihil had been like that—hungry for one another, insatiable in their lust and power. But that time had passed. Now, she was hardened, and he was nothing more than a stranger. The man who had once made her feel alive, like the centre of the universe, was now a vile reminder of her greatest mistake.

But it wasn’t only heartbreak that festered within her. No, it was rage. Pure, seething rage. The kind that simmered just beneath the surface, spreading like poison through her veins. He would never have her again. She would make sure of it.

Her hand drifted to the small, yet undeniable swell of her belly. Nihil’s child. The truth gnawed at her, twisting inside her as fiercely as the crashing waves below the cliffs. But she forced herself to push it down. She was here for a reason. To rebuild. To forget. And above all, to protect the secret she now carried. Her child would be the key. A weapon, even. No one could know the truth. There were already three legitimate sons bearing Nihil’s name, each one a pawn in the Ministry’s game, each one vying for the power they were promised. The cardinals surrounding Nihil—those treacherous, sycophantic men—plotted and schemed, already choosing their favourite son to inherit the Satanic throne.

A fourth child, another heir, would upset everything. And with her, it was even more dangerous. She had always been a threat in their eyes—too clever, too calculating. Too much like them. If her child were to live, to survive the ruthless power games that defined the Ministry, they would be hunted. The cardinals knew her well enough to fear what she could do, and they feared even more what her child might become. Another bastard, perhaps. But hers would be different. Hers would have true power, and she would make sure of it.

Let the cardinals keep their favourite sons and their political games. Let them play their petty power struggles. None of them would see her coming. Not until it was too late.

Satan forbid a woman should ever have true control in the Ministry. That was what they feared. But Sister Imperator had no intention of fading into the shadows—not after everything that had been taken from her. She would bide her time, just as she always had. She would survive, as she had always done. And then, when the time was right—when they had all grown complacent and arrogant—she would strike. Her child—his child—would ascend. They would take everything those pompous, self-satisfied men held dear, and she would watch with satisfaction as their carefully constructed world crumbled around them.

Revenge would be sweet. But it would require patience. The anger within her was enough to fuel her for years, if necessary. Let them scheme. Let them smirk in their dimly lit rooms, thinking they had won. She would let them believe it, for now. She had endured worse. She had been forged in fire long before they had tried to burn her.

Nihil. That man - that bastard. He would pay for what he had done. For everything. One way or another, she would make sure of it.

With a final, determined step, she began her walk towards the abbey. The wind howled behind her, but she didn’t flinch. The storm inside her was far stronger.

Her suitcase was small but weighed her down with every step, its worn leather handle digging into her palm. It was a pitiful thing, containing only the bare essentials—clothes, a few keepsakes, and the documents she needed to disappear—but it felt as though it carried the weight of the entire Ministry within it. Every step towards the abbey felt heavier than the last, as though the memories of what she had left behind were clinging to her, dragging her through the dusty streets of Cassis.

She hadn’t brought much with her. There was no need for the trappings of her old life—nothing to remind her of the man she had loved, the man who had broken her in ways she hadn’t understood until it was too late. It was as though, by shedding the layers of her past, she could escape the grip Nihil still had on her. Yet, the weight wasn’t just in her suitcase. It was in her heart. In the sharp sting of betrayal that stabbed with every breath.

She came to the Abbaye des Ombres Infernales (abbey of the Infernal Shadows) to have the baby, like a Catholic teenager sent away to keep the family from shame. This place was meant to be a refuge, a sanctuary hidden from the prying eyes of the Ministry and the cardinals who would see her child as an affront to their power. Here, she would be free from the judgments of men who deemed her too dangerous, too ambitious. Yet, as she stepped onto the grounds, a sense of foreboding settled in her gut, a reminder that secrets have a way of creeping out from the shadows.

The abbey loomed majestically against the sky, its silhouette stark and imposing against the backdrop of the darkening clouds. Built from ancient stones that had weathered centuries of storms and whispers, the abbey exuded a sense of timelessness. The gothic architecture, with its pointed arches and intricate carvings, drew the eye upward, while its tall, narrow windows seemed to gaze down with a watchful presence, framing glimpses of the turbulent sea beyond.

Gargoyles perched upon the edges of the roof, their grotesque forms both menacing and captivating, appearing as sentinels guarding the secrets held within. Ivy and wild vines clung to the stones, creeping up the walls like nature’s embrace, softening the harsh lines of the structure while also hinting at its long history.

As Imperator approached, the heavy wooden doors came into view, adorned with ironwork that hinted at both beauty and danger. They were slightly ajar, creaking softly as the sea breeze swept through the entrance, inviting yet foreboding. The courtyard beyond was a tangle of crumbling statues and overgrown gardens, remnants of a once-proud sanctuary now surrendered to time. Weeds intertwined with the stone paths, their wild growth echoing the chaos within Imperator’s heart.

The air was thick with the scent of salt and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering fragrance of incense. The distant crash of waves below resonated like a heartbeat, a constant reminder of the tumultuous world just beyond the abbey’s walls. Here, on the edge of the cliffs, the abbey stood defiant against the elements, a sanctuary steeped in mystery and shadow—a place where Imperator hoped to find refuge and reclaim her strength amidst the storm brewing within her.

As Sister Imperator stepped inside the Abbaye des Ombres Infernales, she was enveloped by a hushed silence that seemed to wrap around her like a shroud. The air was cool and thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the faint aroma of damp stone. Flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows along the walls, illuminating the rich, textured surfaces while leaving dark corners untouched, whispering secrets from ages past.

The entryway was adorned with tall, arched ceilings that soared above her, each curve and angle a testament to the skill of the artisans who had crafted this sanctuary. As she moved deeper into the abbey, her footsteps echoed softly on the polished stone floor, a rhythmic reminder of her solitary journey. The dimness seemed to press against her, a tangible weight that both comforted and unsettled her.

To her left, a narrow corridor led to the chapel, its heavy wooden doors slightly ajar. The soft glow of candlelight seeped through the cracks, inviting her closer. Intrigued, she stepped into the chapel, where the atmosphere shifted, becoming almost sacred. The altar stood at the far end, draped in dark fabrics that absorbed the light, while a multitude of candles flickered in reverence, their flames swaying as if in prayer. Stained glass windows adorned the walls, casting fragmented rainbows onto the stone floor, each shard of colour telling a story of faith and longing.

The chapel felt alive, filled with the echoes of prayers whispered in desperation and hope. Sister Imperator paused, allowing the silence to envelop her, grounding her amid the turmoil of her thoughts. Here, in this sacred space, she could almost imagine the weight of the world lifting from her shoulders.

Continuing her exploration, she found herself in the living quarters. Simple yet functional, the room featured a small bed draped with heavy blankets, a wooden writing desk facing the window, and a chair that seemed to invite quiet reflection. The window framed a breathtaking view of the sea, its restless waves crashing against the cliffs—a constant reminder of the turmoil that lay beyond the abbey’s walls.

As she sat at the desk, she traced her fingers over the rough surface, feeling the history embedded in the wood. The walls were bare, save for a few religious icons and symbols that seemed to watch her with solemn eyes. They were silent witnesses to her struggles, her hopes, and her fears.

She pushed her way into the chapel, fighting with the door and her suitcase. “Bonjour,” she called out, breathless from her hike. Her voice echoed back to her off the chapel walls, but as she studied the room, she found no one was in there save a statue of the Dark Lord Himself. At least He was a sight for sore eyes.

She pushed her way into the chapel, fighting with the door and her suitcase. “Bonjour,” she called out, breathless from her hike. Her voice echoed back to her off the chapel walls, but as she studied the room, she found no one was there save a statue of the Dark Lord Himself. At least He was a sight for sore eyes…

Just as she stepped further inside, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. Imperator turned to see a woman emerging from the shadows, her silhouette framed by the dim light filtering through the stained glass. The woman wore a simple habit, the fabric dark and modest, yet there was an air of grace about her.

“Bonjour,” the woman said, her voice smooth and melodic, tinged with a gentle warmth. “Je suis Sœur Élodie, la gardienne de l’abbaye.”

Sœur Élodie, the guardian of the abbey.

Sister Imperator took a moment to collect herself, feeling the weight of her journey in her bones. “I’m Sister Imperator,” she replied, her French laced with a slight American accent. “I’ve come to stay.”

Élodie nodded, her expression curious yet kind. “Nous vous accueillons. It is rare to have visitors here,” she said, glancing at the statue of the Dark Lord, then back at Sister Imperator. Hearing the accent, she switched to English. “You must be weary after your travels. The abbey can be a place of peace… or reflection, depending on what you seek.”

“Both, I suppose,” Sister Imperator replied, her eyes scanning the chapel once more. “I need to think… to find some clarity.”

Élodie’s gaze softened, understanding the weight behind her words. “Come,” she gestured towards a nearby bench, inviting her to sit. “Let us talk. There is much to share, and the shadows here hold many stories.”

As Imperator settled onto the worn wooden bench, she felt the heaviness of her journey begin to lift slightly, replaced by the promise of companionship and the hope of what lay ahead.

Sister Imperator settled onto the worn wooden bench, her suitcase resting heavily beside her, a reminder of the past she was desperate to leave behind. She glanced at Élodie, who regarded her with a gentle yet piercing curiosity that made her instinctively pull her shoulders back.

“Merci,” Sister Imperator said, acknowledging the invitation but keeping her distance, wary of the warmth radiating from Élodie. “I appreciate the welcome, but I’d rather keep to myself.”

Sœur Élodie nodded, her expression unwavering. “Je comprends. Many who come here seek solitude. But sometimes, sharing a burden can lighten the heart, no? What brings you to the Abbaye des Ombres Infernales?”

Imperator hesitated, weighing her words carefully. “A need for… discretion. And a chance to escape.” She kept her voice steady, revealing as little as possible, even as Élodie’s gaze bore into her.

“Discretion?” Sœur Élodie repeated, her brow furrowing slightly. “We all have our reasons. It is a place of refuge, yes, but the walls here have ears.”

Sister Imperator’s heart raced at the implication. “I’m not here to share my story,” she replied, her tone sharper than intended. “I seek only to be left alone.”

“Ah, mais pourquoi?” Sœur Élodie leaned forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “You do not have to face your demons alone. The shadows can be heavy, and it is easy to feel lost within them.”

Imperator narrowed her eyes, feeling the walls around her heart solidify further. “And what makes you think I have demons to face?”

Élodie offered a small, knowing smile. “Everyone does. It is what makes us human. We cannot escape them, but we can learn to carry them.”

“I didn’t come here for a lesson on humanity,” Sister Imperator shot back, her defensiveness rising. “I’m not looking for your understanding or compassion.”

“D’accord,” Sœur Élodie replied, her voice calm and soothing, unfazed by Imperator’s harshness. “But I am here, should you choose to speak. Sometimes, it is the simplest act of sharing a moment that can lead to understanding. Perhaps you carry more than just your suitcase.”

Sister Imperator’s grip on her suitcase tightened, her knuckles whitening. Siser Élodie’s words struck a chord deep within her, stirring a storm of emotions she had fought to keep at bay. “I’m not ready for that,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “Not yet.”

“C’est bien,” Élodie said softly. “Take your time. Just know that this place can be more than a hiding spot. It can be a home, if you let it.”

Imperator looked away, her eyes tracing the intricate designs of the stained glass windows. The flickering candlelight played tricks on her vision, casting shadows that felt familiar, yet foreign. “I don’t belong anywhere,” she murmured, more to herself than to Élodie.

“You do belong here, in this moment,” Sœur Élodie reassured her, her voice like a warm embrace. “Even the darkest night will pass, and a new dawn will break. You are not alone, Sœur Imperator.”

Imperator glanced at Élodie, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. All she found was the gentle resolve of someone who understood the burden of secrets. “Thank you,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to think. To figure out what comes next.”

“Of course,” Sœur Élodie replied, rising from the bench with a graceful nod. “I will be nearby if you need anything. Just remember, the shadows here can be both friends and foes.”

Élodie stood and clapped her hands, the sound echoing off the chapel walls. “Come, come. I shall take you to the abbess. She will help you more than I can. Then, I will… what do you say? ‘Get out of your hair.’”

Sister Imperator regarded Élodie with a mixture of curiosity and reluctance. “The abbess? I didn’t come here for guidance,” she replied, her tone firm, though she couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of intrigue at the mention of the abbess.

Élodie laughed softly. “Maybe you did not come for guidance, but you certainly need a room. And, we need to know you are here for your meals, non?” She held out her hand. “Come. The abbess won’t bite, unless you ask her to, of course.”

Imperator hesitated, her instincts screaming to keep her distance, to maintain the barriers she had built around herself. Yet, there was something about Sœur Élodie’s easy confidence that stirred a reluctant curiosity within her. Perhaps it was the way the light fell on the other woman’s features, casting soft shadows that hinted at the kindness lurking just beneath the surface.

“What if I refuse?” she asked, a challenge masked as a question.

Élodie shrugged, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then you may remain here, alone, and I will have to bring you meals in secret like a wayward child. But I assure you, the abbess is not like the cardinals you may be used to. She is wise and will not judge you, I promise.”

The mention of the cardinals sent a shiver down Sister Imperator’s spine. The machinations of men cloaked in authority were nothing she cared to relive. But the idea of solitude in this unfamiliar place also filled her with unease. Perhaps she needed to engage with someone who knew this sanctuary better than she did.

With a reluctant sigh, she took Élodie’s hand. “Lead the way,” she said, her voice lacking the defiance she usually wore like armor.

“Voilà!” Sœur Élodie exclaimed, a bright smile illuminating her features. “This way, then.”

They stepped out of the chapel into the cool air, and Imperator felt a rush of trepidation mingled with anticipation. The abbey loomed ahead, a structure both foreboding and inviting. As they walked, Élodie began to speak animatedly about the abbey’s history, her voice punctuating the silence of the cloisters with snippets of laughter and anecdotes.

“…and the last abbess was a formidable woman, a true force of nature! They say she could silence a room with just a glance. But she was kind, always offering wisdom with her sharp tongue.” Élodie glanced sideways at Imperator, gauging her reaction. “You may find her quite… enlightening.”

“Or terrifying,” Sister Imperator replied dryly, her heart racing with both excitement and dread.

Élodie chuckled again, the sound warm and infectious. “Perhaps a bit of both! But you will see, she has a way of drawing out what lies hidden within. The abbess has an eye for understanding the unspoken truths.”

Imperator’s stomach tightened at the prospect. “And what makes you think I have anything worth revealing?” she asked, her guard slipping back into place.

“Everyone has a story, Sœur Imperator,” Sœur Élodie said, her tone growing more serious. “It is simply a matter of whether you are ready to share it. But you will find that the abbess is skilled in the art of listening.”

As they approached the heavy wooden door of the abbess’s chambers, Imperator felt a rush of uncertainty. What would she reveal? Would the abbess see through her carefully constructed facade?

Before she could voice her concerns, Élodie knocked lightly on the door. “Abbesse,” she called, her voice bright, “I have someone for you.”

“Entrez,” came a voice from within, rich and warm, imbued with authority.

With a deep breath, Imperator stepped forward, her heart pounding in her chest. Whatever awaited her inside, she was determined to face it head-on—just as she had always done.

Months passed, and the bitter winds of winter gave way to the softer chill of spring, but the cold in Sister Imperator’s heart remained untouched. 1968 turned into 1969, and though the routines of the Abbaye des Ombres Infernales were now familiar, they offered little comfort. The quietness of the abbey, once soothing, now felt suffocating. She moved through the days with a practiced grace, settling into her new life among the nuns and acolytes, but the bitterness gnawed at her, a constant reminder of the betrayal she couldn’t forget.

Her body changed with the pregnancy, the curve of her belly growing more pronounced with each passing week. She caught sight of herself in the old, cracked mirror in her small room and felt a wave of conflicting emotions crash over her. Nihil’s child. The very thought still filled her with a toxic mixture of rage and sorrow. How had it come to this? How had she, once one of the most powerful women in the Ministry, ended up hiding in an abbey on the edge of the world, carrying the child of the man who had broken her heart?

The other sisters treated her kindly enough, but they kept their distance, sensing the storm that brewed behind her carefully guarded eyes. Even Sœur Élodie, with her light-hearted nature and occasional attempts to draw Imperator out of her shell, seemed to know when to leave her alone. There were days when Imperator would spend hours walking the cliffs, staring out at the crashing waves below, trying to drown out the haunting images of Nihil with that other Sister of Sin, their passion a cruel echo of what she had once shared with him.

The abbess, however, was a different story. Abbesse Margaux was a woman of few words, but her presence was commanding, her gaze sharp and all-seeing. She never pried, never asked questions that Sister Imperator wasn’t ready to answer, but she was always there, quietly watching, waiting for the moment when Imperator would be ready to speak.

And though Imperator resisted, there were moments—brief, fleeting moments—where she wondered if the abbess saw more than she let on. There were times when the abbess would catch her eye, a knowing glint in her gaze that made Imperator’s skin crawl with the sensation of being seen, truly seen, in a way she hadn’t been in years.

But she was far from trusting anyone here. The betrayal that had brought her to this place was still too raw, too painful. She couldn’t allow herself to open up, to show her vulnerability. Not again. The Ministry had taught her that lesson well—trust no one. The scars of those days ran deep, and even in the sanctuary of the abbey, she clung to her bitterness like a shield.

As the days turned into months, Sister Imperator found herself counting down the weeks until the baby’s arrival. Her plan was simple—give birth, recover, and then leave. Disappear, just as she had always intended. The Ministry, Nihil, the cardinals—they would never find her. She would make sure of it. And once she was gone, she would raise the child on her own terms, far from the poisonous influence of the Satanic throne and its political games.

But the bitterness lingered, an ever-present ache that clouded her thoughts. No matter how far she ran, no matter how deeply she buried herself in the solitude of the abbey, she couldn’t escape the betrayal. It was there in every quiet moment, in every whispered prayer, in the silence of the nights when the wind howled through the corridors. And it festered, like a wound that refused to heal.

She would never forgive Nihil. Not for what he had done to her. Not for what he had taken from her. And though the baby stirred inside her, a constant reminder of what she carried, her heart remained cold. She was alone in this. She had always been alone. And perhaps, that was how it was meant to be.

Sister Imperator may have settled into her new life, but the past was a shadow that followed her wherever she went. And deep down, she knew that no matter how far she ran, it would catch up with her eventually.

In all that time, she met you—someone else who had escaped the Ministry and sought solace with the Sisters of the Infernal Shadows. You had come to the abbey not out of guilt or shame, but as a rebellion against the life you once led. The Ministry had its grip on you too, though in different ways, and now you both found yourselves among the flickering candles and cold stone walls, seeking sanctuary in the unlikeliest of places.

Your paths crossed in the chapel one afternoon, the sunlight filtering through the stained glass, casting colourful patterns on the floor. Sister Imperator was lost in thought, staring at the statue of the Dark Lord, her expression distant and guarded. You approached her quietly, the soft rustle of your robe barely breaking the stillness.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you ventured, nodding toward the statue, though your gaze was fixed on her. “He is always watching over us, I suppose.”

She turned to you, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face with suspicion. “Is that what you believe? That He cares?” Her tone was sharp, a defensive barrier she instinctively put up against anyone who dared to breach her solitude.

You held her gaze, unflinching. “I think it’s a matter of perspective. We’ve all come here for a reason. Perhaps He offers us more than we know.”

Her expression softened just a fraction, curiosity igniting a spark behind her guarded facade. “And what reason brought you here?”

You hesitated, the weight of your past heavy on your shoulders. “I was running from Nihil, too. I had to escape his grasp, his control. And all the women he could get pregnant. I thought I could find some peace among the Sisters.”

Imperator froze, surprised that you somehow knew her backstory.

“Relax,” you told her, “you’re not the only one he’s fucked and fucked over.”

Sister Imperator’s posture stiffened at your words, her dark eyes flashing with a mix of shock and defensiveness. “You don’t know anything about me,” she retorted, her voice low but taut, as if bracing for a fight.

“Maybe not everything,” you replied, taking a step closer, your voice steady and calm. “But I know enough to understand the weight you carry. Nihil leaves a trail of broken hearts and lives in his wake.”

Her expression hardened again, a flicker of anger igniting within her. “You presume to know my pain, yet you have no idea of the depths of my suffering. He took everything from me.”

“Did he?” you pressed gently, wanting her to see that you shared this bond, however tenuous it might be. “Or did you give it willingly? The Ministry, the power struggles—it’s all a game, and we were both players. The difference is that we’ve chosen to walk away.”

She regarded you with a mixture of frustration and intrigue, as if caught in a web of conflicting emotions. “Walking away doesn’t erase what’s happened. I still carry the scars.”

“Scars can be a reminder of battles fought and survived, not just wounds left to fester,” you countered, refusing to back down. “You’re here now. This is your chance to reshape your life, to find your own path.”

Sister Imperator’s gaze shifted to the stained glass, the sunlight illuminating her features in a soft glow. “And what if I don’t know how?”

“Then we figure it out together.” Your words hung in the air, thick with the weight of possibility. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and the Sisters are here. We can build something new, something powerful.”

Her walls began to crumble ever so slightly, a faint glimmer of hope piercing through her hardened exterior. “And what makes you think I can trust you?”

You shrugged, a small, genuine smile breaking through your seriousness. “Trust takes time, but I won’t betray you. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned. To feel used.”

Her expression softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of running.”

“Then stop running,” you urged, stepping even closer, closing the distance between you. “Stay. Fight with me. For what you want, for what you deserve.”

Sister Imperator studied you for a long moment, the storm within her shifting. “What if I fail?”

“Then we rise together,” you replied firmly. “We learn. We adapt. But I won’t let you fall alone. We’ll be stronger together.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken promises and shared burdens. Finally, she sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a touch. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Nothing worth having ever is,” you admitted. “But I believe in you. I see strength beneath that guarded exterior. Let’s unearth it together.”

Her lips curved into a tentative smile, the first sign of warmth you had witnessed from her since your arrival. “Perhaps I’ll consider it.”

“Good,” you said, returning her smile. “That’s all I ask.”

As you both stood together in the dim chapel, the shadows and light mingling, an unspoken bond began to form, a flicker of connection in a place where darkness had once reigned. In that moment, it felt as if you could both step away from the chains that had bound you, reclaiming your lives amid the flickering candles and whispered prayers of the abbey. Together, you would face whatever came next.

Somehow, some way, you got Sister Imperator to open up about what had happened. It began with simple conversations in the chapel, your voices mingling with the sound of distant waves crashing against the cliffs. At first, she was reluctant, her words laced with bitterness and guardedness, but gradually the floodgates began to crack.

You learned about her relationship with Nihil—how it had started as a whirlwind of passion and power, two souls entwined in a dance that felt unstoppable at first. But as she shared her story, you could hear the fractures in her voice, the way her heart had been shattered by betrayal.

“He was everything to me,” she had confessed one afternoon, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But now… now he feels like a ghost. A terrible, haunting memory.”

You listened, offering support without judgment, and she began to understand that it was safe to lay her burdens down. The more she spoke, the lighter her heart seemed to grow, even if just a fraction. And in those moments of vulnerability, a spark began to light between the two of you.

It was subtle at first—shared laughter over mundane tasks, stolen glances that lingered a moment too long. You’d catch her watching you when she thought you weren’t looking, her expression a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something that hinted at the possibility of connection.

One evening, as twilight descended upon the abbey, you found yourselves side by side on a stone bench outside, wrapped in the comforting chill of the night air. The stars twinkled overhead, and the moon bathed the world in a silvery glow. The peacefulness of the moment enveloped you both, and it felt like a reprieve from the turmoil of your pasts.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, not wanting to break the fragile spell of intimacy that hung between you.

She hesitated, her gaze focused on the moonlight dancing across the cobblestones. “About how different my life is now. I was so consumed by anger and pain… but here, it feels like I can breathe again.”

You nodded, sensing the vulnerability in her words. “And what do you want to do with that breath?”

She turned to look at you, her expression shifting. “I want to reclaim what’s mine—my power, my choices. And perhaps… maybe even find a little joy along the way.”

There was a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken emotions. Your heart raced as you felt the weight of her gaze, the intensity in her eyes igniting something within you. “You deserve that,” you said softly, reaching out to place your hand over hers. “And I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she seemed to lean into your touch, her fingers curling around yours. “What if I let you in, and I end up getting hurt again?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” you promised, your heart pounding. “You’re not alone anymore. I won’t let you fall. Not this time.”

Sister Imperator’s lips curved into a tentative smile, a flicker of warmth breaking through her hardened exterior. In that moment, the distance between you shrank, and the spark ignited into something more—a fragile yet undeniable connection, built on shared pain and hope for a better future.

As the night deepened around you, the air thick with unsaid words and the electric tension between you, Sister Imperator shifted slightly closer. The warmth of her body radiated against the chill of the evening, and your heart raced as you dared to maintain your gaze locked on hers.

“Do you really mean what you said?” she asked, her voice a hushed whisper, almost lost in the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. “That you won’t let me fall?”

You nodded, your breath hitching in your throat. “Absolutely. I promise.”

Her eyes softened, and for the first time, the walls she had built around her heart seemed to crack just enough for vulnerability to seep through. “Then maybe… maybe it’s time I stop running.”

With a courageous breath, she closed the gap between you, her gaze flicking to your lips, and in that instant, the world around you faded away. It felt as if time had come to a standstill—the moon hung low, casting a gentle glow over the two of you, the abbey looming in the background, silent and watchful.

And then, with a sweetness that took you both by surprise, she leaned in. Her lips brushed against yours softly, tentative at first, as if testing the waters of this new territory. A thrill coursed through you, a warmth spreading from your fingertips to the core of your being, igniting a fire you had thought long extinguished.

The kiss deepened, and you found yourselves enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and tenderness. Her lips moved against yours with a hesitant urgency, each touch a promise, each breath a quiet confession of everything you had both fought to suppress. The weight of her pain, her past, and your own seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by an overwhelming sense of connection that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

As you pulled away, your foreheads resting against one another, you could see the vulnerability reflected in her dark eyes, a mixture of surprise and a burgeoning hope. “Wow,” she breathed, a soft laugh escaping her lips, as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own breath slightly ragged. “Wow.”

The moment hung between you, pregnant with possibilities and the unspoken truths that lay ahead. In that kiss, you had shared more than just a fleeting connection; you had exchanged pieces of your souls, two fractured hearts finding solace in one another.

“He didn’t deserve you, you know,” you told her, matter-of-factly.

“Don’t talk about him,” she replied, “not now.”

Imperator leaned forward and captured you in another kiss, this one more passionate than the first.

The intensity of her kiss deepened, each brush of her lips igniting a fire within you that spread like wildfire. You could feel the world around you fade into obscurity as the warmth of her body pressed against yours, enveloping you both in a cocoon of desire.

Her hands found their way to your waist, fingers digging in slightly as if to pull you closer, grounding herself in this moment. The urgency in her kiss spoke volumes, a silent declaration that despite everything—despite the past, the betrayal, and the burdens each of you carried—this connection was something worth pursuing.

As she leaned into you, her body arching, you caught a glimpse of vulnerability behind her intensity. There was an undercurrent of desperation in the way she kissed you, an aching need that seemed to spill over from her heart into yours. In that moment, you wanted to assure her that she was safe, that you would protect her, both from the ghosts of her past and the unknowns of the future.

With a shiver of anticipation, she responded to you, her lips crashing against yours with renewed fervour. As the kiss deepened, her hands roamed from your waist to your back, fingers splaying against your skin, pulling you closer still. You could feel the heat radiating from her, the unmistakable tension rising between you, and it sent a rush of excitement through your veins.

In a moment of daring, you let your hands wander down to her abdomen, resting gently against the small curve of her belly. It felt like a gesture both intimate and daring, a spark of something primal and deeply intimate. The thought slipped into your mind—a wild fantasy, perhaps—but you couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if the circumstances were different.

The thought danced just on the edge of your consciousness, a tantalising whisper that hinted at what could be. The idea of her carrying a child—your child—sent a bolt of heat coursing through you. “What if…?” you started, breathless, but the words hung in the air, unfinished and heavy with implications.

Sister Imperator froze for a moment, the intensity of your touch drawing her focus away from the kiss. “What if what?” she asked, her breath catching, curiosity mixed with something deeper—a yearning perhaps?

You met her gaze, the weight of your shared desires pressing in on you. “What if we let go of the past?” you whispered, letting your hand linger on her belly for a heartbeat longer. “What if we opened ourselves up to the future?”

Her eyes darkened, filled with a mix of longing and apprehension. “You think it’s that easy?” she replied, though her voice lacked the bite it had held moments earlier.

“It can be,” you urged, your voice low and insistent. “If we choose to take that leap together.”

The tension in the air crackled like electricity, and as you leaned in to kiss her again, you could feel her responding to the unspoken promises that lay between you. It was a kiss that spoke of hope, of possibilities yet to come.

As you pulled away, breathless and charged with an energy that felt almost tangible, you caught the flicker of something new in her eyes—an ember of trust beginning to glow amid the ashes of her past. With each kiss, each gentle caress, the barriers she had built were slowly crumbling, allowing you both to step into uncharted territory.

You gently helped Sister Imperator off the bench, your fingers brushing against her waist as you led her away from the chapel, leaving behind the quiet sanctuary of shadows and stained glass. The dim light of the abbey guided your steps, a soft glow illuminating the path ahead as you made your way toward your room.

The air was thick with unspoken words, a tension simmering just beneath the surface. With each step, you could feel her pulse quickening beside you, and a thrill of anticipation surged through your veins. The walls of the abbey seemed to close in, wrapping you both in a cocoon of secrecy, a place where the world outside couldn’t intrude on the moment you were about to share.

As you reached your door, you hesitated for a heartbeat, casting a glance back at her. “Are you sure about this?” you asked, your voice a low murmur. The last thing you wanted was to push her into something she wasn’t ready for, but the desire burning between you felt undeniable.

She met your gaze, her eyes dark and inviting, a flicker of determination igniting within. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her voice steady yet laced with a hint of vulnerability.

With a nod, you opened the door and stepped inside, holding it for her as she crossed the threshold. The room was modest, a simple bed covered in crisp white linens, a small desk in the corner, and a window that overlooked the sprawling cliffs. Yet, in that moment, it felt like a sanctuary—a space where you could explore the depths of your connection without the weight of the outside world pressing down on you.

Once inside, you closed the door softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You turned to her, your heart racing as you took in the sight of her. She stood there, silhouetted by the dim light, her expression a mix of longing and anticipation.

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, charged with electric energy. “I want to be here for you,” you said, your voice low and earnest. “I want to help you find peace.”

“Peace?” she echoed, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Is that what you think this is?”

“It can be,” you replied, taking another step toward her, your hands reaching out to cradle her face gently. “If we let it.”

As your fingers brushed against her skin, you could feel the warmth radiating from her, a heat that ignited your desire all over again. Her breath caught in her throat, and you could see the way her body responded to your touch—how the tension in her shoulders eased, how her lips parted slightly as if inviting you in.

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a soft, lingering kiss. This time, it was different—deeper, more intimate, as if the world outside had completely faded away. The kiss tasted of promises unspoken, of a future that hung delicately in the balance.

Sister Imperator melted against you, her body pressing into yours as you deepened the kiss. It was a dance of exploration, a tentative yet fervent exchange that ignited every nerve ending within you. As you pulled her closer, you felt her hands weaving through your hair, pulling you in as if trying to erase the distance that had kept you apart for so long.

You took a step back, your heart racing as you regarded her. The soft light in the room danced across her features, highlighting the delicate curves of her body. A warmth flooded through you, an overwhelming desire to draw her closer, to peel away the layers that separated you.

“Let me,” you whispered, your voice low and inviting. You reached for the buttons of her robe, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. Slowly, you began to unfasten them, revealing the fabric that clung to her skin beneath. With each button you released, you felt the weight of your shared tension rising, the air thick with unspoken longing.

As you pushed the robe aside, your breath hitched at the sight of her. The fabric fell to the floor, pooling at her feet like the remnants of her past. There she stood, clad in a simple chemise that hugged her body, accentuating her curves in the soft glow of the room. You took a moment to admire her, your eyes tracing the lines of her figure, the way the delicate fabric clung to her.

With a sense of reverence, you reached out, fingertips grazing her waist as you brushed your lips against the hem of her chemise. “May I?” you murmured, seeking permission as your gaze locked onto hers, silently asking if she was ready to unveil the rest of herself to you.

She nodded, a breathless whisper escaping her lips. With careful deliberation, you began to pull the chemise over her head, your fingers gliding along her skin as the fabric slipped away. As it fell to the floor, you felt your breath catch at the sight before you.

Her body was beautiful, a testament to the life growing within her. The swell of her belly was captivating, the curves soft and inviting. The way her skin glowed in the dim light, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, ignited a fire deep within you. You couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly attractive she was, a vision of beauty and strength.

“Holy shit, you’re stunning,” you breathed, your voice filled with awe. Your hands traveled over the gentle curve of her belly, feeling the warmth radiate from her skin. “This—” you gestured toward her form, “—is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She looked down at herself, a mixture of pride and vulnerability washing over her. “You really think so?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty, but you could see the flicker of joy in her eyes.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your hands now resting possessively on her hips. “You’re a goddess. The way your body carries this life—it’s incredible. I want to worship every part of you.”

As you spoke, your fingers traced the delicate lines of her waist, savoring the softness of her skin. You leaned closer, your lips brushing against her stomach, planting gentle kisses along the curve. The intimacy of the moment was electrifying, and you could feel her shiver beneath your touch, her breath hitching as you explored the contours of her body.

You wanted to make her feel cherished, to revel in the beauty of what was unfolding between you. Each kiss, each caress was filled with a tender reverence for her, the life she carried, and the undeniable connection that drew you together.

You gently guided her to the bed, your hands cradling her as you laid her down on the soft linens. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in this sacred space. Her skin glowed in the dim light, and the sight of her—vulnerable and inviting—made your heart race with a mix of desire and tenderness.

You leaned over her, your body hovering just above hers, as you caught her gaze, a silent promise lingering in the air between you. “Just relax,” you whispered, brushing your fingers lightly along her jawline before trailing down to her collarbone, savouring the warmth of her skin beneath your touch.

As you explored her body with your lips, you felt an overwhelming urge to taste her, to discover every hidden pleasure she held. You began with her neck, kissing a delicate line from her collarbone to just beneath her ear. The soft gasps that escaped her lips spurred you on, a symphony of encouragement that filled you with confidence.

You moved lower, your kisses trailing down her body, taking your time to savour every inch of her skin. Your hands found their way to her belly, cradling the gentle curve as you pressed your lips against it, feeling the warmth and life within her. It was a profound connection—one that made you feel as though you were worshipping her, every kiss a devotion to her beauty and strength.

When you finally reached her core, you paused for a moment, looking up at her with a mixture of desire and reverence. Her cheeks were flushed, her breaths quickening as she anticipated what was to come. You couldn’t help but smirk at the effect you had on her, the way her body responded to your touch.

With slow, deliberate movements, you parted her thighs, revealing the glistening warmth that awaited you. You leaned in closer, your breath brushing against her sensitive skin, eliciting a shiver from her. You took your time, letting your tongue tease her, exploring her with a tantalising slowness that made her writhe beneath you.

Each taste of her was intoxicating, and you could feel the electric energy coursing through your veins. The way she arched her back, the little moans escaping her lips, pushed you deeper into a trance of pleasure and longing. You wanted to give her everything, to take her to the heights of ecstasy while enjoying the soft, sweet taste of her.

As you continued, your hands roamed over her curves, feeling the way her body responded to your every touch. The connection between you deepened, each kiss and lick a testament to the bond you were forging, the intimacy growing stronger with every moment. You lost yourself in her, in the way she surrendered to pleasure, in the way her body seemed to hum with desire as you tasted her, savouring every second.

You continued your exploration, fully aware of how sensitive her body had become due to the pregnancy. Every touch, every kiss seemed to spark a heightened awareness within her. The swell of her belly was more than just a physical manifestation of life; it was a source of incredible sensitivity, and you could feel the way it reacted to your ministrations.

As your lips trailed along her skin, you noticed how even the lightest brush of your fingertips sent ripples of sensation coursing through her. You kissed along the delicate curve of her belly, and she gasped softly, the sound a sweet melody that encouraged you to linger longer. You could feel the warmth radiating from her, the life within her thrumming with energy, heightening every sensation and amplifying her pleasure.

With each kiss, you felt the tightness of her skin, soft and tender, as though it had become more attuned to every sensation. You could see her breathing quicken, her eyes fluttering shut as you moved lower, your lips brushing against the fabric of her chemise before you pulled it aside to fully reveal her body.

As you tasted her, you noticed that even the most innocent of touches sent waves of pleasure through her. Her thighs quivered under your hands, and when your fingers danced along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she gasped, arching her back as if to draw you closer. You took your time, relishing the way her body responded to every kiss, every flick of your tongue, the soft whimpers escaping her lips revealing just how intensely she felt everything.

You could feel how her nipples had grown more sensitive, too, the delicate peaks begging for attention. You made your way up her body, kissing along her sides and up to her breasts, lavishing attention on the soft curves that felt so inviting. Each caress drew out a gasp or a shudder, her body arching toward you as if it craved your touch, your mouth, everything you had to offer.

You could see her vulnerability shining through, how the pregnancy had made her more open to pleasure, and it both thrilled and captivated you. As you explored her body, your hands glided over her skin, taking in the softness, the way she seemed to bloom under your touch, reveling in the sensations that coursed through her.

“Is this alright?” you asked softly, your breath hot against her skin, wanting to ensure she felt safe in this moment of intimacy.

“More,” she breathed, her voice thick with desire, her body eagerly responding as if the intensity of her pregnancy had unlocked a new realm of sensation.

You obeyed, diving back into your ministrations, your tongue flicking against her most sensitive spots. You could feel the energy build between you, and you knew that this connection was far more than just physical; it was a bond that transcended the moments you spent together, a mingling of bodies and souls that felt sacred and powerful. Every brush of your lips, every flick of your tongue, only deepened the intimacy, forging a path of pleasure that would take her to new heights.

As you lavished attention on her, you could feel the pulsing heat of desire radiating from Sister Imperator. Every gasp, every shudder that escaped her lips fueled your own longing, and you lost yourself in the rhythm of her body. Her sensitive skin was electric beneath your touch, igniting a fire within you that demanded to be sated.

You pulled back for a moment, your eyes locking onto hers, searching for consent and reassurance. The way her dark eyes glimmered with need was all the encouragement you needed. You dove back in, your mouth exploring the swell of her belly once more, kissing a trail down toward her thighs. The weight of her pregnancy made her look both delicate and incredibly alluring, each curve accentuated, every inch of her body a testament to the life she carried.

You continued your descent, trailing kisses along the soft skin of her thighs, relishing the way she quivered beneath you. Her legs parted instinctively, welcoming you closer. You could sense how acutely aware she was of every sensation, the way her body responded to you was intoxicating. The closer you got to her core, the more she writhed, her breath hitching in anticipation.

With a gentle touch, you caressed her sensitive folds, marveling at how warm and responsive she felt. The slightest pressure sent ripples of pleasure through her, and you could hear the breathy gasps escaping her lips, urging you on. You took your time, relishing the way her body reacted to your every movement. Your fingers played with her, exploring the slickness of her arousal, and her body writhed in response, each wave of pleasure causing her to tighten around you.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice laced with desperation, “I need more.”

Your heart raced at her plea, and you obliged, your tongue teasing her in slow, deliberate strokes. You felt her back arch in response, her hands finding their way to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulled you closer. Each flick of your tongue drew forth a moan, and you felt a swell of pride at being able to bring her such pleasure, especially in her state of heightened sensitivity.

You worked in tandem, your fingers joining your mouth, moving with practiced grace, coaxing her closer to the edge. Her body was a symphony of sensations, each note building toward a crescendo, and you wanted nothing more than to guide her through it. As your movements quickened, you could feel her thighs trembling, the tension in her body escalating with each passing moment.

“Almost there,” you murmured against her, the vibrations sending delicious shivers through her.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice a pleading whisper. The urgency in her tone pushed you further, the primal need for release palpable in the air around you.

Your fingers danced faster, your mouth working in a fervent rhythm, and you felt her body begin to clench around you, the build-up of pleasure cresting like a wave. The moans that fell from her lips were intoxicating, the sound driving you to continue, to push her higher. You watched her face, a mix of ecstasy and concentration as she surrendered to the sensations coursing through her.

“Let go,” you urged softly, your eyes locked onto hers as you felt her tighten around you.

With a final cry, Sister Imperator broke, her body quaking under the weight of her release. Waves of pleasure rippled through her, and you held her close, feeling the way she pulsed around your fingers, the warmth of her body enveloping you as you guided her through the aftershocks.

As she came down from the high, her breathing slowed, and she met your gaze, her eyes softening with affection and gratitude. In that moment, you both knew you had crossed a threshold together—one that intertwined your fates even deeper.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breathy and tender. “That was… incredible.”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You deserve it. All of it.”

As Sister Imperator came down from her high, her breath steadying, she looked at you with newfound hunger in her eyes. The warmth of her gaze ignited something deep within you, a shared desire that had been building between you both. Without breaking eye contact, she moved her hands to your waist, guiding you closer until you hovered above her, feeling the heat radiating from her body.

“Now it’s my turn,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, sending shivers down your spine. She expertly wrapped her fingers around your thighs, pulling you down onto her waiting hand. You gasped as her fingers found your most sensitive spots, teasing you with a light touch that sent electric jolts through your body.

You instinctively began to move, riding her fingers as they worked in tandem with your own need. Her touch was firm yet gentle, every stroke coaxing you closer to the edge. You found your rhythm, the desire swelling within you as you moved against her, lost in the sensations she created. The tension coiled tightly in your core, every roll of your hips pushing you further into the blissful abyss.

“Just like that,” she encouraged, her voice thick with lust. “Let me feel you.”

You leaned into her, allowing her fingers to explore your body as you succumbed to the pleasure. The way she played with you was exquisite—her fingers expertly curling, drawing out soft moans that echoed in the room. You found yourself increasingly captivated by her touch, the warmth of her skin against yours igniting a fire within you.

With each thrust of your hips, you felt the pleasure build in waves, the sensation growing more intense as you became lost in the moment. Sister Imperator’s eyes never left yours, their dark depths filled with a mix of desire and admiration. You could sense how the pregnancy heightened her sensitivity; her fingers trembled slightly as they worked to bring you closer to the brink.

The world outside faded, and all that mattered was the rhythm you created together. With each motion, you could feel her heart racing beneath your touch, the connection between you deepening as you surrendered to the bliss. You reveled in the intimacy of the moment, allowing yourself to be vulnerable in her presence.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” she breathed, her voice thick with lust. “I want to see you lose yourself.”

Her words sent a thrill through you, igniting a primal urge to please her. You quickened your pace, the heat between you rising to a fever pitch. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the pleasure building to an exquisite climax. Each glide of her fingers brought you closer, a soft reminder of her desire and the intimacy you were sharing.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m so close.”

“Then let go for me,” she urged, her fingers dancing expertly against you, guiding you to the edge. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

With her words echoing in your mind, you surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over you. The sensations swirled around you like a tempest, every nerve ending alive and pulsing with desire. You let go, riding her fingers as the ecstasy consumed you, the world falling away until all that remained was the bliss of your release. You cried out, the sound filling the room, as every sensation burst like fireworks behind your eyelids, a beautiful culmination of your desire and connection.

As you came down from the high, you collapsed onto her, your breath mingling in the space between you. Your heart raced as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you, a lingering reminder of the intensity you had just shared. In that moment, you felt truly alive, woven together by the strands of passion and intimacy that had blossomed in the sanctuary of the abbey.

Sister Imperator wrapped her arms around you, drawing you closer as if she wanted to absorb every ounce of warmth from your body. Her fingers gently stroked your hair, a tender gesture that contrasted with the rawness of what had just transpired. You could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong against your cheek, a comforting reminder that you were no longer alone.

“Are you alright?” she whispered, her voice soft and laced with concern, as if she were afraid that the moment had been too much.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming emotions swirling within you. The connection between you felt deeper now, a bond forged in vulnerability and shared pleasure. You looked up to meet her gaze, and in that moment, you saw not just a lover but a partner who understood the pain and the joy that life had to offer.

“More than alright,” you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I never imagined it could be like that.”

A playful glint sparked in her eyes, her confidence returning as she brushed a thumb over your cheek. “I can show you more, if you’d like.”

The spring of 1969 unfolded with a beauty that felt almost cruel in its brightness. Flowers burst into bloom outside the Abbaye des Ombres Infernales, the world alive with the vibrancy of life and the promise of new beginnings. Yet within the sanctuary of the abbey’s walls, a tempest brewed in Sister Imperator’s heart, a tumultuous blend of joy and sorrow that weighed heavily upon her.

The day of her delivery dawned bright and clear, but even the sun seemed to shine with a bittersweet glow. You stood by her side, a constant presence, holding her hand through every wave of pain and pleasure that coursed through her. The chapel, once a place of quiet contemplation, had transformed into a sacred space of labor and birth. Soft candlelight flickered, casting gentle shadows on the walls, while the scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the rawness of her emotions.

Imperator was a vision of strength and vulnerability as she laboured, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Each contraction drew her deeper into herself, and you watched as she fought through the pain, her face a tapestry of determination and resolve. The midwives, Sisters who had dedicated their lives to the care of others, moved around her with quiet confidence, offering words of encouragement and support.

“Breathe, Sœur,” one of them urged gently, her voice soothing as she wiped the sweat from Imperator’s brow. “You are strong. Just a little longer.”

With every push, you felt the weight of her struggle, the urgency of the moment hanging thick in the air. The joy of bringing new life into the world was underscored by the knowledge that this was only the beginning of an impending separation. You could see it in the way she clenched her jaw, the flicker of fear in her eyes as she considered the path ahead.

Finally, with a cry that echoed off the stone walls, the first baby emerged into the world, the midwives catching him with reverent hands. You held your breath, your heart racing as they laid him upon her chest, the warmth of his tiny body a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her. Imperator’s expression shifted from pain to pure, unfiltered joy as she gazed down at her son, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “He’s perfect.”

But as you watched the tenderness bloom in her gaze, your heart ached with the weight of what was to come. This moment of beauty was laced with an undercurrent of sadness, a poignant reminder that she would soon have to choose. The second baby followed shortly after, a squalling bundle of life that brought fresh waves of elation and despair. As they placed him in her arms, Imperator’s heart swelled, yet a shadow lingered behind her smile.

The days that followed were a delicate dance between joy and sorrow. Each moment spent cradling her sons felt like a stolen treasure, every coo and gurgle a reminder of the life she was building. You stayed close, offering your love and support, cherishing the fleeting hours spent together. Each smile she gave you was a balm for your heart, but the knowledge of her plans loomed like a spectre, darkening even the brightest moments.

As the boys grew, they filled the abbey with laughter and life, the echoes of their joy mingling with the solemnity of the surroundings. You watched Sister Imperator transform in front of your eyes, the fierce warrior you had come to admire softening into a nurturing mother. It was both beautiful and painful; every laugh, every milestone felt like a countdown to her departure.

On the last night before she would leave, you found her sitting in the small nursery, her gaze lost in thought as she watched her sons sleep. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a silvery glow over the room, illuminating the contours of her face, revealing the sadness etched there.

“___,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if I’m making the wrong choice?”

You stepped into the room, your heart aching at the sight of her, the woman who had brought such light into your life now consumed by doubt. “You’re doing what you believe is best for them, Imperator. But… it doesn’t have to be this way.”

She turned to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I wanted to keep them here, to raise them away from the Ministry’s grasp. But I cannot stay. I have my duty. I can’t abandon my brothers or the mission.”

“But at what cost?” you implored, stepping closer, desperate to bridge the chasm between you. “You’re leaving a part of yourself behind, and what if they need you? What if you need them?”

“I will always need them,” she replied, her voice breaking. “But my plans—”

“Your plans can change,” you interrupted, the intensity of your emotions spilling forth. “You have the power to decide your own path. We could be a family here. You don’t have to go back to Rome.”

The silence that followed was deafening, a chasm filled with unspoken truths. Her gaze fell back to the sleeping boys, her heart torn between two worlds. You could see the internal battle waging within her, the weight of her choices pressing down like an anchor.

She breathed your name, a mixture of longing and sorrow. “I can’t bear to leave them, yet I can’t let them be pawns in a game that could destroy them. I must take one with me. He will be safe under my care, but…” Her voice trailed off, thick with unshed tears.

You reached for her, your hand brushing against hers. “And what of the other? What will you do without him?”

“I can’t lose them both,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I must play my part. I must return to Rome, and when they are two, I’ll come back for one.”

Each word she spoke felt like a dagger to your heart, a stark reminder of the reality you both faced. The anguish of separation loomed over you like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf the fragile happiness you had built together.

“I wish things were different,” you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sank to your knees beside her. “I wish we could stay like this, together, as a family.”

Sister Imperator leaned down, her forehead resting against yours, sharing in the weight of your sorrow. “So do I. So do I.”

The finality of her decision hung heavy in the air, an unshakeable reality that neither of you could change. As the moon cast its silvery glow over the nursery, you both held onto each other, cherishing the love you had forged amidst the chaos. In that moment, you knew that the bond you shared would never truly fade, even as the distance threatened to tear you apart.

As dawn broke, painting the world in hues of gold, Sister Imperator prepared for her departure. The boys cooed softly in their crib, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the hearts of their mother and the woman who loved her. You stood beside her, your heart breaking as she held her sons, cradling them close, memorising every curve of their tiny bodies.

“I’ll come back for you,” she whispered, a promise laced with pain as she kissed their foreheads, sealing her love into their very beings. “I’ll return for one of you. You’ll never be alone. I’ll carry you in my heart.”

The moment felt suspended in time, an eternity captured in the embrace of a mother. But as she turned away, the weight of her choice settled upon you, and you knew that the love you shared would become both a beacon and a burden, a reminder of what could have been.

And as she walked away, taking a piece of your heart with her, you felt the ache of longing seep deep into your soul—a silent vow to hold onto the memory of the love you had shared, even as she forged a path that would lead her away from you, and towards an uncertain future.

Prev./Next

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

No pair of people hated each other more than you and Ghost. To him, you were just another loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and immature little princess needing to be humbled. To you, he was just a boring, broody asshole hellbent on not liking you. Things between you two couldn't be any worse. After pushing one too many of his buttons tonight, you and Ghost going off to have a quick smoke turns into something else entirely.

NSFW 18+, Explicit Content, Graphic, Romance, Drama, Porn with Plot, Hatemance, Enemies to Lovers, Toxic Relationships (That Grow), Eventual Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Fluff

Author's Note: This started out as a fun little two-parter, but I ended up really enjoying this dynamic I created, and I really want to use it as a chance to explore topics I don't see much in the fandom. And by that, I mean in a sense where I always see the Toxic Relationship Trope, but I want to see the "After" that comes from those kinds of relationships. Thus, that will be the central theme of this story.

I wanted to write about two self-destructive people who are too prideful and stubborn in their own ways to settle their easily solvable problems. In reality, they're too afraid to love each other because of who they are as people and their upbringings. However, I don't want this story to have a bad ending. Maybe it's escapism, but I want to write this where they find a way to overcome their problems, in a way that feels like they can grow from it. But as always, there's still gonna be messy drama too. ꒰ · ◡ · ꒱

Can Also be Read on AO3

Chapters with smut have this "🌶"!

Chapter summaries also included; a light spoiler warning if you skim ahead.

1 ~ Part One

No pair of people hated each other more than you and Ghost. To him, you were just another loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and immature little princess needing to be humbled. To you, he was just a boring, broody asshole hellbent on not liking you. Things between you two couldn't be any worse. And then, tonight happens…

2 ~ Part Two 🌶

You and Ghost going off to have a quick smoke turns into something else entirely, after pushing one too many of his buttons tonight.

*Kinktober Spinoff ~ A Game For the Dark 🌶

3 ~ Part Three 🌶

During a friendly game of Capture-the-Flag, you and Ghost take things to extreme, after a bet turns into something not so suitable for work...

Ghost isn't too happy about hearing that you've been seeing other men, as he sees fit to remind you why your eyes shouldn't wander.

4 ~ Part Four

You and Ghost were trying to keep your little fling a secret from the team. Low-key. Private. For a while, that was working.

5 ~ Part Five 🌶

After your car breaks down on you unexpectedly in the middle of the night, you're left with no choice but to call the only number left available to you... Ghost.

6 ~ Part Six

You expected Ghost to leave you before the morning; he usually does. However, you're surprised to see him rush to your aid after being woken up by violent night terrors. A sweet and unexpected moment between you, that only ends as quickly as it began.

7 ~ Part Seven // COMING SOON!!

I gathered the tracks I placed with each chapter, in case you wanted them for any reason (uwu)

( ˘▽˘)っ♨

[ironboyxs]

Love above everything

Fandom: The Conjuring

Pairing: Ed and Lorraine Warren & Son!Reader

Word count: 1858

Warnings: homophobia and internalized homophobia, but in the end everything turns out well

P.S. For anyone who grew up in abusive religious homes and wants to find comfort in this reading, you are not alone. And thanks to @jokekinsjoke505 for requesting this.

Also

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

- Hey son, how was school today? – Ed Warren asked as soon as his son got in the car.

- It was ok – (Y/N) replied.

(Y/N) was not ok.

He always felt there was something different inside him, always felt out of place. Since he was a child, the boys at school teased him for being the son of “psychics”, and for a while (Y/N) didn't care. Then he began to see and feel things, just like his mother. Sometimes he spent too much time staring into the void, which wasn't always empty, and things got worse.

But ever since he entered high school it was as if things had escalated from 100 to 1000 at breakneck speed. He was the boy with the creepy basement at home, the boy who could see ghosts, and now he was also the boy who liked boys.

And that terrified (Y/N) far more than any apparition or demon that could show itself to him. He could deal with disapproval at school, with not having friends, with everyone being a little afraid of him. But he couldn't handle his parents' disappointment, and it terrified him completely.

In the last month things seem to have gone downhill from 1000 to 1500 when Theo started school. He and his family had recently moved to the United States from Mexico, and since that was a despicable country, obviously Latino immigrants suffered prejudice.

Firstly (Y/N) thought it would be nice for the boys to have someone else to pick on and forget about him, but he couldn't be more wrong. Theo was alone in class, just like him, no one sat next to him, or with him at recess. So (Y/N) decided that he would try to talk to the boy.

And what a big mistake he made.

Because now he felt like a magnet pulled him to Theo and his wide smile, pulled to how his accent was nice to hear, pulled to the way the boy made school a little less bad.

And he was confused, because he always felt a strange frenzy whenever they touched. And today everything had just fallen apart when Theo, thanking him for a favor, kissed (Y/N) on the cheek. The boy had never felt so ecstatic in his life. But the feeling didn't last long, when one of the boys from the school saw it and started spreading it to the whole school that the two were gay... but with worse words.

- Are you sure it's okay? – Ed asked again noticing that his son was more airy than usual.

- Yes? - (Y/N) asked, still lost in his thoughts.

- I asked if it's really okay.

- Yes, I'm just thinking about the algebra test I have to do this week.

- Okay, you know you can tell me everything, right? - Ed said still suspicious.

-- Uhmm. - (Y/N) replied, still distracted.

The trip home didn't last long, they soon arrived at the comfortable house they had in a good neighborhood of the city. The two, father and son, entered. Lorraine was making lunch when her son and husband came to greet her.

- Hi my love, how was school? – the woman asked

- It was okay. -(Y / N) replied and soon went upstairs to his room.

He wasn't well, he was confused, afraid, afraid of being a complete freak not only in the eyes of his classmates, but also in the eyes of his parents and God, in whom he faithfully believed.

- Did something happen? – Lorraine asked her husband downstairs.

Lorraine had a great sixth sense not only for supernatural things, but also for people's emotions, especially her son's, whom she knew like the back of her hand. She had always loved the boy more than anyone else, and since he had displayed the same gift as hers, her concern for him had redoubled. She knew school wasn't easy for him, but she would face human or demon so nothing would hurt her son.

- I don't know, but I think so. He didn't want to tell me anything during the trip. Usually he at least complains about how classes went. Is he... seeing something? - Ed questioned.

Ed Warren was the best dad in the world, and (Y/N) would never deny that. Even at the age of 15, he never felt ashamed when his father showed up at school, or when he publicly showed affection. Ed wasn't as good with words as Lorraine so he showed his love for his son through touch and quality time. He and (Y/N) would always hang out together to see the latest horror movie that was playing, and they loved to talk for hours about how wrong the films' approach to demon affairs was. Ed wanted to be everything his own father wasn't.

- No, I would feel it too if it was something like that. – Lorraine argued with her husband. – Did the new friend, Theo, do something that could make him upset?

- I don't know, but I know we should talk to him.

- I'll just turn off the pans and let's go upstairs. - Lorraine said.

They always dealt with their son's issues that way, together. They wanted (Y/N) to know that there was no secret between them and that he could always count on both his father and mother for whatever he needed.

(Y/N) was lying down, still wearing the same school clothes, he was staring at the ceiling thinking about Theo and how his body reacted to the boy. It wasn't as if he didn't know what puberty was, and what happened to boys during that period, his parents had already had a rather awkward conversation with him about it.

But (Y / N) never imagined that his body would have these reactions to a boy. He knew what homosexuality was, of course. He read a lot, and it wasn't something entirely forgotten about the classics of literature he loved so much.

But he also knew what the Bible and the Church said. And well... his parents were almost Church employees, so they should agree with everything that was preached, right? At least that's how (Y/N) thought.

A knock on the door takes the boy by surprise from his daydreams.

- (Y/N) it's mom and dad! Can we come in? - (Y/N) managed to hear his mother's sweet voice outside.

- Of course, the door is open.

(Y/N) was very grateful that his parents respected his privacy in his room, God knows how many awkward moments he has lived alone inside his little hiding place.

- Is lunch ready yet? - (Y/N) asked while his parents came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

- Yes. But we need to talk first. – Ed told his son.

(Y/N)'s heart went into panic, already wondering if something had left the school corridors and reached his parents' ears. He definitely didn't feel prepared for this conversation.

- My love, we know there's something wrong going on, you're not very good at hiding your feelings. And your mom here is even better at knowing when you're not feeling well. - Lorraine said with a worried voice.

- You know that whatever is happening, we will help you, we are here for you. – Ed said, sitting next to his son and taking his hand.

That was enough for the boy to start crying profusely. Lorraine and Ed soon hugged their son, looking at each other now even more worried about what was happening.

- Hey calm down, it's going to be okay, we're here – Ed said while stroking (Y/N's) hair.

The boy, for a little while, managed to compose himself and felt that there was no point in trying to hide his feelings from his parents anymore, maybe they could help him repress them and understand what was wrong with him.

- Do you remember the text of Leviticus 20.13? – The boy asked sinking into his place on the bed.

- Not exactly, nor do we know all the texts of the Bible dear, why? - Lorraine said.

- "The man who lies down with another man as if he were a woman, both committed an abomination" - The boy said quickly, without pausing to breathe between words.

- Yes, one of the commandments for the Hebrew people. But where are you trying to get son? - Ed asked genuinely a little confused.

- I think... I like boys. How am I supposed to like girls, and I know that's horrible, that it's a sin, so I want you to know that I'm sorry and I'm going to pray more for these impure feelings to leave me.

Ed and Lorraine looked at each other with a little regret, they had never made it clear in the family that this was a space open to love and only love.

- Is that what you were worried about? Lorraine asked.

- Yes. - (Y/N) said looking down with a lot of embarrassment.

- Oh my love.

Lorraine hugged her son as tightly as she could.

- Son, this text was written millennia ago and not even the Church itself considers everything that is in the ancient laws. - Ed said joining the hug.

- But what about the texts of the New Testament? - (Y/N) asked.

- You know they were mistranslated, we've talked about this before. – Ed replied, kissing his son's hair.

- But... what about what the Church talks about?

- The Church says a lot of things that are wrong. Do you remember what is the most important commandment in the Bible? - Lorraine said.

- Love your neighbor as yourself. - (Y/N) replied a little confused with where his parents where getting into.

- Exactly! Why would God condemn love when he himself said that love is above all things? - Lorraine said still hugging her son.

- So does that mean... everything's fine? - (Y/N) asked looking at his parents.

- Of course it's okay. This is never a problem. - Ed said.

- But what about God? Don't you think He would despise me?

- You, of all people, have a unique gift! God chose you for this, do you really think He would despise you? And even if your gift wasn't what you have, all people are loved equally by God. - Ed said.

(Y/N) hugged his parents and cried again, but this time not with sadness but with relief and joy, knowing that those he trusted the most were not disappointed, or sad with him, but that they would welcome him no matter what. And in that particular moment, he felt like the most loved boy in the entire universe.

-But tell me, which boy should I threaten if he breaks your heart? - Ed said getting out of the hug and wiping his son's tears.

- Dad... (Y/N) started to say.

And in that instant, in that particular moment, the Warren family was more united than ever, and it wouldn't be demon, or any social prejudice that would take away Ed and Lorraine's love for their (Y/N).

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Rating: Explicit 

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Content Warnings: Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence

Categories: F/M, Multi, F/F 

Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character(s), Nanami Kento/Original Female Character(s), Getou Suguru/Original Female Character(s), Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime 

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Okkotsu Yuuta, Toudou Aoi, Zenin Naobito, Zenin Jinichi, Zenin, Zenin Ougi, Fushiguro Megumi, Kamo Clan, Nitta Akari, Inumaki Toge, Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Kusakabe Atsuya, Muta Kokichi, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Chaper 16　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The gang war continued to escalate, ripping through the city like wildfire. The once-bustling streets of Tokyo now bore the marks of battle, with shattered storefronts, burnt-out cars, and bloodstains serving as grim reminders of the ongoing violence.

One night, a group of Zen'in loyalists stormed a small business district near Shibuya. The street, once known for its quaint cafes and boutique shops, was now a battleground. The Zen'in group, armed with weapons and their cursed techniques, tore through the area, leaving destruction in their wake. Shopkeepers, desperate to protect their livelihoods, tried to fight back but were quickly overwhelmed. The district was left in ruins, and the once-vibrant community was now a ghost town.

In another part of the city, a park that had been a sanctuary for families became the site of a bloody confrontation. Yaga's group had set up a temporary base there, hoping to keep a low profile, but the Zen'in found them. The fight that followed was brutal. Children who had been playing nearby were hurried away by their parents as the two groups clashed. The park's greenery was trampled, and the once peaceful pond was tainted with blood. By the time the fight ended, the park was unrecognizable.

The police, overwhelmed and fearful of the sorcerers, had effectively cloistered themselves in their stations. Barricades were erected around precincts, and officers refused to respond to calls involving the gangs. Citizens, left without protection, were forced to fend for themselves. The lawlessness emboldened the gangs, leading to more brazen acts of violence. The city's government was paralyzed, unable to restore order as the war raged on.

At Tenjiku, tensions were boiling over. The once-neutral ground was now a powder keg, with rival groups barely keeping themselves in check. The atmosphere inside was thick with hostility as a table of Zen'in sat across from a table of Yaga's men. The two groups exchanged dark glares, the air between them crackling with unspoken threats.

Rin and Boe, sitting at the bar, kept a close eye on the situation. Rin’s usually composed demeanor was strained, her fingers drumming anxiously on the counter. Boe, despite her laid-back attitude, was on edge, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two tables. They both knew it wouldn't take much to ignite the tension into full-blown violence.

The Zen'in group, led by an older man with a scar running down his face, muttered amongst themselves, their voices low but laced with malice. One of Yaga's men, a tall, broad-shouldered sorcerer, finally snapped, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "What are you looking at, Zen'in scum?"

The scarred man smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Just wondering when you Yaga dogs will finally roll over and die," he said with a dry chuckle.

The insult hung in the air for a moment, a sharp, piercing sound in the heavy silence. It was all it took. The tall sorcerer shot to his feet, knocking his chair back with a loud clatter. The Zen'in followed suit, and in the blink of an eye, the tables were overturned, and the two groups lunged at each other.

The bar erupted into chaos. Chairs and tables were smashed, glasses shattered, and the once-peaceful atmosphere of Tenjiku was replaced by the sounds of a brawl. Rin and Boe rushed forward, trying to intervene, but it was too late. The delicate peace they had fought to maintain was shattered. As the fighting spread through Tenjiku, it was clear that the gang war had reached a new, more dangerous level.

The air filled with the sounds of crashing furniture, shattering glass, and the cries of people caught in the melee. Rin felt her pulse quicken, a familiar, primal rage bubbling up from deep within her. It clawed at her insides, demanding release. Her usually calm demeanor was stripped away, replaced by something feral, wild, and dangerous.

Her claws extended, sharp and deadly, glinting in the dim light of the bar. Her teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and her eyes narrowed, pupils dilating as she zeroed in on her targets. The transformation was instantaneous, a stark contrast to the composed and dignified woman she normally was. Now, she was a predator, and the gang members were her prey.

Rin wasted no time. She surged forward with terrifying speed, her long hair whipping around her like a living weapon. A thug lunged at her with a broken bottle, but before he could strike, Rin's hair shot out, wrapping around his arm like a vise. With a sharp yank, she pulled him off balance and drove her claws into his side, tearing through flesh and bone with a savage precision. He screamed in pain, the sound cut short as she slammed him to the ground, leaving him writhing and gasping for air.

Another man tried to attack a fleeing woman, but Rin was faster. She leaped at him, her claws slashing across his chest in a blur of motion. Blood sprayed into the air as she landed on top of him, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. He cried out, struggling to push her off, but she was relentless, her rage fueling every vicious strike. She was no longer the serene, composed Rin; she was a force of nature, unstoppable and unforgiving.

As she fought, Rin's focus remained sharp. She targeted anyone who dared to harm the women trying to escape, using her hair to ensnare them and her claws to finish the job. A third thug, thinking he could sneak up on her, found himself caught in a web of her hair, his arms pinned to his sides. Rin's lips curled into a snarl as she closed in on him, her claws slashing across his throat in one swift, lethal motion. He dropped to the floor, lifeless, and she turned her attention to the next threat without hesitation.

Boe, meanwhile, moved with deadly grace through the chaos. Her blood, now transformed into sharp, gleaming knives, whirled around her in a flurry of red. With each flick of her wrist, a new blade formed, ready to strike. She leaped onto a table, her body twisting as she hurled a knife into the chest of a Zen'in thug trying to corner a young woman. The blade sank deep, and the man crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest.

Boe's movements were almost dance-like, her agility and speed allowing her to evade attacks with ease. She slid under a swinging bat, her foot kicking out to trip the attacker, and as he stumbled, she drove a blood-formed knife into his back, twisting it for good measure. He fell with a grunt, and Boe was already moving on, her eyes scanning for the next threat.

At one point, she saw a man grab a woman by the hair, dragging her toward the exit. Boe's eyes narrowed, and with a powerful leap, she closed the distance between them. She landed in front of him, her hand slicing through the air as she sent a knife directly into his throat. His grip slackened as blood poured from the wound, and the woman was able to escape, her eyes wide with terror.

Just as the fight reached its fever pitch, Okkotsu and Todo burst into the room, their presence commanding immediate attention. Todo, his massive frame imposing, roared as he charged into the fray, his fists a blur of motion. He smashed through the gang members with brute strength, sending them flying with each punch. A Zen'in tried to tackle him, but Todo simply grabbed him by the collar and hurled him across the room, where he crashed into a wall and crumpled to the floor.

Okkotsu followed close behind, his cursed energy flaring around him as he summoned Rika. The cursed spirit materialized with a roar, her massive form dwarfing the room. Her single eye glowed with a fierce intensity, and she lashed out at the gang members, scattering them like leaves in a storm. Yuta moved with purpose, his sword cutting through anyone who dared to stand in his way. He fought with a calm precision, each strike measured and efficient, yet there was an underlying fury in his movements.

The combined force of Rin, Boe, Todo, and Okkotsu was unstoppable. The gang members, realizing they were outmatched, began to retreat, scrambling to escape the deadly onslaught. Todo chased them to the door, slamming it shut with a final, echoing thud that reverberated through the now-silent room.

The aftermath was a scene of destruction. Broken furniture, shattered glass, and bloodied bodies littered the floor. The women who had been caught in the crossfire huddled together, their eyes wide with shock and fear. Rin stood in the center of the room, her chest heaving as she tried to calm the storm within her. Her claws and teeth slowly retracted, and her hair returned to its normal length, but the wild look in her eyes remained.

Boe, her knives dissolving back into blood, looked around the room with a grim expression. She wiped a smear of blood from her cheek, her usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness.

Okkotsu approached Rin, his eyes softening as he saw the tears brimming in her eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.

Rika, still present in the room, let out a soft whimper, her single eye filled with tears. She was a reflection of Yuta’s emotions, her sorrow mirroring his own.

Rin nodded, though the tension in her body betrayed the turmoil she felt. She didn’t trust her voice to speak, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She had fought with ferocity, driven by the need to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But now, in the aftermath, she felt the weight of what she had done, the blood on her hands a stark reminder of the price they were all paying.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

The aftermath of the battle left the streets in a grim state of desolation. Blood stained the pavement, and the bodies of fallen men lay strewn across the road like discarded dolls. Toji Zen’in walked through the scene, his steps unhurried, each stride a casual indifference to the death surrounding him. His cold eyes scanned the wreckage, and with a sharp kick, he flipped over a corpse blocking his path. The man’s chest bore a pack of cigarettes, which Toji deftly swiped. He pulled one out, placing it between his lips, and lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter. Smoke curled from his mouth as he exhaled, the tendrils weaving through the air like the ghosts of the men who lay dead at his feet.

With his hands shoved into his pockets, Toji continued down the street, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His expression was one of cool disinterest, as though the violence and death that had unfolded here meant nothing to him. And in truth, they didn’t. This was just another day in the life of Toji Zen’in.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and with a slow, almost lazy movement, he pulled it out. The screen illuminated his face in the dim light, and he glanced at the message. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he muttered under his breath, “Dumb brat.” Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and began heading in the opposite direction.

The streets were quiet as he walked, the only sound being the distant echo of sirens that never seemed to get closer. The city was tearing itself apart in this gang war, and Toji was content to let it happen. He thrived in the chaos, using it to his advantage. But as he rounded the corner near his destination, something caught his attention.

He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a figure standing up from the wall. A smirk played on the lips of the young man as he stepped into the dim light of a nearby street lamp.

Hakari.

Toji’s grin widened as he approached, his confidence unshaken by the obvious trap. “You’ve got guts, kid,” Toji drawled, his voice a low, menacing rumble, “But I had a feeling this was bullshit. Megumi never texts me. So getting one from my ‘son’… well, I knew it was too good to be true.” He cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the night air, and his eyes glinted with a dangerous light. “I hope you had a good life," he huffed, "Because it’s about to end.”

Hakari’s smirk didn’t falter, though a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “We’ll see about that, old man," he said, barely keeping his voice in check.

From the shadows behind Hakari, another figure emerged, hesitantly stepping into view. Inumaki’s eyes were wide with fear, his usually composed demeanor shaken. The younger sorcerer’s voice trembled as he called out, “Hakari, I don’t—”

Toji moved instantly, his hand a blur as he lunged forward. But before he could strike, Inumaki’s eyes flashed, and his voice rang out, filled with the power of his cursed technique. “Stop!”

Toji’s body froze mid-strike, his muscles locking up against his will. He was immobilized, caught in the snare of Inumaki’s command. His mind raged against the invisible bonds holding him, but his body refused to move.

Hakari didn’t waste the opportunity. With a swift, brutal motion, he pulled out a hammer, the claw on the end gleaming wickedly in the light. He stepped forward, his breath coming in harsh, ragged pants as he raised the hammer high. Toji’s eyes widened slightly, the only part of him able to express the shock of the moment.

And then Hakari brought the hammer down.

The sharpened claw plunged into Toji’s skull with a sickening crunch, driving deep into bone. Blood spattered across Hakari’s face and clothes, but he didn’t flinch. He drove the hammer down again, and again, the force of each blow fueled by a mix of rage, fear, and something darker—satisfaction.

Toji’s body twitched violently, then went still, his eyes staring blankly ahead. Hakari let out a shuddering breath, the hammer slipping from his grasp as it clattered to the ground. He stared down at Toji’s lifeless body, his shoulders heaving as a strange, manic laughter bubbled up from his chest. He nudged Toji’s body with his foot, as if to confirm he was truly dead.

Inumaki stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock and horror. His hands trembled as he slowly registered what had just happened. “What have you done…?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Hakari’s laughter died in his throat as Inumaki’s cursed technique compelled him to answer. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion as he spoke the truth. “I killed Toji Zen’in.” A slow, twisted grin spread across his face as he said the words, a strange satisfaction settling over him.

But Inumaki wasn’t satisfied. He wasn’t even relieved. He was terrified. His eyes darted between Hakari and Toji’s body, his mind racing as the reality of their situation set in. The blood on Hakari’s hands wasn’t just physical—it was a mark that would stain them both, a line that had been crossed and could never be uncrossed.

Hakari’s laughter echoed once more in the silent street, but this time, it was tinged with a madness that sent a chill down Inumaki’s spine. The younger sorcerer recoiled as Hakari reached out to shake him, his grip too tight, too desperate.

“What have you done…?” Inumaki repeated, his voice trembling as he stared into Hakari’s eyes, searching for any sign of the friend he once knew.

But all he found was a killer’s grin and a pair of eyes that had seen too much bloodshed to ever be the same again.

"I killed Toji Zen'in."

Later, Itadori's room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension as Inumaki sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling. His face was pale, a stark contrast to the dark hoodie he had worn earlier—now stained with blood. Itadori crouched beside him, unsure of how to bridge the chasm of fear and guilt that hung between them. He could see the nausea in Inumaki’s expression, the way his lips trembled and his eyes seemed unfocused, lost somewhere far away from the present moment.

Inumaki’s voice was a shaky whisper, barely audible in the oppressive silence. “I shouldn’t have trusted him…" he mumbled, "I shouldn’t have…”

Itadori nodded slowly, feeling the weight of Inumaki’s regret settle in his own chest. “Yeah… I know," was all that he said. He wanted to say more, to find some way to comfort his friend, but the words died in his throat. What was there to say? That he should’ve seen it coming? That they all should have? The reality of what Hakari had done—the way he had used Inumaki, manipulated him into becoming an accomplice in something so dark—was too heavy, too painful to articulate.

The door creaked open, and Panda’s large frame filled the doorway. His usual jovial demeanor was absent, replaced by a serious, almost grim expression. “Nanami’s coming to do a room check,” he announced, his voice low but urgent.

Inumaki jerked upright, panic flashing in his purple eyes. He ripped off the bloodstained hoodie, his hands fumbling as he threw it to Itadori. The younger sorcerer quickly stuffed it under the bed, heart pounding in his chest as they both tried to compose themselves.

Just as they finished, the door swung open wider, and Nanami stepped inside. His presence filled the room with an authority that demanded attention. He took one look at Inumaki and frowned, his stern gaze narrowing. “Inumaki, you should be in your own room,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Inumaki swallowed hard, his throat tight, and nodded. Without another word, he slipped past Nanami and out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Nanami’s attention then shifted to Itadori, his eyes sharp, scrutinizing. “Where’s Hakari?” he asked, his voice measured and calm, but with an underlying urgency.

Itadori hesitated, the lie catching in his throat as he tried to think of what to say. “He’s… in his room, I think," he said, clearing his throat.

Nanami didn’t break eye contact, his gaze piercing through Itadori’s uncertainty. “I’m asking you because I trust you, Itadori," he said, "I need to know where he is.”

Before Itadori could find the courage to speak the truth, Hakari rounded the corner, swaggering into the room with a cocky grin on his face. His shirtless torso was still damp from a shower, a towel slung around his neck. “What’s up, Nanami?” Hakari drawled, leaning casually on the older man’s shoulder, “Just taking a shit.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re supposed to be in your room, Hakari. We have a curfew for a reason,” he chided.

Hakari’s grin widened, and he flashed Itadori a look that sent a shiver down his spine. It was a look that held too much knowledge, too much satisfaction—a look that said, "I know you won’t say anything."

Nanami sighed and began to steer Hakari out of the room, his firm grip on the younger man’s arm. “Back to your room," he said, "No more excuses.”

Hakari chuckled as he allowed himself to be led away, his gaze lingering on Itadori until they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Itadori was left standing in the dimly lit room, his heart pounding in his chest. The echo of Hakari’s grin haunted him, a sinister reminder of the darkness that had crept into their lives. The weight of what they were all involved in pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

The darkness of the room was palpable as Gojo stood before Sarah, the weight of Sukuna's final finger heavy in his palm. His fingers trembled slightly as he extended it toward her, his expression twisted with a grimace. Sarah's eyes, cold and unfeeling, locked onto his as she took the finger without hesitation, her fingers grazing his as she grasped it.

"Are you sure about this?" Gojo asked, his voice rough with unease.

Sarah didn't respond. Instead, she raised the finger to her lips and swallowed it whole. Gojo watched, his stomach churning as her throat moved to consume the cursed object. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, the room was thick with silence, the tension between them almost suffocating.

Then, a sharp burst of cursed energy exploded from Sarah’s body. She winced, her teeth gritted in concentration, focusing every ounce of her strength on what came next. Gojo’s breath caught as he saw the jagged outline of a skeletal arm begin to form where her missing limb had been. The bone stretched and twisted, slowly building shape and sinew, until a fully formed arm skeletal sprouted from her shoulder. Her leg followed suit, skeletal with dark and burned bones not unlike her own summons. Their fleshless forms clicked together as she tapped the leg with her new boney fingers.

Sarah slowly stood, testing the weight on her newly formed limbs, then turned to Gojo. Her eyes, dark and cold, beckoned him forward. "Take me back to Tenjiku, Satoru," she asked, her voice pitched in a pathetic attempt to sound sweet.

Gojo swallowed hard, the feeling of dread clawing at his insides. He nodded, too afraid of what would happen if he refused. They moved quickly through the night, their destination looming ominously on the horizon. But as they arrived, a strange sight greeted them: the doors of Tenjiku were shut tight, an unusual occurrence that set Gojo’s nerves on edge.

Sarah, undeterred, leaped up with newfound strength, crashing through a skylight with a single powerful kick. Gojo followed, his infinity wrapping around him like a protective shield. As soon as they landed inside, a blur of movement caught his eye—Rin, her eyes wild with rage, charged at him.

Her nails, long and sharp, slashed at his infinity, sparks of cursed energy crackling in the air. Her teeth bared, she let out a feral growl, her fury palpable. "You bastard!" she screamed, her voice a raw, emotional explosion, "What the hell are you doing with her?!"

Gojo took a step back, his heart pounding even though he knew he was safe. Rin’s attacks were relentless, her words laced with venom. "You think you can just walk in here and take her? After everything?"

"Rin, stop!" Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos, and Rin froze mid-attack, her breathing ragged. She turned to face Sarah, her anger quickly morphing into something else as she took in the sight before her.

Sarah’s newly regenerated limbs, skeletal and raw, seemed almost unnatural, a grotesque display of power that sent a shiver down Rin’s spine. She took a step back, horror etched into her features. "What… What did you do?" She breathed, her fingers reaching out but stopping just short of Sarah's arm.

Sarah’s gaze was unwavering, her voice devoid of emotion. "Gojo helped me heal," she said with a shrug.

But the words hung in the air like a lie. Gojo could feel the tension, the way Rin recoiled from Sarah’s presence. There was something in her eyes, an almost primal sense that was screaming at her that something was wrong. Her eyes were still wide, her nails and teeth receding back as she stared.

Boe’s voice suddenly broke the moment, sharp and commanding. "Gojo, you need to leave," she said, "No men are allowed inside, except Todo and Okkotsu."

Gojo didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced at Sarah one last time, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions, before activating his infinity and leaping away. As soon as he was outside, the air felt lighter, less suffocating. Relief washed over him, but so did a profound sense of loss and disgust. He was relieved to be away from her, away from the madness, but a part of him was devastated by what he’d just witnessed—and by what he had become in her eyes.

Gojo tried to move silently as he slipped back into his room, the weight of the night pressing down on him. The memories of what had just transpired over the last week were fresh in his mind, and he was desperate for some kind of reprieve and some good goddamn sleep. But as he closed the door behind him, he felt a presence—one that made his heart skip a beat.

Geto hurtled in, his face a mixture of fear and concern. He looked disheveled, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something more frantic. "Satoru," he called out, voice tight with emotion, "Where have you been?"

Gojo froze, his heart racing. The lie was on the tip of his tongue, but something in Geto's expression stopped him. The way his friend's eyes scanned his face, searching for the truth, made it impossible to lie. "I… I messed up," Gojo admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Geto stepped closer, his fear intensifying. "What did you do with Sarah?" He asks, his voice trembling.

The question hit Gojo like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened, anger surging up from somewhere deep within. "What are you fuckin' sayin', Suguru? That I hurt her?" He gritted.

Geto flinched at the accusation, guilt flashing across his face. "I’m not saying that, but you’ve been… distant, different," he said quickly, "And then you disappear, and Sarah is—"

"Stop it," Gojo snapped, cutting him off, "I didn’t hurt her, okay? I was trying to help. But it all went wrong." His voice cracked slightly, betraying his own inner turmoil. He couldn't tell him. No way.

For a moment, the two of them stood there, tension crackling in the air like static. Then Geto’s expression softened, regret seeping into his features. "I’m sorry, Satoru," he said quietly, "I didn’t mean to accuse you. I’m just worried. You’ve been through so much lately…"

The anger drained from Gojo almost instantly, replaced by exhaustion. He slumped against the wall, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You’re right. I’ve been… off," he murmured, "And I’ve been high, Suguru. I couldn’t stay clean, not after everything. It was too much."

Geto's eyes filled with disappointment, but also understanding. "I’m not happy about it, but I get it. It’s hard to quit cold turkey, especially with all this shit going on." He hesitated, then placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, "But you need to be careful, Satoru. You’re spiraling, and I’m scared for you."

Gojo sighed, leaning into his friend's touch for comfort. "I know," he admitted, swallowing thickly, "I’m... I'm scared too."

There was a moment of silence between them, a brief reprieve from the chaos that had consumed their lives. But it didn’t last long. Geto pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to something more guarded.

"What happened at Tenjiku?" Gojo asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern, "They had it boarded up and locked down."

Geto shook his head, frustration evident in his features. "I don’t know," he said, "I wasn’t there when it all went down. Did you get in? What did you see when you got there?"

Gojo recounted the events in detail—the blood stains, Rin’s attack, Boe’s intervention. He watched as Geto’s face darkened with each word, the wheels in his mind turning rapidly. When he finished, Geto seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed. His fingers flexed as he crossed his arms, his eyes roaming back and forth as something pieced together in his mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Gojo pressed, sensing that his friend was holding something back.

Geto hesitated, then shook his head, dismissing whatever was on his mind. "I’m just… worried about Rin," he said with a gentle, but nervous smile, "She’s been through so much. I don’t know how much more she can take."

Gojo narrowed his eyes, sensing the half-truth in Geto’s words. He knew his friend well enough to recognize when something was being left unsaid, but tonight, with everything weighing so heavily on both of them, he decided not to push. They each had their own secrets, and tonight, that was something Gojo could understand.

"Yeah," Gojo finally said, his voice resigned, "I’m worried about her too. About all three of them."

The two men stood in the quiet of the room, the shared weight of their secrets hanging in the air between them. For now, it was enough just to be there, to know that despite everything, they still had each other—though the cracks in their friendship were beginning to show, threatening to pull them apart at the seams.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

[mcytrecursive]

Nomination Overview - Post-Apocalyptic AU

A niche tag, so you'd think? Well not THAT niche, not in this fandom. 7 post-apocalyptic works so far, including our longest work nominated to date, (over half a million words), and several art AUs!

Title: this is about a stuffed bird Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36163102/chapters/90146260 Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Author: Bee_4 Relationships: Mumbo Jumbo & Evil Xisuma Characters: Mumbo Jumbo, Evil Xisuma Length of the work: 78,043 words Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Character Study, Friendship, Horror, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Type: Fic Summary: In which Mumbo crosses several towns, learns some creative methods of self-defense, fights some monsters, sees things no human is meant to have seen, befriends a stranger, steals multiple cars, has inconvenient moral scruples, grows increasingly terrified of his own culpability in the apocalypse, grows a spine, blows up at least one building, accidentally prevents a murder, and attempts to find his best friend in the futile but ever-burning hope the man’s still alive. He has to say, he’s so exhausted and terrified that he thinks he might just be mad? (OR: the one where, after most of humanity turns into a series of terrifying monsters, Mumbo decides he’s going to risk his life on an apocalypse road trip to try to find out if Grian is alive. Things, as you might imagine, devolve from there.)

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Title: greener grasses Rating: E-rated Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31163336/chapters/79676620 Fandom: Dream SMP Author: Apocynaceae Relationships: Quackity/Schlatt, Quackity&Karl, Quackity/Eret Characters: Quackity, Schlatt, Karl Jacobs, BadBoyHalo, Awesamdude, Ponk, Tommyinnit Length of the work: 569,475 words Genre: AU, Crossover, Drama, Horror, Modern AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Slow Burn, Time Travel, College AU Type: Fic Summary: Twenty-two years after the Survival Multiplayer event, Quackity has dreams of attending a law program in a walled city out West. Desperate to pay for expenses during his next semester at ManbergU, he accepts a TA position with his former professor. It's Quackity's last chance to get out of Manberg. It's his worst mistake. Features ghosts, time travel, possession, alternate universes, nonconsensual drug use, academic misconduct like you would not believe, an apocalypse, and midterm drama. 

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Title: Space Mining AU Link: here and here Fandom: 3rd Life SMP Author: wszczebrzyszynie Relationships: Team Ranchers, Cledubs, Ethubs, Scarian, Treebark, Convex brothers, ImpSkizz, Flower Husbands. Zedaph, Doc, Pearl and Gem are also characters. Everything mentioned as platonic, except romantic Jizzie. Characters: Tango and Jimmy Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Drama, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Space AU Type: Art Summary: Space Mining AU. Tango was an engineer, became a wanted terrorist after he blew up Callisto, a moon where he was doing illegal skulk mining. He blew it up alongside other miners after finding out that skulk is alive, parasitic and infecting people, but he ended up being the sole survivor of the explosion, and the skulk wasn't completely sealed off. He ends up living with Desert Duo for a while (a pair of also dangerous criminals), and that's where he meets Jimmy. It kind of all goes downhill from there.

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Title: the last days of the free angel of carrows  Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41524917 Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP Author: Bee_4 Relationships: Mainly Joe & Cleo & Pearl Characters: Joe, Cleo and Pearl Length of the work: 79,327 words Genre: Action/Adventure, AU, Casefic, Fantasy AU, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Angels & Demons AU Type: Fic Summary: The Atsign Agency: run by Joe Hills and the zombie Cleo, they're here to solve all of your supernatural problems, hauntings, magical accidents, and also just about any contracting work or errands you need if you're willing to have it done cheaply by two unqualified odd jobbers struggling to make rent. After over a decade together in the city of Carrows, the two of them frequently see things and deal with things that are probably a bit too ridiculous to name, and have the experience to handle it, if not particularly frequently the money. When the mysterious (and clearly very rich) Pearl Moon walks into their agency, offering them a massive payment for a simple job, what are they to do but accept? Yeah, they may be about to regret that one. This job is going to be anything but simple, and the entire City of Angels may be at stake. Careful, Atsign Agency: the past is watching.

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Title: future site of something Better [a fabulous killjoys au] (Restricted) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48146797/chapters/121412023 Fandom: Dream SMP Author: hallmarked_error Relationships: Jack Manifold & TommyInnit, Ranboo & TommyInnit, Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot Characters: Tommyinnit, Technoblade, Philza, Wilbur Soot, Jack Manifold, Ranboo, Tubbo Length of the work: 54,020 words Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, AU, Found Family, Post-Apocalyptic AU Type: Fic Summary: a fabulous killjoys au featuring the cast of the dsmp (plus a few others thrown in for good measure), inspired by the concept album by mcr and the comics by gerard way.

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Title: Last of Us + Tntduo Link: here Fandom: Dream SMP Author: ashthefrogprin Relationships: Quackity/Wilbur Characters: Quackity, Wilbur Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, AU, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Apocalyptic AU, Romance, Slow Burn Type: Art Summary: A series of images depicting quackbur in a The Last of Us AU, followed by a brief summary of a few scenes the artist was imagining. Wilbur has a shotgun; Quackity has an axe. They're both traveling across the country together trying to find a safe harbor with other survivors-- and, as it turns out, being in close quarters with someone during life-threatening situations means the two of you tend to bond. Odd thing, that.

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Title: Just the Two of Us  Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45549838/chapters/114615043 Fandom: Dream SMP Author: eepyvoid Relationships: Philza & Tommyinnit Characters: Philza & TommyInnit  Length of the work: 6,675 words Genre: Angst, Dark Fic, Found Family, Post-Apocalyptic AU Type: Fic Summary: As the world descended into zombie apocalypse driven madness, the number of living people was cut in third - two of those people being Philza Minecraft, an infamous criminal who was wanted by everyone for all the wrong reasons, and a small former 'lab rat' kid, TommyInnit, a small and scared child being free for the first time. The two meet, and team up, both not sure how mere friendship looks like. Or, Two traumatized blondes bonding over their shared lack of other people to trust in their life, under the looming threat of the zombie apocalypse.

[megaphonegirlk]

Do T-Dolls Dream of A Normal Life? (1474 words) by VickytheSnake Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 少女前线 | Girls' Frontline (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ouroboros/Jormungandr Characters: Ouroboros (Girls' Frontline), Jormungandr (Girls' Frontline) Additional Tags: Angst and Feels, simulated World, neural cloud Summary: When Jormungandr gave up the fight during the Sangvis AI Trials, she thought she'd fade to nothing like all the rest. Waking up as a full copy in a simulated world inside Ouroboros' neural cloud, she lives out her days in the facsimile of a school life with the ghosts echoed in from the Sangvis Network. Quiet moments on the riverbank, looping conversations with people who don't really exist, and the closest thing to 'life' she'd ever experienced are interrupted by the occasional visit from a familiar face.

The city didn’t have a name. It didn’t need one. Beeping cars filled it’s streets…a train came every half an hour to rattle across the tracks that wound through it’s districts and out over the river like an iron snake…people walked from school to their houses, from their houses to their jobs and from their jobs to the bars in clusters of conversation and laughter.

It was simply ‘The City’. It’s road signs outside the pathway back home were blocky, fuzzy gibberish…the people’s faces blurred and indistinct until the very moment they mattered and came fading in from the heavy shadows into the light of stiff smiles and replies that seemed to loop.

The cars down the highway vanished in the distance, while the lapping water on the beaten old riverbank stayed as clear and smooth as ever. Lapping waves, rings of water that radiated out with each stone tossed and skipped…

The lively Prefecture GIrl’s High School, the beautiful and relaxing riverbank, and ‘Home’ formed the pillars of The City, three spots on the map that rendered in higher detail than the rest and supported the rest of the dream around them.

Nothing else had much detail beyond the appearance of hustle and bustle and the lingering ghosts who made up the students of the prefecture girl’s high school that didn’t need a name any more than the city did.

Each ghost had a name, a place in the narrative that grew like wildfire in a space that was originally meant for one thing only. Deep within the recreation of the Sangvis AI Inheritance Trial ground, an space that once existed to be destroyed in the ferocious struggle against hundreds of AI desperately trying for their chance to simply exist., a carefree and peaceful dream had taken root.

School days passed in an eternal final semester before graduation, as fragments of the Sangvis Network played out dramas and friendships on loop. Conversations about ‘where should I go to college?’ and ‘before we get stuck with exams shouldn’t we go to the beach?’ played out at the end of each cycle before time hitched and twisted back to the start.

The ghosts were happy…in a way Jormungandr was happy too. She sat by the riverbank, cigarette dangling from her fingers and casting simulated plumes of smoke into the air to obscure her vision of the place the Neural Cloud’s creation faltered…where the skybox met the ground.

She’d died. The Little Snake Ouroboros had cornered her when they stood as the last women standing, and Jormungandr felt the sudden trepidation that she wouldn’t like what the world had to offer.

So she’d let Ouroboros blow her data into pieces and win the chance to be a real member of the Sangvis Ferri Network. From the depths of darkness, she found the light again in the looping city among the echoes of the Little Snake’s ‘sisters’ above. She should have been deleted, wiped from the system entirely like the failed data she was….yet there she found herself. The world changed rapidly with her input.

The silent battleground became populated with shadows, all filling roles in a strange pantomime she didn’t quite understand. Memories , thoughts, desires more than the baseline personality she’d been programmed with had begun to develop inside her.

‘The School Delinquent’ had become Jormungandr, smoking her cigarette on the shore of the riverbank as she wondered if it tasted the same way a human would taste it…if the smoke moved the same way through her lips as it curled it’s way towards the sky.

Her blocky ‘cell phone’ lay by her side, the obsolete communications device rang out with nonsensical texts from half-formed shards of data, interspersed with the occasional bit of genuine connection from her friends at school every now and again.

Every time it did, she wondered if it was simply snippets of conversation and thought that had filtered down from Ouroboros to relay to the deepest parts of her mind.

She leaned back and looked up at the sun above, pale smoke cutting ringlets into the clear blue sky. Here, she wasn’t a soldier fighting for the right to live…she was a pain in the ass of her teachers and a friend to fellow troublemakers. She smoked by the riverbed, skipped classes to buy snacks from the faceless storekeepers as she and one of the echos from school screwed around at karaoke or the local arcade that never seemed to grow dull.

Here she could pretend she was a real person instead of a program of data and code. Was this how real people lived? She had no reference point save for the sad cry throughout her very being, the electric tingle of something not unlike despair when the ‘personality’ she was gifted clashed against the endless war.

Every now and again, the world would freeze around her. Lingering in the booth of one of the handsome little restaurants in town or in the seats of a frozen picture show at the cinema, she would see the woman who’d killed her.

Ouroboros with her head in her hands and sobbing until she realized she was being watched. Ouroboros staring at the frozen movies with a thousand yard stare. Ouroboros passing her hand through a frozen towns-person while she steeled and hardened herself into the soldier she now had to be. The price of victory against Jormungandr, after all, was a life of combat and strife.

Each time these glitches in Jormungandr’s perfect little dream occurred, she found herself right beside her. Giving advice, bantering about old times, threatening that she could never beat her if she’d gone all out…

Always they seemed to end on laughing together. Always Jormungandr would try to convince her to stay only to be told ‘the Sangvis Mission comes first’. Always Ouroboros would wipe her lingering tears (the Little Snake always was a huge crybaby) and salute her one last time before the world fell into motion once more without her.

The endless school days continued out of time and out of touch with the world raging beyond her understanding. There were no more battle games to fight. She’d lost everything that had once mattered to her when she gave up on the final strike. Whether she really existed, or was simply another echo in Ouroboros’ Neural Cloud didn’t even matter.

Honestly, it’d be a relief if that was all she was. To think Jormungandr meant enough even as the little snake’s enemy that she’d make a dedicated copy. Something that’d eat up her memory and data consumption unnecessarily…built out of some sort of love for her old rival.

It made her feel special.

She smiled, exhaling the simulated idea of smoke from her lips as she leaned back on the riverbank. The town continued around her in it’s programmed loops and the appearance of activity, and she enjoyed the moment of quiet she often took for herself after a long day of regurgitated information from faceless teachers.

It was routine, by this point. It was her life. Nothing ever changed except…

A shadow fell over her from behind, and she heard a choked…familiar voice whisper.

“Can I borrow one of those?”

Jormungandr looked over her shoulder, craning her neck to see Ouroboros above her with tear-stained cheeks and a uniform that had seen better days. The world around them kept moving, it didn’t freeze like it always did the rare moments they saw one another in the past.

The fabricated world acted as if Ouroboros was as natural a part of it as Jormungandr was. She tapped out a cigarette and offered it to her with a thin smile.

“Finally washed out of the real world, Little Snake?” she asked, the barb still laced with heavy affection.

“Sh-shut up.” Ouroboros murmured as she fell do her knees beside her, taking the cigarette and placing it between her lips.

Jormungandr’s eyes watched the water, the ripples flickering through the water in response to stones unthrown. A hollow imitation of real physics reacting to stimuli whether they were there or not.

“You don’t have to say anything, Little Snake…” she took a long drag of her cigarette “not till you’re ready. Have a seat and smoke with me, yeah? I’ll introduce you to the old lady later.”

Ouroboros looked at her, exhaustion and pain written on her face before she half fell against her shoulder and turned her eyes to the water instead.

“Yeah. Alright…”

Between them, smoke curled and twisted in a picture-perfect imitation of life. Before them, the city seemed wreathed in the pale smoke and the hot , burning cherry of their cigarettes. It was a beautiful memory of a place neither of them had ever been…

And for the moment, that was good enough.

[bonefall]

I saw the post about animals and stuff and i got curious, whats r some interesting biome/location for fanclans that (in ur opinion) are underused? For their interesting geography or animals present or any other reason rlly!

Suburbs No one has ever made a fanclan out of Over the Hedge type shit and quite frankly I'm disappointed in this fandom. Suburbs are hypnotizing and I hate living in them but they would make FASCINATING settings, each neighborhood is a character in and of itself. What's in the environment? Abandoned malls? Old factories? Ghost towns? Disused railroad tracks? COME ON

Cities For a similar reason, urban environments are so hostile to wildlife. Where do all the cats sleep? What do they do when the one safe place that was camp is cleared out? Do they feel kinship with any humans?

Saltwater Biomes Islands, salt marshes, coves... think of all the ocean fish names, come onnnn, you can have your cats set up in a wrecked ship, they can dive for coral, they can fight otters, there's a lot you can do

Anywhere that has even larger cats The absolute lack of fanclans that have had to fight and even kill things like tigers or jaguars is astonishing. Have rivalries with lions! Fight over prey and have leopards steal your shit and run up a tree with it! Have larger cats who don't speak the same language and they struggle to understand each other, if it's even physically possible

Post apocalyptic settings Have escaped zoo animals living in the ruins of post-apocalyptic America or go home. Climb a giraffe. Have extremely tense exchanges between Warrior Cats and human survivors who are thinking about eating them. Hotwire a car. There's so much you can do

[goblininawig]

Death & Mischief, Part 2

This is one of two short pieces I wrote for Death Appreciation Week, hosted by @orionsangel86 , about two times that Death of the Endless and Loki of Asgard crossed paths.

Death and Mischief At the World's Fair

Once every hundred years, Death of the Endless becomes human. On this day in May 1893, she is Daisy Smith, a visitor to the World’s Columbian Exhibition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair. But she's not the only immortal being present that day.

~600 words | Rated T | a03 link

Includes spoilers for Loki, Season 2

Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode: s02e03 1893 (Loki TV), Death Becomes Human for a Day, Historical References, Canon Compliant, Random Encounters, Short One Shot

Daisy chatted excitedly with her cousins, who flanked the smaller girl as they rode the Intramural Railway at the World’s Columbian Exhibition. Charlotte and Beatrice had not, until waking up that morning, had a cousin Daisy. Reality rearranged itself to allow Death of the Endless to become human for a day, once every hundred years. Today she was Daisy Smith, visiting her Chicago relatives so she might see the fair.

Her aunt and uncle sat behind them. It had already been an exciting day, and they were resting their feet as the sounds of brass bands wafted in from the surrounding park. Their little group disembarked at the next station and proceeded to the domed Palace of Fine Arts, where they wandered happily through the galleries, viewing art from masters all over the world.

After stopping for refreshments, they paid a visit to the Chinese Village. Daisy was staring at the red and gold replica of a Potala temple when her attention was drawn to a pair of white gentlemen who were softly arguing nearby.

“I told you: legwork. That requires walking…observing. This time and place is all we've got to go on. So we keep looking until we find a clue,” asserted the shorter man, who had gray hair and a thick mustache beneath his brown fedora.

The taller man, with had dark hair, a green silk tie, and a grumpy expression at odds with the other fair-goers, retorted, “Mobius, do you really think we’ll just stumble across Renslayer if we walk far enough? Because that’s not going to happen.”

“Daisy!” called her aunt, waving her to join them. “Come along, dear. We’re going inside.”

The curious little girl hurried after her relatives, leaving the mysterious men to their argument.

As night fell, all the park lights came on, the fairgrounds seemed even more impressive. Her aunt and uncle were ready to leave, but Daisy, supported by her cousins, begged to ride enormous Ferris Wheel first. The adults capitulated, and they joined the queue.

When they were on board, Daisy pressed close to the wall of the enormous glass carriage, it turned and rose enough for the next carriage to fill with passengers. Finally, their carriage was at the apex of the enormous wheel, and the gleaming lights of the "White City" twinkled down below her.

“Can you believe this is real?” she asked her cousins. “It’s like being in a fairy tale.”

Their carriage turned around the wheel, suddenly showing Daisy a veiw of the two men she’d heard arguing near the temple. They were in the next car with a mustachioed, bespectacled Black gentleman with them. Most shockingly, a white woman in a strange costume was attacking them. Daisy and the other passengers facing the nearby car all gasped and exclaimed over the exchange. Bursts of green light, like some sort of magic trick, kept appearing and disappearing.

“Is it a show?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t think so,” Daisy replied. “They seem in earnest.”

The commotion ended as quickly as it had begun. No one could understand what had happened. Shortly afterwards, the ride ended. Daisy and her relatives disembarked.

They were heading to the nearest exit when the Ghost Clock, of which they’d heard rumors - appeared suddenly, huge and unbelievable, over the Midway.

“Girls, hurry!” shouted Daisy’s uncle, putting his arms around them and rushing them to safety. Daisy screamed and ran with the other girls. They quickly put the apparition out of sight.

“Well, I shall never forget this night, not in a hundred years!” declared Daisy’s aunt that evening as she tucked the girls into bed. “You’ll certainly have a lot to tell your family when you go home again.”

“I certainly shall,” Daisy replied with a strange, knowing smile.