#I should dust off the cobwebs on it and start developing it more

[multi-fandomdisaster]

Hello I am lowkey begging you to tell me about the au you mentioned in your reblog of my Warrior of Webby John post pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls pls

YES ABSOLUTELY!!!!!!

So the AU starts out by following John not doing too hot post-getting absorbed into the Black and White during Black Friday. He's struggling and going Through It™️ as the Black and White starts immediately trying to warp him to better fit into itself when Webby sees that he's there and helps him out as a thanks for saving Lex. Mentally exhausted and absolutely fucking frazzled by the all the supernatural cosmic horror shit that's been happening to him, he basically straight up collapses at Webby's feet and devotes himself to her right then and there. Her response is basically just "Okay if you really want," & from then on he becomes her like- not quite servant, but you know what I mean. Kinda like a much more chill version of what Wiggly & Wiley have going on lmao

Also there's a lot of spider-based body horror that happens to John at this point, so that's a lot of fun!!! :)

I took inspiration from Nick Lang saying in a live stream somewhere that at one point they were debating making a Nightmare Time episode that was a direct sequel to Black Friday where everything was post-apocalyptic after the nuke hit, and have it so that basically Hatchetfield is going through the apocalypse and Webby ends up sending John in to make sure the Foster sisters don't die (because Wiley's still out there wreaking havoc lol)

[kianmcgrath]

While his place of work wouldn’t be his most favoured drinking spot, Kian had worked in worse pubs than The Black Dog back home. When you went to school with half the bar staff, and the majority of the punters knew your name one way or another, it should have made for a happy environment, but that had rarely been the case for him. He’d spent his most formative years hiding from his own shadow, burying pieces of himself under GAA jerseys, pints of Guinness and having the sense knocked out of him by his father. New York had been something of a fresh start – one that had belted him across the face faster than any Sliotar ever could, his gaze greeted by the startling sight of his dear old Dad’s face looming over him on the many screens across Times Square. After his mother had passed away, Kian thought the most important thing he could’ve done would be to reconnect with his Half-Brothers and hold on tight to whatever family he had remaining, but he’d forgotten just how much of an ache it left him with to be in such close proximity with the man who’d made his childhood so difficult. 

The Black Dog was something of a safe haven, despite its somewhat lackluster and unsavory appearance. He knew that if he kept his head down and got to work that, for the most part, people wouldn’t bother him. Pulling pints and listening to the dreary tales of some tipsy New Yorker was a far sight more enjoyable to Kian than having to hear Luca, naive as he was, wax lyrical about just how much of a genius their shared sperm doner was. He needn’t worry about Rafferty developing a sudden love for Cats the Musical, nor Ivy singing showtunes down in the cellar. He could take on dust mites and the cobwebs any day of the week if he was weighing up his options between Debra, the Health and Safety officer and Andrew McGrath, Satan himself. 

Though he was officially off the clock, Kian was still perched at the end of the bar, stool rocking back and forth beneath his weight as he drummed absently against the counter. He’d had plans to meet up with Rory after his shift had finished up, only for his friend’s publicist to call him in at the last minute for some urgent meeting that Kian hadn’t bothered nor cared to ask about. Instead, he’d stuck around, wondering if he should wait for Raff to wrap up his own shift, or if he should just knock back a few pints and find some fella with equally low standards and a tight lip to keep him company for the evening. 

As though the Universe were answering his prayers, Kian glanced up and caught sight of a well-dressed man who, in truth, looked entirely out of place in their grubby little bar. Fashion had never been Kian’s area of expertise – something Davey chastised him for regularly – so he wouldn’t even know where to start in explaining the stranger’s attire other than to say he wore it well. And, if he were feeling especially bold, to admit he wouldn’t mind seeing him out of the outfit, too. 

“Alright?” Kian nodded in the man’s direction, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried to find his voice. 

Despite his situation with Rory, and his recent flirtationship with Louis – if you could even call it that – Kian was well out of practice. While he wouldn’t call himself closeted, he’d certainly found himself to be a little more withdrawn as far as his sexuality was concerned since the attack. He was trying to get over it, to put himself back out there and remember that New York wasn’t Dublin and that nobody knew him here, but it was proving more difficult than he cared to admit. He was well out of practice, and he hardly knew what it was he even wanted from other men anymore. 

“Can I get you a drink or anything? I mean, I'm off the clock, so... I’d be buying,” he huffed out an awkward laugh, silently imagining all the ways that Davey would be mocking him right now if he could see his older brother. 

[animeomegas]

let's imagine this: asra and his alpha are having THAT fight, although it's more like asra yelling all desperate and his alpha trying to calm him down so they can talk properly. asra is having none of that (even if his alpha it's not even mad or actually fighting, they just want asra to feel better) so his alpha just interrupts him while he's starting to panic and simply says:

"where do you want to go? i think it would be nice living in the middle of the forest, just the two of us. and if the plague continues for more than a couple of months, we could even open a shop in whatever place we'll live in"

asra is like what?? and the alpha just tells him something like "i want to help our city, but not if that is a reason to be away from you. you're my mate, the most important person in my life. i'm sure i can figure out a spell or something else that let's me help find a cure for the plague while being in some far away city instead with you, the both of us safe and most important: together"

i feel like asra would just start crying because he thought he was going to lose his alpha, that they would choose to stay instead of understanding that he doesn't feel safe in the city anymore and even if someone else could think that he's selfish, it really makes sense to just want his mate safe, you know?

and then they just cuddle (WITH FAUST TOO !!!) while talking about what kind of place they want to live in while the plague still exists. i'm soft :(

¡¡ I JUST HATE THAT IN THE GAME, MC DIDN'T GO WITH ASRA LIKE ?!?!? THEY COULD HAVE USED THAT WATER SPELL TO HELP FIND A CURE WITHOUT BEING THERE PHYSICALLY !!!

(Omg I totally agree! I would have been out of that city the second that plague reared it's head. I simply do not have loyalty to places and I would be gone lmao 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️💨 Also, my prompt for Asra for Kinktober is emotional sex, which you sent in of course 😉, and I think I might use this post as the backstory for it... @bymoanne)

Okay, so Asra has been watching the plague develop like a hawk, and he's decided that they have to leave. They have to. Otherwise his alpha will die, and Asra knows he won't be far behind. Things are going from bad to worse, and Asra knows they have to leave now before the city gets quarantined.

But then his alpha says the worst six words he's ever heard.

"I want to stay and help."

And Asra breaks down into hysterics completely, shouting and pleading and bargaining and saying anything and everything he can think of to convince them. He's furious at them for doing this to him. For putting him in this position where he can't protect his mate. But he's also not surprised. This is so like them, to want to help everyone, and normally it's one of his favourite things about his alpha, but right now he can't stand it.

And Asra's alpha is just staring at him, completely blindsided by his breakdown, vaguely aware of Faust slithering up to rest on their shoulders. He'd been quick to leave Asra when his shouting started.

They had no idea he was feeling so unsafe, feeling so desperate to leave. They do want to stay and help but not if this is what that decision does to Asra. He'll never leave them, they know that, and they couldn't bare to watch him breakdown like this if they decided to stay.

They try and get him to calm down, but he won't let them speak. He feels like he's going to die, like they both are going to die, if he can't convince them right now that they need to leave.

...

"Where do you want to go?" they interrupt him, speaking loud enough to be heard over Asra's panicked pleading. His voice dies down as the words register.

"What?" he asks, dazed.

"I don't know if I ever mentioned it, but my family had a cabin in the woods about thirty miles from here... It hasn't been used in years, but it was pretty hidden and secure, so it should still be there. From what I can remember, we left the kitchen stocked with plates and cutlery, and the linen cupboard stocked with blankets and sheets. I can't promise that the roof won't leak and that the blankets aren't musty and need washing but, if you want to go there we could fix it up a little?" they offer.

Asra blinks a few times, before his bottom lip starts to quiver.

"Really?"

"Of course! We can pack up as much of our stuff as we can, we'll have to hunt and grow a lot of our food there, but we can bring as many cans of food as we can to supplement. There's a river for fish and everything! I think you'll like it, but it will take us about six hours to get there at least, probably closer to eight with all our stuff- Woah!"

Asra interrupts them by throwing himself into their arms. He can't even begin to stop the tears that fall freely from his eyes. He's so relieved he can barely breathe.

"Thank you, thank you," he sobs into their shoulder. He claws at his alpha's shoulders, desperately trying to pull his alpha closer.

"Shh," they hush, holding him securely. "I do want to stay and help, but not if that makes you feel like this. We're a team. I will never make you stay in a place where you don't feel safe."

"A team," Asra repeats in a whispered voice. Faust gently begins to transfer back to Asra, now that the shouting has stopped.

"A team," they place a kiss on his head. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow, it's too late today. The cabin is hard enough to find in the daylight and I haven't been there in years, the night is too risky. It will give us some time to pack though."

Asra sighs, nuzzling in to his alpha's neck, exhausted. All the adrenaline is starting to crash and now he just feels tired, but also so, so grateful.

"I love you," Asra says, trying to push as much emotion as he can into those words.

"I love you, too," they reply, sliding a hand up to nestle in his hair. "Why don't you take a nap while I make a packing list?"

...

Asra's alpha sits on one of their sofa's, Asra's head cushioned in their lap as he sleeps, and they write a packing list.

They leave just before dawn, with as much stuff as they can carry between them, dragging a small cart behind them to help. They all (Asra, his alpha and Faust) exit the city without touching anything or talking to anyone. They walk in silence, focused on just leaving as fast as possible without a fuss and without catching anything.

It takes a whole day of walking to arrive at the little derelict cabin, but the second they do, Asra feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

There are cobwebs everywhere, the roof is questionable, and the whole place is covered in dust. But it's workable, especially with magic. They have a food source, a water source, blankets and a bed, a semi functional kitchen... and crucially, they're far away from any town or city.

It's perfect.

[I really want to build the little derelict cabin in the sims 😆 Maybe I will haha]

[skribblz]

I- I- I-

I would die for some DaiSuga from Haikyuu fic 😳💳🛐

lemme just- dust the cobwebs off the haikyuu portion of my brain knjnkjbnkbf

“I swear those four always manage to give me a headache during every practice.” Daichi grumbles, hand carding through his own hair as he and Suga leave the gym. Today was as exciting as always, with all the screaming and rolling thunder’s and fighting. How does Kageyama and Hinata manage to turn everything into a fight? It’s like they were soulmates; soulmates destined to argue on and on forever.

“Hey.” Suga’s voice cuts in, lightly pulling the captain out of his internal monologue. “Yes, they do get annoying and it’s definitely a hassle to reel them in, but they’re practicing hard! And have you seen them study? They’re really eager to play with the team.” He laughs, shaking his head, “They may be idiots, but like you said: There’s no way Karasuno could bring out our best without these four idiots!” 

And Daichi chuckles at Suga’s impersonation of him, who even throws his hand out dramatically. The setter smiles back, punching his arm, “You know you love them.”

Daichi stumbles forward a bit at the hit, “Yeah, yeah. I’m really glad Kageyama is fitting in. Have you seen his face? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s developed permanent wrinkles already.”

“You’re one to talk!” Suga quips, mouth pursed in a pout, “Not long ago you were all eyebrows-scrunched, angry-faced about our underclassmen!” The frown then slowly morphs into a playful smirk. “Y’know...I think you should smile more.”

Ohh Daichi did not like that tone of voice. His body tenses as the other third-year takes a large step towards him, hands held out disarmingly. Suga still has a cheerful grin on, but on the inside, who knew what he was planning? “Come on, Daichi. Let me help~”

“Suga, I swear you better not be-” He gulps when the other’s fingers start curling inward, immune to the warning. “You better not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“And what could that possibly be?” Suga responds sweetly, wiggling those digits teasingly, “Wouldn’t you like a massage from your boyfriend?”

“You-!” Was the only thing Daichi could get out before Suga pounces, grappling him into a tight hug. He doesn’t waste a second, gently but firmly kneading in between the captain’s ribs. 

Daichi crumbles into Suga’s embrace, slapping one hand onto his mouth to muffle the giggles while the other fists his boyfriend’s sweater. 

“Aww no fair,” He hears Suga whine, “Stop hiding already!”

“St...stop it!” Daichi exhales sharply. He was sure the giggles would come pouring out if he dared open his mouth again, and he was right, “Suhuhuga nohoho!”

Said boy beams, now switching his targets to Daichi’s hips, digging into the spaces gleefully, “There we go! I think I should tickle you in front of our first-years to show how cute and non-scary our captain is.”

“Dohohoho nohohot!”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re in a position to argue right now.”

“I’ll mahahahake you dohoho so many diIHIHIHIving receives! NONONO NAHAHAT THERE-!”

“You don’t sound very threatening.” Suga giggles along, skillful fingers eliciting chortles and guffaws from the volleyball player, “Feeling better? No more frowning?”

“YEHEH- YEHEHES! NOHOHOW STAHAHAHAP!”

Suga pulls his fingers away from Daichi’s torso, and wraps his arms warmly around him instead. “I really like your laugh, and your smile makes me really happy.” He murmurs, waiting for Daichi to catch his breath.

The other feels his cheeks start to turn red, opting to stay silent and lean into the touch. He also brings his arms up around Suga’s back, pulling the other boy towards him. And they stay like that for awhile, content with each other’s company, soft breaths filling the air.

“...I’m really going to make you do 200 receives tomorrow.” 

“Are you now?” The setter chuckles into Daichi’s neck, not noticing the hands inching towards his sides.

“And just so you know...I really like your laugh too.”

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

20 Oct. Suptober: Library hours

Dean, kneeling, shivered, shivered, shivered, and the hand in his hair tightened.

s10 au after 10x03; deancas, nsfw-ish

Everything about the mansion was brittle, rickety. To move in any direction was to step on a squeak or into a bitter draft. Cobwebs fine as torn lace and dust thick as grave ash coated nearly every surface. In a crooked sconce on the wall a taper tallow candle burned dirty, throwing claws of dim light onto a narrow swath of the room, leaving the rest in shadows that seemed to writhe, a susurration of centipedes just out of sight.

Dean, kneeling, shivered, shivered, shivered, and the hand in his hair tightened.

The looming bookcase at his shoulder gave him a prop to balance against. He let the ache in his jaw be soothed by the two fingers Cas tenderly traced his cheekbone with. Dean had his eyes closed, because there was so little light to see by and because he could easily imagine the adoration in Cas's eyes; he had memory of it. His tongue, for that matter, had always known what to do, as if on instinct, and chased the taste he craved. 

He was making it so good for Cas, which meant it was so good for him too. 

Dean's whole body was liquid and limpid, caressed by pleasure. Even his knees didn't mind the position on the rough-worn floor. Cas's grip eased slightly but his breathing turned shallow and shaky, a tell-tale sign, and urgent heat shot through Dean as he turned his attentions to that most sensitive spot underneath--

"Dean," Cas said, horrifyingly, in Sam's voice.

The bookcase prevented Dean from escaping as he yelped away and the edge of a dusty shelf possibly broke his elbow in the process.

"Dean," Sam repeated.

Dean jerked awake at their table in the back of the Cooper County Public Library. 

He managed to bang his knee beneath the extremely solid walnut top and knock over a large mocha latte in the process. Those fucking to-go cups were damn insulating: the beverage was still hot as shit as it sluiced into Dean's lap.

It was at least as effective as having his crotch doused with cold water would've been, but much more embarrassing.

"Good dream?" Sam asked. He grimaced watching Dean try unsuccessfully to clean himself up with the two dinky napkins the Barrel Hut Coffee Cafe had provided and slid a bunch of books and papers away from Dean's side of the table.

"No," Dean said through gritted teeth. 

Yes.

The mark on his arm didn't as much pulse as itch, for a just a second.

A specific remnant of the dream -- the hard kiss he'd given Cas, pushing him to the wall, his pupils blown wide and black, the sheer want that made Dean almost salivate -- bounded up and punched Dean in the-- 

Thank god his barn jacket would button up.

"Check this out," Sam said, shoving a faded 8x10 photograph of a horse stable in his direction. "The archivist thinks the house has been investigated by ghost hunters before, 'cause everyone in town gossiped about it for years, and look, a developer also had designs on the place in the fifties and was found hanging from a rope in this out back. Ruled suicide, of course."

"Fantastic," Dean said.

Sam frowned at him. "Yeah, nothing like a murder unsolved for sixty years in addition to three currently missing kids to add some joy to the job."

"Sorry."

"Maybe you should go back to the motel, get some real sleep." Sam stood up and started stacking ledgers into a neat pile. "I can interview Marianne Fisher's father in an hour."

"No, that's all right." 

"Dean," Sam said with utmost patience.

"You heard from Cas lately?" Dean asked without a scrap of it.

Sam stopped stacking. "Not this week. Why?"

"Nothing. Just curious what he's been up to with whatshername."

"Hannah." Sam's tone indicated a slight whiff of deliberate tolerance on his part.

"Right." Dean pushed away from the table and zipped up his jacket. 

Sam saw; Sam didn't comment.

Not about the coat, anyway. "You could call him. Get back to the motel room, kick off your boots. See how he's doing."

"Nah," Dean said, refusing to look anywhere near Sam and his pointy poker face. 

Sam gathered up his notebook and bag, started heading for the door. "I can interview one guy by myself."

They exited the library, nodding politely to the librarian at the front desk as they passed. The heavy gloom of early evening surprised Dean as they walked to the car. He must've napped for way longer than the twenty minutes he'd assumed. His reflection in the Impala windows showed dark circles beneath his eyes. 

"Dean," Sam said.

"Fine," Dean sighed. "I'll go back to the motel."

"Why don't I drive and I can drop you off." Sam nudged Dean away from the driver's door.

In the room, Dean stared at his phone on the mattress for a solid fifteen minutes. During this time, the dream danced at the periphery of his thoughts and started to vanish in fog. 

Dreams didn't have to signify anything. They weren't portentions or potions, much less innermost fantasies dragged into triple-x-rated three-dimensionality. He couldn't quite remember, but he thought the dream hadn't even seemed strange enough for all that nothing like the events therein had ever -- would have ever -- happened, save the setting itself, which was painfully obvious given the case. Not once had his hand or Cas's cock turned into a puppet which turned into a bearcat which turned into a Ricky Henderson Topps baseball card from 1980.

Not that-- It wasn't like he'd ever got a real good look at Cas's--

It didn't mean he wanted anything. Anyone. It didn't. It didn't mean--

Plus, there was the mark on his arm. A lifetime of bad ideas and dead friends and. And. 

His phone rang. Dean looked at the display, saw the name, felt his breath quicken. 

Let it go to voicemail, man.

He swiped to answer.

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 407: Fall Princess

Ren crouched down as he crept towards the village. Ruby was right behind him on all fours as she crept into the village. Jaune stood proudly as he crept into the village. Nora nervously crept up behind them. They approached the first house, and Ren slipped inside, quickly slipping out again. They repeated this as they made their way about the village. Nora tapped Jaune on the shoulder, and he crouched down to tap Ruby on hers. He made sure Ruby had stopped before turning around. He leaned down. Nora leaned up to whisper into his ear. "Are we... like... doing this to every house?" Jaune veered backwards before nodding. He then leaned forward once again. "What about, I don't know, tonight?" Nora asked.

Jaune veered backwards again and simply looked in her eyes for a moment. He then pulled back and looked about the town. His gaze focused on the inn. Two floors would give them at least a bit of warning. Nora vaguely saw the inn against the coming night, where Ruby looked over and saw it clearly.

* * *

Night was fully upon them as they made their way to the inn. This time Jaune proudly opened the door. Ren slipped in under his shoulders and into the inn, quickly looking around. Jaune crouched down to step into the room, followed by Nora and then Ruby, who closed the door behind them. Nora sighed as she looked about nervously in the darkness. Jaune reached back for her shoulder, but found her head, which he gently pet. The pleasant noises she made seemed to indicate that she had calmed down.

Ren slipped ahead, quickly moving from room to room before approaching the stairs, and looking back at them.

"Ruby, let's try to get the lights going while Ren checks the second floor."

Ruby stood up as the two looked around.

* * *

Ren returned to a well illuminated hall.

"Did you?" Ruby asked, but Ren shook his head. He quizzically looked at her as he approached. "Hm?" she asked.

"You are conflicted... afflicted." Ren voiced.

"She looks like she needs a hug." Nora said, and Jaune quickly pulled Ruby into a hug. The two enjoyed their hug for a few moments before Ruby looked up at him.

"So, uh, how long are we going to?" she tried to ask.

"Until you stop shaking." Jaune replied. Ruby cuddled back up to him and contently sighed.

"Wait?" Nora asked, "If Jaune's not... who's going to cook?"

"I will see," Ren stated, "what I can do - with the kitchen." He then walked off before stopping and turning around, "And right now, Ruby's comfort is important for all of our safety."

"Because bad thoughts bring bad Grimm." Nora stated, as Ren left the hall. "I know when I'..." she said, and gestured to Ruby, "hugging Ren always helps me. Is this really your first time?"

"A ruined village." Jaune stated, "The bodies..."

"Just hold me..." Ruby said to him, and Jaune hugged her even tighter.

* * *

Jaune and Ruby sat on a couch with Nora lounging opposite them. Ren walked in and he was carrying what looked like a flute? It was an extremely dark green, nearly black, but had green filligree that seems to catch the eyes. He pulled it out and started playing, the green filligree beginning to glow. The music quickly soothed their souls as they could feel their tension sublimating off of them. The music was so beautiful the others could do nothing but focus on the music. Their eyes became glassy as they looked off into the distance.

* * *

Ren finished playing and quietly sat down on a nearby chair. "I am honoured that my music could soothe you so."

Jaune shook his head vigorously to remove the cobwebs. "What was that?!" he asked.

"It seems I can use my Semblance with the music." Ren quietly, simply replied.

"Okay?," Jaune asked, "but like, okay, Ren, sorry, but I've got a few questions."

"I figured you might."

"You play the flute?!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Off and on for my entire life." Ren voiced, "As least... once... " he said, and solemnly trailed off. "Music was the only thing we could really bring with us. Every place has a flute, including this one, it seems."

"Okay, that answers a couple of my questions.." Jaune voiced, and Ren developed a wide smile, the widest Jaune had ever seen on him.

"It seems it's worked with Wind Dust, natural wind dust, which is becoming a rarity nowadays." Ren voiced.

"How so?" Ruby asked.

"Everyone is?," he said, and paused to find the right word, "excited - about excess refinement." Ren voiced.

"I does make it more efficient." Jaune stated.

"Which I am sure is what they are after, but working Dust into objects was once a time honoured tradition, that this place seems to adhere to."

"Did..." Nora quietly added, and Ren sighed, dropping his head.

"Indeed."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Yes?" Ren asked.

"Is that what happened with Cinder?!" Ruby asked.

"As a point of order, you have not, yet, even so much as confirmed what happened there."

Ruby nervously looked about. "Okay, yeah, I guess I got used to - hiding - but like..." she said, and trailed off, "what would you guys have done if you knew?"

Jaune looked Nora in the eyes, and they concured. He turned to Ren and the same occuried. He then looked to Ruby, "I think I speak for everyone here."

"Well, duh!" Nora exclaimed, "You are the LEADER after!"

This caused Jaune to develop a warm smile, again, the rarest for him. He turned back to Ruby, "We would have wanted to help you."

Ruby nervously looked down.

"It seems," Ren voiced, "you have more allies than you know."

"I really should count my blessings," Ruby voiced, "once in a while. Uncle Qrow would always say that to me."

* * *

Aurora walked up to Klein. "Mr. Seiben?"

"Yes, Aurora, how are you settling in?" Klein asked her.

"I would like to speak to you about my quarters."

"They are standard servant quarters, miss." Klein replied, and she breathed in deeply.

"It's not the size I have an issue with, but the proximity." Aurora tried to say, "I should also be with my mistress when she needs me."

Klein's eyes turned blue as he leaned in to stare into hers, "That is a skill good servants develop." Klein stated. He then leaned back and his eyes turned yellow "Do you think it is easy for me to always be at the beck-and-call of this... energetic family?" Klein asked, and Aurora developed a curious look.

"how?.."

Klein's eyes turned brown, "Anticipation. You have to learn to be where they need you before they do."

"I have to read her mind?" Aurora asked.

Klein's eyes turned Blue once again, "Or as close as you can without that Semblance."

Aurora gently nodded.

* * *

"And that's what happened in the Cross-Continental..." Ruby said, and paused for a moment, "Weissy-Thing!"

"I do believe this woman was at the fall of Beacon?" Ren asked.

"Watching us with her henchmen!" Nora exclaimed.

"Emerald and Mercury?" Jaune asked.

"How did you know?!" Ruby asked.

"I was," Jaune said and paused, "worried about them. Before. We couldn't prove anything, though."

"Let me guess?" Ruby asked, "You felt it in your antlers?"

"That's as good a description as any." Jaune stated. "I think that only works on, I don't know, my friends?" he asked.

"Sympathetic souls?" Ren asked. "I do believe that is why Tranquility worked with my music, and why you were so enthralled with it, despite my lack of dedication to the art."

"Huh... wha?.." Jaune asked.

"He's just being humble." Ruby added.

"That is kind of his thing." Nora added.

"Indeed." Ren stated. He then heard something from the kitchen. "And I do believe that is my cue. If you could move to the table?"

Nora went from completely slack and relaxed to springing upright in a moment. Ruby and Jaune squeezed each other tighter before rising. Ren bowed and left for the kitchen.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, a-wolf-and-his-boy!

For @a-wolf-and-his-boy. I hope you enjoy this work, I had fun writing it.

Read On AO3

*****

A Summer Night's Ball

Chapter 1 - The Ball and Garden

“Come on, Stiles. Everybody is going to be there and who knows, you might run into your mate!” Scott said. He was (unsuccessfully) trying to tug Stiles from his bed without ripping any blankets. “Sitting in a ball of misery isn’t going to help things. So Lydia isn’t the one for you, so what? You’ll find someone just as good.”

Stiles poked his head out of the cocoon of blankets he’d made to say, “Scott, there’s not going to be anyone as good as Lydia and I’m probably doomed to be alone for the rest of my very short life. Just because you met your mate at the masquerade ball doesn’t mean I’ll meet mine. Why is that even still a thing? There are better ways to meet people than dancing with a bunch of masked strangers that you’ll never see again.”

Scott made a grab for Stiles’ head, getting a handful of hair before Stiles could retreat back into his cocoon. “It’s the biggest event in the country and plenty of people go to see if they might find their mate.” Scott grew claws on the hand not holding Stiles and slowly brought it closer to the chunk of hair in his grasp. “So get out of bed or you’ll be getting a new haircut this minute.”

“Don’t mess with the hair, dude!” Stiles tried to toss the covers off, knocking Scott off-balance who ended up falling on top of him.

“No crushing the Stiles either. Get off of me.” Stiles shoved Scott to the side, who ended up on the floor given how small the bed was. Stiles got up and reached for his closet doors only for Scott to stop him.

“Dude, my mom and your dad got something for you to wear to it so go to the bathroom and change into the clothes hanging in there and then we can go.” Scott turned Stiles around and shoved him out of his bedroom. Stiles mumbled as he walked to the bathroom about the traitor keeping him out of his own kingdom, got in and saw a full suit hanging. Never had Stiles felt so betrayed since that time in school when Scott refused to watch Star Wars with him, only to end up watching it with Allison later that year. After changing into the uncomfortable outfit, Stiles got out and saw Scott in a similar suit, though thankfully not matching like a couple. Both of them were wearing half-masks covering only the upper half of their faces, one of the more traditional choices. The bright red mask Stiles wore was slightly less traditional but he’d already given in to wearing appropriate clothes, he wasn’t going to wear a boring white mask too. He’d worn it to every ball and he wasn’t going to break that streak for anyone, luckily it looked like their parents knew that since the mask matched with his suit.

“Well, let’s get going. Sooner I’m done with this, sooner I can go back to my den of despair, misery and hopeless pining.” Stiles said.

“That’s the spirit! Who knows, I still think you might meet someone.” Scott said.

“And that’s why I have you, a ball of infinite optimism and sunshine.” Stiles said. The pair got into Stiles’ old beaten jeep and went to the old castle near the center of Beacon Hills. The country’s royal family lived elsewhere (nobody sure where the Hales currently lived after their last home burned down. Luckily, none of them were hurt.) but the castle itself was still used for major events like the Annual Ball that happened in the summer on the solstice. Being a spark, Stiles knew it was one of the major days of performing magic and the ball was originally a ritualistic event performed by the community to shelter them from anything evil. Nowadays, there were quicker, easier and safer methods so the ritual itself had stopped but the gatherings took on a new purpose. They were a chance for people to get together and possibly meet their mate or let people gossip about the latest incident or talk business. It was a day devoted to love according to the romantics like Scott or business to the less romantic like Stiles.

They pulled into the designated parking lot, almost full because it had taken Scott a long time to drag Stiles out so the pair were late since it started at six pm and it was close to eight and sunset. Stiles was feeling a little jitterier than normal, his spark was acting up a little but he put it down to what always happened at this event. It wasn’t like that last year when part of the Hale family didn’t show up but that was a coincidence as far as Stiles was concerned. After walking past the security, they entered the crowded ballroom.

“I’m supposed to meet Allison near the refreshments table so I’ll be heading on over. Go socialize a little, maybe dance a bit. My mom should be floating around if you are really bored but I think she finally got your dad off for one of these things and invited him.” Scott said.

“Dude, you should’ve told me that earlier and I would’ve come without a fight!” Stiles said. He gestured a little too strongly and almost hit a woman next to the pair. She glared at him and walked away so he turned back to Scott. “We’ve been trying to get them together for ages now, I thought it was agreed we tell each other any developments pronto.”

“I thought you already knew! You always seem to know everything before I find out so I thought you knew about them coming together too. Look on the bright side, we might be brothers soon!” Scott held his hand out with Stiles giving him a high five. Scott turned and his face took on a dopey grin.

“Guess I can’t bother Melissa then. She’d kill me if I ruined her chance.” Stiles noticed Scott was no longer paying attention to him. He shoved Scott and said, “Go on, I know where your mind is.”

“Thanks, Stiles. I’ll see you in a couple hours. My mom said we could be out as late as we want so don’t expect me to ride back with you.” Scott blurted out and then took off running, knocking a couple people over in his rush to get to his mate. Stiles shook his head and walked the opposite direction, the band switching over from the high-paced song they had been playing when the pair walked in to something slower. Stiles spotted his dad and Scott’s mom on the dance floor, swaying to the song, his dad in a similar suit to him and Scott while Melissa was in a matching dress. It was obvious they have been planning this for some time now and Stiles was pretty disappointed he hadn’t seen this before Scott.

The area near the dance floor was crowded as can be, a mix of people leaving the floor and trying to get on causing a traffic jam with no end in sight so Stiles gave up on dancing after trying for a few minutes. Spotting an exit nearby, Stiles took it to get some fresh air and maybe see what else he could see in the castle. While it was generally open to the public, there were still some parts that were off limits that he might be able to see this time around, even though he’d tried last year and failed so badly his dad had to bail him out. The exit he took led to a hallway he’d been in before, with less guards around to block him from snooping luckily. He peaked in a few doors only to see empty rooms with no furniture. Some had obvious cobwebs in the doorways and dust stir after he opened the door so that was a major disappointment for Stiles. He’d been hoping for something interesting given he was never allowed in but the rooms were filled with nothing after nothing after nothing.

His last hope for anything of interest was the last door at the end of the hall. With a quick charm, he was able to unlock the door and exit into what must have been a garden. He hung his jacket from a nearby tree branch and placed his mask on top of it, glad for some cool air after being inside the hot room. Most of the gardens were open to the public so he figured he’d probably seen this place before during daytime. He turned to leave until he noticed the large white wolf statue in the center straight ahead on the path from the door. That was something he had never seen before. Stiles approached the statue, noticing that the fur was extremely detailed, every strand was lovingly carved. The wolf was posed as if to threaten any intruders, teeth bared as if in anger.

He was almost to the statue when he heard a growl which he jumped and thought came from the statue itself until he heard it again. Turning around, he saw a large black wolf, eyes glowing a haunting yellow, staring right at him and felt a shock at the sight from his spark. He froze and saw the wolf do the same before it took a deep breath and softly whined at him. Stiles had no clue what to do about the obvious werewolf and stood still, slightly trembling. The wolf crouched down and approached him, Stiles wanted to back away but doing that now would be a giant mistake. He had to hope that the wolf wouldn’t do anything to him for obviously trespassing on Hale property.

“Nice sourwolf. No need to get violent. I can go back to the party and we can forget I ever did something this stupid, okay?” Stiles held his hands up in surrender. The wolf was almost to him, still taking what he thought looked like a submissive stance, before it reached him and shoved its nose up against him and loudly breathed in. “Whoa there, don’t you think that’s a little too personal? Buy a guy lunch before you start sniffing him like that at least.”

The wolf rolled its eyes before it gently grabbed his vest and tugged him away from the statue and away from the door he had come from. He followed along since he didn’t have much choice, ending up approaching a small bench that was hidden further into the garden. He saw a basket full of clothes next to a small bump on that side of the bench but ignored it as the wolf shoved him at the bench. He flailed for a moment before landing on the bench, mostly upright. “Hey, be gentle! You could have nudged me and I’d have sat down.” The wolf turned, grabbed the basket by the handle with its mouth and walked behind a bush. “Oh, so that’s for you to change back. Might actually get to talk to the man behind the wolf, huh? Don’t take too long.”

A couple branches shifted and one cracked loudly while he waited, probably the wolf turning back into human form while crouched down, Stiles guessed. A hoarse masculine voice said, “You aren’t in trouble for coming back here. I didn’t expect to find my mate here but I’m glad to see the white wolf is still looking out for my family.”

The man came out fully only in a shirt and jeans, eyes no longer glowing a bright gold. It was hard to tell what his looks were from how late it was getting until the man walked right by Stiles and pressed something on the other side of the bench and lights sprang to life in the garden. The gentle glow illuminated all the flowers, breathtaking in how they were arranged like rays of the sun coming from the center where the wolf statue was vaguely seen from where they were.

Stiles looked the man over, his shirt was tight against muscles he’d love to see, stubble he’d love to rub his face against but the eyes were the man’s best feature. They sparkled in the light, flecks of gold and possibly other colors glittering within. His admiration of the man’s perfect body halted when he registered what he said. “What do you mean, mate?”

“Can’t you feel the bond? I knew from your scent you were my mate. I have been catching your scent at these things for years, today was the first time I’ve seen you. I never expected my mate to be the local sheriff’s son.”

“And who are you? You’re obviously a werewolf, you are allowed back here and are an unmated man so you have to be a Hale but there are a couple it could be.”

“Derek Hale.” Derek stepped forward, hand out for Stiles to grab. “Grab my hand and you should recognize the pull if you haven’t already.

Stiles looked at him, eyes slightly squinted, before grabbing Derek’s hand and felt his spark leap out of his skin, reaching deep inside the werewolf to embrace Derek, both man and wolf. Stiles lost his footing but Derek pulled him close, holding him steady against his chest.

“Now do you feel it?” Derek said.

“Yeah.” Stiles breathed out. It took a couple moments for him to steady himself but he didn’t leave Derek’s embrace. “So what do we do next?”

“I was hoping you can come meet my family, they’ll be thrilled to see I’ve found my mate. It will have to be after the ball ends, could I convince you to stay until then?”

“I think that can be arranged.” Stiles said, pulling Derek down to sit next to him on the bench. “Why don’t we sit here and get to know each other a little before you drag me in front of your family.”

“Deal.” Derek said. “But can I have a kiss first so we can seal the deal? I’d rather do that here under the stars, in the garden, with nobody around to see.”

“Fine with me, dude.” Stiles said.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek said.

“I’ll call you dude if I want, sourwolf. Guess you’ll have to shut me-” Stiles said before Derek interrupted by kissing him, slightly too forceful and at an awkward angle that soon changed to something much more enjoyable.

Derek pulled away and said, “Good to know that works.” He kissed Stiles again, the garden hiding the pair from other eyes while they found ways to entertain themselves while waiting for the party to end.

TBC On AO3!

[gingerhulksmash]

The sketchbook.

Hazel has gotten used to throwing away little scrap bits of paper bearing any marks of her boredom during senate meetings, but she’s beginning to regret it now, as she’s bundling old meeting notes into a recycling bag. They never contained anything vital to the meetings, just stickmen blowing rude speech bubbles, games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, Jason’s chicken scratch scrawl asking did she want to get donuts after the meeting? She can’t remember if she’d said yes, or if she’d smiled, or if she’d told him she had drills to run.

She hopes she’d said yes. She hopes she’d scribbled yes, I would love to get donuts with you, so he had known for sure that there was nothing else she’d rather have done that day. If she’d known what was coming, she’d have asked him, after every meeting, and stretched out what should have been a longer friendship. What should have been more time with her first friend in Camp Jupiter. What should have been more time with someone she saw as a—

As a—

She’s getting distracted, and her eyes are starting to prickle. With a shuddering sigh, Hazel goes back to gutting Jason’s old desk. Purging it of all traces of it’s former occupant, though she’s fighting the urge to have it towed towards his funeral pyre. Whoever sat at it next wouldn’t be quite so deserving, not of the title, not of the office, not of the desk so covered with the imprint of his late night work and coffee spills, she begins to wonder if they couldn’t conjure Jason’s soul from out of the grainy wood itself.

But, she reminds herself, it’s just a desk. No more a part of Jason than the office, the chair, the pages and pages of work scattered around. As she plucks the sheets from the drawers, her fingers brush the soft leather spine of an old sketchbook. She gasps quietly, fingers jarring with uncertainty — as if she’d found a diary, some private relic that Jason would have forbidden her to touch if he’d been there.

He is not there, and Hazel pulls the book from it’s hidden corner of the desk drawer, glancing around to make sure she is completely alone. 

Inside is a comfortingly familiar mess of writing, and drawings. Almost every page is stained with coffee or ink — after the Giant War, Jason’s hands had developed a slight tremor, and she sees it in the unsteady lines in the details. The pages are dated, signed, almost pedantically. Habits of a boy whose life had been pulled out from under him, once, twice, thrice. An ache in her chest tells her that he was making sure he forgot nothing, that he had something to fall back on to remember himself, if no one else did. Then, as she turns the pages, loose pieces begin to fall out. The first one she picks up again knocks the wind out of her a little.

She’s looking at her own face, sketched clumsily in blue ink. He’s not the most articulate artist — the eyes are uneven, the light seems to be coming from all directions, and not a shadow or crease in the clothes visible — but the light strokes of the pen, the careful curve of her nose and every stray hair, speaks volumes. Signed, dated, and labelled with her name, he has captured a moment she can’t remember at all. More loose sheets contain faces of friends, Frank, Reyna, Gwen, Bobby, Dakota — it goes on, and on. The sketches get better the closer they get to his last visit. She makes more appearances, as do their new friends. She gets misty eyed over drawings of Leo and Piper, passages written about Festus and how to repair him, just the way Leo taught them in case he couldn’t do it himself. 

The margins are full of birthdays, important dates, minute sketches of New Rome and Camp Halfblood, flashes of scenes from quests. He has not travelled far, and the places he has been allowed were chained to danger. But to anyone who had not known Jason, it read like a How To Remember Your Friends guide. Like a memoir. He’d even kept all the little notes that they had traded in senate meetings, wedged in between loose sheets and sometimes glued to the pages. He’d kept the ridiculous drawings as if they were precious photos. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face. 

The last piece she picks off the floor is an old drawing of Thalia. She’d recognise the face anywhere, even with Jason’s haphazard drawing; blue eyes overlined so vividly, the blue ink had seeped through to the other side of the page, the hair an inky splash, and freckles dotted across a rakish grin. It was not signed, or dated, but it had one sentence scratched across so messily, he must have written it in a fit of something.

She’s real, his writing reads. She’s real, her name is Thalia Grace. She’s not imaginary. I’m not the only one. My sister is real. 

Something wet splatters on the page, and the ink bleeds blue down Thalia’s face. Hazel forgets to clean the rest of the desk, forgets she is surrounded by scraps of paper, and dust, and cobwebs. She sits on Jason’s chair, rests her head on her arms, and bawls.

——————————

Waiting for Nico to appear sends her back to her first days at Camp Jupiter. Hazel doesn’t know if she’ll see him, if he’ll warn her of an absence or a visit. Today of all days, she does not blame him for hiding a little. They grieve the same loss in different ways, but she needs her brother here, too. She needs the reassurance, and the understanding, and the presence to prove to her she’s not on her own.

Just like in old times, when her stomach is in knots about Nico not showing up, it’s a Grace who approaches her with a kind hand on her shoulder. But when Hazel turns to face Thalia, her heart leaps to her throat.

Thalia looks like she’s been quietly rusting the past few days. Pale, shoulders slack, her hair dripping down her face. She is not wearing her circlet, her eyes look bloodshot and grey. If someone told her that grief could rob a soul of it’s immortality, Hazel would have believed it from just one look at Thalia.

But there she stood, with a strained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking through Hazel.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Suddenly, Hazel feels like this is the worst idea she’s ever had. Jason’s sketchbook sits heavy in her bag, weighing her thoughts down until there is no room for words to form. All she can think to say is how are you, but it is the silliest question in the world right now. 

‘I did,’ she sits as she speaks, gently prompting Thalia to do the same. 

Thalia remains standing for an awkward minute, wondering perhaps if Hazel has worse news for her. She seems to decide it isn’t possible, and sits, avoiding eye contact all the while.

‘Will you be leaving soon?’  ‘Don’t know. We have some business to attend to while we’re here,’ Thalia’s voice is brittle, too. 

Hazel has seen every sign of crying except the tears, and she can’t help but wince internally at how similar that was to Jason. The closest she’d ever come to seeing Jason weep was the night he had told her about Mount Othrys, and even then, he had held his composure for her sake. He did not like to make others feel obligated to comfort him, and she understood. If Thalia was anything like that...

‘You can’t take a few days off?’  Thalia makes a noise that might have passed as a laugh. ‘Hunters don’t get sick days, Levesque.’

It’s eerie. He’d almost said the same. Praetors don’t take sick days. 

They fall into silence. Hazel wishes Nico would appear soon, so that someone who knew Thalia better could deliver the book. So someone who knew Thalia better could handle the fallout. So someone who knew Thalia better could talk about her brother, and not make Hazel feel stupid for ever thinking of Jason as her own family, when Thalia had more right to cry and scream and break down than she did.

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And the anger hits Hazel as soon as she’s thought it. If rifling through that sketchbook had shown her anything, it was that Jason had been as desperate for family all his life, as she had been desperate to not feel alone when she reached camp, too. Nico and Thalia could come and go as they pleased, but Jason and Hazel — they had been the ones left behind, they had been the ones to pick each other up again. They had been the ones to reach their hands out, with every fear of rebuke and rejection, to any other lonely soul who might be in need. 

Just as she starts to think, I should keep the book myself, Thalia sighs. 

‘If I don’t do my job, someone else suffers,’ she says, after a long pause. ‘What would I do with my days off, anyway?’

To this, Hazel has no answer. 

‘Are you taking any days off?’ Thalia continues, finally turning to look at her. ‘No. I... I can’t,’ ‘Why not? He’s like a brother to you, too.’

Again, her eyes prickle. A lump in her throat makes it hard to speak for a few more seconds, and in lieu of an answer, Hazel reaches a shaking hand towards Thalia’s. Thalia squeezes her fingers back weakly, and sniffs.

Slowly, Hazel reaches into her bag, and draws the sketchbook out. It feels heavier than anything she’s ever held before, but she holds it tightly, for fear that a second of slack grip would send all the pages flying into the air, never to be seen again. Gingerly holding it in her lap, she pulls the hand holding Thalia’s to rest on the cover. 

‘What is that?’ ‘It’s Jason’s,’ immediately, as Hazel says it, Thalia stiffens. ‘We used to draw together, now and again, when he had time. He, um. He kept a lot of the things I drew for him, and — and drew some of his own,’

Thalia is looking at the book as if it’s going to bite her, but before she can pull her fingers loose, Hazel closes her hand over them, too soft to constrain, but quick enough that Thalia might understand it as a plea to hold on.

With a shaking voice, Hazel finishes. ‘I want you t — I think you should have it.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ The rasp in her voice tells Hazel she might cry, or yell. Maybe both. Both might be good for her, for Hazel, too.  ‘Look at it. On your days off,’ Hazel offers. ‘Look at it now.’ ‘I can’t. I didn’t even know he liked to draw,’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’ 

She peels the cover open, blinking furiously to ward away any tears, and lets Thalia try. When she doesn’t move, when Hazel can hear her breathing become difficult and tight, she turns the pages for her, shows her the friends and adventures scribbled there, the notes, the reminders. Her hands shake as she shows Thalia all the drawings of her, her eyes begin to blur. 

‘He loved you so much. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know this about him, he’d have wanted you to have it,’ her voice cracks, at long last. ‘He barely knew me at the start and he loved me, he wouldn’t have cared if — if you didn’t —’

Thalia’s hands on her face, wiping away her tears, are what alert her to the fact she’s crying. Through her hazy vision, she can make out Thalia’s stony expression, fighting valiantly to not break. How like Jason; these are the habits of someone unaccustomed to having the space and permission to feel. She was no older than Hazel, something she remembers with another swoop of pain — Thalia had died at thirteen, too. She understood the gravity of a second chance, and now the pain of having that blessing tainted by loss, by grief, by danger.

Before she knows it, Thalia has pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand at the back of her head. She lets Thalia hold onto her, until it feels like she is being leaned on in turn, until she hears the quiet shudder of a sob that gets louder and more heartbroken.

The book, still in Hazel’s clutches and pressed to her front, is forgotten and unimportant for the moment. But when this is over, she knows Thalia will take it. When this is over, Nico will come home to Hazel. Tyson will go home to Percy. The cohorts and cabins in both camps will close in on their loved ones, and Thalia will vanish into the wilderness with nothing but this book, and it will be all she has of him. Paper, ink, a leather back that will slowly but surely break apart over the years as it’s yanked open to bring Jason back to life, for a moment or two. 

Hazel holds Thalia until her sobs subside to a tremor, and thinks, maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe after this, when this is all over, Thalia will visit, they’ll get donuts, and pore over the book together. Maybe she’ll teach Thalia to draw, and they’ll draw together. That would have to wait — for now, she will make do with the comfort she is being offered and has the chance to give back. She’ll hold onto Thalia, and Thalia will hold onto her, and as he should have been there in person, Jason was there between them, with his family.

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 5/14 - Juno

Chapter Summary: Jaida and Brita are left with no choice but to be honest with each other, when the evening doesn’t exactly go as planned …

(A/N: Hi all, thank you so much for all your support as always! Fun fact: this chapter has been the longest one to re-edit following the first draft I wrote, so posting it feels awesome. Hope you enjoy part five!)

6.23PM

Dusk had set in, and the main source of natural light, a large circular window at the top of the staircase, was behind the two figures, casting them into shadow. Jaida finally found the torch on her keyring and prayed that it still had some battery; fortunately it switched on, throwing a little more light onto Crystal and Aiden, who both looked bewildered to see them there.

“Detective – Detective Hall?” Crystal exclaimed.

Dahlia let out a huge sigh of relief. “You two nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! Wait, who are you two?”

“Witnesses, Dahl. You two shouldn’t be here,” Jaida scolded. “It’s been taped up, and anything could have happened in this building. You need to leave it to the professionals.”

Aiden looked ready to leave, but Crystal kept staring at Jaida.

“You saw Gigi too, didn’t you?” Crystal asked her, realisation spreading across her face. “That’s why you were trying the door. She’s in there. You know she is.”

“Crystal –“ Aiden pleaded, tugging at her arm, but Crystal didn’t move.

“Did you see her?” Jaida asked quietly.

Crystal nodded cautiously. “Ten minutes ago. We couldn’t open the door either. And when we heard you coming up, we just – well, hid.” Crystal motioned to the guest room where they had emerged from. “But I saw her.”

“Saw who?” Dahlia looked at Jaida. “Who did you see? The missing girl? The one you’ve got the case on?”

“Show me a picture of her. Your most recent picture.” Jaida approached Crystal, tugging Dahlia along. Crystal pulled her phone from her bag and tapped it a few times, bringing up a picture, and holding the phone out to Jaida.

It was unmistakeable. Crystal’s curly red hair and excited energy commanded the picture, but her arms were wrapped around the waist of a cool, blonde-haired woman, holding the phone and smirking into the selfie.

Jaida nodded, sure now.

She’d seen Gigi.

Footsteps came clattering up the stairs behind Crystal and Aiden, and they all turned to see Rock heading up towards them, with Jackie and Brita behind her, gingerly climbing the stairs. Jackie wore a grey hoodie under her coat and had parted her fringe to the left side instead of the usual right, which did not quite hide the bruise developing on her left temple. Brita looked very shaken, her skin pallid, the hood of her own hoodie over her brown curls.

“What happened to you?” Jaida went straight to Jackie, raising a tentative hand towards her face.

“I’m okay,” Jackie muttered.

“That’s all she’ll tell you,” Brita said darkly.

“I am okay! Why were you all up here?”

Jaida swallowed hard.

“I saw her. I saw Gigi, in that room. And these two did too.” She motioned to Crystal and Aiden.

Jackie raised a hand to her throat, but Brita shook her head firmly.

“Impossible. Forensics’ report said they couldn’t get in. The room hasn’t been opened in years. There’s no one in there at all.”

“Can we all try the doors together?” Crystal motioned to the double doors of the living area again. “I’m sure Gigi was in there! Maybe if we all push together …”

“Wait, who are these two?” Rock motioned to Crystal and Aiden.

“We still don’t even know who you are yet.” Brita folded her arms.

“Oh, this is Rock. She’s here to cast protective spells.” Dahlia nodded.

Brita put a hand to her forehead. “Jaida, why do we have someone here to cast protective spells?”

“For protection,” Rock said cheerily.

“Look, it’s fine, now can we try the doors? All of us could get the room open!” Jaida tugged at Jackie’s sleeve towards the double doors. Crystal followed her, Aiden shrugging and joining her friend, and Brita sighing in exasperation and joining them all. Rock, looking politely confused, joined Crystal and Aiden on their door, while Dahlia counted down.

“Three, two, one – PUSH!”

With the six of them working on it, the doors started to creak, dust breaking off and showering them. After another coordinated effort, and a lot of coughing, the lock finally gave way, with the doors swinging open, creaking in protest.

The room was enormous, built like a studio apartment, with a separate partition where a bedroom space would be. But the only things in the room other than cobwebs were a faux crystal chandelier which was shattered, covered in dirt, in the corner; and two or three dead pigeons near the chimney gable.

“Jaida –“

But Jackie’s protest fell on deaf ears. Jaida sprinted across the room to the window on the far right, and leaned out to overlook the front of the house below, and Westfield Avenue.

“She was here! Right here at this window!” Jaida pointed to the ground at her feet, looking at the others, who were creeping towards her, watching her cautiously.

“Jaida,” Jackie pleaded.

“You guys – just stay here a second – I have to go – check –“

Jaida stumbled back and out of the room, followed by Rock, who was calling after her, “You’re not going anywhere alone here!”

She burst out of the main door, out into the overgrown garden, back to the fence, and looked up. Sure enough, the window that the other five were leaning out of was the window that Gigi had appeared in, she was sure of it!

“I swear I saw her,” Jaida whispered, while Jackie’s pity was evident on her face even from this distance, Crystal was nodding fervently next to her.

Rock put a hand to her shoulder, and stood silently for a moment. “You see lots of spirits.”

Jaida looked at her suspiciously, but Rock was still staring at the window, rubbing Jaida’s shoulder absently with her thumb, her face pensive.

“Not everything that has no body is a ghost.”

“Wait, what does that mean? What are you talking about?” Jaida was shaking in fear, her breathing shallow and panicked. She forced herself to calm. Was Gigi alive? Was she dead? How was she at the window but not in the room?

“All I mean is, when you see a spirit, ask yourself what they might want, how they might feel.”

With that even stranger thought, Rock finally let Jaida go and walked back into the entrance. “Come on, we should set up. I’ll need to place the protection for the room. We’ll set up here, in this room.”

The house was very dark inside now, with little external light and no electricity. Jaida set her torch down, illuminating the area for now. What had been the main room of the guest house smelled faintly of weed, and the door to the kitchen area behind it was partially ripped off, hanging by the top hinge. Some graffiti was dotted around the walls.

There was more noise on the stairs as the five upstairs came down and into the main room. Jaida immediately pulled Jackie into a hug. “You look like you’ve been through it, girl.”

But Jackie just clutched at Jaida’s shoulder. “Jai,” she whispered, “there were no thoughts in that room. No people. Gigi definitely isn’t there.”

Jaida’s heart sank. Did that mean the worst had happened?

“We can’t give up hope, there’s still no body either,” Jackie’s voice sounded a little stronger, evidently hearing Jaida’s thoughts.

“No one is giving up.” Jaida nodded, letting Jackie go again. Jackie took a deep breath.

“Jaida,” Jackie whispered. “I need to talk to you about something.”

From upstairs there came a resounding crash, almost right above their heads.

“What the –“ Jaida took off at full speed up the stairs, Jackie behind her, and when they reached the top of the stairs, Jaida saw that the double doors to the room had slammed closed, shut fast once again, and a lock clicking into place of its own accord.

“Oh, shit. We left those doors open.” Jaida felt Jackie seize her arm. “We should get back to the main room. Like, now.” Jaida followed Jackie down the stairs, tripping over a large rock in the doorway as she did, and moving it away with her foot.

Brita had placed more torches in the room, and it was much easier to see now, although it was still quite dark. Rock was sweeping the room with a smoking bundle of what smelt like sage, placing stones in a circle, as Crystal and Aiden watched her, amazed.

Dahlia placed her box on top of the coffee table in the centre of the circle, the largest piece of furniture in the room. “I brought the board, thought that would be the best route to take. It sounds like we’ve riled someone up already.”

“Sure,” Brita said, nodding, not looking at anyone. Jaida tried to catch Brita’s eye, wondering what had gotten into her this evening, her quiet demeanour was getting unnerving.

“Protective work is done,” Rock finally said, placing the last rock, which Jaida saw to be amethyst. “But we should still stay together at all times, in this room, preferably in the circle.”

“Shouldn’t we have done this upstairs?” Crystal asked, glancing at the ceiling. “That’s where Gigi was!”

But Rock shook her head firmly. “No. Whoever is up there doesn’t want us there. It could get dangerous. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with.”

Dahlia laid out the ouija board and planchette and placed the box on the floor. “We all need to use our energies to communicate. If something has happened to Gigi Goode, in this building, then there should be, like, a spiritual remnant. Have any more physical clues come through?”

“Just the anklet that was found. I don’t think forensics found much more over the weekend. But I don’t have it; it doesn’t leave the office.”

“Alright,” Dahlia nodded. “We might still get something without it.”

Dahlia settled cross-legged on the dusty ground at one end of the table, with Rock on her right, and lit two candles in large glass jars, which she placed at each end of the table. Jaida, clutching Jackie’s hand with her right, positioned herself next to Rock, while Brita sat with Jackie, trying to find room to rest fingers on the planchette around the candles and incense.

Aiden gave Crystal a gentle push, prompting the them to walk towards the main door to leave.

But Rock waved to them. “You have to stay here. I’ve created a protected area. You can’t leave it now without risking a spiritual attack. You have to stay with us for this investigation.”

“What?” Jaida exclaimed. “You’re kidding, right?”

Rock shook her head. “They have to stay. Something is riled up, upstairs. They could risk attachment, or worse, if they left now. They have to stay until we close.”

Crystal looked nervous, but Aiden simply walked across the room to sit at the little coffee table, between Dahlia and Brita, and cracked her knuckles.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Crystal followed her over, and Jaida felt Jackie squeeze her hand again.

“Tell us now if you need to stop,” Jaida said firmly.

Jackie took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly. “I’m okay.”

She was starting to look more normal, her face relaxing, some colour returning. She took her hand out of Jaida’s and placed it on the planchette. Jaida did the same, and the planchette just about had room for all seven of their fingers.

Dahlia closed her eyes.

“Wait, what if we summon a spirit that’s illiterate?”

“What?” Aiden asked, turning to Crystal, who was speaking.

“I mean, most people couldn’t read or write until the twentieth century, so if we summon someone from before then, how would they spell their name on the board?”

Dahlia opened her eyes and flashed Crystal a cynical glare.

“Not now, Crystal.” Aiden nudged her, returning her hand to the planchette.

Dahlia cleared her throat and closed her eyes again. “We come to peacefully and respectfully communicate with the spirits in this building …”

It was difficult to focus on Dahlia’s words, as every time Jaida blinked, a new spirit seemed to manifest itself somewhere in her peripheral vision. It seemed like Dahlia was right – this place was a cesspit of the paranormal.

At the door of the kitchen, in the threshold, stood a woman whose skin was charred-black, with cloudy white eyes, and burned clothes. Fire victim. On the stairs stood a somber man with a moustache, who kept disappearing and reappearing, in the same position.

“If you wish to communicate, please use our energies.”

Jaida forced herself to stay in the room, focusing on the room and the board, and not the people who were appearing. She didn’t want to think about any of the spirits she could see.

The planchette moved, twitching. Jaida watched the movement, feeling it twitching against her fingers. It certainly wasn’t her doing he movement. Was someone moving it?

She turned her face to Brita, illuminated by the torchlight, who was glazed over, staring as if in a trance at the ouija board. Jackie turned to her as well, sensing something.

“If you are Gigi Goode, or if you know of her, we invite you to speak with us.”

Another figure appeared at the door of the living area, next to the staircase; a tall woman with flowing black hair, and plainly blue eyes even from this distance, and her expression livid. Out of the spirits there, Jaida felt this one was the most real, looking more solid than the rest.

She glared at the burned woman at the kitchen door, who seemed to shrink back. Jaida blinked, and the fire-charred woman had vanished, along with the man on the stairs, leaving only this new entity, who looked thunderous.

“Can you spell out your name?” Dahlia was speaking to the board, everyone else transfixed on the letters, and the planchette’s stagnation, but Jaida could not take her eyes off this woman in the doorway.

Jaida blinked frantically, but this woman took a step closer, into the room.

Her breathing was hitching in panic, she forced herself to calm down.

This woman with black hair drew nearer and nearer to the seven of them with each second, her face incandescent with rage.

Jaida’s blood was turning cold.

She felt Jackie’s eyes on her.

“They can’t hurt you,” Jackie breathed.

“I know,” Jaida whispered back, trying to convince herself.

The planchette, which had been gliding softly without any real direction, suddenly whipped down the board to “Goodbye”.

“W-what?” Dahlia stammered, but before anyone could think, Brita’s eyes rolled back into her head before falling closed, her body jerking suddenly as she let out an involuntary gasp.

Jackie’s hand came away from the planchette and seized Jaida’s, tightly, through fear or control or just anchoring them both to the spot …

… and Jaida saw Brita, leaving her own body, rising slowly to her feet.

It took all Jaida had to keep from screaming at that moment.

Her body was there, utterly still, frozen upright in her kneeling position – but a spectre of Brita was standing behind her, holding her hands out, as if trying to feel for something in front of her.

Everyone else in the room was looking at Brita’s body, watching to see what was happening to her – everyone but Crystal, who was looking at the same thing Jaida was, her mouth open in horror.

Brita seemed to float across the room to face the woman who had entered, and this woman reached out towards Brita.

Jaida watched the woman seize her, seeming to pull Brita’s spectre towards her face, and out of the corner of her eyes saw Brita’s body jolt again –

Enough was enough. Screw the investigation. She scrambled across the floor to Brita, who was stiffened, trembling, her eyes still closed, while Jackie prized Jaida away …

“No! Jaida! It’s dangerous!”

What the hell was going on?

Jaida thrashed against Jackie’s grasp on her arms, watching helplessly as Brita shook, her hand falling from the planchette. She could see in her peripheral vision the black-haired woman suddenly vanish, Brita’s outline also vanishing, and Brita fell sideways to the floor.

In an instant, wrenching herself free of Jackie, Jaida was leaning over Brita, taking hold of her shoulders and laying her on her back. “Brita?”

Brita didn’t respond. She was breathing, that was plain, but otherwise unresponsive. Jaida tried pinching her forearm, but that didn’t illicit any sort of response.

“Come on! Open your damn eyes!”

On Brita’s right, as calm as anything, Aiden took Brita’s right hand in both of hers and pressed her thumbs into Brita’s palm. What was she doing? There was no time to think about that. Jaida shook Brita’s shoulders gently, but she still didn’t respond for what seemed like an eternity.

Eventually Brita’s eyes fluttered open, her expression disorientated, and Aiden let her go hurriedly, blanching and swaying on her heels, seemingly a little dazed herself.

“Hello?” Brita muttered uncertainly.

“Brita?”

“Jai,” Brita smiled, letting Jaida pull her upright and hug her.

“Why – why did you – what the fuck, Brita?” Jaida spluttered.

“Maybe,” Dahlia interrupted, taking her hands away from the planchette, “we should close this up and try again another night.”

8.42PM

The séance, or lack of one, had taken longer than they’d expected to close. Rock had done this, moving in a certain order that Jaida hadn’t understood, but Dahlia had told her to just go with it, while lighting yet another cigarette and ignoring the already heady fumes of the incense and the sage that Rock had lit again.

Rock insisted on coming to Jaida with the sage, grabbing her arm with her frightfully cold fingers, something passing behind her eyes as she did so. She waved the sage in front of Jaida, who was too shocked to move, until Rock relinquished her hold and moved on to Jackie.

Dahlia stood in a corner, chewing a lock of her hair and pointedly looking over at Brita, Crystal and Aiden, who weren’t paying her any attention. Brita was speaking quietly to them both, Crystal still supporting Aiden, who was seemingly a little unsteady on her feet.

But Jaida, sitting on the floor with her head in her hands, trying to comprehend what had happened, felt Jackie sit with her and put an arm round her shoulders.

Jaida leaned away from her touch. “You knew that was going to happen.”

“Jaida –“

“Why didn’t you stop her?” Jaida snapped. “She shouldn’t have done this. You should have stopped her.”

“It was Brita’s decision. You know her, she wouldn’t back down from anything.”

Jaida’s head was pounding. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jackie put her head in her hands. “I tried, Jaida, I did – but then the door upstairs slammed, do you remember? And then we started set-up, it was too late!”

Rock came over to her, her dark eyes solemn.

“I know what you saw with Brita.”

She glanced at the group of Brita, Crystal and Aiden, while Jaida was too stunned to speak. Crystal had a very shaky Aiden in a tight grasp at her shoulder; while Brita was was nodding earnestly at what they were saying, still speaking in a hushed voice.

Rock turned back to Jaida, her face grim. “You need to watch her.”

———————————

“I know it’s been a long day,” Jackie began, “but I think you both have some explaining to do to each other. And you need a stiff drink.”

Jackie had deliberately positioned herself in the booth at Vanjie’s next to Jaida, while Brita sat opposite them, in order for them to talk face to face. It wasn’t what Jaida had envisioned, but Jackie had insisted, determined that none of them should go into Monday morning not knowing what was happening.

“Come on,” Jackie added impatiently. “I was hired to be a team with you. Well, you need to be a team with each other. I know about both of you, but you don’t know about each other. That needs to change. Right now.” She folded her arms.

Why Jackie had bought them each a Long Island was anyone’s guess, but she looked so fed up that neither of them had argued the point. Jaida and Brita were both politely sipping the cocktails, Brita grimacing at every sip.

“Jaida?” A warning sounded in Jackie’s usually calm voice.

Jaida sighed. “I can see spirits, okay?” She rubbed her temples.

“You’re a medium,” Jackie helped her.

“Okay, okay, so I’m a medium then.” Jaida rolled her eyes.

“And I’m a large.” Brita laughed a bitter laugh.

“I’m serious!” Jackie groaned. “I’m fed up of you both skirting around! There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re like, great friends. You need to be frank with each other, like I was.”

“I know,” Brita replied, stirring her own drink. She turned back to Jaida. “Tell me what you see.”

“Well,” Jaida pondered, “I see the dead, mostly. They don’t talk to me, they don’t communicate with me, but I just see them and they see me. Only … only today, I saw you too. And that scared me.”

“I don’t think you see the dead, Jaida,” Jackie said gently, “but I think you see spirits. I thought you might see Brita today. Because Brita – well, maybe it’s better you explain.”

Brita looked troubled, biting her bottom lip.

“For the record,” Jackie held up a hand. “I should probably explain my part in this. I was out doing some shopping, you saw me this morning, and I saw two men fighting outside a bar. Well, I was stupid. I went to stop them, stupid I know. I took a couple of hits, ended up on the ground and they left me, but …”

“What?” Jaida asked.

“I felt it,” Brita said quietly.

“Felt what?”

“Jackie.”

“You felt Jackie?”

“Bitch, I know it sounds strange,” Brita muttered, “but I know what I felt. I felt this pain in my gut, and then in my head, and after I felt the one in my head, from where Jackie was hit …” Brita shuddered. “I was, like pulled out of my body and out of my apartment, and suddenly I was next to Jackie, where she was on the floor. I could see the bar she was outside.”

“And you were physically at your apartment?”

“Seven blocks away,” Brita nodded. “But I didn’t move! It was like, I felt like I was floating away from my body, and rushing downtown.”

“What time was this?” Jaida asked.

Brita shrugged. “Maybe two thirty?”

“Child, I felt the same things! A pain in my stomach, and then like a migraine pain!”

“It’s the connection, I’m sure it is,” Jackie mumbled, turning to face them both. “I’ve never had a connection before with two people with their own gifts. I feel really bad for making that connection with you both now. We’re all stuck.”

“Now, hold up,” Jaida waved her hands, trying to stop her mind racing. “So I can see spirits, okay, I get that, but Brita? What the hell is that even called?”

“Projection,” Brita responded. “I projected to Jackie without even knowing I was doing it. And again tonight, I projected out of my body. There wasn’t a chance to tell you earlier. Jackie thought I might do it again tonight and – and I did.”

“You projected to Jackie. Right.” Jaida pushed at Jackie in the booth. “I’m getting out of here. I’m going home.”

“Jaida –“

“Jackie, let me out, damnit.”

“You two need to talk about this!” Jackie protested, but Jaida had had enough. She pushed again at Jackie, not roughly, but enough to signal that it just wasn’t the right time. Jackie finally slid out of the booth, and let Jaida out.

“Will you two talk more tomorrow? Please?” Jackie pleaded.

“Yeah, yeah for sure,” Jaida nodded dismissively, striding out of Vanjie’s and into the night.

[jacklynnfrost]

Melizabeth #4

Submission for DAY FOUR of Melizabeth Week @melizabeth-week This piece is Beta’d by Sinfulfics! Check out her works by clicking her name. Everything she creates is amazing and is sure to warm your heart.

Chapter Four: Home By JacklynnFrost

A magic aura surrounds the temple. It’s spires whole and it’s wide building intact. From what they can see from the outside, the only effect time has inflicted is the sinking on one side, making the whole temple lean. Still, it is like an oasis after their rough journey and long nights. Both of them are running on empty, dried out and exhausted.

Meliodas wants out of his travel clothes, to simply sit in the shade without sand chaffing away his skin, to sleep without having to be on high alert and waking at every sound in the night. He wants the same for Elizabeth but with her steps at his side slowing, rather than the excitement he expected he turns to her. He feels stupid for not asking before but shakes it off.

“What do you have to do here, anyway?” he asks flippantly but her head falls, the hood of her cloak shields her face while strands of her silver hair slip down and dance in the sunlight. Meliodas’ curiosity rises and he forces his gaze back to the temple as her silence concerns him, but gives him a semi answer as it must be bad.

Meliodas feels the trust that has developed between them, a bond that has formed while surviving together in the scourge, of having faced the powers still surging out in the wastes and coming out alive. His anger is just starting to tangle inside, gripping at his softer notions toward her when she finally speaks up.

“I’ll tell you everything, but first... let’s settle. We have time before the ritual.” Her words cease his growing anger but her pace doesn’t return to normal and he matches hers, his mind flashing that picture from her book. The one about sacrifices, which he questions the validity as he knows his reading comprehension is poor. Still, he grows a touch suspicious with her demeanor change.

As soon as the pair of them reach the aura around the temple, Meliodas feels it resist him. He pushes against it, which only makes the magic fight him harder. It isn’t until Elizabeth takes his hand that the pushing ceases and he passes across the barrier. “It should recognize you now.”

Inside the aura, the air is cooler, fresher, and he takes his first truly deep breath in what seems ages. Elizabeth relaxes too, her shoulders easing and her face turns up to look to the tallest spire with a sad smile. He follows where her gaze goes, taking in the dull luster of stone before him. Back in the day, the temple must have been magnificent.

Now, age has eroded away it’s shine. Cracks riddle the outside but nothing too big has fallen from its place, the windows are all intact from what he can tell on this side and he knows it’s magic that has held this building together. The front door is wood, solid and closed up on a stoop about seven stairs from the sand with statues on either side of goddesses, wings extended. As they near, it looms larger until its sheer massiveness can not be seen in its entirety from their proximity.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” she whispers as they stop at the first crooked step half out of the sand and half in. He wants her to lead, with how the barrier reacted to him and he thinks it’s clear with how he stands at her side with his head tilted to the door, but she’s still.

“You don’t want to do this,” Meliodas figures, but her sudden flinch and then her expression of frustration spurs her into action. She takes the steps with her chin high and grabs the dangling hook of the door on the right. With a great heave, it opens, the creak echoing around them and inside.

He was expecting to see those that have come before them. A welcoming party of old apostles and warriors but inside is dusty with ancient-looking decor and full of sticky, thick cobwebs. The echo alone is enough for him to know it’s empty of life. “What happened to everyone?” he inquires but Elizabeth slips inside, holding the door for him to follow.

Nothing fights him, his inner demon uncomfortable but not from any force. The power must all be external. He senses something though, lower, beneath them, and with nothing interesting about the molding furnishings and rotted tables he looks in the direction of the mass of power. The floor is solid, the walls plain with old portraits long since dusted over so only outlines of the pieces can be seen.

“Fuck this,” Meliodas mutters, Elizabeth’s heavy sigh at his side is the only sign of her displeasure. “Well, at least it’s cooler in here. Let’s explore, see if we can’t find something to do while we wait for the full moon.” He figures he’s supposed to kill her then, so should keep his mind off things while he waits.

“I didn’t peg you as a silver-lining kind of guy,” she quips. He can hear her smirk and can’t help his responding one as he looks back at her with a shrug. Meliodas isn’t sure how he made her feel better, or what had bothered her to start with, but her eyes soften as she agrees to explore the house with him. “There is bound to be something interesting here, this place is over three thousand years old. Plus, there has to be a water source.”

Most of the rooms smell stale. When there is a bed it sags and most of the furniture is unusable. Every room is covered in thick dust but a few are interesting. The lookout tower is full of rusted old weapons, there is a brewery with old equipment and Meliodas is thrilled to find some barrels still sealed. They come across a secret, obvious mistress room, with old silks and lace and although the room is preserved the dust is too much to endure being inside it for long.

It isn’t until they reach the sanctuary that things are okay, livable. Ornate bowls are along the sidewalls, the windows sparkle with their stained-glass depictions and the pews are solid. On the velvet-lined platform, they find candles, a crown and the two have a laugh trying it on. Neither is sure if it’s magic that keeps it nice or if this is the only place that gets any attention every ten years. “Our last hope is what’s below or we are sleeping in this creepy worship room.” He shrugs while pointing in the general direction of the power source he sensed and the stone stairs that lead down beside the decrepit kitchen.

They pile their things in the sanctuary, having been abandoned on their cloaks in the main room when they entered before the two slip as quietly as possible down the hall to the stairs. The stones are solid but Meliodas leads as he can see best in the dark. After a few steps they both stop and turn to the other, listening. “It... can’t be,” he hushes, a smile spreading.

“Trickling water,” Elizabeth confirms their thoughts and the two take the steps much faster down the winding stairwell. At the base, it opens to a wide cavern. It’s dark, but a blue glow illuminates most of the place from cracks in the jagged chiseled out walls all along the left side with stalactites growing from the roof. “Woah.”

Meliodas is in agreement with her awe, stepping forward to see mushrooms growing where buckled edges meet, the air is humid and he breathes in, feeling his lungs fully expand after so long. He heads down the natural path and what he sees to the right makes him laugh, the sound echoing around them both. “Oh, Elizabeth. You are not going to believe this.”

She knows he is full of excitement but her heart stills and her stomach turns. “We can’t open it,” Elizabeth starts as she steps forward, her hands rising to clasp before her chest and her face growing warm, “not until-” but as soon as she sees what he had her words fade away. Her eyes widen, her smile doing the same.

A series of round and oval dips in the stone create basins to collect the trickling water, it looks clear and fresh, a few of them big enough for multiple people to bathe in. The ceiling has more crystal-like formations pointing down, drips of water plinking from their tips every so often. After the days of dry, the sun burning their skin and wearing the same clothes, soaking sounds amazing.

“I’m not waiting,” Meliodas declares, already tugging at his shirt. She glances his way, not blaming him before looking down at her own dirty outfit, dust from the house having only made it worse. Her hands raise to try and finger comb her hair, finding such a tangled disaster there that she turns her back to him.

“There are plenty, just don’t look. I’ll take the big one on the right.” Elizabeth steps around the smaller ‘tubs’, balancing on the edges between them to make her way to the one she’s chosen. Meliodas pauses, his shirt in his hand, before a smirk tips up on one side. He doesn’t say a word, just wedges off his shoes with his opposite toes and pulls at the ties on his pants. There isn’t a shred of guilt as he watches her bare herself, barely looking where he is going as he steps his way to a central pool, just to be nearer to her.

Her back is smooth, little dimples over her hips and he is mesmerized by her hair cascading down. He wonders how soft she is and if the strands will tickle his flesh...

---HEAVILY REDACTED CONTENT FOR SFW MELIZABETH EVENT--- (Full version will be available on my AO3 and FFN profiles {Jacklynnfrost} with ratings)

...He feels whole. Home. The urge to fold into her and cry rises in him so strongly he isn’t sure how he holds either of his reactions back. Tears prick at his eyes, her body over his feels like the only thing keeping him together as his inner seams unravel so quickly he’s reeling. His head floats in a haze, like the best and most encompassing of mind-altering substances.

Whatever game he was playing, he knows he’s well and truly lost it but this prize is so grand he doesn’t give a flying fuck what he intended before.

“Kiss me,” Elizabeth rasps, her hands cupping the back of his head and her nose grazes over his cheek. Her words pierce through the haze and he is quick to give her what she requests, their lips locking and the first tears he’s shed in many years fall at her gentle exploration of his mouth is healing something he thought could never be fixed within.

Meliodas holds on to her, just wanting her this close. “Thank you,” she whispers while kissing the side of his head as if he isn’t the one blessed by her. Elizabeth doesn’t pull away or complain, simply embracing him with similar emotions while she quietly sheds her own tears in his hair, unbeknownst to him. “Thank you.”

[unhappy-hannah]

A New Beginning

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3206

Authors Note: Hi! I’ve been working on this story for awhile and I just wanted to post it on here to see what people think! Any feedback is extremely helpful!

Autumn Marie Lightwood was born and raised in Los Angeles, California where she trained as a Shadowhunter for most of her life. Her childhood was a pretty typical one for any Shadowhunter in training, like many of those around her. She spent her days training with Shadowhunters her age that also lived at the LA institute. Growing up, she had heard stories from her cousins about the legendary villain, Valentine Morgenstern. He was a Shadowhunter who developed a desire to eradicate the earth of Downworlders. Valentine created a mafia called the Circle, a group of ordinary Shadowhunters who, at the time,  thought they were doing the right thing to protect humanity when they agreed to follow Valentine in his plan of eradicating demon blooded creatures from the earth. Eventually, some members turned on Valentine, when they realized that he was going to murder thousands of Downworlders. Shadowhunters of the New York institute killed Valentine and hoped that the remaining Circle members would realize the awful things he had done. Autumn’s parents were members of the Circle before they turned against him. In hopes of starting a better life there, they had moved to Los Angeles when they found out they were pregnant with Autumn. After her parents passed away, Autumn had transferred over to the New York institute to be closer to her family. Her cousins Alec, Isabelle, and Jace had welcomed her with open arms; they were very happy to have their cousin living with them in the institute. When she continued her training in New York, Jace was the one that helped her the most. The two had an extremely strong bond and would do anything for each other. Ever since she moved to New York, she felt more at home there than she ever did in Los Angeles. 

Recently, Autumn had completed all of her initial training that she needed in order to go on missions. The first mission she went on was very spur of the moment. Autumn went with Jace and Clary to track down demons in the city; a simple mission for her first. She was excited to go on the first mission with her family in New York. Jace and Clary were planning on completing the mission alone, but then Jace asked Autumn if she wanted to tag along. Of course, she agreed. 

Walking down a few flights of stairs, Autumn saw Clary standing in front of the institute's doors. Clary had told her they would be leaving in a few minutes, she was just waiting for Jace to come downstairs. As soon as the three got outside, Jace’s demon tracker started going off. 

“Hurry up, I’ll lose them,” Jace called behind him at the other two as he strode down the streets of New York, his head down as he watched his tracker and the dots that moved on it. He was always excited for missions and taking two of his favorite girls with him was going to be great. He was a little sad to leave Alec behind but he was a busy guy. It wasn’t long until Jace stopped outside a fairly large and mundane looking house. The house was only two floors high as were the neighboring houses which were all made out of bricks that had started growing mold in the cracks. They all looked quite dirty as they must’ve been decades old. From the outside you couldn’t really tell it was abandoned but the windows were blackout out. Jace knew no mundane lived here so this must've been a hideout.

“In there,” He told them quietly, shoving his tracker into his pocket before looking over his shoulder at the girls. “Are we ready?” He asked, slipping his hand inside his jacket to pull out one of his seraph blades. 

Clary was happy things were finally getting back to normal around the institute, as normal as they can get. After they had defeated Valentine, Clary wasn’t sure what was going to happen between her and Jace. If their relationship was going to go back to normal or if it was beyond repair. Though, she was grateful that everyone was alright after the attack on Valentine. Clary wondered how Autumn would do on her first mission. Yes she had all of the extensive training, but being inside the institute is very different than being on an actual mission. 

Shortly after Jace had pulled out his seraph blade, standing in between Clary and Autumn. He was hoping this would be a simple mission. Go in, kill a few demons, and get out. But sometimes things don’t go according to plan. 

Autumn was unhappy Izzy and Alec couldn’t join them on their mission, but the two siblings had work to do back at the institute. Being that this was her first official mission, Autumn couldn’t ever be completely prepared for what could actually happen. Training will help immensely but Autumn won’t know what to do on a mission until she goes on one. She pulled her bow off her shoulder and loaded an arrow as she walked up to the others. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied to the question Jace had asked earlier. 

Jace nodded once after each of them replied. “Good. Don’t forget your witch lights if you need them,” He told them, as it was clearly more dark the further they went into the house. The three Shadowhunters walked into the dark and gloomy house in which they couldn’t see much, besides what light came in through the open door. Jace and Clary entered the house before Autumn did, she stayed back a little bit to see what they would do first. With this being her first mission, she wanted to see what the more experienced two would do in this situation to watch and learn. Of course she was more than prepared to be on this mission but she was just a little hesitant. After all three were inside, they stood together in the entryway looking around the hallway.

Clary had gone on many missions before but for some reason she had a bad feeling about this one. She didn’t tell Jace or Autumn what she thought because she didn’t want to worry them. Stepping inside slowly, she glanced around the room a little bit. “I’ll go check upstairs,” Clary told them before walking towards the stairs. She placed her hand on the railing before starting to  walk up the creaky wooden staircase. 

Autumn watched as Clary started to move to the first floor before looking to the basement entrance underneath the staircase which led to the next level up. “I’ll um... go downstairs and look around,” she said, not really sure where else she could go, “I’ll call if I need you,” she looked back at Jace and nudged him. “Yell if you need help.” 

Jace knew they were both capable Shadowhunters even when he got a bad feeling that he didn’t want to split up but all field work was dangerous. “Be careful, both of you.” He told them softly, hoping Clary could still hear from halfway up the stairs as he cared for both immensely; though he hoped it would be a simple demon nest clear out. “I’ll stay on this floor and do the front side, I’ll stay close to the stairs.” He informed the girls. Jace chuckled a little at Autumn. “Right,” He replied with amusement before turning to his portion of the house. It was too quiet. He could hear Autumn’s steps moving away and Clary’s up the creaky stairs as well as his own but nothing else. No scuttling or rattling the would indicate the demons.

Clary turned her head over her shoulder to look down at Jace and give him a loving smile before turning her attention back on the hallway. She entered one of the rooms slowly, not hearing any noise, which was odd. Saying that it was quiet, too quiet, was an understatement. When Clary saw there weren’t any demons in the room, she turned around quickly only to - of course -  run into a demon. She struggled with the beast for a few moments before eventually stabbing the demon in its side with her seraph blade and watching it disappear completely. 

Jace caught Clary’s smile before smiling back with a nod and then continuing into the kitchen. Not one of the times he went in to scavenge the fridge. Nothing. Everything was covered in a layer of dust. The outside was just a glamour when the inside was abandoned. It was obviously a demon den, he just hoped they weren’t all here at the same time. They usually had trouble fighting off one or two, so if all of the demons were at the house then they would be in trouble. He kept his eyes and ears out as he slowly made his way through into a dining room. Cautiously, he took out his witch light to be able to see better.

…

Autumn had walked down the stairs and looked around the basement. When she got to the bottom, she took out the witch light. There wasn’t much in the basement, just an old chair and many cobwebs. When Autumn turned the corner she saw someone standing towards the back room of the basement in a dark corner. She quickly got her bow ready as she stepped forward. “Come out. Now,” she said sternly trying to get a better look at the person, who seemed to be a man around her age, maybe a little older. He had short brown hair and brown eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was harmful or not so she kept her bow ready at her side. “Come out. Now,” Autumn repeated. 

Hunter stayed in the corner for a moment, he hoped the shadows would hide him but she pulled out her witch light. Of course she was a Shadowhunter, he forgot they existed. He still didn’t step forward into the light, but raised one hand in a half surrender. “Take it easy, Shadowhunter,” He spoke softly, letting his smooth voice fill the empty space between them.

Autumn walked towards him without hesitation. “Why should I?” She asked, aiming her bow at the man in front of her. There was something about him, like she felt she could trust him. She didn’t let her guard down easily with new people she met. He was a demon and he needed to be stopped before hurting an innocent mundane. 

Hunter took one step back when she stepped forward but the wall stopped him from going anywhere. He wasn’t afraid but when someone had a bow pointed at them, he wasn’t about to take a risk. “You’re a demon hunter. I’m not a demon, otherwise I’d have attacked you by now,” He told her reasonably, his hand staying up while she advanced towards him.

Autumn nodded and set her bow next to her. “If this is a demon hide out then why are you here?” She asked curiously. She stepped back a little to give him some room.

“Just being nosy really,” He replied casually now that she had set her bow down. He looked up towards the ceiling for a second before going back to her. “As much as I would love for you to stay and chat I think you should go back to your friends,” He told her. If she couldn’t hear the commotion upstairs he sure could.

...

Jace could finally hear something upstairs. He didn’t take his focus off his surroundings while still listening upstairs, being alert in case Clary needed backup. Clary must’ve found a demon because there was a struggle, he didn’t want to shout upstairs but the demons already knew they were there. “Clary?” He called, he hoped it wasn’t too loud but enough for her to hear him from upstairs. 

Clary sighed with relief as she watched the demon disappear into dust onto the floor right in front of her feet. She looked back at Jace and nodded with a smile. “Yeah. I’m alright. I’m pretty sure that was the only on-“ Clary was cut off as a demon appeared behind her and clawed all the way down her back. The demons claws cutting deep into her back, but also watching Jace to see what he would do and how he would react. Clary screamed in pain and immediately fell to the ground, trying to breathe. She looked around for her stele, but it was just out of reach. 

Jace relaxed a little when he heard Clary say she was alright but he noticed that she didn’t even get to finish her sentence before he heard a struggle again and then her scream. “Clary!” His eyes widened as he spun on his heels and dashed for the stairs. Jace took the stairs three steps at a time to reach Clary as quickly as he could. He saw her on the floor, blood slowly started to pool around her and his heart sank, but he had to deal with the demon in front of him before he could get to Clary. His seraph blade moved fluidly, slicing through the demon as it launched itself at him, falling to dust around him. Jace didn’t hesitate before taking his stele and running to Clary. “Hey, It’s okay. I got you,” He told her, carefully taking her in his arms before tracing over the iratze on her neck.

Clary nodded while she looked up at Jace. “I-I love you,” she said weakly and barely above a whisper. Clary wasn’t sure if she was going to make it out alive so she had to tell Jace that she loved him. Clary realized it seemed cliche but she loved him with everything she had. Slowly raising her hand, Clary gently placed her hand on his cheek. 

“I know. Don’t say it like it’s your last, you’ll be alright,” He told her as if trying to convince himself as well as her. “We have to go.” He told her before swinging her into his arms. Jace ran down the stairs before stopping, looking around for signs of Autumn coming back. “Autumn! We have to go,” He told her. He didn’t like leaving a mission early but he couldn’t waste time; getting her back to the institute fast was what would help her.

Clary wrapped her arms around Jace as soon as he picked her up in his arms. She leaned her head gently on his shoulder as her eyes started to close slowly. Jace started out of the house. He wouldn’t leave Autumn but trusted she’d be close behind. He paused once he passed the front door, waiting for a moment. Clary’s arms started to fall from around his neck as she lost consciousness. Her eyes closed slowly and her breathing became shallow. 

…

Autumn had no idea what was going on upstairs but she knew she had to leave with them. “I guess I’ll see you around..I never got your name,” she said as she was walking towards the stairs.

Hunter watched her head towards the stairs. “It’s Hunter,” He told her, not really expecting hers in return but he felt he’d see her again.

Autumn turned and looked down at Hunter. “Nice to meet you Hunter. I’m Autumn,” she gave him a small smile before running up the stairs and outside to Jace and Clary. “What the hell happened?” She said with worry as she saw the claw marks on Clary’s back.

Hunter nodded once when she introduced herself before dashing off. He knew he had to leave this place, with the demon’s all rattled it was harder for him to stay here. So after a while he went back to his apartment.

Jace didn’t have to wait long before he heard Autumn’s steps behind him then her voice asking what happened. “Demon,” He told her shortly as she’d probably worked it out from the scratches. Once Autumn was back at his side he started back towards the institute.

When they got back to the institute, Clary had woken up. She was extremely weak and didn’t want anyone, especially Jace, worrying too much. She noticed she was still in Jace’s arms so she tried standing up even though he probably wouldn’t let her.

At the institute, Jace laid Clary down in the medical wing to be checked over by Caterina. If there was something to be done it would be done. Jace would beg every warlock around to help her. He stayed by her side, a foldable chair by the side of her bed waiting for her to get better.

Autumn was downstairs in the main room looking at the missions board. She knew she should probably have backup if she was going to go on another mission but she didn’t want to disturb Jace from his time with Clary. Autumn would have asked Izzy or Alec but she assumed they would want to see Clary when she woke up. 

…

Jace rested uncomfortably in his chair, nodding off a little as he waited for Clary to get better. When he opened his eyes again she was gone but after a few seconds he found her by the window. “Hey,” he said a little groggily, standing up before walking over to her at the window. “Are you feeling better?” He asked, glad she was healed.

Clary turned around from the window so she was facing him. “I should have noticed the demon. I was so stupid Jace. If I would’ve paid closer attention then this wouldn’t have happened,” she said blaming herself for the demon attack.

Jace put his hand softly on her bicep. “You can’t blame yourself every time a demon catches you, it happens. I distracted you,” He told her softly. He was worried for her but she was strong, he knew that.

Clary looked over at Jace worried, “Are you okay? Did the demon get you?” She was more worried about him then she was herself. Clary would never forgive herself if something happened to Jace while he was helping her.

Jace gave her a small smile when she asked if he was okay before filling her gently into a hug. “No the demon didn’t get me. I’m alright,” He told her softly in her ear, his arms wrapped around her back.

Clary smiled softly as she felt him wrap his arms around her back. “I love you,” she said while looking up into his eyes. 

Jace looked down at Clary in the hug. “I love you,” He responded happily. She was alright, sore but alive. “You want a shower or?” He offered, wondering if he could get her anything to make her more comfortable.

Clary smiled. “Are you offering to join me?” She asked with a small laugh. She loved how he cared about her so much. Clary walked over towards the bathroom and looked back over her shoulder, she smiled at Jace.

With a smirk on his face, Jace was about to join his girlfriend in the bathroom when Izzy came storming into the room. 

“Guys we have a problem,” Izzy said quickly, “Autumn left the institute.” 

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Six

summary: Christine is still hoping everything with Nancy and Steve will blow over. She couldn’t be more wrong. word count: 4.7k warnings: Teen Angst™ [ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

“And in Roane County, the search for Will Byers has developed into a full-fledged investigation. The twelve-year-old boy was reported missing by his family yesterday morning, and the Hawkins Police Force has been organizing search parties throughout the night. Police have yet to release an official statement of their findings, though one bystander told reporters they saw two officers exiting the woods with a child’s bike sometime late afternoon. For more on this story, we…” 

Christine turned off the television with more force than was necessary. It hadn’t truly processed until she’d woken up the next morning. A kid gone missing in a small town like Hawkins. A kid that she knew—knew well enough anyway. She’d watched Will play Dungeons and Dragons with his friends, raced him home with Dustin, snuck him extra candy when he went to the movies with his mom. The news ran stories about missing kids all the time, and sure it was sad, but it had never really affected her. Now just seeing Will’s picture, smiling without care or worry, made her stomach feel a bit queasy. 

She collected her school things earlier than usual, going to knock on the Henderson’s door. 

“Come in!” Mrs. Henderson was already bustling around the front room, her coat on and her car keys in hand. “Oh, there you are, Christine. Thank you so much for doing this.” 

“No problem, Claudia. Where’s Dustin?” 

“He should be out in a minute. Dusty! Christine is waiting for you! Let’s go!” 

“I KNOW! I’m MOVING!” 

“Heading into work early?” Christine asked, watching Mrs. Henderson slip on her shoes. 

“Yes. I’m hoping to sneak out a few minutes early and head down to the station to help with the search party. Now, Dustin’s going to the Wheelers’ after school—they were all so insistent on those radios—so you don’t have to worry about bringing him home. I do want you to be careful though. Maybe you could go with them and spend some time with Nancy?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’ll figure something out,” Christine said airily. “I might go down to the station myself. It feels kind of weird sitting at home with everything that’s going on.” 

“Oh, alright. Just be careful. Please!” 

Dustin came bursting out of the hallway, tripping over himself as he rushed for the door. 

“Come on, people! Let’s move it! I don’t wanna be late! Love you, Mom! See you later! Chop chop, Christine!”

Christine shared a dubious look with Mrs. Henderson, but followed Dustin out into the driveway. “What’s got you in such a tizzy?” 

“My education, Christine. Sorry for thinking school is important.” 

The statement was punctuated with a sneeze so powerful that Dustin nearly knocked himself over. Christine raised an eyebrow. 

“Bless you.” 

“Thanks.” 

They started off toward the middle school, moving faster than they normally would have. Dustin wasn’t looping around at the corners to wait for her anymore, and more than once he completely blew through a stop sign. She didn’t comment at first, but after he hydroplaned through a giant puddle and nearly lost control, she had to put the proverbial brakes on. 

“Alright, what the hell is going on with you?” she demanded, pulling up on his right. “You have got to slow down, Dust.” 

“No can do. Gotta get to school.” 

“What is so important that you can’t stop at a stop sign?” 

“Learning!” he insisted. Dustin sneezed again, his bike veering dangerously as he fought to recover. “And I’ve gotta talk to Mike and Lucas. Party meeting. Confidential.” 

“Uh-huh.” She narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed. “You went out last night, didn’t you?” 

“What? No! That’s crazy! Why would you say something like that?” 

“Because you lie like your pants are in a permanent state of combustion.” 

Dustin turned to her with a wide grin. “That was a good one.” 

“Thank you. Did you sneak out last night?” 

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “And it was raining. And now I’m sick.” 

“Not to be an asshole, but you kind of earned it.” 

“Are you gonna tell my mom?” 

“Depends,” said Christine with a steady glare. “Are you going out again tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“Then I don’t know. Maybe I will.” 

For a few blocks, they biked in silence. Dustin kept his eyes forward, pouting at the ground. Christine wanted to stand her ground, leave her disciplinary action to stand on its own. But it was always uncomfortable when Dustin went quiet. She didn’t like seeing him upset. 

“Did you find anything?” she prodded. “When you went investigating?” 

“Nothing that will help us find Will,” he said, defeated. 

“Anything interesting?” 

“Do you think there are really crazy people at Pennhurst?” 

“I—What?” Christine blinked. “Pennhurst?” 

“Yeah, the asylum in Kerley County. Lucas says there’s a lot of psychos there. Like, Michael Myers psychos.” 

She stared at him, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. “You think Michael Myers took Will?” 

“Don’t be stupid, Christine,” he complained. “If Michael Myers got to Will, we would have found his body by now. This is a completely separate conversation.” 

“Okay, uh… Do I think there are crazy people in the mental facility in Kerley County? Yeah, I think there are probably a few.” 

“Nuts,” said Dustin, shaking his head. 

Nothing more was said of the subject. 

Christine dropped Dustin off at the front doors to the middle school, staying to watch him park his bike and double check his backpack for his books. She grabbed him by the arm before he headed inside, forcing him to face her. 

“Listen. I know you want to find Will. But you can’t just go running around after dark when nobody knows where you are. That’s exactly how Will got lost in the first place.” 

“I know,” he said sheepishly. “But the party can’t abandon him. What if he needs us?” 

“Then you should probably be taking care of yourself, shouldn’t you?” She ruffled his curls, and sighed. “I know you’re probably not gonna listen to me. But seriously, Dust. If you guys decide to go out looking for Will, tell me, okay? I don’t want you out there alone.” 

Dustin finally looked up at her, a small smile showing the gap at his gums. “You’ll come with us?” 

“We’ll see. But you have to be honest with me.” 

“Okay. Promise.” 

“Good. Now get going.” 

She shoved his shoulder lightly, pushing him toward the building. He waved as he hopped up the steps, but Christine waited until he was safely inside before turning around and heading for the high school. 

In retrospect, she probably should have left earlier. The high school parking lot was almost empty when she got there—full of cars, but devoid of people. The warning bell rang inside, and Christine cursed under her breath. She was late. 

She stashed her bike, fumbling with her backpack as she sifted through the contents. She wouldn’t have time to stop at her locker, but she had most of her morning assignments with her. Some of the textbooks she might be able to share, and she could always write notes in a different notebook and just transfer...

“Ouch!” 

A collision knocked Christine off her feet, and she just barely avoided toppling to the pavement. A hand grabbed her arm to steady her, then released her almost immediately. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean—…” 

“Jonathan, hey.” Christine gripped the bike rack, rolling her ankle around until she was sure she could put weight on it. “Sorry, that was my fault. I’m late so…shit.” 

Christine looked at the ground, where thirty or forty flyers were scattered around. Will’s face stared up at her, the same picture they were using on the news. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” She bent down to help him, grabbing franticly at everything in her reach before the wind could pick up. “Sorry, uh, here…” 

“Not, it’s cool, uh…thanks.” 

He stood up, not meeting her eye as he straightened the pile of flyers in his arms. Christine straightened the books in her backpack, and shuffled her feet. They stood there until the final bell rang inside, jolting them both. 

“Sorry I made you late,” he offered. 

“Oh no, not you. I took Dustin all the way to school this morning, so I was already doomed.” 

Jonathan nodded. “Yeah, that’s—that was probably a good idea.” 

“You skipping again today?” 

“Yeah. My mom kinda needs me at home and the police still have a bunch of questions and stuff, so…” 

“Hey, do…do you wanna give me some of the flyers?” she asked, gesturing at the stack. “I could put some up around school, maybe go down to the shops later. If you wanted some help.” 

“That’d be great, actually, yeah.” He nodded, peeling off a few and handing them to her. “Thanks, Christine.” 

“Yeah, you got it.” Christine nodded, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “If there’s anything else I can do, let me know. I know all the boys are…well, Dustin’s freaked. But Will’s probably the smartest of all of them. So, if you need anything…or your mom or something…” 

“Thanks,” he said again. “Yeah, I—I will.” 

“Cool.” She nodded again, backing away toward the school. “I’ll see you around. Uh…hang in there.” 

She quickly ducked through the double doors, speed-walking toward homeroom. She scrunched up her face, wiggling her nose in an effort to shake the awkwardness that was clinging to her like a cobweb. She’d always kind of known Jonathan Byers, but they were a far cry from friends. And she felt for him, she did. But her morning definitely could have gone without that painful interaction. 

“Miss Walcott,” Ms. Snider greeted, pausing in her announcements as Christine slunk into the room. “Glad you finally decided to arrive.” 

“Sorry, Ms. Snider. Just trying to pitch in.” 

She held up the stack of flyers, and the woman’s face immediately softened. “Alright, well try and keep it between classes next time.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She hurried to her seat, waving off Barb and Nancy’s concerned glances. 

“Pitching in?” Barb echoed once they were all safely in the hallway. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Christine picked out a poster, taking it up on a corkboard as they passed. “Free hall pass.” 

“Real classy,” said Nancy dryly. 

“Hey, I’m worried about Will. We all are. Besides, makes me feel better about my whole stinted conversation with Byers.” 

“Is that why you were late?” asked Barb. 

“Nah. Ferrying Dustin to school, just making sure he got in okay.” 

“I still don’t get why you don’t just make it official and actually babysit him,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, with the amount of time you spend over there, you could make serious bank on that kid.” 

“Well maybe I just like pitching in,” Christine replied with a grin. She dodged as Barb attempted to bump her into the lockers. 

“Well do you have to pitch in tonight?” asked Nancy. 

“I don’t know yet. The boys are supposed to end up at your place.” 

“Do you wanna come with them? We could just hang out for a while, watch a movie.” 

“You sure?” Christine asked. “You don’t have more…I don’t know. Studying to do?” 

“No,” Nancy said quickly. “I mean, Kamisky’s test is today, so. And I—I actually did a lot of studying last night so…I’m totally good to go. Any movie. Your pick.” 

Christine didn’t miss the insinuation, but no one seemed ready to acknowledge it plainly. Nancy’s face remained hopeful, and Barb was suddenly extremely interested in the various flyers on the message board. Even when Christine cleared her throat, she refused to look at either of them. 

“Uh, maybe,” said Christine carefully. “Like I said, I’m kind of on Dustin duty. So it depends on the party.” 

“The party, right. I get it. Just let me know, okay?” 

Christine nodded, peeling off toward her own class. The awkward cobweb feeling was itching at her again, but she pushed it aside. Things with Nancy would go back to normal eventually. 

The rest of the day was relatively normal, until it was time for physics. She wasn’t dreading it as much as yesterday. She hadn’t been as firm with Steve as she’d intended to be, but she was certain she’d sent a clear message not to talk to her. If only to save her the pain of humiliation. They could go back to being minimally friendly lab partners, and that would be the end of it. 

Mr. Austin already had lab supplies out when class began. Christine picked up a lab sheet and headed to her table, scanning through the assignment and collecting the materials they’d need. She decided to get started on her own, since Steve was busy at the next table over talking to one of his basketball teammates. 

Lab periods were ideal because they were the only times you could actually have a conversation in class. With everyone talking at once, it was nearly impossible to tell who was talking about science and who was gossiping about the next big game. So long as the work got done, it didn’t really matter. Most people loved that benefit. It didn’t really matter to Christine, who rarely had anyone to talk to, and usually did most of the work. 

“So, what are we doing today?” Steve asked when he finally joined her at the table. 

“Magnetic lab. Compasses work based on the natural field of…” 

“Psh, not the lab,” he interrupted, propping his elbows on the desk. “I’m talking about you. What are you doing tonight?” 

Christine paused, eyeing him. “…Why?” 

“Well you’re not the only one whose parents go away.” 

“No, Steve.” 

“Come on,” he groaned, pulling the meter stick out of her hands. He twirled it lamely like a baton. “I know the last party you went to wasn’t exactly phenomenal, but this is totally different.” 

“No, it’s not.” She tried to swipe the meter stick back, but he twirled it out of her reach. Christine huffed. “How is this any different?” 

“Well, for one, it’s me. And it’s not gonna be a hundred people. Just four or five of us, chilling at my place. Tell me you’re in.” 

“I’m out.” She made another grab, but missed. “Steve, I’m serious. I’m not interested.” 

“Why not? It’s gonna be fun.” 

“Why should I?” she demanded. “Hm? We don’t talk, Steve. Why are you suddenly so interested in inviting me over to your place?” 

“I told you,” he said, looking slightly taken aback. “I think you need to loosen up.” 

“Thanks. I’ll take it under advisement.” 

Christine leaned around him, seizing the measuring stick and slamming it back on the table. She turned back to the lab report and tried to find where she’d left off in the instructions. The words didn’t make much sense when she was reading them so quickly, but anything was better than looking at that stupid, smug face. 

Steve sidled around beside her. He shifted the various magnets on the desk aimlessly, then ducked his head closer to hers. 

“Alright, you wanna know the real reason I’m inviting you?” he asked lowly. “But you gotta be cool. This is just between us.” 

Christine glared at him out of the corner of her eye. 

“I’m serious, Christine. You cannot say anything.” 

“Fine. Why?” 

“Nancy asked me to invite you.” 

“Nancy?” Christine looked up from the paper, finally turning to him. “You already asked her?” 

“Yeah, this morning,” he said with a shrug. “I told her I was having some people over, and she said that she didn’t want to come if it was just gonna be me and my friends. I told her she could bring you and the other girl, but she said I had to ask you myself. And then that I wasn’t allowed to tell you that she told me. Whatever that’s about.” 

It took a few seconds for her rage to sneak up on her. But once it did, it was difficult to hide her fuming. Both her hands clenched into fists, and if she was squeezing any tighter, she might have ripped her paper in half. Steve must have noticed the warning signs, because he quickly waved a hand. 

“Hey, that’s not to say I don’t want you to come. I wouldn’t invite you if I didn’t want you there. But Nancy was going on last night about how close you two are, and…” 

“Last night.” 

She’d already known. But just like her conversation with Barb, she hoped he would correct her. 

“Yeah,” he said plainly. “I was at her place to uh…help her study.” 

Christine nodded, grinning furiously at her lab. She forced a deep breath through her lungs, and grabbed for the compass on the table. Science. She needed to do science. 

But Steve grabbed her wrist and pried the instrument from her hands. 

“Look, is it a crime to wanna hang out with my lab partner?” he asked. “No ulterior motives, no weirdness. I just figured it’d be more fun that way. You know, your friends and my friends.” 

He sounded earnest. But it was a tone she was getting used to. And this time, it wouldn’t work. 

“I get it, Steve,” she assured him, her face composed in a sweet smile. “Seriously. I completely understand.” 

“Sweet. So you’re coming?” 

“Still no.” Steve groaned, and Christine smiled wider. “You can tell Nancy I was very flattered and distraught, but I’m babysitting tonight. I’m sure if you ask nicely she’ll still come.” 

“Babysitting?” He scoffed, tapping her on the nose with the compass. “Damn, Walcott. You really don’t know how to relax, do you? Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda a buzzkill?” 

“Nope. Usually I’m such a buzzkill no one wants to talk to me.” There was a beat of silence, and Christine eased the compass out of Steve’s hands. “That was a joke.” 

“Oh, shit.” He relaxed a bit, and Christine was amused to find a twinge of relief in his chuckle. “You had me going there for a second. I didn’t know you could joke.” 

“Can we get back to the lab now? Please?” 

Steve was reluctant, but eventually relented into doing the work. It was a pretty simple lab, a lot of repetitive work and recording numbers. Slide the magnet toward the compass, record. Slide the magnet toward the compass, record again. That was ideal for Steve, since it didn’t require a lot of complex theories. It was ideal for Christine because she wouldn’t be distracted from the fury that was brewing inside her chest. 

When class was over, Christine headed straight to the gymnasium. She hadn’t brought lunch today, but it didn’t matter. She’d gladly go hungry if it meant skipping the cafeteria. 

She leaned back on the tiger mural, turning her Walkman on like she had the day before. For a few songs, Billy Joel was loud enough to drown out the basketball game behind her. But there was nothing he could do to protect her from the nudge against her foot. 

Christine stopped humming abruptly, opening her eyes to see a recognizable pair of brown loafers. 

“Hey, Nance,” she greeted, pulling her headphones down around her neck. “What’s up?” 

“You tell me,” said Nancy. She peered down at Christine, her face not quite impartial. “You’re the one skipping lunch to brood by the gymnasium.” 

“I’m not brooding,” she defended. It was a weak argument at best. “How’d you find me anyway?” 

“Wasn’t hard. Figured I’d start in the last place you’d actually want to be, seeing as you’re avoiding me.” 

Christine didn’t bother arguing that point. She shrugged, stowing her Walkman away in her bag. “Just wanted some time to think.” 

“About?” 

“I don’t know, life? In case you haven’t noticed, things have been a little hectic lately.” 

“Yeah, I guess they have.” Nancy frowned. Her fingers wandered the strap of her messenger bag. “You know you can talk to me, though, right? If something’s bothering you?” 

Christine stared at her shoes—beaten, mud streaked tennis shoes next to Nancy’s shiny penny loafers. The cobwebs were back, inching over her cheeks and prickling at the back of her throat. And after two days of swallowing her feelings, she finally snapped. 

“When were you gonna tell me?” 

“Tell you what?” Nancy asked, innocence slathered over the words. 

“About the party. Tonight. Were you just gonna let me think that Steve invited me for real? We were just gonna go to your house and you’d pretend you were just tagging along again? Until Carol or Tommy said something stupid, and then I’d make a scene in front of everyone.” 

“Christine, it wasn’t like that,” Nancy said imploringly. “Really! I just thought, you know, since you’ve been so upset the last couple days…” 

“What? That asking your boyfriend to pretend to care about me was gonna make me feel better?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said quickly. “And he does care. He said it would be fine! The more the merrier.” 

“Of course that’s what he said to you.” 

Nancy leaned against the wall, and Christine could feel her looking down on her even though she didn’t lift her head. The loafer nudged her knee this time, pleading. 

“Then forget Steve. Do it for me. I really want you to come, Christine. You and Barb. I don’t want to get stuck talking to Tommy and Carol again all night. It’s gonna be so weird. I need you there. Please.” 

She wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t look up. The loafer kicked her again. 

“Besides, it’s a party at Steve Harrington’s house,” Nancy added with a giggle. “That’s like your dream. You cannot turn that…” 

“Will you shut up?” 

Christine jumped to her feet, snatching up her bag and rounding on Nancy. She was still standing against the wall, shocked and floundering. It made derisive laughter bubble from Christine’s throat. 

“Don’t you get it? Things are not the same anymore! We’re not just gonna go back to normal!” 

“Chris, what are you talking about?” 

“You and Steve!” She carded both of her hands through her hair, gripping it at the scalp. “Are you even listening to yourself? We can’t fangirl over him together like there’s nothing going on. You can’t use him as bait for me when you’re already dating him!” 

“I am not!” 

“You’re not what?” 

“I don’t—both! I’m not baiting you, and I am not dating Steve.” 

“No,” Christine laughed. “So Steve didn’t sneak into your room to hook up with you last night?” 

Nancy flushed, clamping her mouth shut. But she did not argue. Christine sneered victoriously. 

“Yeah, I bet you aced Kaminsky’s test. For sure.” 

“He really did help me study,” Nancy insisted. “He’s not as shallow as you make him out to be.” 

“See, that’s what I thought too. You know, I really thought he gave a crap. That somewhere behind all his popular friends and his jock persona, there was actually a nice person. But it’s just a mask, Nancy. He’s just asking me over to his house to make sure you feel comfortable enough to come. Just like he asked me to Jenny’s party to get you there, or he visits me at work to make sure I do his physics labs. And now you’re doing the same exact thing. You’re just trying to play on my crush on him to get what you want. Looks like you and Steve have a lot more in common than I thought.” 

Nancy was staring at her, tight lipped. 

“Look,” she started, her words slow and controlled. “I know you’re upset about Jenny Fischer’s party. But you do not get to put that on me. You’re supposed to be my friend. Would it kill you to be happy for me for like two seconds?” 

“Oh my God!” Christine cackled again, spinning on the spot. She advanced on Nancy so rapidly that the other girl took a step back. “That is—That is rich. Because you know the best part? You don’t even care! You don’t care how he used me so long as you’re the one who gets to make out with him. How’s that for friendship?” 

“Oh, and you’re so much better?” Nancy snapped. “You’re not even mad at him!” 

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Yes, I…” 

“No, Chrissy, you’re not. Because if you really hated him, you wouldn’t be this upset with me. So what? I’m supposed to hate him for what he did to my friend, and you get to forgive him cause he did it to you? And then you’re the only one who gets to like him? Really convenient.” 

“It’s not a switch, Nancy,” Christine spat, glowering at her. “I can’t just stop liking Steve, or just stop being hurt, or just stop being upset that he doesn’t like me too. So I know you’re waiting for me to break out the bouquet and confetti for you, but it’s never gonna happen if you keep dangling your stupid boyfriend in front of my face.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend! And I’m not dangling him!” 

“Right, of course not. My mistake. What do you call tricking me into coming to another stupid house party so I can make an idiot of myself and you two can make out in front of me?” 

“I was just trying to be nice!” 

“Oh, like you were so nice at Jenny’s party?” 

“That was not my fault!” 

“You didn’t have to kiss him!” 

“And he didn’t have to kiss me!” Nancy finally took a step forward, lowering her voice to a near growl. “You’re just jealous, Christine. And it’s pathetic. You’re jealous, and whiny, and pissed, because even though you spend so much time following him around and desperately trying to get him to notice you, Steve likes me and not you.” 

It hit her like a slap. Christine was certain she’d actually stopped breathing. The momentary lapse of control must have been why her lip began to tremble, why her eyes began to fill with furious tears. She could not believe she was standing here, outside the gym, crying because of Nancy Wheeler of all people. What kind of idiot was she? 

Nancy realized too late that she’d taken it a step too far. She muttered Christine’s name, took another step forward, but Christine held up a hand. 

“You’re right,” she managed, though the words were even shakier than her hands. “I am jealous, you’re right. And maybe I am pathetic. But you know what? You’re a bitch. Screw you, Nancy.” 

She turned and walked away. Nancy might have been calling her, but her pulse was so loud in her own ears that it was impossible to tell. She didn’t have the energy to run, didn’t have a destination in mind. She just walked away, praying Nancy wouldn’t come after her, and that this time, she might be allowed a few minutes to cry in peace.

[shannananan]

we dont talk enough about the short period of time where Ron was also an Auror. that time post-war where Ron and Harry realize they don’t have a world-ending deadline on their heads anymore but it feels wrong to just go back to sports and regular life. With Hermione finishing her studies they’re a little lost without her with them every day, Ron especially. Harry mentions he’s going to continue his goal of being an Auror and the Ministry is happy to have him. Ron... hadn’t really thought about it all. They went from schoolmates with an affinity for mortal peril rule-breaking to wanted fugitives in the span of a year. He figures if he can survive that, he can handle whatever the ministry throws at him (I mean there’s no more You-Know-Who, how bad could it be?). Harry’s ecstatic to have his partner in crime with him. They train, they study ministry policies, they lean on each other when they forget protocols or some dull meeting with the head Aurors. They’re full of fire and frenzy to get back out and do some good. 

It’s a shock to the system to have to do everything by the books. They can’t go rogue and do whatever the hell they want to catch a former death eater. They both get called in to private meetings to discuss “not letting their emotions get the best of them” on missions. They realize very quickly how much Hermione led the way for them. For every battle and thug brought in, there’s so much paperwork and background research that bookends a case. Harry starts to fall into a pattern, the payoff of righting wrongs is worth the long nights at the desk. He doesn’t agree with everything the ministry does, but he’s doing what he loves and someday maybe he’ll be able to change the rules.

Ron, on the other hand, starts to lose his passion. Any part of the day spent at a desk, he finds himself watching the clock tick by. Missions start giving him anxiety and he doesn’t know why. He wonders if he should ask Harry if he’s experienced that feeling, but surely he’s never felt that, he’s the Great Harry Potter after all. Anxiety turns into dread which turns into sleepless nights which turns into mistakes. Where Harry is starting to thrive, Ron is starting to falter. He thinks of quitting, but he doesn’t know anything else. Ministry work is steady work which is steady income - something Ron has never experienced. How can he walk away from that? 

Hermione is the first time break the topic out loud. Ron’s mood has become sullen and his quips are more sarcastic than humourous. She asks him if he’s happy. He holds her hand and says of course. She doesn’t fall for it. He gets defensive. They fight. Harry doesn’t get why Ron and Hermione are suddenly on a break. They’re both too exhausted to explain it to him. 

Ron can’t bare living under the same roof as his mother anymore. Every day when he and his dad come home from the ministry, she dotes over him checking for any scratches or bruises. He knows she spends a good part of her day looking at the family clock to see if his name has gone back to ‘mortal peril’. He tries to reassure her that he’s been on desk duty and his biggest threat is a paper-cut. He doesn’t tell her that he’s been pulled from most missions for being distracted and causing more potential risk. Molly continues to fret regardless. Ron hates that his own mother doesn’t believe in him enough to handle himself. He hates that she spends all her time visiting George, trying to make him eat and cleaning his flat for him, and then she come back to the Burrow and dumps all that worry on to Ron.

That’s when an idea to kill two birds with one stone starts to formulate. With Harry constantly working late, he barely notices Ron clocking out promptly at the end of the day. Ron tells his dad that he’s got a big case so he has to work late for a while and he’ll meet him at home. Instead, Ron makes his way to Diagon Alley. He still has the key to the shop and the above flat that Fred gave him when they were on the run, a safehouse if they needed it. Dust and cobwebs line every surface and most of the lights don’t work. George barely acknowledges Ron when he enters the flat. Ron starts updating him on his life despite the lack of invitation to make himself comfortable. He tells him that he’s an Auror at the ministry, not that he would have noticed, holed up in this dump. Ron’s developed a strong backbone with talking to George this way now. He bluntly tells George that he is making their mother sick with worry and that Ron gets the brunt of it. And if George can’t be enough of a decent human to get his shit together for their own mother, he needs a babysitter. Ron needs to get out of the Burrow and George has a perfectly good extra empty bed here that no one is using. This finally sparks George awake. He starts throwing hexes at Ron who puts his Auror skills to good use. He was waiting for it, poking the sleeping dragon until it erupted. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but it was the right thing to do.

This continues for a while, Ron going to George’s after work. Ron getting thrown out of George’s with various curses and traps being set to stop him from entering. He returns to the Burrow many evenings with boils in unmentionable places. It could feel like torture to some, but Ron laughs with every new challenge he’s met with. Because it means that George has a purpose again, even if that purpose is keeping Ron out. Finally, one night Ron arrives to the door unlocked, no magical trips or triggers. Just George sitting on the floor holding an old, unbranded but unmistaken box of puking pastilles. One from their formative experimental years, George mutters. He found the box while looking for a portable swamp kit, before remembering that it took two people enchanting the kit for it to work.

Ron moves in to George’s flat. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. Living with George is hell. But Ron starts to feel like he has something worth doing in his life again. His brother is not a charity case, Ron needs this change as much as George. Through the transition of moving his small amount of things, Ron hopes this will bring the spark back to his work as an Auror. Maybe this will inspire him to get back out into the field with Harry and turn things around in his career. Instead, he finds himself exhausted from sleepless nights with George who wakes up screaming or gets himself drunk before Ron leaves for work in the morning. He starts poking around the dusty shop as an escape and finds himself uncovering old notes and ideas from Fred and George’s back office. He starts doodling his own ideas in the corners of his parchments at work.  

Ron is nearly two years into his job when he asks to meet with his supervisor. Harry’s moving his way up the ladder, not without his own challenges, but he dedicates his life to his work, especially with Ginny going abroad trying out for Quidditch teams. Ron has fallen into an unfortunate habit of being ten minutes late for work nearly every day to avoid taking the same route as Hermione into the office as she starts her job as junior assistant in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. This place doesn’t belong to Ron and he doesn’t belong here. Harry seems to be the only one in his whole department that seems shocked by Ron’s departure. Ron can’t help but laugh at Harry’s complete obliviousness sometimes. He knows Harry or Ginny will pass the news on to Hermione, not that she’ll care after how he left things. 

It’s another eight months before the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop doors open again. George refused to look at the old notebooks for months, while Ron started pouring over them and tinkering with some of the twins’ old ideas. George started to notice Ron experimenting and had to save him from himself on a number of occasions before something exploded or removed Ron’s hair permanently. Exasperated, he’d step in and fix a potion or a trinket until it worked while Ron stepped back and let George work in his element. George knew what Ron was doing, he hated him for it, but he begrudgingly started to scribble down his ideas again. A vision started to form for the potential the store still held. Ron had to call in a few favours with friends and family to get everything fixed up in time before the new school year when they’d have the biggest influx of customers. Harry had made a bargain with most of the Auror Department that he’d do all their paperwork for a week if they brought their families for opening day (Hermione agreed to work late with him to make sure it was actually done properly). George is quiet and lets Ron do most of the sales, but when a small witch asks him what made a simple deck of cards magical, he starts to show off some muggle magic tricks, gathering a crowd of young eyes. Molly spends most of the day in tears, Arthur having to hustle her into the back office as she was scaring off customers. 

Harry, George and Ron are clearing up the last of the days festivities in the back office when they hear the front door open with the bell. In all the bustling they’d forgotten to lock the door when they closed. Ron runs out to politely tell the customer they’ve closed up shop for the day. After a number of minutes, Harry and George realize Ron hasn’t come back yet. They peak out to see Hermione awkwardly standing in the middle of the shop, Ron leaning against the service desk, both talking quietly. George snorts and goes back to the office, saying he’ll put the kettle on as this might be a while. Harry smirks, as he takes in the scene. Despite the work ahead, Ron was in his element, he’d found his place, something he was proud of and entirely his own. 

-

welp that took a turn. All of this because of a great moment of Aurors Ron and Harry that @blvnk-art illustrated found here.

[pyre-prism]

Creepypasta Story - Never Meant to Be

I wanted to play a little with LJ, mainly to see how I might write him for any other project. As a character, I find him to be very interesting, so... yah. I actually wrote this a little while ago, but wasn't sure whether to actually post it.

This is a 'what if?' of the angel who made him (deliberately left rather ambiguous) finding him after the events of the origin story. What happens after this one finishes, I'll leave up to the imagination of those who read it, at least for the time being.

Story below

~*~

The box had changed a lot over the years; once-pristine paint had chipped and flaked, mahogany wood that had originally been firm and straight was now warped, the bright and cheery designs and lettering emblazoned across every surface had dimmed… becoming something that made her throat constrict. The crank handle still jutted out of one side, the lid’s hinges still moved without a sound, and the music-box mechanisms inside the box still worked just fine…

All of these, she expected to some degree. Time had a habit of making objects wear down, a phenomenon that effected practically all forms of life as well, and she couldn’t fault them for falling prey to such a powerful force as that.

She did, however, find the room she was in to be nothing like what she’d hoped it would be.

Watery eyes swept over the room yet again… The walls looked almost identical to the last time she’d been there, over a decade ago, if she ignored the tattered cobwebs and thick layer of dust mixed with splatters of blood and bits of flesh. The shelves that she remembered being on one wall had collapsed –that was where she’d found the neglected toy– and the bed had been converted into some manner of torture-table.

What she had yet to truly investigate, however, was the throne-like chair in the corner. The glances she’d either been unable to stop or had given it by accident had told her more than she ever wanted to know. It stood as a proud but twisted declaration of something that she couldn’t understand, and –more than anything else– it made bile rise in her throat, which she had to swallow back down several times while she simply stood there and stared forlornly at the box in her hands.

A sigh came unbidden from her mouth, and she knew what she had to do next. Her eyes closed as her hands started to glow and she disappeared from the agony-filled room; when she reopened them, she had been transported to a lonely carnival, and –just as she had with the dusty bedroom– she found herself staring around the fairground with her jaw hanging open, her eyes wide, and her brow deeply furrowed.

She knew intimately what the place was supposed to look like… It was supposed to be cheery, fun, and inviting… it was supposed to be somewhere that anyone with a sense of childish wonder could feel as if they belonged… Most importantly, however, it was not supposed to be silent, nor were any of the rides or stalls or tents supposed to look more than ready to collapse into themselves.

Chills prickled at every nerve in her body as a lilting voice wavered its way into her ears, singing a song that she had personally woven into the workings of the box. Ignoring the unease tightening in the pit of her stomach, she raced towards the sound, hoping to find something in the whole mess that she may still be able to salvage.

The voice cracked and dipped into silence more than once while she tried to find the source, eventually locating it in the shockingly-barren big-top. Sitting cross-legged in the performance ring and holding a stuffed toy with the delicacy of someone paranoid of breaking what they were touching… was the jack of the box. She paused long enough to steady her breathing before taking careful steps towards the lanky creature, trying to keep herself from panicking at the changes wrought upon the being she’d crafted over a decade before…

When she made the jack-in-the-box toy, everything had been colourful and the jack himself had been covered in a plethora of gaudy rainbows… now, however, her heart was twisting in sympathy for the monochrome creature before her, every colour bled out of his form as if he no longer knew any form of joy or even love.

As she drew closer to him, his voice hitched. As she knelt down beside him, the song stuttered to a halt. As she reached out for his feathered shoulder, his malleable body twisted away from her touch –the pied feathers lifting slightly as if they were hackles– at the same time as his head came around to face her. She shuddered at the wild yet lost expression on his face, then sheepishly withdrew her hand and offered him a small smile.

“Hello, Laughing Jack.” Almost as if hearing a voice other than his own had flicked a switch in the creature’s brain, his entire frame jolted, and a few seconds later found him moulding his expression into an insincere grin –she suppressed another shudder at the sight of sharklike teeth in his mouth. “It seems this visit is a bit overdue… How are you?”

The question seemed to catch him off-guard and his grin faltered for a moment. “What a strange thing to ask… Why, I’m perfectly fine, how are you?” His voice came out just as shaky and raspy as the singing had been, making the knot in her stomach tighten and sink into her gut.

It was such an obvious lie that she had to force herself not to berate him for it; now wasn’t the time to pick apart the creature’s word choices, and –taking the deflection in-stride– she widened her smile a bit. “I’ve been quite busy lately, and haven’t been able to stay on top of things. I’d have to say that I’m feeling a little confused today, though. Think you might be able to help me work a few things out?”

He blinked slowly a couple of times, tilting his head to one side as if to literally look at her from a new angle, making her smile gain some comforting honesty. “…Like what?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his new claws digging into the stuffed toy in his grasp, but –just like her other observations– she decided not to mention it. Instead, she tried to come up with how to phrase the questions burning in her brain. “Well… I suppose I should start with what’s that you’ve got there?” She gestured at the stuffed toy, and his gaze followed hers, giving a low hum in the back of his throat.

A strange sort of fragile quiet descended over them while she waited for any sort of response, and after a while, he finally heaved a sigh. Those long fingers that she had wanted to create wonder tightened around the soft fabric, twitching as if the jack was fighting with himself as to what to do next… Suddenly, with a feral-sounding snarl, he threw the toy at the side of the tent with all of the force that he could muster. “It’s nothing,” he hissed, curling in on himself for a moment before bounding to his feet and giving her another wide grin –this one even less sincere than the last.

“I… see. Uhm…” She allowed a small frown to appear on her face. “Alright. Then… can you tell me what happened to the carnival? When I was here last, it looked… well, newer?”

He bent his body to one side, bringing a hand up to his face to tap at his chin. “Hmm? You were ever here…? When was that? I don’t remember…” The playful tone that she’d originally expected to hear in his voice had finally shown itself, but concern soured the relief she felt at the change, and he must have seen it because his expression changed… although, not to what she’d expected it would. The creature’s grin widened even further than she’d thought possible, and he let out a quiet snicker.

She stood and brushed the sawdust off of her clothes, straightening her back, squaring her shoulders, and locking her eyes with his. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“You didn’t answer my question, you know,” he parroted back at her with a short giggle as he righted his lanky form.

“I came here once, when you were still very young. When I last saw you, your nose was in the process of developing its colours.” She stated, pointing at the striped cone-shaped nose set in his pale face –the gesture had him crossing his eyes to blink owlishly at it for a second or two, then he shrugged and let out another low hum. Undaunted, she continued with the next question, the one that demanded an answer the most. “I left your box for a boy named Isaac… What happened to him?”

A frightening change came over the jack standing in front of her at the sound of the boy’s name –in truth, the child was also supposed to be his charge, not just hers– and the shift had her heart beginning to pound against her ribs. The nearly-relaxed ragdoll-like nature of his whole body tensed and he even started to curl his fingers into claw-like shapes, making the actual claws he possessed somehow seem even sharper. His pale eyes flickered from narrowed to wild and back again. His lips pulled away in all directions they could, baring even more of those unnaturally-sharp teeth…. and from behind the animalistic barrier, a full-blown cackle bubbled out into the air.

“What happened to Isaac?” she pressed, taking a step closer to her mutated creation, barely paying any mind to the hard glint materialising in the jack’s eyes. He wrapped his overly-long arms around himself as his laughter grew in volume and force, to the point that he was forced to bend over to keep from falling back to the floor. The noise was raucous and unsettling, but she stood her ground, shaping her expression into a firm grimace.

All of a sudden, the laughter stopped. The jack stayed doubled-over for a few moments before straightening and cocking his head to one side, a quiet chuckle starting to build up. “Oh, you want to know what happened to the kid? Do you really? Well, that’s a story and a half! You sure you’ve got the time for such a mundane little thing, Miss Important?” he jeered. He didn’t allow her to reply, raising his arms and making an overacted show of shading his eyes to look around the interior of the big-top. “He’s not here, that’s for sure! But then…”

She forced herself to swallow the lump that was trying to grow in her throat when he trailed off and seemed to become oddly blank, until his feathered shoulders puffed up and he hissed through his teeth. Cautiously, she urged him to continue. “But then… what?”

That brought his focus back to her from the nowhere that it’d retreated to. “He never did come here… not even once.” The monochrome creature paused, narrowing his eyes at her in a speculative manner and then –once again, before she could properly respond– he let loose another bark of laughter. “Bloody hell, that wasn’t what I wanted to say! See, the thing is… Isaac’s gone. He’s gone, gone, gone, gone! Went off to school and… never came back.”

“Never?” she interjected, frowning slightly. Had the most obvious changes to her charge’s childhood bedroom been done by someone else, then? She needed to know, but the jack’s strange behaviour unnerved her, switching gears at less than the drop of a hat and incorporating facets that she just couldn’t understand the source of.

“Nope!” he crowed, leaning in close to her face. “Sure, there was someone who looked a lot like him, but they weren’t my Isaac –far too old and grumpy. Not his father either, that waste of air went and got himself killed, I’m pretty sure…” A spark of sheer glee entered into his expression. “That reminds me! Isaac taught me this really interesting game… do you want to play?”

A cacophony of warnings rang in her head and she took a few steps back –away from him– before she’d even realised what her body was doing. At her reaction, he burst into a fit of giggles, sauntering around to her side in a couple of springy strides; she turned, determined to keep the creature in her sight for the time being, no matter what it took. He circled, she pivoted, and the cycle continued. “I thought you said that he never came back? Did Isaac teach you the game before he left?”

The jack’s movement faltered, resuming quickly as if nothing had happened. “Did I? Silly me, then. I meant to say that ‘my Isaac’ never did… That man, he wasn’t ‘my Isaac’, though I guess you could say he was ‘an Isaac’…?” His shoulders jerked in what she could only assume was an awkward shrug. “That one taught me the game, though I don’t think he knew I was watching for the first few playmates he had.”

It was now crystal-clear to her… if she wanted to know what had happened, she needed to take the risk and at least pretend to be interested in this ‘game’ he was talking about. With a small smile, she dipped her head in a tiny nod. “Tell me about the game you learned. I’d rather know how it goes before I play.”

“Ooh, goodie!” The childish shout was accompanied by the first true sign of the toy she had left in Isaac’s bedroom all those years ago –honest and even innocent cheer… it made her eyes start to water. He ignored the tears dribbling down her cheeks and looked around the tent with more purpose than his play-acting earlier. After a couple of seconds of this, he stuck out his tongue at the emptiness of the big-top and plopped himself back down into the sawdust, gesturing for her to do the same. “Now, I’m not entirely sure of the rules of the game, but I certainly know how to play it… It’s pretty simple, really, now that I think about it… very artsy too.”

She was confused, and felt her forehead crease. “I’m not sure I follow…?”

“I’m getting there,” he replied with a snicker. “I think you need at least two players, so we’re set. You also need… hmm…” Sharp claws tapped his chin once, twice, and then he shrugged and held out his hands; a long metal spike materialised an inch above his palm, which was held out for her to take –she did, but only once the eagerness in the jack’s face had slipped a little. “I used these, along with a few other things, to play with the ‘other Isaac’, just a… day… or two? I think? Not important! Anyway, things that break skin are really useful, it seems, though if you want to make anything out of it then it’s probably best to avoid too many holes—…”

Her stomach twisted and her hands dropped the spike to the floor before she could come up with a convincing reason not to. “H-holes? In skin…?” she asked, wincing inwardly at the way her voice shook.

The creature stared at her in wide-eyed surprise, his gaze flicking between the spike and her face. “…Yes? How else are you supposed to get it off? Or keep them from struggling?” He paused, letting out another laugh. “Oh, wait, I guess tying them up works, too, for that part. Silly me, that’s what the ‘other Isaac’ did, anyways.”

“And… then what…?” She didn’t really want to know the answer, but at this point she was far too deep into the situation to just get up and leave. Isaac was her charge, the jack of the box was her creation… Whatever had happened… was her responsibility.

He hummed. “You’re supposed to pick them apart like they’re huge presents and then make them into something nice. I made the ‘other Isaac’ into a sort of sock filled with sweets.”

She couldn’t take much more of it, knowing that the jack was referring to people with each and every statement… “That’s not what I made you for… I made you to make Isaac happy, not… that.” She turned her head away, unable to bring herself to watch the creature’s expression twist –first in confusion and then in boiling hatred– but she could feel the emotions rolling off of him in toxic waves. “You were supposed to be a perfect match for him, the best friend he could ever ask for, and you—…”

“Don’t say it like it happened all in one night, you goddamn twat!” the jack snarled, shifting his body into a half-crouch. “Thirteen years! It took thirteen bloody fucking years for him to come back!” He took advantage of her startled silence to lean in close to her face. “I was all that, and more! I was… but he… He forgot me. So I made sure he couldn’t forget me, ever again…”

“…You can’t forget anything if you’re dead, is that right…?” she said, barely above a whisper, eying him with open wariness.

To her surprise, the creature cocked his head to the side. “Dead? Nah, gone, but not dead.”

Her entire body felt cold as a horrific idea struck her. She scrambled to her feet, searching for the discarded stuffed toy. Behind her, the jack’s laughter had turned malicious and mocking, rising in volume with each and every peal that left his mouth. She found the toy in the folds of the tent walls, half-buried by the black-and-white striped fabric where the wall met the ground. Picking it up with trembling hands, she inspected it properly for the first time.

It looked like any other stuffed toy, taking the form of a dog if her idle guess was correct, and there wasn’t even anything that special about the materials it was made from… What made her blood run even icier than it had at her creation’s statement, however, was the definite impression of… another being, inside the velveteen exterior –a very familiar being, at that.

“This is Isaac…” she breathed out, certain that the jack wouldn’t hear her over the discordant mess of painfully-mirthless laughter he was producing.

The noise stopped entirely.

“What was that?” he hissed, mere centimetres away from her right ear, making her jump and step away from him before turning to face his frosty scowl. “I’m not quite sure I heard you, there… Could you repeat that?” When she did, more sickeningly-certain that she wasn’t wrong, he actually looked confused behind the anger. “Not sure where you’re getting that from, but… if it is, it’s only what’s left of him…”

The tenuous confirmation was too much, despite only reaffirming what she’d suspected in the first place. She cradled the toy dog to her chest and let out a small hiccoughing sob. Followed by another, and another, until she sank to her knees and was bawling at the monochrome jack’s feet. He watched her with an air of frustrated bewilderment, clicking his tongue a few times and cocking his head so far to the left that his torso had bent at a right-angle.

“I don’t see why you’re crying, Miss Important…” he stated flatly, squatting down and wrapping his arms around his legs. “You can’t’ve been that invested in this whole situation…”

Between the sobs, she managed to control her breathing enough to get out, “It was my job to keep him safe… my job to keep him happy, through you…” She didn’t notice one of the jack’s hands reaching out towards her until it came to a rest on top of her head; when he started to stroke her hair as if she were a child, it lit a spark of hope in her heart –maybe the creature was still salvageable if he could show such care to someone he clearly didn’t like that much.

“Oh, poor, poor little weasel… You’ve been chased a little too much, hmm?” the jack crooned. “Don’t worry, I’m sure this here monkey’d be glad to help out…”

She felt his fingers slide down to the back of her neck and curl around it until the tips of his claws tickled the thin skin of her throat, making her body freeze. “L-Laughing Jack…?” The tears still streamed down her face, and her chest still spasmed, but her mind had finally latched onto the potential danger being posed by their positions.

He shushed her, flexing his fingers for a bit before releasing her neck entirely, then grabbing her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. “Let go of the toy, little weasel, all the other children may need it…” Her confusion must have shown through her tears, because he snickered. “Simple… ‘My Isaac’ is gone, so… I’ll find more friends to play with.” He shifted his grip to encompass her entire lower jaw. “I’m not going to be left alone, trapped in that bloody box for years and years and years ever again!”

At last, she understood –not all of it, but enough to feel fresh sobs clawing at her throat. “This was never supposed to happen… I never wanted this, and I don’t know how to fix it… to fix you.”

“If only wishes actually mattered, eh, little weasel?” was the last thing she heard before her head was snapped to the side with a loud and painful crack.

[serpentupemotions-blog]

I’m With You |Sweet Pea x Cora Chase (OC)| 

Part One 

“Tell me you don’t, it feels like you do. Opening up can open some wounds.”

Cora Chase doesn’t really know what to expect when she moves back to Riverdale, only that it’s been thirteen years since she’s been gone and she wants to rebuild her relationship with her father. She definitely doesn’t expect to be thrown into a friendship with Sweet Pea, the boy looking for a job at her father’s auto shop.  

Warnings: In this part, only swearing. I will update the warnings with each part. 

Word Count: 4,500+

A/N: Thank you so much to @steve-harringtonnn for helping me with editing and planning and also for just listening to me talk about this fic almost constantly for the past couple weeks!

Cora kicks her legs up, placing her feet on one of the only empty spaces on the cluttered desk, crossing legs legs at the ankles. Leaning back, the old office chair creaks loudly, the leather covered arms cracked and peeling from years of wear. Straining, Cora stretches to reach for a pad of sticky notes, grasping them along with an old ballpoint pen.

‘Buy a new desk chair’ Cora scribbles on the paper, ripping it off and slapping it against the wooden desk before tossing the sticky notes and pen back somewhere amidst the mess of papers.

Cora looks around, taking in the state of the front office of Riverdale Auto Shop. It didn’t seem like it had ever been dusted, cobwebs draping from the exposed ductwork on the ceiling. Walls were covered in old license plates, photos of muscle cars, vintage metal signs for Coca-Cola, Harley Davidson, Esso and one overly sexualized woman advertising motor oil. Cora furrows her brows at the vintage ad, making a mental note to take it down once she found a hammer to rip the nails out. Her eyes land on a bowl of lollipops sitting on the edge of the desk, fishing one out and unwrapping it. Candy for any children that got dragged along with their parents to the auto shop, one could assume. The candy was long past the best before date based on the stale flavour and oddly tacky texture.

The jingle of the bell above the door draws Cora’s attention and she looks away from the Chevrolet clock that she had been staring at, attempting to determine if it was even still moving or not. Cora watches a tall guy step through the glass door, clutching a paper in his hands, stopping a couple feet into the office.

Cora takes the lollipop from her mouth, smiling as she watches him stand nervously halfway across the room her from her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, remaining planted where he was standing.

“Hi,” Cora says again, twisting the lollipop stick between her fingers as she waits for him to say something.

“I was coming in to ask about the job opening,” he says, evoking a slow nod from Cora.  

“Right,” she comments, swinging her legs off the desk and sitting up straighter. This was a place of business, after all.

He hesitates before taking a couple steps closer, fiddling with the paper he was holding in his hands. “Do I talk to you about that? I have my resume here.”

Cora extends her hand across the desk with a smile, taking the paper as he hands it to her. Turning it around to face her Cora leans back in the office chair, scanning over the document in her hands. “Nate,” she comments, glancing up when he shifts suddenly at the sound of his own name.

“Sweet Pea,” he says, his voice sounding uncertain.

Cora opens her mouth slightly to say something before shutting it again, narrowing her eyes at him, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “What did you just say?”

“Oh,” he says quickly, “no, I wasn’t, like, calling you that or anything. That’s what people call me…Sweet Pea.”

Cora laughs softly and nods at his correction of her assumption. “That somehow went in an even weirder direction than I thought it was going to go,” she states, bemused, twisting the chair side to side as she stares up at him. Sweet Pea. “Why?”

“Just a nickname that stuck,” he mutters. “So, should I just leave that with you?” he asks nervously a few minutes later, gesturing towards the resume that she was still holding.

Cora sets the resume down on top of one of the many stacks of papers on the desk. “Sure,” Cora says while spinning around in the desk chair. Placing her hands on the desk top she stops herself from spinning to face him, “I don’t know if you can tell, but I don’t actually work here.”

“I, uh, okay. I figured. Should I come back later…or should I call the police, did you break in?”

Cora laughs and shakes her head. “Please don’t call the police, that would really inconvenience my plans to steal the Camaro they just finished working on.” Pushing the chair back she stands up and steps out from behind the desk. “Stay there, I’ll go get the guy you want to be talking to about this,” Cora says before pushing open the door that connected the office to the shop.

“Hey, dad,” Cora says, walking up to where her dad was standing, leaning over the open hood of an old truck with one of his employees. “There’s someone here asking about a job opening.”

He nods, grabbing a shop towel from on top of the nearby tool carts. His blue coveralls were covered in grease stains, the patch with ‘Joe’ stitched into it was barely hanging on anymore. Cora was pretty certain her dad, the owner of Riverdale Auto Shop, could, and should, get new coveralls. But Joe was low maintenance to the extreme and if the coveralls still fit, he was still wearing them. “And he stuck around even with you in the front office? Brave guy,” he chuckles and turns to walk through the shop towards the office.

“That’s sexist,” Cora says, trailing after him. “Why would you just assume that it’s a guy applying for the job? I said nothing to indicate that. Women can work in auto shops too, in fact, maybe you should focus on hiring women.” She walks through the door separating the office and shop after her dad. “I’m sure there’s lots of women in this town interested in cars, but it’s assumptions like the one you just made that make women feel like it’s weird for them to want to work in the automotive industry.”

When Cora finally stops talking both Sweet Pea and her dad were staring blankly, waiting for her to stop rambling before starting their own conversation.

“Sweet Pea, I didn’t know you were looking for a job,” Joe says, extending his hand and gruffly shaking Sweet Pea’s. “You must have just graduated, right? My daughter’s the same age as you, she just graduated too.”

“Yeah, I had my last day of classes two days ago,” Sweet Pea says, nodding. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“That’s me, I’m his daughter,” Cora chimes in, walking back around behind the desk and flopping back into the office chair. “How do you two know each other?”

“Oh, I’ve known Sweet Pea since he first got his motorcycle. When was that? Did you even have an actual license then?” Joe stops to chuckle at the recollection before continuing with his story, “That bike needed more work than it was actually worth, but he was in love with that thing so he would come in after school and we would work on it together.”

“I couldn’t afford to pay anything so your dad made me feel like I was doing the work so I wouldn’t have to pay for it. I’m sure I was more trouble than I was help.” Sweet Pea chuckles, looking down at the ground with a smile on his face.

Joe claps his hand on Sweet Pea’s shoulder. “Not at all. You were such a quick learner; a very hard worker. It’s been awhile since you’ve been around though.”

Cora forces herself to smile, to hide the sudden sense of sadness that washes over her. After her parents split she left Riverdale with her mom. She could still remember that day so vividly. Her mom had picked her up early from preschool with the car packed full of luggage, to go see grandma and grandpa her mom had said. Since that day Cora had seen barely seen her dad. Christmas visits, the occasional camping trip during the summers, spring breaks she would come and spend with her dad in Riverdale. Once she graduated Cora decided to move back to Riverdale, even though she barely considered it moving back since she left when she was only five. Cora had wanted to develop her relationship with her dad, but now she was overcome with the feeling that she may never be able to make up for all those years she lost out on.

“When can you start? You’ll be perfect for the job,” Cora hears her dad ask and she slowly stands back up, walking around the desk and towards the front office door, hoping to sneak away while they were still talking. “Cora, where are you going?”

Cora gestures towards the door, her keys and wallet clutched in her hands, still inching closer to it. “To explore Riverdale, I guess. I’ve been here for almost twenty-four hours so I should really go take in the sights. See what’s changed, what I missed out on all these years.”

Joe nods, smiling suddenly and waving his hand out in a gesture that signalled to wait for whatever more he had to say. “Sweet Pea could show you around, he-,”

“No,” Cora interrupts, shaking her head with wide eyes, trying to telepathically communicate for him to shut up. “No, I’m sure he doesn’t want to spend his afternoon showing me around this place. It’s not a big place, I can manage on my own.”

“I don’t mind,” Sweet Pea says, shrugging casually.

“You’re just saying that because you want the job. I will not be a pawn in your masterplan to secure yourself a job at this place,” Cora states dramatically. “But seriously, I can show myself around.”

“Cora, he’s offering to show you around, don’t be rude,” Joe warns. Maybe it was possible to make up for all those years of being gone after all, considering he was acting like Cora was still a kid.

Cora chuckles at the absurdity, shaking her head. “He’s not offering, you offered and he’s simply going along with it,” Cora says, receiving silent stares in response. “Fine,” she huffs, turning to look at Sweet Pea, “let’s go.”

“Don’t stay out too late,” Joe calls as Cora walks through the door, laughter evident in his voice. He had been enjoying treating Cora like she was still fifteen since the moment she got to Riverdale. When she had pointed it out she got the typical, “you’ll always be a kid to me” speech that parents seemed to be so fond of.

“So, where am I dropping you off?” Cora asks once she was in her car with Sweet Pea, turning the key in the ignition and pulling on her seatbelt.

“What?”

Shifting the car into reverse she backs out of the parking lot and onto the quiet Riverdale street. It seemed like most streets were like that in this town; quiet. The pavement was in desperate need of repairs, crumbling potholes scattered around the road. “Where am I dropping you off?” Cora repeats, glancing over at Sweet Pea. “Like, your house or a friend’s house, strip club, drug den, I don’t know what you’re into.”

“You don’t want me to show you around?”

Pulling onto the side of the road Cora shifts her car into park, shifting in her seat to face Sweet Pea. “I won’t tell my dad that you didn’t actually show me around, it can be our secret.”

Sweet Pea chuckles, shaking his head. “Did you have better plans that I’m interrupting? Because when I showed up at the shop it didn’t seem like you were doing anything exciting.”

“I’m sure you have better plans…and I don’t appreciate those judgments. Staring at that clock was beyond riveting.”

“Well if that’s your idea of riveting I’m certain I can show you a great time,” Sweet Pea says, fingers absentmindedly drumming against the door panel.

Cora can’t stop the giggle that bubbles past her lips. “Are you flirting with me, Nate?”

Sweet Pea clears his throat suddenly, shifting in his seat as his fingers stop moving on the door panel.

“Why does that bother you so much?” Cora asks curiously, her eyes searching his face for an unspoken answer.

Sweet Pea shrugs, turning his head to the side to look across the small distance of her car, eyes locking on Cora’s. “Nobody ever calls me that, it’s just weird.”

Nodding slowly at the explanation that seems to be just an attempt to brush off a real answer, Cora straightens back out in her seat. “Okay, Sweet Pea, where are we going then? If you’re going to show me such a good time.”

“Well we should definitely start at the strip club and then we can make a stop at the drug den,” Sweet Pea chuckles as he watches Cora unbuckle her seatbelt, the material sliding across her body.

“I knew it,” she laughs, wrapping her fingers around the door handle and pushing the door open. Stepping out onto the gravel of the side of the road the warm June sun beats down on Cora’s skin. Leaving the door open Cora walks around to the other side of the car, Sweet Pea quickly clueing in and hopping out as well.

“Have you had lunch?” Sweet Pea asks after he was situated back in the car, Cora in the passenger’s seat and Sweet Pea behind the wheel now.

“No,” Cora says, reaching over and pressing the button on the door panel to open the window. Cora reaches her arm out, forearm resting on the ledge of the window as the warm air whips against her skin.

“Then our first stop has to be Pop’s.”

Leaning her head back against the leather headrest Cora turns her head to look over at Sweet Pea. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks suddenly. Dressed for the prospect of a job interview, not for trekking through town on a hot summer day, Sweet Pea was wearing a long-sleeve black button-up, sleeves pushed to his elbows to try and escape some of the heat.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, glancing across the car momentarily before returning his eyes to the road. “I don’t know, am I?”

Cora laughs softly and shakes her head. “Shut up,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Seriously though, you’re going to end up with heat stroke or something.”

“Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?” Sweet Pea asks, looking at Cora as he slows down before coming to stop at a four-way along the main road in Riverdale.

“Well excuse me for being concerned…put on some more layers, see if I care,” Cora laughs, the car rolling forward as Sweet Pea takes his foot off the brake, driving through the four-way stop. A couple minutes later Sweet Pea pulls into the parking lot in front of the diner. Whenever Cora came back to visit her dad they frequently ate at Pop’s, her dad’s lack of cooking skills made up for with meals at Pop’s. “Oh my God, it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been to Pop’s,” Cora comments as she pushes the car door closed.

“You’ve been here before? So, I’m already doing a pretty terrible job showing you around,” Sweet Pea comments, holding the door open for Cora to walk inside ahead of him.

“You’re doing a great job,” Cora assures him, walking through the open door, thankful for the slightly cooler air in the diner. The diner was busier than she remembered it ever being before, most of the people seemed to be teenagers, escaping the heat of the summer day with their friends during summer break she would presume. Cora slides into to the vinyl covered booth near a window in the back corner, a waitress quickly coming by to take drink orders from Cora and Sweet Pea before hurrying on her way to the next table.

A silence falls over the booth between Cora and Sweet Pea. Cora shifts in her seat, picking up the chocolate milkshake and taking a quick sip, the glass clinking noticeably in the silence as she sets it back onto the table. “Let’s play a game.”

“A game?” Sweet Pea chuckles, raising his eyebrows as he waits for her to continue.

“Yeah,” Cora states, a smile on her face. “First, imagine the absolute perfect girlfriend…or boyfriend,” Cora hesitates, trying to read Sweet Pea’s reaction, receiving only a straight face. “Okay, so they’re perfect, except…they hate your friends. Do you make it and stay with them, or do you break it and dump them?”

Sweet Pea is quiet for a minute, staring at Cora expectantly. “That’s it? That’s the game?”

“Oh my God,” Cora groans, laughing as she leans back against the booth. “Yes, and you’re playing. So, what’s your answer?”

“Break up with her, I don’t want to deal with the shit that her hating my friends would bring.” Sweet Pea shrugs, taking the hint from Cora’s nodding that he was expected to come up with something for her. “He’s perfect except your family doesn’t like him.”

“Make it,” Cora says, voice a little quieter as her demeanour shifts momentarily, quickly regaining her bubbly self and continuing with the game without further explanation.  

Playing with the straw in her empty milkshake glass Cora leans against the back of the booth, looking across the table at Sweet Pea. “She’s perfect except she runs everywhere she goes, never walks.”

Sweet Pea chuckles, hesitating momentarily. “Make it.”

“Seriously?” Cora giggles, eyebrows raised. “That’d be exhausting!”

“We’d just have to stay home a lot,” Sweet Pea laughs, shrugging. “He’s perfect except the only movie he’ll watch is The Hangover.”

Cora ponders the suggestion for a moment. “Make it. We’ll just watch TV shows instead of movies…She’s perfect except she can only speak in rhymes.”

“Break it,” Sweet Pea says quickly, barely a moment of consideration, making Cora laugh in response. “He’s perfect except he’s terrible in bed.”

Clearing her throat nervously, Cora sits up straighter, fingers letting go of the straw she was playing with as she draws her hands closer to her body. They had been playing ‘make it or break it’ for the past half hour, Sweet Pea hadn’t been thrilled about it in the beginning but him playing for this long indicated he must have been having some fun with it. It had remained fairly innocuous up till this point, he never does the dishes, she never laughs at your jokes, he never lets you pick the music. “Does it make me seem like an asshole if I say break it?”

Sweet Pea smirks and shakes his head. “No, I think you saying you would break up with someone who always wears the same outfit makes you more of an asshole.”

“I don’t want to date a cartoon character,” Cora exclaims defensively, leaning against the back of the booth. “It’s too weird, buy a different outfit!”

“Can I get you two anything else? Refills?” The young waitress standing by the table draws Cora’s attention.

“No thanks, I’m okay,” Cora tells her, looking back to Sweet Pea for his answer.

Sweet Pea shakes his head, glancing at his phone. “No, could we actually get the bill, please.”

“Separate or together?”

“Separate,” Cora answers quickly, the waitress nodding before walking away from the table.

“I didn’t realize how long we’ve been here. I’m not a very good tour guide,” Sweet Pea chuckles, “but I have to get going, I’m meeting some friends out by Sweetwater River.”

The waitress returns with two bills, setting them down with a quick mention of paying at the till near the door before disappearing quickly again.

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t actually need a tour, I think my dad is just trying to make friends for me,” Cora says with a smile. “Sounds like fun,” she comments on his plans, beginning to slide out of the booth.

“Do you want to come?”

Cora hesitates, looking over at him curiously. She had enjoyed the afternoon and hopefully Sweet Pea had too, but she wasn’t sure if it was just a kind gesture rather than a genuine offer. “No,” Cora shakes her head, “I’m not going to intrude on your plans with your friends.”

Sweet Pea stands up from the booth, picking up the bill from the table as he does so. The two of them walking down the row of booths in the direction of the door. “Is it intruding if I invited you?”

“Your friends didn’t invite me,” Cora points out, stopping and waiting by the counter as she looks up at Sweet Pea. “Go have fun tonight, sounds like you’re going to be starting a real adult life working at the shop soon, have one last teenage celebration of freedom.”

Turning to the waitress as she walks over, Cora pulls out her debit card from her wallet, paying for the bill and waiting for Sweet Pea to do the same. Together they head back out into the parking lot, the afternoon sun slowly sinking into the evening, the air still brutally warm against her skin.

“What are your plans? Do you have any real adult life plans?” Sweet Pea asks, walking beside Cora in the direction of her car.

“Plans?” she asks, as if the word was entirely foreign to her, a smile on her face. “Don’t have any right now. I’m going to see how long my dad can handle having me around,” she jokes.

“Try and stay on his good side,” Sweet Pea comments, getting back into the car with Cora. “It’s nice to have some new people in Riverdale.”

Cora smiles nervously, nodding quickly. “Yeah,” she mutters, swallowing hard as she starts the car. Her mind races through her Rolodex of easy to talk about topics. “What’s your favourite kind of car?” she asks, trying to figure out something to ask that would interest him enough to not question the way less-than-subtle shift.

Sweet Pea turns his attention to Cora, eyebrows furrowed slightly, clearly aware of the change in subject. “I’m actually more of a motorcycle guy,” he tells her.

Cora glances over at him as she drives down the main street of Riverdale, back towards the auto shop, grateful that he had accepted the change in topic. Turning her attention back to the road she listens to him talk about motorcycles, his motorcycle, the kind of motorcycle he wanted, his best friend’s motorcycle, not following anything he was saying, but enjoying listening to his enthusiasm regardless.

Shuffling into the kitchen Cora rubs her eyes tiredly, desperate for a cup of coffee. The sound of talking brings her to a halt, blinking a couple times to be sure she was seeing things correctly. Her dad was sitting at the small kitchen table, a plate with eggs and toast in front of him and Sweet Pea sitting at the table across from him, breakfast in front of him as well. “What’s going on?” Cora asks groggily, walking across the old linoleum floor to the counter where the coffee maker sat with a half-full pot of coffee.

“Good morning,” her dad chuckles, “Did you not sleep well? You look tired.”

“You’re not supposed to tell people they look tired, it’s like telling me I look like shit. I slept fine, by the way, I just need coffee.” Reaching into the cupboard she pulls out a faded yellow mug, filling it before turning around to face the kitchen table and leaning against the counter. “That doesn’t answer my question though, it’s seven in the morning, why are you here?” Cora asks, eyes on Sweet Pea.

“It’s Sweet Pea’s first day at work, I invited him over to catch up,” Joe answers for him, “please don’t be rude to our guest.”

“Your guest,” Cora replies with a smile, walking over and dropping down into the only chair left at the tiny table. “I would never invite guests over before ten.”

“Well some of us have jobs,” Joe says, and Cora’s eyes widen, a quiet laugh escaping as she glances at Sweet Pea.

“Is that a hint?” she jokes, looking back to her dad.

Joe chuckles, pushing his chair back and walking to the coffee pot to refill his mug. “No,” he tells her. “Though I’m sure you’re going to get bored eventually.”

“So, it was a hint,” Cora says with a smile, her dad shaking his head in defeat as he sits back down at the table. “Excited for your first day?” Cora asks, her attention now turned to Sweet Pea, sitting on the other side of her.

“Yeah,” he nods, bringing another forkful of his scrambled eggs to his mouth.

“I guess you have to say that with your boss sitting right there.” Cora takes a sip of her coffee, grimacing slightly. “Wow, I didn’t think it was possible for me to not like coffee,” she mutters, slowly lowering the cup back to the table while looking at the almost completely full mug sitting in front of Sweet Pea.

“What’s wrong with it?” Joe asks defensively.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to drink motor oil, even if you own an auto shop.”

Sweet Pea chuckles quietly and Cora looks over at him with a smile, the sound of him laughing at her joke making her feel inexplicably happy. “Have a good first day,” she says to Sweet Pea, pushing her chair back from the table, grasping the mug of coffee and carrying it to the sink, pouring the liquid down the drain before walking out of the kitchen.

Balancing the cardboard tray with three paper cups of coffee Cora pushes the auto shop door open, the bell above the door jingling as she makes her entrance. The desk was unsurprisingly empty but only a minute passes before the door between the shop and office opens, Joe was halfway through the door before he comes to a stop. “Oh, it’s just you.”

Scoffing playfully, Cora shakes her head. “Good to see you too, dad,” she laughs, walking over and lifting one of the cups from the tray. “I brought you coffee, it doesn’t taste like tar, so I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

“Thank you,” Joe smiles, his eyes fixed on the two remaining cups in the cardboard tray.

“The other one is for Sweet Pea,” Cora tells him, her dad nodding with a knowing look on his face.

“Coffee break is in five minutes, you can go hang out in the break room and wait for him if you want.”

Taking her dad’s suggestion, she heads to the break room, a small windowless room with an old wooden table, covered in ring-shaped stains from years of coaster-less use. Not a single chair around the table matched, some were old office chairs, some were kitchen chairs, a couple plastic outdoor chairs. Décor was not Joe’s strong suit. Sitting down in a chair near the end of the table Cora takes her own cup of coffee from the tray, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip while she stares at her phone. Absentmindedly she busies herself with scrolling through Instagram till chatter in the hallway catches her attention and she looks to the door, watching the guys who worked for her dad stream into the break room. A slight smile spreads on Cora’s face when she sees Sweet Pea walk into the room, chatting with one of the guys who worked at the shop. Despite her dad introducing her to everyone who worked at the shop, Cora could no longer remember many of them, the many, quick introductions escaping her mind.

Sweet Pea notices Cora quickly, walking over slowly and dropping down into the chair beside her. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Cora pulls the coffee out of the cardboard tray, setting it down in front of him with a smile. “I brought you a coffee…to make up for my dad trying to poison you with the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted this morning.”

Sweet Pea’s lips curve into a smile, looking at the cup of coffee in front of him. “Thanks,” he says, his voice surprisingly quiet as he looks back at Cora with an unfamiliar seriousness in his eyes, contrasting with the smile on his lips.

“Yeah, no worries,” Cora laughs nervously, unsure of his change in demeanor. “I should get going though, leave you to your first day camaraderie building,” she says with a smile, standing up from her chair and heading for the break room door. Before walking down the hallway Cora glances back over her shoulder, her eyes locking momentarily with Sweet Pea’s eyes. Giving him one last smile, Cora turns around to hurry down the hallway before anyone had the chance to notice the warmth creeping up into her cheeks.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! Part two should be posted next Thursday! 

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Savior Complex

warnings: starts off pretty apocalyptic, so yes, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. but also a time travel fic, so...? GEN (for now), even if Izuku is age 35! 

summary: So many dead, so little left to protect. One for All responds to Deku’s dream and pulls him into the past.

a credit! @thelennystorm for inspiring Nana’s Quirk and Hero name (pls message me if you would like this changed)

//

“You did everything right,” said the specter, All for One’s younger brother. Izuku stayed prone on the ground, feeling hollow and just… not very Plus Ultra about his situation. The world was teetering on the brink of desolation; only the most overpowered heroes had survived the first few cataclysms, and they shuttled back and forth between the remaining communes of humanity.

All for One had stopped playing games. Humanity starts anew, he had declared on every screen, every soundwave, or not at all.

Izuku had spent close to fifteen years being one of Japan’s Symbols of Peace. He was thirty-five now, and no closer to finding a successor than he was to eradicating All for One.

“I should be doing more,” he grieved.

The sickly-complexioned man tilted his head. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re doing all you can.” His voice turned remorseful. “If anything, my older brother should have been stopped long ago.”

Izuku closed his eyes. “None of you could access One for All like me. I’m the one with a shot at beating him and his regenerative Quirks, and I can’t find him.”

Izuku had met and befriended other countries’ top heroes, but One for All was unique in its stockpiling of its previous users and its unlimited potential, so no one had yet matched Izuku’s prowess. But no one offered any help either.

Japan’s problem, the United Nations had decreed, just before All for One turned his attention from his homeland to the world, Japan’s responsibility.

And that had set the policy up to the present.

He took breaks in this mindscape. His predecessors flitted in and out of awareness, talking less and less as time marched on. All for One’s younger brother’s presence broke the streak of loneliness and silent accusations.

“Midoriya,” said the man. “How badly do you want to fix this?” He gestured broadly at the mindscape, but Izuku got the gist. How badly do you want to stop All for One?

“I’d give my life,” he answered.

“When would you do it?”

The evenness of the interrogation was beginning to mess with Izuku’s mind. And then there was that choice of when, not how. He contemplated the question with all the seriousness it demanded. He used to track All for One’s history; when and who the villain had killed or taken the Quirk of, when were the most pivotal moments. He used to dream about saving those people.

Most of all, he used to dream about saving All Might’s predecessor.

Shimura Nana had not been a famous hero, but she had been well-liked among her peers. Flicker Vision, the Vanishing Hero. Able to disappear from sight for five seconds at a time—a distortion of her cells, so far as Izuku had experienced. According to all documents, her death had occurred via an unknown detonation of red and black energy in a city never rebuilt. Izuku had begged the rest of the narrative from Nana, who’d recounted what she could with a forced smile. All Might’s face, downcast and miserable, provided the dry account with all the emotions it entailed.

“I’d save Shimura-san,” Izuku finally murmured. “She came the closest to destroying all his operations at the time, and she came face to face with him. If I could go back, it’d be that fight.”

“That fight made your hero,” said the man. “That’s when All Might was forged. You’d trade one legend for one forgotten name?”

He had given thought to changing the battle of Kamino Ward, his other concrete reference point, but during All for One’s temporary imprisonment, he had gloated about recently achieving invincibility in conjunction with immortality. That necessitated an earlier change.

Izuku cracked open an eye. “All Might didn’t need a crucible,” he shot back. “He already had his ideals, and his purpose.” He bit his lip, and did a cursory check for the souls around them. No Nana or All Might tonight. “And…” he reluctantly added, because this admission would mean his decision was not wholly objective, “he loved her.”

“Like a mother.”

It stung. Mostly because the memory of Izuku’s own mother hadn’t yet scarred over yet. But no, he couldn’t think of that now, or he’d be crying the rest of his break away. He made a noise of vague agreement, just to appease the man.

He got poked in the cheek. “Hey, Midoriya.”

Izuku sighed.

“Time to go.”

//

The unceremonious booting from his own mindscape, Izuku thought uncharitably, was clearly an omen for this fucking mess of a fight. He evaded the fingers headed for his stomach, blindly swung out with a retaliatory kick. Shigaraki was wearing his glee proudly, and already treating this battle like a playful, if deadly, spar.

They even had something like a script by this point. Izuku had bumped into Shigaraki far too often to not develop one.

“Where’s All for One?” he demanded.

“Sensei’s busy,” sang the villain. “Too busy for the likes of you.”

They circled each other for a few seconds, and then Izuku tapped into Nana’s Quirk, then exercised Black Whip to trip the other man. He faded back into sight behind the sprawled Shigaraki. “That’s unfortunate,” he said, planting a foot right between the shoulder blades. “Because I have some plans to kill him.”

A startled giggle. “Kill? Wow, so much for being a hero!”

Izuku was too jaded by this point to let the jibe sting him. He lessened the pressure on Shigaraki’s spine in any case, only to flinch back at the handfuls of powdery dust being flung at his face.

And then he was choking on pain, because Shigaraki—always, always faster than he should be—had gotten to his feet and had slammed all five fingers to his stomach, his other hand curling in on Izuku’s collar.

Full Cowl’s protection meant that there was a delay. It meant that there was a painful delay.

“Izuku!” barked All for One’s younger brother. “Pull back your fist!”

Through the agony of skin splintering and reknitting, regenerating and decaying, Izuku obeyed. Shigaraki’s grin grew wilder at the defiant sight, and he crowed something unintelligible.

“Think of your dream!” urged the man. “Think of all who were reliant on you to protect them,” and Izuku closed his eyes and pictured the dead, his mentors and his classmates and his family; he pictured Nana’s slumped back as she recalled her final moments, and All Might’s horror at hearing what he’d left his shishou to face, “AND STRIKE WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!”

Izuku—backed by his eight predecessors howling that same, angry pitch—screamed and punched forward.

The wind enveloped them. Then the world ripped apart.

//

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” babbled a deep, if youthful, voice. “Is he dead? Where’d he come from?”

“Kid, pull it together,” said a more gravelly tone. It was closer to Izuku, who was fighting past the cobwebs and frantically pulling on One for All, which felt smaller than it had before he and Shigaraki—

His eyes snapped open, and although he instinctively tried to sit up, a throbbing bolt of pain encouraged him to fall back instead. “Shit—!”

“Steady,” said the presence kneeling by his shoulder. No steadying hand was offered though. “What’s your name? Do you know who attacked you?”

Blinking past the tears, Izuku reoriented himself first. In front of him, nervously bouncing from foot to foot, was a—oh. Oh, wow. It was a much younger All Might, when he wasn’t using One for All. Izuku could tell by the sunflower yellow hair and the Young Age costume.

Next to him was… his brain stalled. Gran Torino. He was tall, and broadly-muscled, but Izuku could recognize the silver hair (longer, more tousled and rakish) and hawk-like eyes, the off-white and yellow costume that clearly hadn’t changed over the decades.

“Did a—did you see anyone else?” he croaked. “Man a bit above our age. Gray hair. Mole on his lower right jaw.”

Gran Torino looked at All Might, and tilted his head expectantly.

“No,” said All Might. His expression was more than a little queasy. “No, I think—I think you might be laying in him though.”

Izuku—didn’t look down. Valiantly refused to look down. If he had a growing awareness of something seeping into his uniform, sticky and warm, then so what? His environment appeared to be a back alley. Coffee spilled all the time. So Izuku kept his mind busy studying Gran Torino. Doesn’t look like he’s grieving. Does look like he’s in a hurry. What happened to me?

“It’s not on your face,” All Might provided helpfully.

“Your name,” said Gran Torino impatiently.

“Deku,” slipped out before Izuku could filter it. He’d gone by it for too long, hearing it more than his civilian name in the recent years. “No, sorry, uh. Midoriya Izuku.”

Populations had skyrocketed in the world once Quirks were determined to be tailored in 80% of them. So names were in abundance. He wouldn’t strike any mysterious records, where they would find parallels between him and his future baby self.

Gran Torino’s head jerked, like he had heard something. He inhaled sharply, but upon catching Izuku’s eyes, let it go. He needed to jet off then.

Izuku tested his limbs. One for All was doing some miracle work, regenerating the torn muscle fibers and decayed organ tissue. He’d be ready to go any second. “If you gotta go, you gotta go,” said Izuku encouragingly. “I’ll call a friend.”

“To take you to the hospital I hope,” huffed the man.

He made a noncommittal noise. All Might shuffled his stance again, and nervously reminded his teacher of shishou. A concussive force hummed through the air, and in the distance, there were the faint shrieks of sirens, the tremors of buildings facing imminent collapse.

Okay. Izuku was in the right time. Now to just shadow along behind these two.

“You a hero?” demanded Gran Torino. He got to his feet, paused for a beat, scoffed, and offered his hand out. Izuku took it.

“Close enough,” he answered. His license had been lost and shredded a few years ago, but by then, his was a recognizable face and costume. You only had to say green in guessing games, and thoughts would immediately go to Deku. Izuku closed his eyes and pulled at One for All, and the familiar rush of Full Cowl enveloped him.

“You a vigilante?”

Izuku grimaced. “I think your intern mentioned a shishou,” he reminded Gran Torino pointedly. No need to interrogate him about the legality of his work, never mind his identity. Maybe the chaos of the times would be a boon; he could slip right into the Quirk register and Japan’s government records without a second glance.

Gran Torino clicked his tongue, clearly torn between racing for Nana and locking down an unknown, highly suspect element.

Finally, he relented. “If you’re a hero, start a perimeter and begin rescue,” he ordered. “If you’re an enemy, give me the goddamn pleasure of letting me know now, so I can beat you unconscious without wasting time.”

Izuku couldn’t resist. “And if I’m a civilian?”

Gran Torino glared. “Yeah, nice try. Jumpsuit and gear like that? Soaked in blood? You’re one or the other. Tell me now.”

A yellow-gloved hand was curling into a fist. Izuku was familiar enough with his mentor that the steady breathing was preparation for movement, and it was clear that a Gran Torino in his prime had much better lung capacity than an elder. He snapped off a smart salute. “Hero.”

“Then get,” said Gran Torino. To All Might, who was avidly watching the byplay, he snapped, “Let’s go, kid.”

Anyone else might have lost them after the first two seconds.

Midoriya Izuku, using 100% of One for All? Child’s play. He closed his eyes and centered himself, now more than aware that two people had just vanished from his Quirk, and when he opened them, green irises gleamed.

1/?

*note: in the All Might Rising OVA, All Might refers to Nana as oshishou; the ‘o-’ prefix is an indicator of respect, so far as google tells me. think ‘onee-san’ or ‘otou-san’ versus ‘nee-san’ and ‘tou-san.’

i didn’t bother translating shishou to master, like the subtitles did, mostly because... well, the English doesn’t really hold that emotional relationship you see in these mentorships (thinking of the other mentorship i’m familiar with, which is Sakura and Tsunade)

<<and then i didn’t add the prefix ‘o-’ because deep down, i’m a victim of habit, and i’ve seen shishou more than oshishou>>