#also i swear i had a good omens something somewhere

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

every time i come on here to post something i see my intro pinned and feel like such a liar because all i’ve ever posted on this blog is marauders T-T guys i swear i write for other fandoms, i just seem to end up liking my marauders pieces best…

[chemicallady]

I WANNA FEEL LOVE AGAIN

Part 1 ; Part 2 ;

Couple: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: I made a little homage to three fanfiction I really love! I leave you to find the references ;)

Taglist: @ada-clarence , @badalmondzzzz , my wifey @starsomens , @raventherockstarhippie @blacksoul-27 , @somewhere-diamond

Summary:  This is just cute. I swear.

But you never promised me to be wiser of better.

Time flies.

Two years passed by so fast that you almost didn't notice. At first, your job was not demanding at all, compared with the rest of the crew. You have to accompaning Noah or any other member of the band to attend the interviews, most of them for radio stations. Taking notes for integrations on their website. Keep an eye on publicize enough any tourdates or merch drop, find sponsor for bigger venues and check at the end of the day if the guys need something for the day after.

You had to spend a lot of your time on the band socials, especially instagram and twitter, which you have always shared credentials with your brother and the rest of the band. You also create their TikTok and take care about the creation of fun contents.

It was way easy before the release of Death of Peace of Mind. After the beginning of 2022, you were on the road more than at home. A lot of famous hosters started to ask for an interview with Noah. All the lights switched on the future promise of rock music when Just Pretend became one of the most used/listened songs on TikTok.

And now, in the middle of the summer of 2023, the band is still rising. More money bring more responsabilities, the necessity of arranged a better shows, bigger interviews, more publicity, more interaction through the socials.

Everyone has to work the double, you included. Speaking with radio manager and small magazine specialized in all metal subgenders was a thing.

But now the band is too huge to stop at this level. And you werent trained enough for all this pressure, but it started to grow on you month after month, tour after tour. You are the guardian of Noah's schedule. You are not charming enough to compete with others PR, but since the crew is more similar to family meeting than a serious ansemble of professionals, you became competitive.

Hard work got big results like the european tour with Bring Me the Horizon. Oli wanted Bad Omens to open for him but you were the one who put all her soul and time on the project. On the papers. Because behing any tour there is a mountain of burocracy, sponsor phone calls and publicity. You had to team up with Matt, Miles and Davis so many times that at some point, that it's like having more than just one older brother.

From june 4th, the last day on tour, you are on vacation. You have nothing to do with music creation or audio/video sound checks. You just need a laptop, a lot of patience every time you scroll your emails, and the fantastic mojito your neighbour Brianna makes. A good reason to work on your balcony, along with the sound of the ocean, is her company. You don't have many friends but she is amazing. She moved from Minnesota after the shutdown, and she is an actress. Small roles, but as she always says, small roles bring bigger ones.

《 and it would have been ever better if my prick boyfriend didn't show up and basically assaulted the casting director》

You have heard this story at least ten times, but it's still amazing how boys can be idiots. 《 Why are you still with him? He's a bomb ready to detonate, Bri》 , you know that your concern will not help her in resonate, but you can't shut up.

《 I can't afford either the apartment or the car and you know that, y/n. Also, he is not that bad when he's sorber.》

《 But he never is! 》 you place the now empty glass on the outdoor table, disappointed in seeing her almost offended expression. It's a fortune that Matt isn't around. He has to deal with Jim at least twice a week. 《 You're my friend, Bri. The only one unrelated to my job..... I can't sleep over this situation anymore. I can help you. Move in with me and Matt, take care of my plant and Lucifurr for me while we are on tour. We don't want you to help with the rent. You just need to tell that dick to fuck off.》

《.... but he drives me to every casting》

《 and he's the reason no one is picking you in a very first place. This relationship is too toxic》

《 y/n I think you're crossing the line.》

《 He's gonna kill you one of these days!》

You both muted for a couple of seconds, the now tense air between the two of you being thick as a wall. Yeah, you cross the line but like Matt, you're no good in resonate with people who don't want any help. And like Matt you can't stand injustice, not at this rate.

But you know that you have to excuse yourself, simply it's hard to find the right words. You are not going to apologise for speaking your mind, but just about the way you did it.

《 y/n? Are you ready?》

A raspy voice catch you off guard. It's already seven??

《 Shit, Noah. I'm outside》, you yell in response, before turning again towards Brianna. She already reached the empty glass and without a word, and she comes back to her apartment. 《 C'mon Brianna. I'm sorry, just-for the fuck sake.》

Noah is standing right next to you when Brianna shut the door loudly.

All you can do is sigh out loud - a bad habit you inherit from the tall man on your side - before bringing your hands to cover your face in frustration.

《 What's going on, here?》 He asks , munching a candy.

《 I don't understand women.》

He gives you a funny look. 《 Damn, that's the real deal, man. Not the chicken/egg question, or what's our purpose on earth.... but why you girls act so weird. 》

《 Shut the fuck up, Noah. Not now.》

Your relationship with Noah also changed drastically in the last two years. It required some time and a ton of patience, but he open up to you and from thenon, you became a sort of confident of him. In return, he is the one you call when things are not going well. It was a bit embarrassing, the first months, but your friendship now is stronger than youve ever immagined. You feel like you can tell everything to Noah without being judged. Sometimes he laughs at you, of course, but he knows when a situation has to be manged seriously.

He cares about you with all his heart.

He doesn't aspect nothing in return, but he is dear to you on a level than only your brother have always been.

And he knows you deeply, that's why it is so easy for him to detect how worried you are.

《 Do you think he beats her? I mean, Steve is a scumbag, but I can't figure him being actually that violent. He is always too high to have some form of coordination.》

Since his arrival - Noah has the keys of the apartment so he can come and go as he pleased, especially when both you and matt are not in town and someone has to take care of Luci- Noah asked you questions on Brianna's situation.

He knows you're concerned and he also can't pretend he is fine with your neighbors yelling at each others on daily basis.

《 I don't know but he is getting more and more jealous. She told me he's sabotaging her auditions, now.》

Noah takes a sip of the iced tea you offer him, before grab your hand on the surface of the counter. 《 Start to call the police on them, when they argue. Maybe you're right. He is not beating her yet. But he could start.》 You nod slowly, thanking him with a soft smile. 《 By the way, do you feel okay? Wanna postpone our date?》

He loves to joke around with you, because he knows how this helps in rising your moral.

You pretend to get offended. 《 I would never, ever decline a date with you. Let me change in a more adequate outfit.》

《 take your time, the limo's driver can wait downstairs.》

You giggle, before leaving him in the kitchen, reaching your room for a quick change. In five minutes you're ready: a ponytail, red joggers and a tank top.

《 Ready to run, pretty boy?》

《 I'm always ready, chicken butt.》

Noah has never told you the real reason why he has taken the work out so seriously, but you're glad he did, because you joined him on his program and honestly, you feel at your top right now. It's not a matter of aesthetics, but you feel healthy. You are less tired at the end of the day, and you can endure the - at least- 15 working hours while Touring. Back at home, it became a habit of the two of you going out for a run daily during the sunsets since Noah is not an early bird and you'd rather work in the morning.

The place you chose is on the street that runs alongside the beach in Malibù. One of reason why you got used to LA is also the precious view of the ocean while the sun sinks in it and paints the sky in gold.

There is a small beach, hidden in the stunning nature of the Pacific Coast, that has become your spot. Every day you reach that beach, stretch a little and then go back to your apartment when usually Noah showers before leaving.

Today is a Saturday and even if you don't have big plans, Noah sometimes takes his chances on a Saturday night. Even God took a day off on Sunday, right?

《 It's the red hair?》

You ear him chuckles while you bend, grabbing the tip of your toes to stretch your back.

《 No red hair as far as I can recall》

《 So... the girl you helped at that dive bar?》 You rise again, bringing your arms to the sky 《The one who broke up with her cheating boyfriend? Or maybe your neighbour? I like her. I remember you told me she was so happy when you sent her our merch.》

Noah pushes you a little, making you loosing your balance while a giggle leaves your lips. 《 You're making me look like a fuckboy!》

《you are a fuckboy, always surrounded by beautiful women. And don't look at me like that! I know you like it that way!》

Noah is young and awesome. You got a crush on him in the beginning of your partnership. It's more than obvious that he has a significant number of choices when he wants to spend a night out.

This used to hurt you a bit, but the feeling of jealousy or envy - you still don't know what it was - disappeared in the moment you realised what you have.

All this girls can have noah for a night or two.

You can have him fully, you can call him in the middle of the night if a guy screws on you and Noah will bring you to buy ice-cream to McDonald's. You two can talk for hours about the absolute nothing or regarding the most difficult life choices.

You can mocking him, make him laugh in the golden light of the dying sun, in this very moment.

And that's more than enough.

Maybe you and Noah are not meant to be lovers, but he is your person and you are his. Like twin Flames, that doesn't matter how far they are.

They always burn bright.

《 I don't know, I was thinking for something casual. Like Netflix and chill.》

Lucifurr jumps off the sofa in the moment he hears Noah entering in your apartment. Your cat totally ignores you and starts to purr to the tall man that interrupts everything to kneel and cuddle the black ball of furr.

Satanic animal...

《 Then you should text the neighbor. She is the sweetest of yours hooks up.》

《 Then I can simply ring the door on my way back.》

《 Call her, Noah. Don't be a prick. The world doesn't revolve around you. Maybe she is planning to go out.》

You can hear him sigh in his annoying way. 《Can I shower here, anyway? I smell bad.》

《 You always smell bad.》

《 Am I???》

You exchange a glaze with him and immidiatly know its time to run. In the moment he leaves Luci alone, he is following you around the house while you yell for help. But matt isn't back yet, so you're on your own. As soon as noah reaches you (very soon, his legs are longer than yours), he huggs you tight, trying to put your head under his armpit.

《 NOAH STOP IS DISGUSTING!》 , you try to defend yourself hitting him on his back and between his legs with small slaps.

《Ei! Low blow! Don't slap my nutts!》

《 Don't sweat on me, you piece of-》

A yell interrupted the both of you, follow by a long cry and some smashed dishes. Noah realise the grip on you and sighs deeply looking at the wall that divides your apartment from Briannas one.

《 Is it always like this?》

《 almost every day, now.》

And there is something that broke in your cracking voice that completely shattered Noahs heart.

《 let's call the cops》, he says with a soft voice, hugging your shoulders. 《 I'll stay. We can watch a movie togheter.》

You look at him in surprise while he is reaching his phone. 《 and your date?》

《 you're my date》 , is the cheeky replay. The both of you smile, and you need a second. Not only because you're worried about brianna, but also because these small situations make you feel.... weird on your feelings towards noah.

You don't want to admit it, but a real date would be all you desire.

....but at what cost?

[valiantroeagleangel]

Ruffilo's alphabet

Nicholas Ruffilo x female reader

After the Will Ramos one, one of you asked me to do Bad Omens's alphabets so here we go. Starting with Ruffilo my beloved. This is obviously NSFW.

Mama's tag list: @circle-with-me @somewhere-diamond @malice-ov-mercy @smokeynaomi @darkhallcorner @loeytuan98 @sthnog @cookiesupplier @cncohshit

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Princess treatment. This dude is getting you everything you need without you asking. If it was dirty and painful he is running you a bath afterwards. If all you need is comfort and a hug don't even bother yourself by asking, he will know and you'll be immediately in his arms.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

If we are talking ass and boobs this is an ASS DUDE ladies and gents. Saw a picture of one of his girlfriends one day, don't know if she still is, but that girl had THIGHS and ASS. Guys, I swear the booty was serving.

That aside I think Nicholas is really romantic and would love your smile or something like that. Maybe your eyes because they light up when you talk about something you love.

And on him it gotta be his hair, it's so fucking shiny and pretty I hope he is aware of that.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I had this strange headcanon that he likes to finish on the small of your back in doggy style. Why? I don't know but this is the vibe I'm going with. Or maybe watch it drip down your thighs.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

JERKED OFF WITH NOAH ONCE. I'm sorry but the bromance between these two is too sus, especially during their younger years.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, he knows what he is doing. Especially fingering. I mean come on he plays BASS. The fingers are skilled and don't get tired.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy style. Everything I can imagine with Nicholas is doggy style or maybe you on your knees, looking at him from under. I don't know if it counts as a position but I'm pretty sure he loves the view.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

No jokes are involved in bed. This dude is so focused that he will not break his character. Either if it's the dom Nick or Sub Nick headcanon he is always so serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Groomed. Well groomed. This dude's hair is so perfect that I'm pretty sure he takes care of it even down there.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Romantic baby as fuck. Maybe he won't express it with his words but 👏actions ladies👏. He will set up the romantic stuff. Take you to dinner and then when you go home, he will slowly get you in the mood with candles and stuff.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jacks off a lot. Maybe it's because I love that idea of him jerking off but please- he is doing it and he loves it. Sometimes he calls you while doing it, loving how nasty things are going.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Hair pulling. No explanation needed. He'll take you doggy style and pull your hair so that his lips are meeting your shoulders as he talks dirty to you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed because he likes it long and uninterrupted.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going?)

Do you see this situation where you are wearing a skirt or a dress and when you sit down how thick your thighs can turn and how it makes your skirt roll up? This dude is going feral for this. He is going to grab your thighs so hard and you know you're good for one.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

CNC, dubious consent, these kind of things.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

BLOWJOBS PEOPLE. 👏 Back to the position headcanon but he dies for you to get on your knees, looking at him with doe eyes as he looks down. His large hand at the roots of your hair, he massages your head as you just unbutton his pants, still not breaking the eye contact.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Very controlled in his moves you know. Will slowly thrust into you but in a very precise way, a little bit sporty. I don't see him going fast and rough in a messy way, like he is going crazy. Nope, that's not for him, he will go rough, fast if you want but he will stay in control. Even with the sub Nick headcanon, this dude knows how to handle himself.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn't enjoy them much but isn't against it. He would rather fuck you nice and slow for hours long but if it's all you can do then he will take it. It's still sex and he enjoys it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

One day I read a fic on AO3 about Nick fucking you in the bathroom next to the rest of the band and I'm going feral for this. Risky in the risky public sex kind of way. Besides that, will experiment but nothing too crazy I think. Is naughty but not a freak or he is hiding it very well.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Has stamina for sure, dude is going for hours. Once again he is controlling himself so if he wants to fuck you dumb all night long he will fuck you dumb all night long.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has toys for himself, uses them once in a while you know. If he is away for a long time he will use some but I don't see him using toys much with you. He doesn't have anything against it, he just doesn't enjoy them. He likes the connection that he can have with you during sex and he feels more intimate without them. They are good to help out when you guys are separated that's all.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you but he isn't a bitch. He likes to play, enjoys your reactions but won't make you cry or beg to come. He is not that much of an asshole. Once again I think he is a balance between like the cold dom and the romantic lover.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Isn't that much of a vocal person. Maybe he will groan into your ear, breathe loudly or moan occasionally, but he isn't like super loud or expressive.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He watches weird hentai. Who do you think introduced Noah to this?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Massive and heavy. That's all I need to say.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I would say multiple times a week? But it can be really long so that's definitely not every day or multiple times a day. Once again it's all about balance.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I don't think he really is the type to just go straight to sleep and snore a few seconds later. He will cuddle you for a bit, make sure you're alright and that everything is fine. Aftercare and then when you're both in good condition he will put you to sleep.

[collapsedglasshouses]

An Angel For Noah || Noah Sebastian x OC [Part 2]

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @cafekitsune

PART ONE

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Jules (she/her)

SUMMARY: Jules knew it would be hard to start her journey as an guardian angel, but the harder part was to let go of her past...

WARNINGS: mentions of panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of blood, swearing, (let me know if i missed something)

A/N: Let me just start with this: AAAAAAAH... thank you... Okay, let's just say this, I cried a little while writing this... This fanfic is gonna break me into pieces, but I can't suffer alone so here is part 2...

TAGLIST: @trvshdxddy @blackveilomens (if you wanna be added, pls let me know in the comments)

Keep in mind, this takes place in an alternative universe. Even though I write about real people, the way I write them has nothing to do with how they are in real life.

Jules took a deep breath and stared ahead of her. She didn't even know what to do now. Keaton had given her a name and where to find that guy. Noah Sebastian, singer of a metal core band called "Bad Omens", was living somewhere in this street and her first task was to find him.

Jules swallowed hard. She knew Keaton said, it would be easy and how guardian angels are always similar to the person, they need to protect, but at this moment, she couldn't think of a single thing she should have in common with this Noah guy.

She had been a violinist for most of her live, had been what people described as prude or boring and always obeyed to her parents rules. Literally everything she wouldn't think, when thinking of a metal band member.

She never had been a big fan of the harder kinds of music, calling herself a die hard Swiftie, during her short lifetime. The life size cardboard cutout of Harry Styles that was probably still standing in her bedroom couldn't have agreed more to that.

She sighed while walking down the street. She asked herself if Keaton couldn't have been a bit more precise with his explanations and instructions, when she walked up to the third door and didn't read the names she was looking for. It bugged her that she couldn't just pull out her phone to type in the address and she found it rather bold from those angels that they hadn't given her some kind of device or powers to make it easier for her to find her target. What made her even more mad was, when she realised she couldn't fly. She felt robbed. She was literally just an invisible spirit with a task to fulfill that wasn't just finding her well deserved peace.

She couldn't do anything cool and she was literally invisible to everything and everyone.

She stopped in her tracks, when she realised that. She was in fact invisible. How the hell was she supposed to help Noah, if he can't even see her? Was he even allowed to see her? She felt like she was part of an episode of Supernatural and was about to meet the Winchester brothers.

When she started to walk again, she let her gaze wander over the houses. At least she would be in a good neighborhood. Not like she had to worry about being kidnapped anymore (you know, the sad things women need to worry about) but it was still somehow calming her nerves a bit.

When she walked up to the fourth house, she finally read the last names Keaton had told her about. She was about to be pleased with her work, when she notices the next problem.

What now?

She couldn't just ring the bell and show herself.

Like...

Hey, I'm your guardian angel, your friend Keaton sent me.

She was pretty sure, she couldn't even show herself at all.

Jules let out an frustrated groan, before looking around, trying to find another way to get into the house. Sadly she had also learned the hard way, that she couldn't walk through walls, when she tried it about an hour ago.

She snuck around the house, just to find a fence, she definitely couldn't just climb over. She sighed again and looked at the building. It looked like a typical upper class house in Los Angeles. At least it looked like their music was starting to pay off.

She still tried to climb up the high fence and if she would have still been alive she definitely would have broken at least a bone.

"Why can't I just fly!" She screamed out in agony. "This is such bullshit."

While she continued to mutter out profanities and tried to climb up the fence, the front door opened and none other than Folio and Davis step out of it.

She stopped in her tracks, when she heard their voices.

"I thought Noah already went grocery shopping with Ruffilo?" She heard one of the guys say and was sure she almost reach high speed after hearing that name while sprinting to the door. She saw two men, one with with short dark hair and one with long hair and a streak of grey in it.

"Nah, Noah was in the studio all day and Nick drove to his girlfriend. I think that's on us today." The man with the grey streak in his hair answered, while fidgeting with his car keys.

She couldn't concentrate on their conversation any longer, her only goal being to slip into the house as fast as possible before it was closed again. Right before the second guy got the chance to lock her out again, she, again, ran as fast as she could and soon found herself standing inside the house. She literally felt like an intruder.

So, where is he? She thought to herself and carefully looked around the room, she was standing in. It was the living room. To her right was a staircase. When she heard some noise from above, she decided it would be best to go after it.

She took her first steps really quietly until she released that nobody would hear her, so her steps became a bit more eager. Quickly, she found the room the noise was coming from and to her luck and surprise, the door to the room stood slightly open. Just far enough that she would fit through.

From the inside, she heard someone singing quietly. She felt the goose bumps creeping up her arms and instantly knew without a doubt, that she would find the person she was looking for inside this room.

When the guy stopped for a second, she carefully made her way inside the small studio and took a first glance at the person she would protect from now on. When her eyes laid on him, she felt something inside of her, she never felt before. A feeling she couldn't quiet describe. There were no words in the world for the pureness she felt when her eyes laid on him. Something inside her just clicked and she knew she needed to be close to him.

She took a careful step towards him and took in his form. He was sitting there and played some soft tunes on a keyboard that was connected to his computer. His ears were covered with headphones. From her perspective, she could get a quick glance at his tattooed neck. A hand grabbing an apple and a snake wrapping around said apple perfectly. A clear reference to the story of Adam and Eve.

When he began to sing again, she felt herself drawn even closer to his presence and without even thinking she stepped next to him to get a better look of his face.

He had really beautiful dark eyes and if you looked close enough, you could notice the small freckles on his face. In this moment she was more than glad that he couldn't see her, because she was creepily leaning on the desk to see him better.

Than for a brief second his eyes shot in her direction. That almost made her fall over in shock. She held her chest when she backed away from him. For a moment she legitimately thought, he had looked her dead in the eyes. When her breath finally started to settle again, she noticed it must have been a coincidence, because when she dared to look at him again, he had gone back to his normal position.

At this moment she realised, how bizarre this whole thing really was. She was sitting in the room of a singer, who she hadn't seen or heard of before and was literally as dead as it gets. She stared at a stranger, while just being a fucking spirit in his room.

She wiped over her face in disbelief, before starting to walk up and down his room, while he was humming a melody. She had a feeling, like she couldn't breathe anymore. She was fucking dead. Her live on earth was over.

How the hell was she fitting to be a guardian angel? She didn't have a good attention span and now was suppose to watch a stranger's every move.

Why couldn't she just have her well deserved rest? She was fucking run over by a car. She hadn't even had her first relationship before she died. Why didn't her grandpa just babysit Noah? He had literally 70 years more of life than she had.

When Noah stood up from his spot, Jules was in tears. It was so unfair. Why her? What did she do to deserve this? She was a literal Straight A student, had good friends and did her utter best. Tried to be as perfect as possible. But nothing mattered anymore. Nobody would remember her and the afterlife was cruel enough to not give her some rest.

Noah made his way out of the small studio, but Jules couldn't get up. Her thoughts just didn't stop. She just wanted to go. She wanted to go back.

She couldn't even think about her parents, her chest starting to burn when she thought of them. They showed her nothing but love throughout her life and right now she had a feeling, like she never appreciated them in the slightest. While she was grateful for everything, she still thought far too often that everything in her life was simply given to her. Her parents worked their asses of for her to get the opportunity to go to Juilliard and she was so dumb to get run over by a car, because her phone was that much more important.

With that it was over for her. It felt like someone was clutching her throat. She couldn't take full breaths anymore. Her mind started to race even faster, while her tears felt like literal lava on her skin. She wanted to go back. Wake up in that hospital bed. See her family. Hold their hands. Never let them go. She couldn't do this. How the hell was she supposed to do this?

She cradled her head in her hands and laid on the floor in fetal position, when suddenly...

It was warmer around her. She instantly was able to breathe again. She opened her eyes and found herself back in that white room, where she landed after her grandpa talked to her.

She sat up and looked around.

Next to her sat Keaton.

"What's going on, Jules?" He asked her and stroked her back reassuring. Tears were still running down her cheeks.

"I can't do it, Keaton." She cried out so quietly, Keaton almost didn't hear her. "Why are you even here? Aren't you suppose to protect your people?"

"You are one of my people." He quickly told her. "Just because you are as dead as me, doesn't mean you don't need someone looking over you."

Her heart warmed with that statement. She couldn't believe her ears. Never had she felt so save like she did with him next to her. He made her feel save.

"How am I suppose to help Noah, when I couldn't even help myself?" She asked with a raspy voice.

"You can do it, believe me. I could do it too." He reassured her. "I thought I couldn't do it myself and look at me now. Sitting next to the girl I should have protected." He laughed bitterly. "It's okay to fail. It is more important to know you tried."

She saw how his eyes became watery and quickly reached out to put her arms around him. When he hugged Jules back, it was everything the both needed to go on. For the moment, she didn't want to let go of him, knowing the seriousness of their task would come back soon after. But suddenly...

... Jules heard a shattering noise from downstairs and was quickly snapped out of her thoughts and the save room. She set in the studio for a second. But without even thinking she found herself next to Noah.

She looked around her and was shook to see she teleported herself right next to him. Tears were still streaming down her face, but she immediately looked for Noah, who was now bent over the sink and rinsed his finger, which he cut. He was muttering profanities under his breath, while Jules still tried to contain her cries.

She knew she needed to get over this. It was hard, but this was her life now, if you could even call it that. This was her existence now and she needed to make sure Noah would be save.

She couldn't fail him too.

READ PART THREE HERE.

[yokai-girlie]

A Deep Dive Into Good Omens Symbolism In Season 2

Once again, just my opinions and how *I* interpreted the show. It’s all just for funsies. And also spoilers for the new season. Duh ;)

My all time favorite thing about literature is symbolism. I love looking for it and i love finding the meaning to it. I think in a past life I was an english teacher because I swear to you I can assign meaning to the most arbitrary things. But I love it even more when symbolism evolves. I think I enjoy watching the meaning of a symbol change in a book more than I like watching a character develop.

I said all of that to say I am absolutely OBSESSED with how the symbolism of the Bookshop and the Bentley evolved this season. We watched them get flipped on their heads and it was so beautifully devastating. If y’all want, in another post i can go into other symbols in the show like colors or other objects but for now, this is about the Bookshop and the Bentley :).

In season 1 we get introduced to the bookshop and the bentley. They both have pretty surface level meanings. (That’s not a bad thing at all. Simple is good. Big fan of simple, me. It’s a great jumping off point as we see in season 2)

The bookshop obviously represents Aziraphale and his needs and desires. It can’t go anywhere and it hasn’t changed at all for the couple hundred years he’s owned it. It is consistent and comfortable in an ever evolving world. While Heaven is barren and white, the bookshop is cluttered and colorful. It is as resistant to change as Aziraphale is.

The bentley obviously represents Crowley and HIS needs and desires. My favorite description of Crowley has always been “loose living”. It just fits so well. Crowley loves change. He loves new fashion and new music and all the new and wonderful ideas humans come up with. While the bookshop is stationary, the bentley can take Crowley wherever he wants to go whenever he wants to do it very quickly.

In this season, both the bookshop and the bentley evolve to almost become their own characters. It’s more apparent with the bentley but it’s still noticeable with the bookshop. You just have to watch for it. (i wish i could tell you what to look for but i have no idea. the vibes. it’s the vibes. i just get anthropomorphic/sentient vibes)

And in this new season, the symbols change with Aziraphale and Crowley. Suddenly, Aziraphale is driving the bentley and Crowley is looking after the bookshop.

Crowley doesn’t like when Aziraphale changes the bentley’s color to yellow. “My car is not yellow. It has never been yellow. It is not going to start being yellow now.” While this is silly, it also shows that there is a bit of Aziraphale’s resistance to change in him. This one thing in his life he wishes to remain constant.

And although it’s not Crowley’s doing but rather Gabriel’s, the bookshop changes as well. Gabriel rearranges the books and weirdly enough, Aziraphale is very supportive of this because it’s in the name of making it harder for customers to buy them. Aziraphale loves owning a bookshop but loves NOT selling books more (insert something about the thrill of the chase and/or the real treasure was the fun we had along the way here)

We watch Aziraphale learn a sense of thrill that comes with going somewhere new when he takes the car to Edinburgh. Now that he no longer has higher-ups to report to, he was probably bored out of his mind. He finds playing detective quite invigorating and it is definitely the most exciting thing he’s done since Armageddon.

We watch Crowley entertain himself by meddling in the love lives of the local human population while taking on the mundane side quest of bookshop keeping. Crowley just got kicked out of his apartment, for christ’s sake and a 90 year old car is definitely not a stable living situation. Although he doesn’t want to admit it to himself, he is probably thrilled to be able to spend an extended period of time in the safe haven that is the bookshop.

The bookshop and the bentley go from not only representing Aziraphale and Crowley but now also representing Crowley and Aziraphale’s development. The symbols change into a vessel that brings Crowley peace he hasn’t known in a very long time and an outlet for Aziraphale to focus his pent up energy and eagerness into.

It potentially could be interpreted as they have had a taste into eachother’s lives and think they understand one another better. But as we all know, Crowley and Aziraphale’s fatal flaw is that they have TERRIBLE communication skills.

Crowley’s “you can’t leave this bookshop” and Aziraphale’s “nothing lasts for ever” stings so much because they were trying to speak eachother’s language.

Crowley has always been fast living and invited change. New fashion, new music, he even seemingly adapted to living in an apartment to living in his car pretty quickly.

Aziraphale has always been resistant to change. Same clothes, same music, same bookshop for centuries.

Crowley was trying to say “i’m willing to stay right here with you because that’s what you have always wanted and I want it a little bit too. ”

And Aziraphale was trying to say “i’m willing to try something new with you because that’s what you like to do and I liked doing it too.”

But that’s not what they heard.

Aziraphale heard “everything that we are is going to stay the exact same. Our relationship isn’t going to get worse but it’s also not going to get any better either.”

Crowley heard “everything that we are was only ever temporary. This is it. This is all. It’s time to move on again.”

They were too busy trying to speak eachothers language that they forgot to listen in their own.

So at the end, Crowley gets in his bentley and leaves. This time around, he doesn’t want to. This time there is change and he hates it. He wants things to go back to how they were and stay that way. The Bentley goes from representing moving forward to representing moving on.

And Aziraphale abandons the bookshop. Because he wants things to change and he wants to make a difference. And nothing can change in a place like the bookshop (common ground. a place of peace. a literal embassy) The Bookshop goes from representing something stable to something stagnant.

The end credits were beautifully tragic. It was a satisfyingly unsatisfying end. We the audience crave a different outcome just like Crowley and Aziraphale do.

I cannot wait for Crowley and Aziraphale to get their cottage at the end of this. Because it’s a perfect marriage of what they both desire. It’s something new and different yet something permanent and comfortable. It’s something that is theirs.

However, we aren’t there yet and it’s going to be a long while before we get there. Please watch and rewatch both seasons. Not only that, watch ALL of your favorite shows and movies. Continue to support SAG-AFTRA and The WGA strikes. Rate the show highly. Donate. Show these creatives behind all your favorite shows as much love and support you can. They deserve it.

[bansheeoftheforest]

I have more thoughts. This time it is majorly about Maria coz this has been stewing in my brain for a while (also also, since tumblr doesn't change posts that are edited, all eventual updates will be found in the reblog-section of this post!)

Maria Di Angelo takes 1 look at this scruffy teenager that Hades claims is another death god now sent to take care of her and her child(ren) and decides that this is her oldest son now, thank you very much.

My brain is convinced she names him Agostino because it is frankly easier to explain to the neighbours confused by his presence that he is her oldest who was away to study abroad or something if he has a italian-ish name and not like. "Yes this is my son, Anubis." Anubis just accepts that.

It probably takes quite a while for him to get used to not going by Agostino. The magicians call him "Anubis" and he is just "who???????"

Anubis is a collector of mother-figures honestly. He drinks his respect women juice every day.

Maria also insists that he is included on the few family photographs they take (I'm not even sure if those were canon but my brain is CONVINCED there was a Di Angelo family photograph mentioned somewhere).

I believe Anubis had some level of distance between the Hades demigods of yore, like, the relationships between him and them go from slightly strained at best to "begone foul omen of death"/"I don't NEED a babysitter fuck off and leave me be" at worst. But with the Di Angelos it takes him getting to meet Maria and hold baby Bianca and he is just. Yeah. He is a part of that family now. He doesn't really have a choice.

Makes it even more devastating when neither he nor Hades can save Maria in time from Zeus' wrath.

Majority of Anubis' personality comes from Maria tbh. Like he was mostly a personalityless teenager for the majority of the 2000 years between the fall of the Egypt and meeting the Di Angelos (as one is) but after those like. 5-10 years he spent with them all together he IS a strict maternal force to be reckoned with. He speaks violently with his hands and he is very good at making pasta.

I think Maria/the Di Angelos being a catholic family gave him a bit of a crisis because on one hand, he will happily follow the culture of the family he is staying with atm, but on one hand, he is a god and I am fairly certain the Christian god doesn't actually exist in the Riordianverse. Imagine being a pagan god and when you get mad you start swearing at another god that doesn't actually exist but does have beef with your pantheon.

Can you imagine being the Kanes and meeting the Egyptian god of death and he is inexplicitly/vaguely Italian. It feels right up RR's alley.

Maria can be happy that she came to the Greek underworld because I feel like Isis would dislike her solely for the fact that She Is Threatening Her Stance As Anubis' MotherTM. Nephthys isn't even part of that equation most of the time.

I do feel like he sneaks into the Greek underworld occasionally just to talk to her. Hades is well aware but lets it happen because, well, Anubis is a death god, so it is not like he is breaking any "no mortals in the underworld speaking with the dead" rules.

The fact that Anubis in this au is the closest Bianca and Nico ever had to having their mother after their memories are wiped makes me AUGH. He really is a single mom that works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops.

Still refusing to reread PJO/TKC but it is still infesting my brain so woe crossover au be upon yall

Au where Anubis casually gets assigned to be Bianca's and Nico's older brother, anyone?

(messy points below, mostly from Anubis' pov coz he is my pookie)

Like, once the other Egyptian gods start dropping like flies because the magicians are imprisoning them, assuming they may also go after Anubis, he turns to Hades as a very very very last resort because, well, he would like to not be imprisoned for all eternity, thank you very much. Hades agrees on the condition that Anubis looks after his demigods, since he otherwise really isn't to any use of him, which Anubis accepts. So, Anubis is basically the Hades/Pluto demigods' divine babysitter in exchange for some protection from the magicians who may or may not also want to imprison him.

I shall say that this either works bc A) Hades kids radiate enough death so that he can be around them without a host or B) it is all just bureaucracy so when the rest of the Egyptian gods are gone those rules simply do not really apply.

Anyways, once the Big Three ProphecyTM rolls around and Maria Di Angelo kicks the bucket, Anubis is left in charge of making sure the Di Angelo siblings survive, taking them to and staying with them at the Lotus Casino and the different schools that Hades moves them around to, either as their "older brother"/guardian or as their pet dog that the authorities simply don't bat an eye at.

The siblings, with their memories absolutely fucked up, simply accepts that they either have a brother, a dog, an older brother who is occasionally a dog, or a dog that only conveniently shows up when their brother isn't there and vice versa.

And since I haven't read any RR books since I was 12 and I never read the HOO series, I can't really talk much about the logistics from here on out but. I have some thoughts in general.

Anubis makes sure that he takes the majority of the responsibilities, so that Bianca can be a little more happy and a little less stressed than she would have been if she was alone looking after her little brother.

He also happily distracts Nico when Bianca needs a break, he can genuinely listen to Nico ramble about whatever for hours, remembers it quite well and can return the conversation, which Bianca rarely has energy for.

(He was the exact same when he was young and wants to make sure Nico has someone that listens to him)

Genuinely cannot rest until he makes sure the siblings are fine and safe, which becomes a bit of a problem when Bianca goes on her first and last quest, and even more of a problem when he is more stuck in the Brooklyn House and he has to keep contacting Nico before he allows himself or Walt to rest as a result of that.

He is so so so so SO protective of the siblings. He is absolutely ready to die or kill for them. He is not a fighter, more often than not a pacifist, but when it comes to them he is the first to throw hands.

Also him absolutely being ready to kill the demigods that find the siblings at the military school coz he is so used to the "any demigod or magician is here to kill one of us and I have to protect them at all costs" mode that he has been kinda stuck in for the last 70 or so years, minimum.

He is merely an older sibling running on the equivalent of 3 hours of sleep and 2 strong coffees, which really doesn't help the situation once shit starts going down in Brooklyn/the Egyptian pantheon.

Speaking of the Brooklyn House. After being a Divine BabysitterTM for like 2000 years he genuinely cannot get rid of those base instincts, which ends up with him fussing over the Kanes/Walt/Zia and the rest of the initiates because those are CHILDREN and they need to REST and be SAFE and EAT PROPERLY and TAKE YOUR DAMN VITAMINES, WALT.

Because of those 2000 years of babysitting, Anubis is genuinely amazing with kids. You'd think they'd be scared by him, but no. He is the first one they run to when they scraped their knee and need a band aid and a hug.

He also 100% stares right into Percy's and Will's souls the moment he finds out Nico has/had crushes on them. Despite being raised in an entirely different time he definitely is a "no dating until you are at least 25 otherwise I might have a heart attack" sibling and he is not letting some random demigod break his lil brother's heart. He accepts Will well enough though coz he makes Nico laugh which in the end is the most important thing.

Will might actually be more intimidated by Anubis than Hades but that doesn't stop him. Nico is his babygirl and he knows Anubis is (probably) more bark than bite (most of the time).

No matter if Hades allows him to like. stop being a babysitter once the gods are restored and Ma'at is balanced and all, Anubis still sticks around and checks in on Nico (and eventually Hazel). He gets antsy if he hasn't heard from them at least once a day.

He probably has a good base relationship with Jason and Reyna (bc both are protective older siblings when it comes to Nico) but he keeps Percy at a distance ever since Bianca's death (not that he blames him). But he isn't particularly close to any of them, as his priorities lay with Nico, Hazel, and the Brooklyn House.

Assuming Anubis doesn't like. Introduce himself to the greeks as "Anubis" and instead says he is someone else, I have absolutely no idea when or if he would ever tell any of the greek demigods what he truly is. But I suppose Nico would eventually find out that his older brother actually isn't related to him at all, or even from the greek pantheon, and instead only happened to become his older brother as a favour to Hades. Depending on how he finds out he definitely could get upset but I like to believe he sorta figures eventually, and is just happy Anubis genuinely cares for him.

I also like to think that the greek gods they meet when the demigods take the siblings from the school to camp half-blood, just gives Anubis A LookTM. Either they are fully aware he is protecting the Hades kids or they think an Egyptian god is just casually hanging out with some random demigods. Which must certainly be a sight to behold.

Can yall for a moment imagine being the Kane siblings, trying to get the feather of truth from the god of death to avoid the impending apocalypse, who then says "sorry I am mostly on babysitting duty so I can't really help yall more than this, good luck tho."

Walt who meets Nico and is so conflicted because in one way he is slightly weirded out by this tiny depressed gremlin, but in another way the Anubis PartTM of him is just going "protect protect protect protect", which is a weird first impression.

One of the Kane siblings would be interested in Mythomagic, I just know it. Either Sadie coz it is funky or Carter bc it is nerdy. Either way, Nico has at least one Kane to bond with bc of it.

Nico just has the ultimate diplomatic immunity because he can go between Camp Half-blood, Camp Jupiter, and the Brooklyn House basically as he pleases.

On a completely different topic, the majority of Nico's wardrobe is just shit he has stolen from Anubis, he just lets it happen, in part because it is not like he as a god has a limited wardrobe, and in part bc Nico is absolutely adorable when he drowns in Anubis' jackets bc they are too big for him.

Also, Anubis helping Nico train his death magic, and teaching him the easiest ways to build endurance while using it.

Frankly the thought of the rest of the gods being banished, imprisoned, in exile or attempting to free themselves while Anubis is playing babysitter is very funny to me in general. Imagine being Isis or Osiris and attempting to ask your nephew/son what he did during the 2000 years yall were imprisoned and he goes "I took a side job as a babysitter to pay the bills".

Honestly I might reblog this with more thoughts eventually. They are all just so pookie.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Payback's a Murder

Word Count: 2k Description: Mammon may be the Avatar of Greed and may constantly try to con his brothers, but others who try to do the same will find themselves at the wrong end of his murder. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Finally got back to this, so here we go with Mammon's turn! Note: Mulciber is a demon mentioned in John Milton's Paradise Lost. He served under Mammon and was an architect. Can also be found on AO3 here. content warning: blood, body horror, torture via the sharp ends of birds

The Avatar of Greed often found himself in trouble, whether it be because he stole personal belongings to sell or tried to cheat someone out of cash or … well, there were a lot of ways. Call him reckless, but when he saw an opportunity to make some cold, hard Grimm, he wasn’t about to pass it up!

But if someone tried to cheat him out of something? That wouldn’t do. Few dared to try it if they knew just who they were dealing with, but that didn’t stop some from trying anyway. They always regretted it afterwards.

The real issue, however, was if someone tried to cheat his brothers out of something. After all, he was the only one allowed to rip them off (that was his justification, anyway). The moment he finds out someone else tried to play confidence demon with any of them, it was a one-way ticket to the Great Mammon’s Beatdown Extravaganza.

He was walking by Leviathan’s room earlier when he heard a loud crash, some swearing, and a slight rumble under his feet. After some door breaking, tackling, and forcing his hotheaded brother to not summon Lotan, he found out what had made him so upset. Apparently, there was some demon running around with elaborate schemes swindling others -- well, nerds -- out of their money. He went on to explain something that Mammon did not at all understand -- as was usual when he got into his otaku rambling. If his brother had not been so upset, Mammon would have commended the guy for knowing how to target and hit a jackpot.

After some additional pestering, Mammon managed to get a rough description of this third-rate demon and realized he had a pretty good idea of just who it was. It was someone far closer to him than he’d like to admit.

So now here he was, leaning against the bar at one of the Devildom’s many clubs, drink in hand as he monitors the floor. If he was right, he would see the other cozening demon somewhere here tonight, so now it was just a waiting game. As Lucifer had told him repeatedly, You have to show that you’re Number Two. He planned to make that very clear tonight.

He felt the pulse of the bass vibrating through his body as the DJ amped up their music, more and more demons flowing into the space as the prime clubbing hours arrived. A few who noticed Mammon acknowledged his presence, some whispering about how he seemed to look way more serious than normal. The Avatar of Greed, not partying the night away already? Strange.

His patience was just about to run out when he caught a glimpse of just the demon he was seeking out. Hair as orange as a flame, he wasn’t too hard to spot amongst the crowd of more muted succubi surrounding him. Mammon downed the rest of his drink in one go, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket as he made his way to his target.

“Mulciber. Already getting started, huh?”

“M-Mammon?!” He seemed startled to see the other, but cleared his throat as he regained his cool composure. “It’s good to see you, man! Why don’t you join us all for a drink?” The succubi around him giggled, one daring to lean towards Mammon in an attempt to latch onto his arm, but he quickly placed a hand up to stop her.

“No touchin’, sweetheart.” He shot her a look that made her immediately back away, a pout on her lips. “And that’s a nice offer, Mulcey, but I was hopin’ I could talk to ya real quick in private.”

Mulciber could tell that no was not an option in this conversation, given the serious look in the Avatar’s eyes. “Oh, uh, sure. Sorry ladies, I’ll be back soon. Gotta take care of business!” He gave them a wink as they continued on to the table for their party. Clearing his throat again, he turned back to his superior. “So, what’s shaking, boss?”

Mammon just gave him a smile before nodding his head towards a side door, motioning to accompany him there. The lesser demon complied, following him outside to a side alley. The night air was brisk, causing a shudder to run through Mulciber’s spine. At least, he hoped it was the weather that was making him feel like this …

“I heard ya got up to another scheme.” Mammon fiddled with a lighter, flipping the top off and on with his thumb and a jerk of his hand as he spoke. Click, click, click, click. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally!” Mulciber nervously replied, wondering why Mammon seemed so interested. Did he want a cut of the check? Fishing for ideas for his own next get-rich-quick scheme? Or --

Oh.

Oh no.

He suddenly remembered that one of the victims of his scheming had been the very Avatar of Envy. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, delighting in the fact that he was even able to rip off a Greater Demon. Meant his plan had to be pretty genius, right? But now … now he was starting to realize that he may have just made a big mistake.

“Hm? Ya haven’t said a word, Mulcey-boy.” Mammon turned to face him, tucking the lighter into his pocket. He took a step towards the other, who immediately took a step back -- only to be met with a hard brick wall. “Or didja have a moment of realization?”

“L-Listen, Mammon, I’m sorry! I didn’t know at the time, I swear!” Mulciber brought both his hands up, as if that would stop the other from approaching him.

“Oh? ‘Cuz your face says differently, buddy.” He bared his fangs, the usual gradient in his eyes now glowing a furious gold. There’s a malicious grin on his face as he takes a step back, and then he begins to … whistle?

Mulciber does not like where this is going. He’s heard that tune before and it makes his hairs stand on end. “Look, man, please, I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it up to you!” There’s already desperation in his voice, which almost makes Mammon laugh.

“Glad to hear it. Then ya won’t have a problem with what’s about to happen next, yeah?”

It starts in the distance, a noise that made it feel as if your eardrums were being pierced by a thousand shards of glass. It grows louder and louder, closer and closer. An omen.

Mulciber shrinks against the wall, his grey eyes wide in fear. He knows running is pointless -- the other demon would quickly catch him, and leave him even worse for wear as repercussion. “P-please, Mammon, sir, don’t do this … “

“Didn’t you just say ya’d do whatever ya have to do?” Mammon shakes his head, his wings stretching out wide as if to entrap the lesser demon where he stood. “And you really think suddenly pullin’ out the formalities is gonna get ya any mercy here?”

The flapping of numerous wings now filled the air, a large murder of crows circling in the dark sky above. Their bone-chilling caws and cries rain down upon them as the birds eagerly await their master’s command.

Mammon lunged forward and grasped the other’s jaw, his claws digging into flesh as he brought his face threateningly close. “Pretty ballsy of you to think messin’ with any of us was the right move.” He growled, a rumble in his throat. “Looks like someone needs remindin’ of his place.”

“I-I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time! C’mon, you know how that is, don’t you? I was just thinking of making some big bucks, I didn’t mean to go and step out of line--” Mulciber frantically rambled, trying to ignore the searing pain he was feeling from Mammon’s grip.

“I’m sure that was the case, Mulcey, sure!” If it wasn’t for his mocking smile, the Avatar would have nearly sounded genuine. “But that doesn’t mean you can escape the consequences, ya’know?” He let out a tsk, watching as blood dripped from where he had pierced the other’s skin.

He let go of Mulciber, taking a few steps back as he shook his hand as if to clean it of the ichor. There was no denying the glee he was feeling from this -- it had been a while since he decided to flex his abilities and powers on another. Looking up to the sky, he whistled out another tune, causing the crows to descend.

“He’s all yours.” He commands them in a language only they could understand, and in a flash the black-feathered birds rush in to attack. Their squawks mix with Mulciber’s shrieks as they begin to peck at him with their beaks and scratch him with their claws. Mammon fishes out the lighter from his pocket once more, grabbing a cigarette from the box he had on him with his other hand. Leaning against the opposing alley wall, he lights up and takes a slow drag, watching as the flurry of feathers pulverize his inferior.

The crows tear at Mulciber’s flesh, their sharp beaks riddling his body with small cavities and painting him with his own blood. He continues to cry and scream, though it’s obvious he’s losing energy by the second as they grow weaker in intensity, his body slumping towards the ground. Perhaps he had learned his lesson? Surely, he’s just waiting for it all to stop now, right?

Mammon takes a glance around, humming in delight as he catches sight of a discarded iron pipe. He drops the remains of his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out before retrieving his now makeshift weapon. It feels cool and light in his hand, and he gives it a small toss in the air before catching it again with a satisfied smile.

“Alright, alright. You all can leave him alone now.” Mammon commands his murder once more, followed by another whistle to let them know they could go back to doing whatever they were doing before now. One of them flew over to Mammon, perching on the metal rod in his hand, looking up at him with a puffed up chest in pride as blood stained its beak.

“Yes, who’s my good lil’ birdie?” Mammon cooed, scratching the crow under its chin. “Go get yerself cleaned up, okay?” It cawed in delight before flying off to join the rest, who were fading back into the dark night sky. The Avatar of Greed shook his head fondly before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Mulciber lay crumpled on the ground, though was making efforts to sit upright as he gasped for breath. His body hurt all over, as if every inch of him had been pierced with needles. He feebly looked up to meet Mammon’s gaze, a whimper leaving him as he noticed the rod in his hand.

“What? I couldn’t let my birds have all the fun, now could I?” Mammon grasped the rod firmly in both hands before swinging it down with a deafening crack as it hit the other, who let out another sharp cry of pain.

“Hm, perhaps just another for good measure.” Whack. Another wail.

“Okay, okay. One more.” Whack. Another splatter of blood.

Content at the shuddering and sniveling mass that was left, Mammon kneeled down to get close to Mulciber’s ear, his next words full of menace. “Ya really should have stuck to the building business. Keep that in mind in the future, ‘kay?”

Mammon stood up and let the iron rod clatter to the ground, its hollowness ringing into the night. He made his way back inside to order another drink, ignoring the whispers and stares from the others in the club. It was doubtful that Mulciber would make an appearance here after what had happened for a while.

He knocked on the bar counter, getting the attention of the bartender. “Give me a glass of your finest whiskey. Put it on Mulciber’s tab.”

[owo--bot]

Loyal as a Dog // Sanzu x Reader

Masterlist:

Chapter 31: Cycle of Decay & Departure

wc: 9.5k

cw: arguing, angst, unhealthy/toxic behavior, cursing, plot progression

an: it's a doozy! Also, I hate tumblrs line spacing jfc it’s so ugly T^T

Let me sink into you.

No, it's not like that I swear.

You won't feel it.

Don't look at me with those eyes.

It's like you hate me.

You don't hate me, do you?

Tell me you love me,

Show me you love me,

This body is vulgar without it.

Trust me,

You haven't seen desperation yet—

—I haven't seen desperation yet.

I hear each bond cracking and mending.

What is this awful melody?

It’s the cycle of decay and departure.

It’s a world in which every rope frays.

My hands burn from tugging, so I take breaks to let go.

-

There comes a time in every business owner's life where they ask; why am I doing this?

Today was that day.

Or it would be that day, but the owners of fast food corporations live in a utopia separated from the average human filth. Instead, they hire some chump who wants to eat. It's a simple process. When they win that moron over with a penny and free sandwich for good measure, they hand over the keys and say something like: make this thing work, good luck. Although, since the fast food gods are such celebrities, they have their underlings hand off the keys to the lowerlings.

With that unnecessary and accurate explanation out of the way, we've reached the why factor. Why did it take until now for this fast food overseer to question this utopian job? Simple.

Teenagers are terrifying.

Their entry is an omen.

Smart overseers knew to quit while they still had a wife and kids. Coincidentally, this overseer must not need either, because fifteen omens were in his lobby. Somewhere along the line, they pushed a bunch of tables together. Frankly, the overseer stopped caring long ago—possibly since birth. As long as the omens didn't steal his retirement money, they could be loud and inconvenient to a moderate degree.

Side by side, the first division yapped amongst themselves. It wasn't often that everyone ate out like this and today was as odd a day as any. While there was an ongoing collective conversation, there were also individual ones. Out of many and obviously superior in all ways, one focused on a topic of life and death circumstances.

“Mr. Sanzu said I’m too immature. So, that must mean he only likes mature women,” you complained, teary-eyed and frantic, as you shuffled your trash around. “Right Mr. Baji?”

"Yeah, looks like you’re outta luck," he answered, unrelenting as ever.

“Do ya think he’ll love me if I’m an adult?”

“Couldn't tell ya, even if I wanted to.”

“I bet he would—but that's a super long time from now.” You tore at your hair. “Do ya think I still have a chance if I'm not an adult?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he yawned, putting his canines on display. “No harm in knowing when to quit.”

"Nobody likes a quitter, Mr. Baji."

"Yeah? Well nobody likes try-hards either."

"Uh-huh, they're even worse than murderers and weather-men. I bet no one would miss them if they were suddenly… I dunno, gone forever? But only the ones who tried too hard to be born any year before me. Minus kids." Radiating an immaculate air, your smile conveyed the end of all human suffering. "Leaving only the disgusting try-hard scum older than twenty to never be seen again."

Half of mankind just made the worst enemy.

If we're being honest, it's their fault for existing in the first place.

Your villain origin story blossomed within a fast-food chain.

"Bark all you want, they're not going anywhere." Baji grinned and sent you forward with an aggressively chummy slap on the back. "A small fry like you would end up getting bagged up instead."

……

You laughed in response while simultaneously sinking.

There was no denying its presence.

Everything seemed the same, but not.

It was off.

Baji was 'off'.

You could feel it. Feel what?

His tone of voice? The same.

His facial expressions? The same.

His engagement? The same.

His mannerisms? Once again, the same.

Everything was the same. Except it wasn’t.  

Baji occasionally chimed in to each conversation while sporting an iconic grin. He looked happy but…

Absorbed in ‘what’s off’ thoughts, you stared down the raven haired delinquent as though he were an adult.  

“What?” Baji asked.

You shook your head and smiled. “Not a thing.”

“If you got something to say, then say it.”

Repetitive in nature, the first occurrence was May.

October brought out the worst of it.

But October was the same.

So who's to say what 'off' really is, other than

—bad.

“Do ya hate me, Mr. Baji?”

“Where the hell’d you get that idea?” He scratched the back of his head. “Everything’s fine, ain’t it?”

“Tell me, do ya hate me?”

“I don't hate you, if I did you'd know.”

“I think ya do,” you said, bordering on accusatory.  

“I don't, but if you don't knock this shit off, I might.”

The balancing act Baji was performing abruptly ended as the two elevated legs of his chair slammed back down to planet earth with a clack. The death of his casual tilt signified playtime had transcended into shut-the-hell-up time while irritation progressed to smear atop his features.

“My bad.” You scratched at your cheek, attempting to cover up the blunder with a smile.

There was no logic behind it, only

—emotion.

“Then… is something wrong?” You asked.

“Nothing I’m aware of.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What, you having trouble listening today? I said nothing, now stop asking.”

“Bummer.” You shot him a sinister grin. “I was hoping I could make ya slip up.”

“Hate to disappoint you but I got nothing to slip up on, so drop it.”

“‘Kay, since ya asked nicely, I will,” you taunted sweetly.

Baji furrowed his brow, looking ready to feed into your statement at any second. Instead, he opted to be the bigger person.

What a fine captain.

A role amongst models.

To function effectively as a unit, examples need to be set. Today, Baji decided to set a good example. Although if it were any other day, you'd be under verbal fire by now. Technically, still a good example; it’s called don’t egg on what can kill you.

Baji’s cup, aside from being empty, was being siphoned to call upon the obnoxious melody of: it’s ice. Just ice and maybe a few drops of melted ice. If it’s that dire, then fill it back up. Refills are meant to be free, even if they aren’t.

Baji sucked the skeletal remains out of his drink.

Straws are weapons of loud destruction.

Once that noise complaint of a distraction was out of the way, he focused his undivided attention to an ongoing distraction.

“You got something against your trash?” Baji asked.

“Meow—happy way early birthday.”

Amidst the tray of so-called trash was an amateur adaptation of a cat's face. With some fries here, some condiment cups there, a few fragments of plastic from a fork to spice things up, it was trash turned to treasure.

Arts and crafts, but make it fast food.

“Even if this is the best present anyone will ever give ya for the rest of your life, ya still gotta pretend you're happy when other people give ya inferior ones.”

Baji stared and opened his mouth to speak but instead, his head fell back in laughter.

Booming laughter.

The sound barrier was in danger of shattering.

“That's some real talent you got there.” He let out in hysterics, as if he'd never drawn something strikingly similar in pre-k. “You sure you don't wanna sell it off instead?”

“I'm not built for fame Mr. Baji. It's all yours.”

“That's too bad. You might've made enough to pay for your own meals for once.”

"Pass. I won’t be corrupted by currency.”

“Doubt you ever need to worry about that since you’re already corrupted by freeloading.”

"I chose my evil, but the scale can always tip." You shook your head in reflection. "Yup, that's a thought I lose sleep over."

"Man, you're gonna be the worst kinda person in a few years."

After staying well past food consumption recreation, a noisy group was on the move. Passing through the gates of all that is fast food, October greeted you through a pleasant breeze.

Right, there was still time to enjoy being alive before the next extreme season arrived. Since the reign of fire and pop sticks met an end, the reign of hypothermia and underage drinking would soon return. You were in good hands until that apocalypse of a season returned to cast hell upon those with borderline busted heaters. Autumn, aside from having good hands, was well mannered. Though its lifespan may be short, it existed for the purpose of one-upping its winter and summer brethren.

It didn’t have to try hard. Those guys were the worst.

In your current state, you were unfit for the upcoming activities. Wording it like that might be misleading, but meetings are still a form of activity. In a few hours, the entirety of Toman minus Baji would meet at Musashi Shrine.

First, you needed to hitch a ride home and say goodbye to your street clothes and hello to your uniform.

Tailing behind one of your squad mates got put on hold as the role model captain called out to you. Despite standing only a few steps away from the fast food empire, it was all the distance you needed to produce a manuscript of five hundred reasons as to why Baji wasn’t allowed at meetings.

He was a few steps too slow for his own demise.

“Sorry, but Mr. Baji's not allowed to go. I wonder if it's 'cos-”

“Go somewhere else,” he cut through.

Being the bigger person came with a time limit.

Coincidentally, that time limit just ended.

Verbal fire was never actually called off, only postponed.

“What, are ya sick of looking at my face today?”

“I'm not in the mood to play around. I'm telling you to go live somewhere else.”

“Huh?” Lost in translation, a blankness spread across your features. “Why would I do that?”

“Simple, because I told you to,” Baji said, bending words in an all but persuasive manner. “You don’t need any other reason.”

“No.”

Outright refusal.

Some took it better than others. Who they were would remain a mystery because the others in question would rather burn everything to the ground. Baji, despite being a role amongst models, didn't take it well.

“What part of that sounded optional to you?”

You kicked the toe of your shoe against the cement and looked up at the hellpath human.

When in doubt, tune a burning world out.

“The part where I said no.” You let out a phew of relief. “Now that we got that settled-”

“We won't have shit settled until you get away from that guy.”

With all of humanity leaving that prior disaster in the past, the present lies in wait for the next catastrophe. They didn't have to wait for long because, after a quick evaluation; it came to your attention that the radius around Baji transitioned into a flammable hazard zone. On its own, it wasn't a major threat and came with a simple remedy. Just throw a few dozen water parks over that has-been hazard and it'll be a danger to the public for generations to come. But just think how grateful the generations after that will be, so long as it didn't kick-start the death of mankind first.

“Oh. It’s about Mr. Sanzu again…” You pondered the ground for a moment. “I think ya need to get over it already,” despite the delivery, malice played no part—pure intentions offered advice to a friend.

No matter the intention, it comes down to perceptions. Because no one intended on dousing the flammable zone in gasoline, but these things happen, so perceive that they didn't. Better yet, perceive Baji as five notches above irritated and every dangerous comparison up until this point will be resolved.

Route unlocked: Emotions Minus Catastrophe.

—GOOD END.

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to Mr. Baji.” You smiled. “But I think he’s feeling cranky today since Chifuyu ate all of his fries. I know ya would never say something like that with a clear head.”

“That's funny, because I am.”

Baji's typical grin remained absent.

That expression shouldn't be for you.

While the universe may not have been a natural born gambler, it knew to fully invest in what was about to transpire. The stars aligned to showcase the most unproductive conversation in all of human history. For nothing good comes from having firm beliefs, besides the free entertainment it provides for those with flimsy beliefs.

Transcending 'nothing good'; unbridled disaster comes from thinking genocide can be eradicated through explaining why it's bad. On the other hand, starting something is always easier than ending it. In this case, genocide can be achieved by explaining why it's bad even if it's bad.

And that's just no good.

You handed over a delicate smile as a letdown gift.

A doomsday smile.  

“Hey Mr. Baji, whaddya think love is?”

“Love,” Baji answered, like it was the most obvious thing, but his confusion over the matter was visible. "What else would it be?"

“Then ya should get what you're telling me to do,” you spoke tenderly. “When ya love someone—like, really, really love someone, them not being there would be worse than dying, so you might as well just die if that’s the case.”

If Baji looked lost before, then he leveled up to become entirely absent.

Luckily, you leveled up to enlightenment.

“It's like running, and running, and running without knowing how to breathe,” you explained warmly. “So, how long do ya think people can live without air? For me it's a day. But what happens if I trip? Then I might run out of oxygen on the spot. But as long as I remember how to breathe again, it's okay. That's what being in love is, it's breathing while you're together and forgetting how when you're apart. So I'm serious, without him—”

I'd die, you said.

Reaching the grand finale, Baji forgot to clap but did well to stare.

As predicted by the: 'nothing good comes from' catalog, no good came from teaching what can't be taught;

Because you can't expect an alien who's familiar with long distance intergalactic love to suddenly understand why it should drop dead since it's still technically alone.

“Oh, you were being serious about all that…” Baji scratched his head. Something like bitterness tried to seep through fire defenses. “Well, get that shit outta your head ‘cos it's wrong.”

“Huh?” You cocked your head. “Ya think?”

“What, is that a surprise to you? Do you understand what just came outta your mouth?”

Fully aware of what came out of your mouth, you nodded.

“Uh-huh, I thought my explanation was way on point, but I guess it wasn't clear enough.” Dispirited by your tutoring failure, your shoulders hung in consequence. “Sorry for letting ya down Mr. Baji.”

If Baji scrunched his eyebrows any further, they’d be at risk of falling off. Thankfully, hyperboles are just exaggerations otherwise we’d be venturing into some troubling territory. Specifically, when faced with concepts that don’t align with our own flowchart of personal values, most will find that eyebrows can always scrunch further. And while he might’ve had tolerance equipped at the beginning of the day, we’re steadily approaching the death of afternoon, so we can presume that tolerance died fairly early on.

“No, I get it. I understand that everything you're saying's ass backwards.”

“Are ya saying it should be ass forwards?”

“I'm saying it shouldn't be so shot-out,” Baji snapped as his irritation peaked. “So lemme guess who fed you that wonderful line-”

“Wow, your way devoted today, huh Mr. Baji?” you asked, cutting his slander short. “Ya hate him that much?”

“Yeah, that's the idea,” Baji replied.

“How sad. Mr. Sanzu's the best human I've ever met.”

“Yeah? You sure we're talking about the same guy? Because what I'm seeing doesn't match up. Shit, at this point I'm convinced he doesn't even see you as a person.”

You looked at him in utter defeat.

“This entire time you've been trying to dump your feelings all over mine, so if anything…” A dim smile haunted your features. “I think it's Mr. Baji who doesn't see me as a person.”

“Don't be an idiot. If I didn’t, we wouldn't be standing here right now.” He paused to backtrack. “Look, I'm not saying any of this to be mean, alright?”

“Wow, ya totally fooled me Mr. Baji. But, since I love ya I’ll wipe this whole thing from my memory.” You continued at the speed of sound, “as long as we never talk about it again.”

“Yeah, that ain't gonna happen 'cos I need you to get it through your head—that guy doesn't care about you in the slightest, if he did, he wouldn't still be bringing you along to those sketchy ass jobs,” Baji disputed, as if he were chewing on nails.

"So, those are your beliefs? Hmm, I mean as long as it's somebody else's problem it becomes super easy to judge from the outside," your flippant demeanor smudged with a slight degree of malice.

The canines of a predator grit down in irritation; a sneak peek as to how this conflict would end.

"No one's judging anyone, but that's how it must seem when you're learning everything from some guy who shouldn't even be trusted to raise dirt."

“Hey, Mr. Baji.”

“What?”

“I’m happy. So stop tryna' change things—oh, and stop treating me like I don't understand anything. It's making me blush.” Finishing up with a coy smile, you were pushing to end it on a light note.

Baji preferred to carry on with a harsh note.

“I’ll be happy to stop once you move somewhere else.”

Watching the state of your captain;

You read without words.

Those stories were strange.

This story was one of the worst.

“Is this it?”

“Is it what?”

“'Off’,” you said, serious as ever. “This is what's been making ya seem 'off'. Right, Mr. Baji?”

“I hate to break it to you, but something like this wouldn’t get me bent out of shape.”

“Then what is?”

“I told you already, nothing,” he barked.

“But I think that’s a lie,” you offered a straight faced reply. “Lately, every time I’m with ya I get this real gross feeling. Like—something’s crawling under my skin. So, just tell the truth and stop being off.”

“Well, you're in luck 'cos 'off' don't exist,” Baji snapped. “And I gotta say that's a damn funny accusation you're throwing around, considering how much you lie on average.”

“I don't lie, Mr. Baji,” you shot back with an irrefutable delivery, yet your tone fell flat.

In a game of words, yours opted to play offense.

There wasn't a single crack or flaw in your execution; even your exterior was solid as diamond. The assertive nature of it almost seemed desperate.  

It was a delicate balance.

It was a lack of footing.

It was fragile territory.

For the portrayal of diamond was nothing more than the shell of an egg; also known as radical denial.

“Alright, then you won't mind telling me how you broke your wrist. And don’t give me that ‘I wasn’t paying attention’ shit.”

You held it all together, only to have your composure snap right here.

Baji’s feet were planted further in the ground than yours ever could.

Dread arrived at the scene.

“I’m not lying.”

“Sure seems like it. I know there’s something not right about the entire thing. All I have to do is bring it up for you to get like that."

“I really hate all these conversations, so just-”

–stop.

Just stop.

Baji slashed through your request.

He wasn’t acting the way he’s supposed to.

“I'm your friend, ain’t I?” Baji’s question was sincere despite the brutality behind it.

Amber eyes squinted at your figure, as if urging for your compliance;

As if demanding a different version of you.

"Yeah, but…" you murmured.

But friends don't…

“Then stop feeding me bullshit excuses. If you can't do that, then it's only proving my point.”

Baji’s conviction emitted an eternal blaze.

Even before it engaged with yours, this was destined to result in a gruesome demise.

—a mutual demise.

Watch as two suns collide.

“I'll hate ya if ya don’t stop,” you mumbled, as the threads of your composure frayed.

Faced with such indistinct conviction, a grin flickered to tug at Baji’s lips.

“If it's that easy, then go right ahead,” he said, encouraging your threat with a provoking tone.

Baji was supposed to be a good person.

So why didn’t he stop yet?

He always stops.

Always.

Baji was supposed to be a good person.

Nothing was supposed to change.

Never.

“......”

“Whatever it was, wouldn't have happened if you weren't tagging along with that guy. You need to get it through your head, ‘cos eventually things might not play out the way you hoped. When that happens, don’t think for a second you mean anything to him.”

Baji was supposed to love you.

But this wasn't…

If he loved you, he would've stopped.

He didn't love you.

Which meant he hated you.

Which meant–

“You're a shit-head asshole Baji,” the thread split, as sharp words came out free and easy.

With eyes fixed on the captain, death's blade loomed over your shoulder. It was a mutual exchange. That was the type of environment this disheveled into. Both parties exerted an overwhelming pressure without sparing the faintest trace of concern for civilian life.

“Look at that,” Baji commended mockingly. “You finally figured out how to say my name.” A wolfish grin established permanent residency, if only out of limitless irritation.  

“Uh-huh.” You nodded with enthusiasm. “It's shit-head asshole.”

Though it was dim, Baji was identical to the color black. In a city where stars couldn’t reach, he fit right in. Humans are only human. You shouldn’t expect them to shine.

You turned to reject the color you hated most.

Placing one foot in front of the other.

A formless world forgot its name.

In the vast emptiness;

Baji's words reached you.

But sound didn’t exist in this version of earth.

You missed Sanzu so deeply.

It was uncomfortable; not wearing skin.

On a quest to nowhere soon, you covered a hefty proximity. Consumed by playing out the prior dispute in your head on loop, all else disappeared.

Including your location.

It was irrelevant.

Betrayal bestowed by a person who should’ve loved you was an unfamiliar field. All you could do was find more and more fault in Baji’s actions.

Picking it apart.

Putting it back together.

There was no breakthrough in understanding.

Only raw emotion.

Unpleasant emotions.

Ripping your throat down to your stomach.

If not for the descent of sunlight, you might have continued on like that until time ceased to exist. Luckily, the sun had your back. Unluckily, you didn’t have the slightest clue where you were.

But Mr. 7 did.

Or at least an employee working there did.

Mr. 7 would never be caught dead in the land of mortals.

The chain of fate was a quad colored convenience store.

Conveniently placed in a convenient location, glowing signage acted as a beacon of hope. As if things couldn’t get anymore convenient, the woman manning the register was nice enough to let you use the store phone. Penniless pockets couldn’t afford a pay phone, so Mrs. Cashier spared every store in the surrounding area from the worst kind of customer.

Typing in the number to the joint cell phone, it wrung

And wrung…

And wrung…

And wrung…

And answered—in the form of: leave a message after the beep.

Meeting such a fate didn’t discourage you until about the tenth or so attempt.

Then it was dreadfully discouraging.

As the phone wrung for the ×-th time, you shoved your hand in your pocket. Confused by its contents, you pulled out what felt like a thick piece of paper, which was in fact a card, so technically still paper. It must've been in hibernation for some time now, because the last time you wore this jacket was—a date you didn’t know off the top of your head.

Long ago… before the era of roaches, you wore a jacket.

The end.

Created for this exact moment, the crumpled business card printed with kanji (whose meaning was still in question) accompanied a set of numbers. Your life line. Mrs. Loaded Lady may have overdone it with card quantity, but right about now she seemed like an angel sent to combat despair.

Typing in the numbers listed on the lucky business card, it wrung.

—barely.

“Ito residence,” greeted the voice of an elegant angel.

“Hey lady, it’s me,” replied the voice of an inelegant pedestrian.

“Me…? Oh, yes, of course, it seems that those cards served their purpose–”

It goes without saying, the name she addressed you by wasn’t yours.

“Uh-huh, they super served their purpose ‘cos I’m super lost right now.”

Or at least this one that undoubtedly went through the wash served its purpose.

The card of origin.

“I see, so transportation is in order? My hands are tied at the moment, but I can send someone who is just as capable.”

“You’re a real good person, y’know?” you said, almost touched to tears by her absolute good will.

“I’m glad to be of help, dear,” she replied pleasantly. “I’ll write down your location and send someone right away.”

Communicating the address from the convenient cashier to the upstanding citizen on the line, she ensured someone would be there soon. 'There', was apparently Shibuya, meaning you stayed within range of where you started.

With that, she called you by another name and hung up.

It was efficient, if nothing else.

Parting with your short time assistant, Mrs. Cashier continued her shift in peace. Passing through the automatic doors, you manned the sidewalk in wait.

A long, long, wait.

Patiently pacing, a familiar car entered your vision. Tinted windows and a build fitting of higher society, you waved gleefully as it pulled up beside you. The figure of a man occupied the driver's seat, presumably Madam Loaded’s butler, who beckoned you in with a wave. Opening the door and hopping into the back, you met the support of leather seats with a fwmp.

“Thanks for the lift, mister.”

You grinned, looking around the spacious vehicle. It couldn’t be further from Mr. Scumbag’s human death trap, and the scent of harsh cleansers only widened that gap; for scum never cleans.  

“It's my pleasure. So where am I taking you?”

Locks sounded with a click.

A steady grip shifted the clutch.

The turn signal blinked in repetition.

Tires hummed over loose gravel and asphalt.

Steering away from the curb and onto the road, the makeshift taxi sped up.

Looking straight ahead, your gaze went stiff.  

Breathe in…

Breathe out…

Slender hands coiled around your throat.

Cold hands severed oxygen from your lungs.  

Someone was behind you.

Strangling you.

Their grip twisted around your neck.

Digging into skin.

& constricting.

—tighter tighter tighter tighter tighter tighter-

They won't stop and you can't breathe.

They won't stop and you can't breathe.

They won't stop and you can't breathe.

They won't stop and you can't breathe.

They won't stop and you can't breathe.

They—aren't real.

It's just a feeling.

—a really bad feeling.

Demons pretend to be human and wear their flesh.

Through the rearview mirror, a fine tongued politician held eye contact. Eye as in singular; a patch covered the other. Adorned in a suit and tie, his image impersonated the ranks of those who’ve never touched dirt, despite being covered in filth. Well-mannered lips of an upstanding citizen curved to welcome you.

Wide eyed and vacant, you smiled out of fear.

In the confines of your lap, violent fingers threaded to silence trembling hands;

Strangling one another.

“Miss?”

“—Shibuya Station, please.”

There was a disconnect.

This car existed in a separate reality.

The outside world decomposed into a blur of shapes and colors.

Survive.

The sole term that reached you.

It was one that always relied on physical strength.

This version relied on something else entirely;

Words.

To lie through your teeth.

To become someone else.

You're not you.

There was no room for error.

You had to be perfect.

You had to bear it.

You had to.

“I'm glad I finally had the opportunity to meet you. We must have just missed each other at the firework festival.”

You felt hot.

So uncomfortably hot.

Dampness enveloped your palms.

He knew.

He already knew.

“Ah, I've gone out of order already, my apologies. It's nice to meet you. My name is Ito Akiyoshi. Ito written with the characters this and wisteria. Akiyoshi written with the characters autumn and luck. You're acquainted with my wife and son. They–no. My wife said she ran into you while looking for me.”

This is that kid's dumb dad?

The guy who broke your nose.

The 'bad guy' you were fighting.

The scumbag you robbed thanks to the pretense of prostitution.

“It's nice to meet you,” you said, paying close attention to your pronunciation.

Everything was uncomfortable.

You weren't you.

“I heard a lot of good things about you,” you added.

“Likewise.” He glanced up at the rearview mirror. “So, do you live around here?”

“I do, but not for much longer. We're in the process of moving.”

“What a shame. Moving can be rather difficult for children your age, I hope it's not too far.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I wish it could’ve been closer. I mean, Osaka seems nice, but I’m gonna miss my friends.”

“I can imagine.”

It'll be okay.

You don't know him.

“Though, judging by the manner of your speech,” he said, without the slightest waver in tone, “I take it that this is not your first time moving.”

“—hah, you got me there.” You converted the shock into a smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I typically am.” He chuckled in a light-hearted demeanor.

His gaze was consistent.

Back and forth between the road and the mirror.

Consistent in watching you.

Observing you.

It’s fine.

You don’t know him.

“It’s a bit hard to tell from up here, but on your hand, is that a tattoo?” Akiyoshi asked.

“Yeah, it is.”

“It looks quite faded.”

“I’ve had it for a few years now, so I think that’s normal.”

Normal meaning unprofessional.

Normal if you don’t go deep enough.

Normal isn’t actually normal if you look at the time frame.

Normally, you wouldn’t ever be thankful for botched ink on your thumb.

It's okay.

It existed as proof.

You don't know him.

“I see. Your parents must be lenient, no?”

“No, they were really mad.”

"Mm, rightfully so. What is it they do for a living?"

“Ah, my parents…”

“Yes, how about your mother?”

“She works from home.”

“And your father?”

“His work makes him travel a lot.”

“I see, but what is it that they do exactly?”

“I wonder, do you need a job?”

“No, I'm quite alright.” He chuckled. "I'm just curious, nothing more.”

See, it’s okay.

Because, you don’t know him.

You don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't, you don't-

“Tell me,” he demanded pleasantly, “do you, by chance, have any siblings?”

His voice upheld the same formalities, without a shred of ill intent.

But you could feel the decay in his words.

Burrowing under your skin.

Decomposing the car's interior.

—while a clean world was rotting with miasma.

You held your breath.

“I have an older sister but she left for school awhile back. Fukuoka, I think,” you said, blurting out the first location that came to mind.

“Fukuoka,” he repeated. “Even from Osaka, that's quite the trip. How often is it that she visits?”

“It's rare.” You shook your head dejectedly. “The most recent time was last autumn. Sad, huh?”

He didn't offer a response.

Your heartbeat shattered atop his silence.

Bad ends are everywhere, one misstep is all it takes. Up until now you've pursued your fair share of those routes. Have you lost count yet? There's no shame in not keeping track of numbers among other things. The point that matters is the sheer abundance of them, although that being said;

There's only one true ending.

But that one's not intended for you.

After all, a bad ending had been sitting beside you this entire time; you should know since you brought it here.

—that feeling.

What an irresponsible parent, letting it get so carried away.

It hated that you could breathe.

It wanted you dead.

You shouldn't have exposed your neck.

The one up front must be thinking the same thing.

The stillness violated your senses.

It was hard to breathe.

“Very,” he finally replied. “I can see the resemblance.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head curiously. It was almost as if you weren't just contemplating the survival rating of jumping out of the car. “Do you know her?”

“Not quite, though I believe I may have seen her in passing.” He cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, I wish her well in her studies.”

“I'll pass her the message.”

He smiled in recognition.

“I must say I was surprised, my wife seemed adamant about getting you.”

“She's a good person.”

“That she is. Thanks to her, there is not a day that passes where I don’t feel the grace of luck,” the cheating scum boasted. “My only gripe is, that memory of hers could use some improvement. Wouldn’t you say–?”

The name he called you—it wasn't yours.

Which meant he got it from—his wife.

Hah…ha…haha…

She really was a good person.

“I think she's exactly how she's supposed to be, and if she heard you saying things like that, I bet it'd make her cry.”

“I see. Well, please forgive me, I meant no harm by it. Truthfully, she wasn't always like that. I believe it has something to do with the anxiety of recent times. With all those girls disappearing. Though I can’t help but to share her concern,” he said, as empathy lingered in his tone. "If my son were to go missing, I don't want to think about the sort of man I'd become. Yet—that fear is a reality for many, I'm afraid."

Not this.

Not with him.

Not something that feels this heavy.

Guilt became a fugitive that inhabited your stomach.

You borrowed a shit rumor from a certain worm.

“—I heard it’s a yokai who's adding new wives to his collection. What do you think?”

“A yokai.” He chuckled. “That's the first I've heard of it.” He tapped on the steering wheel with the pads of his forefinger. “We expect monsters to act like monsters in the same sense in which we expect humans to act like humans. In truth, that story of yours is the better reality.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “If I had to choose one, I'd rather be eaten by a yokai instead of getting stabbed by a friend.”

"I see. Escapism is rather prevalent in youth," he stated. "Well, adding an option that doesn't already exist can ease the harshness of reality. In this case, without a yokai, the guilt of this matter falls upon the friend. Though in the eyes of a child, it's easier to accept that it was a monster instead of their own kind."

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t expect to see a yokai out on the streets? What a letdown, I seriously believed in that rumor.”

“Believe what you like dear. Don’t let an old man sway your opinion.”

“What old man?”

“I can see why my wife likes you.”

That absolutely wasn't why, but that was a different matter.

“So, was your son busy too?”

“Yes, in a sense.”

"Oh.” You scrambled for a reply. “I guess that’s better than being bored."

"Yes, and no. We got into a bit of a disagreement earlier. Truth be told, that's why I'm here in the first place." He let out half of a laugh. "He's a difficult one, but it's unlikely that he would've come out of his room if I were still there."

"How sad."

“Yes, well, you know how boys are at that age. We butt heads more than I’d care to admit, but he will come around once he’s older.”

“Right. That's how it always works.” Quick to agree, you didn’t have the faintest idea what you were talking about.

“I hate to cut our conversation short, but our trip is already nearing its end. Who could have imagined you were this close.”

The car came to a gradual stop.

A blurred world became clear.

Shibuya Station glimmered with the white light of sanctuary.

The front seat scum turned to face you but the fabric covering his eye sucked you in. It wasn't every day you saw that kind of thing, plus it looked out of place on the clean face, suit and tie type—or on any type.

Best case scenario was that his wife snapped and dealt an eye ending blow.

Pain hurts worse when it’s delivered by a loved one.

Mid case scenario was that a prostitute lashed out on him for trying to skip his tab.

Those who excel at delivering pleasure must also excel delivering pain. Or at least that’s what you assumed. Like a warrior code but with some glitter thrown on top.

“Curious?” He pointed at the cloth, as you lagged to avert your eyes. “It's alright, most children are. Come visit us sometime and I'll be glad to share the story. It's quite funny, if I might add.”

“Okay, I’ll call if I’m ever back in the area.”

“Ah, that's right. And I had the nerve to complain about my wife's memory.” He laughed to himself, momentarily forgetting that adults aren’t funny. “Well then, please, don't hesitate to call if the need be,” he said delightfully. “Though I can’t promise we can be of any help if you're in Osaka.”

“Thanks, it was really nice meeting you.”

Opening the car door, you stepped out onto the street. Turning back, you smiled, waving your hand loosely in parting as he pulled away.

—not yet.  

In a bustling city, floodlights imitated the sun in a showing of advertisements, while electronic billboards encapsulated the future. Buildings were built to tower above giants in a flashy display. The clashing sounds of commercials, cars, people and music made for a noisy soundtrack but it needed to be louder. The busiest pedestrian crossing held no shortage of people. From salarymen to teenagers, each had somewhere they needed to be. You needed to be anywhere else.

Blending into the swarm of bodies, it wasn't enough.

It felt like you were being watched.

—not yet.

Approaching an entrance to the station and wedged well within the masses, it wasn't enough.

It didn’t feel safe.

—not yet.

Passing through the turnstile and mixing into the structure, it wasn't enough.

You walked with perfect posture.

—not yet.

Entering the public restroom, the noise and chatter of the world ceased to exist.

Excess water occupied tile floors.

Stall doors hung wide open.

Fluorescent lighting beckoned your head to throb.

Using the wall for support, you sunk down into a crouch.

Sharply inhaling.

Sharply exhaling.

The long-term effects of inhaling miasma were scribbled in black.

Defacing humans with their least favorite shade—no.

How could there be favorites if there was only ever one?

This one.

Smudging over the lines, every page was black.

With your face propped up on buzzing hands.

Unstable breaths dispersed from your lips.

A chill wandered up your spine.

You stared at the floor.

You were alone.

Yet, no safer.

There was no relief, only this;

Agony tore through your psyche to inspire the worst.

You spilled over and exposed all the filth that couldn't be erased. To witness yourself turn inside out in a public place seemed like a corrupted god's take on entertainment. Tears welled yet refused to touch skin already drenched in arsenic. Black matter lashed down to splatter against each and every tile and crack. The bad parts were getting out.

You couldn't live like this.

You closed your eyes.

It was hard to think with so many gnats buzzing around inside your skull. As a last ditch effort, you crammed your brain full of static.

The gnats died miserably.

It was hard to think with so much noise shrieking around inside of your skull. As a last ditch effort, you devoured white noise and in return; it devoured you.

The white noise died miserably.

Sound burst into silence.

Time ticked sideways.

The faucet dripped.

Home.

You needed to go home.

You needed to get to Sanzu.

How?

The door creaked open

Heels clacked against tile.

Stepping into the inhospitable zone of a zigzag crisis was a dress suit harboring a middle-aged woman inside. It only took one step before the fumes got to her head, taking half a glance at you before she offered a curt bow.

I'm sorry, please excuse me, spilled from her lips.

She snatched the door handle fast enough to outrun the plague, but the precision of a predator outmatched the plague and captured her wrist. You looked up at the lifeline like a dog who lost its bite.

“A phone,” it came out as less of a request, and rather some poorly strung together plea. “Do ya have one?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, digging through her purse as if she were being held at gunpoint. “Here.”

Trading off the small peace offering, it was sleeker than the clunky kin you were accustomed to. For an adult in a dress suit, her taste in phones was suitable for her kind, suitable meaning second-rate, and her kind meaning scum who should disappear. Nevertheless, you punched in the only number you could.

It wrung… once.

“Where are you?” Sanzu asked, without so much as waiting for any indication of who he was talking to.

“Shibuya Station,” you answered plainly.

“That’s a surprise. You're not in the middle of nowhere for a change.” Sanzu said, his words corrupted by static.

“...”

—say it.

“Stay by the Hachiko exit and don’t go anywhere.”

“...”

—say it.

“Answer me if you're there.”

—just say it.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “it's just-”

“Is this your first time using a phone? If you want me to hear you, speak up.”

"Sorry but I…"

“I messed up again, real, real bad this time.” Wide eyed and high-strung, you tore your fingers through your hair. “I really, really, really–”

“You must have shit service, I can barely hear you. Just go wait at the Hachiko exit for now. Oh, and-”

The line beeped three times.

Then went silent.

The call dropped.

You stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Your end didn't have service.

……

Wait at the entrance.

That’s what he told you to do.

You looked up at the hostage.

“The Hachiko exit,” you repeated, offering the dress suit her phone back.

“Take a right from here and go straight,” she said, making a clean escape.

Relinquishing a world record crouch, you stood up and offered meager self-encouragement by rubbing any sign of this incident from your eyes. Trekking through sludge and filth, there was no sentiment as you departed from the graveyard entrails. Thanks to the dress suit's aid of direction, you emerged from the ever gleaming Hachiko exit.

You did a bad job today.

But waiting was something even you could do.

The night greeted you with pitch black skies. Judging by the harsh decline of foot traffic, it must’ve been getting late. Walking by blank face after face, you headed towards the Hachiko memorial statue.

There was a lingering sense of unrealness to everything. A divide existed between you and all the rest. Those loved by the universe, and those hated by it.

If it hated you today;

It might love you again tomorrow.

While you had no say in the matter, you'd sooner wring its neck out than ever accept this degree of punishment again.

Mr. Baji hated you today.

He'll hate you again tomorrow.

When Sanzu hears what you did, he might hate you today too–no.

He's the only one who can never hate you.

The laws of the universe said so.

…….

You did a bad job today.

You never wanted to be away from Sanzu again.

You never wanted to be alone again.

You never wanted to be alone.

Bad things always happen when you're alone.

The massive crowds weren’t nearly as massive, even the occupancy at the meet-up memorial dwindled. Replicating something akin to sitting, you took to a slanted bench that detested the homeless. You looked up at the most loyal dog in Japan; Hachiko. It might be dead, but the bronze statue portrayed the living version. If it waited nine years for its owner to return, then how could that be considered loyalty? If it were that loyal, it shouldn’t have let them leave in the first place.

It shouldn’t have lived after.

Something that tasteless wasn’t loyalty.

It was a pitiful display of betrayal.

……

Maybe you should’ve been born a dog. Humans have too loose of leashes.

Despite not receiving your seal of approval, Hachiko never left you alone. It would’ve been concerning if he somehow did, or maybe impressive is the right word. You could never agree with the faux version of loyalty he stood for, but in an odd way, you appreciated the company.

Because you weren’t technically alone.

You weren’t alone, so you tried to rearrange shattered glass.

You weren’t Sanzu; you were only you. So, what exactly were you trying to solve?

You shoved your hands into the abyss of glass.

A solution never came.

October existed every year to harbor the weight of watching oneself die. Stray leaves dressed the cobblestone at your feet while sectioned off trees remained within the confines of grass and cement. Today they were feeling orange, tomorrow they might feel red; the colors of humans and plants weren’t the same.

Yet no plant or human could ever compare to that shade of cleansing white.

Gifted with the stealth of every cat in Tokyo, Sanzu stayed under the radar until he spawned in front of you. Of blonde hair and gentle features, he was every single star that a sleepless city never got to see. Your vision blurred with a fondness that could snuff out the sun, but blue eyes simply gazed. If you knew anything, it was the language they spoke. No–the picture they painted.

It was serene as rain.

Typhoons stuck to summer.

For now, light showers whispered through the night.

“Let’s go.” Not seeming particularly chatty, Sanzu extended his hand out towards yours.

Reaching out in one frame you clung to his arm in the next, spewing an incoherent mess of what vaguely resembled, I don't want you to hate me, into his sleeve.

“Hm? What made you think that? It’s not like you went off and got lost again, so you have nothing to worry about,” Sanzu retorted.  

“That's not it.” You looked up and bit the bullet. “I got in the car with that man.”

“Then don't get into the car with people you don't know. I don't know what else you want me to tell you.” With no intention of taking your words at face value, he pulled his arm back. “C’mon.”

Thanks to the route chosen by a certified moron, the aftermath needed to be handled by someone who was capable. Shaking your head with cruciality, a pained expression ate away at the short-term relief.

“No, the one that broke my nose.”

Exhibiting the composure that didn’t come standard with your model, Sanzu looked at you with a deep sense of suspicion in his eyes. Briefly, he weighed out the accuracy of your claims.

“Make it easy and tell me what actually happened,” Sanzu said, with his scale tipping to the 'don't believe a word that she says’ side.  

“I'm serious, he drove me here,” you said, putting a desperate strain on the delivery.

It’s not often that Sanzu looks so entirely blank, but in seconds flat a vague grasp wiped it clean. Working with a fresh canvas, his eyebrows scrunched in sheer bewilderment.

Summer came early and so did the typhoons.

“I didn't think I'd need to tell you something so obvious, but that was careless of me so listen to what I'm about to say—ready?” Sanzu asked, solely to paint on the condescending nature of it all. “Don't get into the car with people you've mugged.” Amidst his backlash, Sanzu spared minimal room to effectively get his point across, and simultaneously deflect the threat of nosy ears.

“I’m sorry, I didn't realize until he was already driving.”

“So it just didn't occur to you to check whose car you were getting into? No, on second thought; 'already driving' seems like the perfect time to check.”

“I'm sorry,” came out pitifully but it was the best you could give.

Despite the expected bout of snide remarks, Sanzu dialed back and took a breath for the sake of composure. Recalibrated in presence, he continued with a clear head.

“Whose car were you supposed to be getting into?”

“That one. The rich lady said it's no good to wander around at night, so I called the number on the card.” You said, pulling the sad thing from your pocket. “She's a good person, but she's married to a bad man.”

With eyes fixed on the card, you seared each character into your psyche while offering Sanzu the briefest summary you could.

“Look at me,” Sanzu demanded, to which you obliged. “I don’t care how nice they were to you, if you ever see them again don’t talk to them, and stay out of sight. Understand?”

“I do.”

“Good.” He snatched the card from your hand. “Is this what you were shoving behind the drawer?”

Biting your lip plaintively, you nodded.

When Mrs. Loaded saddled you with all those cards, you were on the fence about throwing them out since space is less than limited. Instead, guilt swerved you to an alternate route. As it stands, if one were to remove the dresser drawer, they might conclude that drug paraphernalia was stashed in the interior. But reality is often disappointing—especially if you’re a cop. In the end, it was just a convoluted way of preserving the cards. Some people just happen to conceal drugs in the same manner. It’s not clear who’s copying who.

Not that their location mattered in the end.

Soft features expressed a neutral appearance, as Sanzu sustained his decisive as always nature.

“All of them need to get thrown out.”

“Okay, but—is that gonna be enough?” Your words spiraled as you senselessly stuffed your hands back into mounds of glass. “Like, I really, really, really messed up this time. He’s gonna figure out I was lying, right? And then-”

“As long as you listen to me, everything'll be fine, yeah?”

Effortlessly, Sanzu vanquished a shattered earth.

In the mess of the moment, familiar words were an entity you nearly forgot. There was a peace of mind that accompanied them, more so than usual.

Acting alone was a nightmare you’d like to bury.

The burden didn’t have to be yours.

“Right as always, Mr. Sanzu,” you said, as a vague smile touched your features.

Even if you fucked it up to shit—nothing would change.

After all;

Sanzu was always right.

So long as he made the decisions;

You could remain happy, and everything would be okay.

“So what happened, you were supposed to be with Baji weren’t you?”

“Yeah I was, but we got into a real bad fight. I wasn’t thinking, so I walked away, but… I don't want him to hate me.”

The memory possessed the potency of concentrated poison.

Baji was bull-headed at times, even a shit-head asshole. But that was just today’s version of him. When you broke your wrist, he always barged in to visit. Baji wasn’t well off either, but he always paid for your meals. Plus, if shit really hit the fan, he was someone you could rely on.

But above all;

Baji was a good person.

“He doesn't, right?” you asked. “He doesn’t hate me?”

At the time, you detached from a majority of the interaction. Yet, right at the end, you split into pieces that would’ve bitten down if the survival rating wasn’t zero. Baji’s existence was rewritten as someone else. Was that you, or were you rewritten too?

To harbor a feeling that intense seemed wrong.

That state of mind manifested as a paradox.

It overflowed until it was empty.

That wasn't you.

It wasn’t either one of you.

Seemingly out of reach, sleepy eyes studied the ground. Taking your worries out on your nails, anything besides an immediate reply felt unbearable. The people you loved could never hate you—that route would diminish you to nothing.

Shooting a stalled gaze back into your soul, Sanzu’s tone was ruthless and to the point.

“Baji betrayed Toman.”

“...”

Your perception lagged.

No, not lagged.

It was trying to figure out what Sanzu actually said because-

“Do you understand? He changed sides.”

“Sorry, but I don’t really wanna play right now.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

"Hey…" You pouted. "That's too harsh, even for you Mr. Sanzu."

“Is it? I don’t remember doing anything wrong.”

Sanzu had a talent for sharpening words into weapons, but this wasn't that. Otherwise, why would they sound so dull? For the sake of not drifting too far out of character, and not becoming someone else.

Sanzu had a talent for sharpening words into weapons, but it's not like he had a talent for making blankets out of them. Because people just do what they know how and straying from that path doesn't always work as intended. There's comfort in sticking to your own script, trying to read someone's else's makes it come out all wrong. The tactician can attempt the role of the nurturer but that's not what they signed up for. It's mean to make those demands. So, adjust the standard to something more realistic, anyone can be anything, even if it's far from the source material.

The source.

Sanzu was at a loss.

He wasn't built for soothing.

He was just doing what he knew how.

He wasn’t a nurturer, but his pores were full of seeds.

If he wasn’t a nurturer, then the adjusted term said differently.

Accepting any burden was something he could do, but handing over emotions just wasn't plausible. Not here at least. Not with this.

Sanzu was a dull blade, and that's what made this scary.

It was cruel. Something like pity dripped from a knife that couldn't cut.

A black hole formed in your chest.

A dejected onslaught engulfed your face.

“Are ya that mad at me?” you asked, desperately clawing for a different motive.

Crossing his arms in resignation, Sanzu opted to not answer with a reply.

Sanzu is always right. But…

Baji was a good person.

Baji is a good person.

Baji is.

—a good person.  

If not, then that made him…

—a bad person.

Even if Sanzu forfeited his words, no–even if he didn’t know how to use them; he didn't need to. It needed to be established because it was real, it wouldn't go away, it couldn't be ignored.

He laid it all out.

Sanzu spoke without words.

His gaze was iron, and you were being crushed.

Why couldn’t it have been paper?

"Oh."

Indistinct voices passed by in crowds.

Pale eyes would always be a language you’d never read.

Love would always be a condition that you just couldn’t reach.

October would always echo the cycle of death and decay.

A vacant smile brushed by your lips.

“So he really did—hate me.”

—

It hurts.

[kanna-ophelia]

Radio!

Confession: back in the day, I had the Good Omens Radio adaptation on CD. All my CDs are in the shed somewhere, no idea where, so I have been regularly listening to an unofficial recording of the radio show as aired. Told myself it was fine because I’d paid for it once already, and it’s borrowable for free from the library anyway.  But my conscience prickled. I don’t pirate if something is legally available, even if I can’t afford it; that’s a pretty much unbreakable rule for me. 

So today I had an audiobooks.com credit and instead of buying another Discworld book (the new recordings are FANTASTIC) or Doctor Who novelisation of a lost episode, my usual choices, I got the radio show so I could just forget about feeling guilty. Bought it now, it’s on the app I use anyway, no guilt.

THERE IS SO MUCH STUFF that was cut from the radio broadcast. Every single scene has lines (generally but not always straight from the book) I don’t recognise. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t on my CDs either, although I can’t swear to that. It’s like I have found the last treasure trove of missing Good Omens content.

I am so happy. I feel rewarded for doing the right thing. I have more Good Omens. Also I keep having the vinyl version above advertised at me and I want it with irrational wantingness,

[13uswntimagines]

Better Luck Next Time (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

Request: Reader is really bad at expressing her feelings and talking about things she loves, so the team helps her as best as they can. And one evening she calls them all into a room and tells them how much they all mean to her and how happy she is to have them

Author’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ because without her this imagine would not have been nearly as cute or cohesive. It’s set up kind of like a three times she didn’t and the one she did format. I also couldn’t help the little hint of Mal x reader that i stuck in here. Let me know what you think! i freaking live for feedback. Hit me up with questions, requests or if you just wanna say hi. My inbox is always open!

3 days on the team

Fuck the beep test. 

You fell to your knees panting heavily, sweat pouring off your forehead as you stared in disbelief at Kelley. How the fuck was she still going? The rest of your team had already been eliminated, everyone except for the flying squirrel. 

You had barely made it to the line on time, and there she was, running off to the next one in time to hear the next one like you hadn’t just done 70 reps. You had to up your game if you wanted to keep your spot. Your plan was simple- beat the best players and show them why you belonged. 

A bottle of water appeared in your peripheral vision. You flinched waiting for the icy spray to hit your face, but it never did. 

“You did good kid. Don’t beat yourself up about getting out earlier than Kelley. I don’t think anyone could actually beat her.” She said, pushing the water bottle into your hands and making you take a sip. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words would come out. You weren’t sure if that was because The Alex Morgan was talking to you, or if it was because your lungs were no longer in your chest. 

“I swear, the rest of us could tag-team this thing and she would still probably outlast us,” Alex said, shaking her head as she walked away, already used to your non-responses (though she was sure she saw your lips twitch up) “I’ve stopped trying, it’s so not worth the knee pain tomorrow.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times as if you were going to call some sarcastic response after her, but the words just wouldn’t come out. You just sighed, resting your head on your knees, your chin hitting your chest-- better luck next time.

*****

6 months on the team

The bus was a tricky situation. On most days the team didn’t care where you sat, but you knew that would change drastically during important tournaments, like Olympic qualifiers big. You had already been warned that where you sat- where everyone sat really- mattered. 

Screwing it up could bring the team bad luck, and you really didn’t want to be the reason why your team wasn’t going to the Olympics for the first time. 

For that reason you tried to be the last person on the bus, so you could tell where to sit based on what seats were open, but Emily had forgotten something and so she and Lindsey had run off to grab them, and now you were staring down the aisle of a partially filled bus wondering whether you were about to cast an omen of doom if you set your bag down. 

“Third row on the left is open, or 8th on the right,” you hear a voice pipe up from behind you. One of Christen’s warm hands settled on your shoulders, the other held her duffel bag partially over her shoulder. 

You felt yourself relax at the directions, incredibly grateful for the woman who had become one of your many team moms. You hadn’t ever spoken a full sentence to the woman, but she embraced your shy nature without blinking. 

“You could also crash with Mal, she doesn’t have a bus buddy,” Tobin’s bead popped up on your other side, wiggling her eyebrows. It was funny to most of the girls that their two team babies had things for each other. 

A light blush spread across your cheeks as you nodded. “Thanks” You mumbled, throwing your bag into an empty row, unwilling to sit with your crush. Tobin snorted as she settled back down, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her, her head on Alex’s shoulder as she slumped halfway down in her seat. 

“Better luck next time kid,” Christen winked at Mal and tossed her a small package of Oreos when she pouted. 

*****

9 months on the team

Going against Japan was never fun. They were a technically sound team with none of the friendly players like Leah or Jessie. That and they still held a massive grudge from the 2015 World Cup. 

As the second half had progressed, the Japanese team had become increasingly desperate. In their attempts to get the ball out of their defending half and into the US box, they had left giant gaps in their defense that Linsey and Sam were exploiting. As forwards, you and Alex were getting sent through balls and crosses. 

You collected a particularly nice ball threaded by Lindsey and broke towards goal, beating the two defenders that were marking you and looking for Alex. You were so focused on tracking her position that you didn’t see the center back coming in for a tackle until it was too late and you were staring up at the clouds, tweety birds fluttering around your head. 

You could feel the headache forming, like a growing stress ball where the base of your head met your neck. That was going to hurt once the adrenaline rush was over. 

“Hey Beaker, you alright?” Emily’s head appeared in your immediate vision, her worried form slightly fuzzy around the edges. 

“Meep meep” You huffed, sending the woman a little smile. It was weird to see Sonnett so serious. She put down a hand to pull you up and began brushing the grass off your jersey.

“How the fuck is that not a yellow or a PK, her studs were up and she wasn’t even going after the ball,” Lindsey yelled towards the ref, jogging past you to get right in the woman’s face. 

“Go help your girlfriend, mm fine” You mumbled, embarrassed by the attention you were getting. Emily’s presence was comforting, but couldn’t block the feeling of thousands of eyes throughout the stadium, watching you to see if you were going to be pulled from the field. You wondered if many of them were almost hoping for it. 

Emily sent you a worried look before patting your shoulder. “That was almost a goal too! And hey, they wouldn’t have fouled you if you weren’t killing it out here!”  She nudged your shoulder lightly with hers and released you to the medics, walking over to Lindsey and pulling her away from the ref before she got a red. 

You watched them for a bit before someone shined a flashlight in your eyes. Maybe next time you would find the words to thank them, someday when you weren’t feeling so dizzy. You’d have better luck next time. 

*******

1 year on the team

Oreos were the quintessential after practice snack. It appeased the vegans and catered to the sweet tooth of the younger side of the team, and really, anyone who didn’t like Oreos was surely messed up. 

Normally the team took turns bringing the packets of double-stuff, hiding them in duffel bags so coaches wouldn’t see and remind them about the diets they were all supposed to be on during season (and Dawn was like a bloodhound when it came to contraband). 

But to celebrate something the team would forego the normal packs set out by the coaching staff in favor of double, triple, or mega stuffed ones and some funky flavors. And right now was a celebration if you ever saw one. The team was jubilant after their extremely entertaining scrimmage. Your team, Cool Beans (named by Tobin), had beaten team Hot Stuff (Alex’s team) 6 to 5, you scoring 3 of said goals. 

You smiled lightly from your place on the locker room bench, munching happily on your mint Oreo and listening to several of the conversations happening around you. You felt so comfortable tucked between Mal and Christen, so safe and welcome. 

“You know, I really love you guys,” you said. There was a lull in the conversation, and several girls turned toward you in shock. 

“Holy shit, Meep Meep just talked!” Emily exclaimed, all eyes turning to you and your very red cheeks. Perhaps you hadn’t meant to say that out loud...

“We all knew she could talk,” Mal protested, throwing a balled-up cookie packet at her. Emily only smirked as the piece of plastic drifted through the air, falling about a foot short of its intended target. 

“Yeah but she said more than 3 words,” Lindsey rolled her eyes at the 2nd youngest forward, wiggling her eyebrows at Mal who had wrapped her spare arm around your waist. 

“I just-... you guys make me feel safe and I’ve never had my friends become like family before, and I love you guys,” You said, smiling at the ground. 

“We love you too Kiddo,” Christen said, from behind your left ear. 

“Group hug!!!!!” Kelley yelled before anyone could stop her, the women sharing a conspirator look before rushing you. 

You tried to protest, but in the end, there was no stopping them. A bundle of arms wrapped around you, dragging you to the floor in a dog pile. 

“Isn’t this nice!” Emily said from somewhere above you.

“Would be nicer if your elbow wasn’t embedded in my spleen…” You grumbled, hushing when Mal leaned up to kiss your cheek. Yes, these women were crazy, but right now you felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

[trashcatsnark]

WHY THE FUCK WERE UP SO LATE??? FUCKING UR SO LUCKY I CANT BEAT UR ASS OTHERWISE ITD BE KNUCKLE CITY

anyway, speaking about johnny boy i was thinking about him + nibbles and our like collective desicion that he is essiently a cat and it is really weirdly fitting that it just makes me like ???? so like cats themselves are a reoccuring motif within the game from the start, when u go to viks, when ur chatting up takemura and at the end with the rooftop that also doubles as like the millionith matrix reference. they follow v and they take up the role of the bakeneko, which i think in the game is defined by them appearing near death ? or just disaster. the obvious thing is that it is to do with v's inpending death and their whole sitation but like the general point is like the cat symbolises the death that follows v as the cat follows them. this puts johnny in an interesting sitation from his catlike nature to how he seems to like and get along with nibbles, he is linked with cats. he is also the parasite that is killing v. he is V's bakeneko. their signal of death. the events start because of his relic, jackie dies for him, and soon does most of the cast from act 1, and a large part of the death from then on is a direct result of them trying to solve the relic and johnny's whole presence is a signal for hey v ur fucking dying. he is death for them. the bakeneko.

makes me wonder if his catlike attributes were intentionally done cause that boy aint right or we just accidently walked on a really thematic fitting landmind

Spoilers within, again, also leave my sleeping schedule alone, I do not function. Additionally, I have a lot to say about Nibbles, omens, cats, and pets then how they all relate back to Johnny so congrats on opening a flood gate my friend!

 think the thematic thing with Johnny and cats and the bakeneko has to 1000000 percent be intentional, because he even sees a cat when Alt is kidnapped. And that goes back to Cyberpunk Red. Like that was used and utilized and then became such a large part of the story. 

Johnny is clearly meant to be a bakeneko; he’s actively next to the cat in that conversation, leaves when it does, see the same cat before Alt’s death, and is again the visual representation of what is happening to V. He is the symbol of their death, whether he wants to be or not. 

I think it’s also interesting to note, the Bakeneko, which is described as an omen of death and misfortune isn’t the only way we see cats used thematically within the game. Albeit, this way is more subtle and perhaps intentionally so. We also see the maneki-neko; the lucky cat statues are everywhere in game. In V’s apartment, Misty’s shop, Vik’s clinic. Everyyyyyywhereeeeee. 

So, we see two mythological cats from Japanese culture. One brings misfortune and one brings good luck. And Johnny exemplifies both. 

Johnny is a visual representation of all that is destroying V. His mere existence and presence a constant reminder that their death is around the corner. An ever present omen that V’s clock is ticking. He also often pops up to have a comment just before massive relic malfunctions and disasters. The end of every main game quest is punctuated with a relic malfunction and a lecture from Johnny. 

But without the chip and by extension Johnny, V would already be dead. If the chip hadn’t been the exact right place to be damaged and activated by the gunshot; it would have killed V right then and there. And while this wasn’t an active choice on Johnny’s part, he is the visual representation of the chip. Even then, he later does make an active choice to save V’s life. When V is hit with the worst malfunction yet; Johnny grabs them, “you aren’t dying yet, I got you” and he takes them to safety. He refuses to watch V seize and die in a puddle of their own sick in the middle of nowhere (for me it’s always at the sunset hotel, idk if this changes based on the order you do the events tho) So, he takes control, he eases their pain and takes them somewhere safe, somewhere that means something to him, and swears to die for them. 

Luck both good and bad. Fortune and misfortune. A sign of better days and an omen of death. A maneki-neko and a bakeneko. The time bomb in V’s head and the guy who saved their life. He is both. 

Now, stepping away from the mythological aspects. Lets talk about Nibbles the cat, Johnny, and pets within Cyberpunk 2077. Animals and by extension pets are considered a luxury in Night City. They’re taxed to fuck and back, generally only the wealthy can have them. Its also often brought up that real friends and family who stick by you are very difficult to come by. V becomes through Nibbles one of the rare people to have a pet. One of the other people who had a pet is, Barry their neighbor. 

Barry and his mission is one of the first you can unlock and see in the game. He’s V’s downstairs neighbor and his story is played out so fucking similarly to V’s. Barry lost his best friend, he’s quit his job because he can’t handle the weight of the NCPD’s corruption, and he’s thinking of taking his own life.  V has lost Jackie, its stated in game they get less work than usual because of Konpeki (cant be put on a crew), and very early on can say to Misty “be better off putting in my head”. 

But for Barry that friend ends up being a pet tortoise. And its clear what that tortoise represents; a constant companion, a safe place, and a comfort. Something Barry couldn’t find among his peers until later on when they learn just how much he’s been hurting. And this is treated as such a tragedy, that he only has a pet to turn to. 

And so V gets a cat, because they too are fucking hurting and having a little meowing bundle of skin running around their apartment helps. Something to come home to, something to make that apartment a little less empty, a little more alive. 

So, how does this particular aspect of Nibbles/cats/pets relate to Johnny, I hear you wondering (as well as wondering when Im going to shut up). Well, we know Johnny is linked symbolically with cats and thats the choice of pet for V. And we knows pets have been likened to support without judgement; a companion who you can tell everything too and they won’t abandon you. 

And while Johnny has heaps of judgment and is a dick. He is V’s only constant companion. I know a good junk of people don’t like him or his commentary; but imagine V’s life without Johnny in it through the game events. Imagine how lonely they’d be. 

Johnny is the only one who knows everything and is there with V from the start to the final moments in Mikoshi. 

Vik and Misty know, but they’re no edgerunners, they have no idea everything V is doing out there. Part of why as much as I do love Vik, his frustration with V hurts so much in the end because he talks like V hasn’t done anything to save themselves. Because, Vik doesn’t know what V’s been doing this whole time. 

Each part of the main quests in Act 2 are linked to an NPC; Judy, Panam, and Takemura. And not one of them know or are there throughout the entirety of V’s journey. Judy doesn’t get told the full details of what’s happening until later in and stops helping V one Evelyn is saved. Panam doesn’t learn the full details or anything really about the chip until much later. And her quests become her own personal journey once V finds Hellman. And then depending on V’s choices, Panam can come in to help at the end. Takemura knows V is dying and is there to help with the parade and then he’s gone; either dead or in hiding. He refers to anything that doesn’t involve him as V’s shady dealings and leaves it at that. He’s there to interrogate Hellman but he doesn’t know all V did to find him. None of them know everything, none of them have been there the whole time. And that’s not a condemnation of them, I do not expect them to drop everything to be glued to V’s side 24/7 but, I can’t fucking imagine how alone V feels. 

River has no involvement in any main quests and only finds out anything if V chooses to romance him. Kerry knows what Johnny told him and depending on the ending may even leave V. Again, wanna be clear, that isn’t a condemnation on his character. I understand why he does this and i understand his hurt and how it led him to that. 

But this is about how truly fucking alone V is in all of this. Not a single person there start to finish, not a single person knowing all that they have suffered, all that they have been through and are going through. 

Except Johnny. He tells V in the oil fields, closest to him by far, there 24/7, yet they don’t seem to hate him. And he’s that for V too; there the entire way, their demon never leaving.  Johnny knows everything happening; because he’s part of what’s happening. He’s been there through every struggle, every step, every slap in the face as V’s tried to save themselves. Has felt their pain as they lose themselves, has known the people who’ve had to die for them to get this far, as felt their heart break when all they found was betrayal by the Voodoo Boys, Ai Alt asking how V’s life is her problem, getting recommended a hospice by Hellman. 

And as dickish as he is, his comments help. V always has someone there, as much as he sucks. He always has something stupid or naggy to say to help keep some of that weight off their shoulders. Imagine if they didn’t even have that. If Johnny never talked to them, never showed his face. 

A constant companion, like a supportive pet cat except he can talk and did a lot of meth. 

And this is a sidenote that has nothing to do with cats specifically, but that through Samurai music this isn’t the first time Johnny could be compared to an omen. Its no secret that the music was largely created around the game and as such, many of his songs have direct parallels and messages related to the game. Never Fade Away while in universe written in regards to Alt’s death also has so much in common with his journey with V. This brings me to the song Black Dog.

“Black Dog inside my head, guiding me until the end.”

Black Dogs are figures in Irish Mythology  who much like bakeneko’s are talked about in game; are omens of death and misfortune. I just find it interesting I suppose, like Johnny is either a dirty alley cat or a big mangy dog, but either way he’s here cause someones about to die.

Okay this is well over a thousand words, Imma shut up now. This is probably a mess, but anyone here for coherency is in the wrong place. 

[a-hundred-jewels]

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!��� Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

My Melancholy Blues (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: 1923. When Aziraphale bumps into a rather drunk Crowley for the first time after their fight at St James's Park, he's hellbent on helping the poor dear. Pun not intended. But maybe it isn't just Crowley who needs help. After all, what is it we say about coincidences?

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, cigarettes, angst

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: I’m back! I’ll be quick because this is for the DTIYS from @whiteleyfoster and it needs to be up by the end of September to be considered and September in the UK ends in 2.5 hours. Classic me leaving this until the last minute. Anyway I hope you enjoy, sorry about the angst but it just kind of happened. Whoops. Also the title comes from My Melancholy Blues by Queen! The song isn't a perfect match to this fic but the vibe is similar enough for me to like it.

"Hey, 'ziraphale," Crowley slurred from the rooftop he was perched precariously on, waving like a lunatic, "Cooee!"

He watched as the small white blob that was hopefully the angel in question stopped dead in his tracks. Something not all that dissimilar to astonishment washed over his face, before looking up warily, almost scared of what he would find. Shock soon turned to concern when he saw that Crowley was, in fact, sitting on the roof of the Ritz with a ridiculously lopsided grin on his face. Honestly, he thought to himself, a little over sixty years and not a single word, and then I find him drunk in the middle of London. Typical. He shook off the thought with a hardly noticeable eye-roll before calling back, "Crowley? What on Earth are you doing up there?"

Crowley made a face at him, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He waved the bottle of wine he was holding in Aziraphale's vague direction before taking a swig of it.

"I can see that," he said, speaking a little more slowly when he started to realise just how drunk Crowley was, "What I meant was why are you drinking on the roof of the Ritz?"

"The view up here's great! You can see Buckingham Palace from up here!" he said, quite keen at defending his choice of location.

"Surely there's a nicer place to drink in, though? Perhaps somewhere warmer?" he suggested, really quite worried now that he could see how little Crowley was wearing.

"Nah, I was in this club in the East End but the music was a bit shit so I left," he shrugged.

"Right," he nodded unsurely, "And it never occurred to you to go to another bar?"

Crowley suddenly looked very offended, pouting like an extraordinarily petulant child, "Why are you so worried about where I drink? I thought you didn't care about me or something. 'S a bit suspicious if you ask me."

"No, no. Curious is all," Aziraphale said, blatantly avoiding the issue they hadn't got round to resolving yet. No matter how annoyed he was at Crowley, and how the latter must feel towards him, he didn't think he could bear to fight with him again. He'd much rather dance around the truth for a little while longer.

Crowley, even in his not quite sober state of mind, seemed to understand, though the tension was so thick it wasn't exactly difficult. He quickly changed the subject, "You should come up here, angel, you'd like it. Promise."

He looked so hopeful and even vulnerable, as if his whole world was about to come crashing down and Aziraphale sitting with him was the only thing that could stop it. If he'd refused then that would have made him very heartless indeed, and that simply wouldn't do. Though luckily for him, he didn't have the time to even briefly consider the proposal before he found himself sitting by Crowley's side, staring down at where he'd just been standing. He shifted himself so he opposite him, with his back leaning against the chimney post, feeling considerably steadier than he was before.

"Well," Crowley looked at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

Aziraphale blinked before murmuring, "I think you look lovely, my dear. The blue of your dress really compliments the colour of your hair-"

He was cut off by Crowley's undignified snort, "Well, thanks, angel, but I meant the view. Not my dress. Though I'm glad you like it," he reassured him quickly when he noticed his mortified expression.

Aziraphale's tense expression softened like melted butter when he finally looked at the breath-taking landscape surrounding the two of them, encompassing them in the odd security that comes with strangely empty cities. Crowley was right, you could see Buckingham Palace from the rooftop, as well as St James's Park and Berkeley Square and the rest of Piccadilly. Incandescent lights shone from the streets below, but they were nothing compared to the forget-me-not blue of midnight skies above them, dusted with millions of stars like icing sugar on a cake. "Oh," he sighed softly, wholly content and at peace with the world, "Oh, Crowley, it's beautiful. It's, well, I never realised London could be so..." he trailed off, left speechless from awe.

Crowley grinned up at him, "Just wait until the sun comes up. Won't be long now."

Aziraphale's smile faded ever so slightly, "You say that like you've been up here before," he said gently, trying hard not to come off as accusatory.

Crowley's face morphed into one a child might wear when caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but he quickly shrugged it off, leaving it for Aziraphale to mull over by himself. "Drink?" he offered, holding out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, a drink would be lovely, thank you," he smiled, taking it cautiously and sipping at it, letting the alcohol seep in and ease his aching mind.

"What are you doing out this time of night, anyway?" Crowley asked innocently as he took the bottle back from him.

"I-I fancied a walk. Been spending far too much time indoors recently. Needed some fresh air," Aziraphale stammered out, passing the bottle back even though he could have easily finished it off right there and then.

Crowley hummed in response, deciding not to question it even though his gut was screaming at him, screaming that he was lying, he needs help, he needs someone, anyone.

He needs you. Just as much as you need him.

He decided to ignore his intuition because ignorance was far easier than the truth. It slid down like honey and soothed your soul, however temporarily.

"So, the nineteen-twenties," Crowley mused, letting his eyes dance over his surroundings, "'S been an interesting decade so far, hasn't it? Great nightlife. And the fashion, ooh. I've really been enjoying this whole flapper thing. What d'you make of it all, angel?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to respond, "I-I can't say I'd noticed much," he murmured, eyes hellbent on avoiding Crowley's.

Don't look into my eyes. Don't look into them, my love, because if you do, you'll know everything. I'll have no more secrets left, none at all. And I don’t think I can handle that.

The alarm bells in Crowley's head were deafening by that point, even he couldn't ignore them any longer. "Noticed what?" he asked, cautiously placing the wine bottle behind him, deathly terrified of the answer.

"Any of it," he said, voice no louder than a whisper, "I haven't noticed any of it."

Crowley's eyes widened as he tried his best to push down this rising tide of dread inside of him, "Angel-"

"Don't, Crowley," he pleaded, voice breaking but desperately trying to hide it. It was when he finally dared to glance at him that Crowley could finally see the vulnerability and the fear and the anxiety and just about every other emotion that humans had a name for. "Please, don't make me explain, I can't-" he stopped midsentence, inhaling deeply, desperately attempting to pull himself together, "I don't want to talk about it."

Crowley momentarily looked like he was about to object, and Aziraphale’s heart would have skipped a beat if he had one, but he didn’t, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He let himself wonder, for a fleeting second, if perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his weird and confusing feelings. For he had felt this strange sense of loneliness for decades after their fight back in 1867. He’d spent much longer than a few decades without his angel before, but that time had been different, had stung in a way that struck him to his very core. Maybe there was a chance that Aziraphale had felt much the same way. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He brushed off these thoughts as quickly as they’d arrived; it was unwise to ponder these things while in the presence of others. Instead of making a comment that wasn’t likely to be welcomed with open arms per se, he nodded deeply, oozing with understanding.

Crowley would be a hypocrite if he said that he wouldn’t mind being interrogated like that if he was in Aziraphale’s position, and he was sure he’d already worked most of it out.

Aziraphale softened in relief, the unshed tears in his eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the sun that was just starting to rise, creeping slowly up his face as it peered over the London skyline. Crowley couldn’t help it if his eyes lingered on the angel’s face. The logical side of him knew that angels were ethereal by nature, but only now was he starting to understand why. He seemed to literally glow gold with the dawn, outshining the sun and putting it to shame. His ivory suit had been dyed champagne by the sun’s rays, champagne, the colour of the drinks people downed with ease, the colour of the streetlights below them. His eyes were sapphires buried behind a veil of melancholy, framed with the wrinkles that came with centuries upon centuries of things to find joy in.

Oh, the irony, Crowley thought sadly to himself. He forced himself to cast his eyes away, feeling Aziraphale starting to squirm under his stare, instead looking at the Marlboro Red which had materialised in his hand miraculously, or not, depending on how you looked at it. He lit it with a click of his fingers, taking a drag and offering it to Aziraphale. No words had to be said; they’d known each other for long enough, they could say anything with no more than a look.

He eyed it nervously but only for a second, vulnerability taking over and impulses kicking in, and it was in his hand and he was breathing it in before he could even register what he was doing. The smoke waltzed circles around them before leaping away in the early morning breeze. Sparks flew off the cigarette as Aziraphale passed it back, glowing crimson in the sunrise, dying embers of a phoenix blowing away in the lapis blue of the sky.

They sat in the strangely comforting silence for a few moments, the dawn bringing with it its own eery peace. It wasn’t until the cigarette had nearly burnt away completely did Aziraphale finally murmured something, “Will we be okay, Crowley? You and me? Will we be alright?”

Crowley blinked back at him in surprise for a second before mumbling, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do,” he said, voice filled with the spirit of the clouds above them, sweet and gentle and oh-so-soft, “Will we be alright?”

Crowley took advantage of the now burnt out cigarette to think of a response, leaving it to fall out of his hand and onto the pavement below, watching the ashes scatter over the London streets as if he was mourning them, “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper but speaking volumes all the same. A single tear escaped, a drip of molten gold running down his face.

There was a lump in Crowley’s own throat just at the sight of his angel, and at the overwhelming meaning of those three simple words. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing the tear away and my, hadn’t they gotten rather close. Aziraphale melted like butter under his touch and Crowley’s heart could burst just looking at him. Suddenly he was pressed up to the demon’s chest, arms hesitantly snaking around him, leaving Crowley speechless in shock for no more than a second. He quickly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, resting his chin on the top of his head as the angel buried his face in his chest. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle that had remained unsolved for far too long, both of them internally sighing in relief and shouting for joy because they knew that this was where they needed to be. Neither let go, for neither wanted to, and they held each other as the dawn sun watched over them, casting its protective glow over a moment that deserved to be shielded from prying eyes.

And in the years to come, they would both act like that fateful night in nineteen twenty three had never happened, tucking the memory away in a far-flung corner of their minds and putting the whole thing down to alcohol’s wicked influence. But, no matter how much denial they would put themselves through in the next century or so, they both remembered in the depths of their hearts the words that had been said and the words that had been buried deep between the lines.

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Stars

A day late on this one -- from the Good Omen’s 30th Anniversary Celebration theme list. 

Read the whole set here on AO3. 

--------

 It was a peaceful Sunday morning at the breakfast table, with Aziraphale reading the book reviews in the paper and Crowley frowning away at his phone. Peaceful, that is, until the silence was broken by Crowley swearing violently and dropping his phone like it bit him.

“What on earth?” Aziraphale asked, startled into spilling a few drops of his English Breakfast tea on his vintage dressing gown. He tutted disapprovingly. No one should raise a fuss on a Sunday morning. It just wasn’t civilized.

“They found it!” Crowley growled. “I can’t believe they found it.”

“Found what?”

Crowley sighed dramatically and dropped his head down onto the table with a thunk, and then just stayed there. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

The angel set down his teacup firmly and reached over to lay a hand on Crowley’s arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible into the tabletop.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and prepared to sound stern. “Anthony J. Crowley, you’re beginning to worry me. Please sit up and talk to me or I’ll be forced to … take steps.”

Crowley wasn't sure what that meant but he was smart enough to recognize that he wasn't likely to enjoy it. He sat up reluctantly.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m up.”

The angel examined him closely. “What’s got you so upset?”

Crowley picked up his phone, stabbed at it a few times, and handed it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hated reading things on tiny phone screens, but nonetheless he pulled out his miniscule reading glasses, settled them onto his nose, and took a close look.

“Project Pale Red Dot?” he read, looking up at Crowley for confirmation. “This is the problem?”

Crowley nodded, so he kept reading.

“Well, this is rather an inspiring story, actually,” Aziraphale said. “A team of scientists has found the first potentially habitable planet, and it’s not impossibly far away! Proxima B, what a nice name. And it’s – oh.” He paused. “It’s in the Alpha Centauri system.”

“Yes it is.” Crowley said. “The bastards.”

Aziraphale stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate, my dear.”

“’s mine, angel!” Crowley exclaimed. “Remember how I used to try to get you to go to Alpha Centauri with me every once in a while?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I remember you being rather persistent about the whole idea when Armageddon was looming, yes.”

“Not just then, though,” Crowley said. “I brought it up right after the first world war, and again after the second. One in the 14th century too. Maybe another time or two also – I forgot.”

Aziraphale began to get a hint of an idea. “Are you saying that you have actually been there?”

He had honestly always thought the demon was kidding.

Crowley frowned, displeased. “What, did you think I was making things up? Of course I’ve been there. Wouldn’t have asked you to go, otherwise.”

“And – and –” Aziraphale’s brain scrambled to keep up. “Are you saying you have some sort of prior claim to this planet they’ve discovered?”

Crowley slammed both hands down on the table for emphasis. “Proxima B is MINE, angel. Mine. I’ve been setting it up for centuries. And now these nosy little scientists have ‘discovered’ it, and put it on the list as target number one if humans ever have to relocate. To my planet.”

Aziraphale knew he was supposed to share in the outrage, but his brain was still loitering several steps behind. “Setting it up?” he said. “What does that mean?”

Crowley froze for a moment. How much to reveal? He’d had a hand in the creation of the triple star system Alpha Centauri, and had always had a soft spot for the smallest of its suns and its accompanying little planet. He’d visited it from time to time when he just needed a break from Earth. Proxima B was a pretty place, with big rocks and liquid water, and it was warm enough for sunning himself in snake form, and if over time he’d seeded it with some plants and maybe set up a structure or two, what was wrong with that? 

It was merely a hobby at first, but over time he came to see it differently – as their lives got more and more dangerous, he started to see Proxima B as a potential backup plan for the both of them, a place they could go if it all went pear shaped. And so he’d done his best to begin making the place habitable for the two of them. He’d built a vault of sorts there and filled it with things they might need -- some of his favorite artworks there when they no longer fit in with his apartment, and put in a cache of books and wine.

It was foolish, and he’d never really expected to even tell Aziraphale about it unless an absolute catastrophe occurred, but if Crowley was one thing, he was a demon who liked to be prepared.

He came back to his senses and realized Aziraphale was waiting patiently for an answer.

“Oh, well,” he said, tongue tied, “I started thinking that we might need – someday, you know, if things went off – a backup plan, somewhere to go. And it’s a nice little planet. You’d like it there.”

Aziraphale got the same look on his face that he had had when the former Sister Mary Loquacious had waxed rhapsodic about the antichrist’s cute little toesy-wosies. Inordinately fond.

“Am I to understand,” he said gently, “that you set up an entire planet for our habitation?”

“Well, not the whole planet,” Crowley said gruffly, his cheeks heating up under the angel’s regard. “But a part of it, yeah. Took some things there in case we ever need them. Built a storage thingy. To, uh, store stuff. Just in case.”

He studied the table in front of him and did not look up.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “what a lovely thought. I am amazed and astonished that you did such a thing. Quite romantic, in its own way.”

“Ruined now, though,” Crowley said sullenly. “Stupid astronomers and their stupid telescopes, messing up our stupid escape plans.”

Aziraphale laughed gently. “Dearest,” he said, “it’s not like they can go there. They’ve simply worked out that it exists from measuring wobbles in the star’s orbit. It’s still –” he checked the phone again – “25.2 trillion miles away. I think your world is safe for now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled. “But they’ll be there someday. It was supposed to be for us.”

Aziraphale came around the table and pulled Crowley up into standing and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I think we still have a few centuries of having it all to ourselves.”

“We?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“We,” the angel confirmed. “How about you show me around this world of yours? Quick miracle there and back? It’s only four light years after all, if we combine our efforts we can manage that without any undue trouble. Be back in time for tea.”

Crowley brightened up at that. “You want to see it?”

“I absolutely do!” Aziraphale answered. “Now, tell me – what should I bring? What’s the weather like there? Will I need an overcoat? A muffler? And how many thermoses of tea do you think I should bring? Oh, there is so much to decide…”

Crowley’s brain relaxed at the familiar sound of Aziraphale puttering around preparing them for an outing, just as he had for a thousand adventures in the past. He realized he’d been holding his breath for rather a long time and let it out in a swoop, feeling the tension seep out of his spine and a feeling of contentment settle in its place.

He’d see about wiping Proxima B off of their star maps later, when they returned. But first it was time for an expedition. Sabotage could wait. 

[jennygirl2014]

One Way Ticket-Part 1

Wrote this 2 part fic for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ and her writing challenge.  My prompts were airplane + choking.  This is a dark fic, with elements of CNC. Heed the warnings: NC-17, sexual content, CNC, choking, drugging, kidnapping. Hydra Steve Rogers.  If you’re not cool with it do not proceed.  I’m serious. 

              You hate flying, you always have.  Planes are full of germs, people get mashed in too close to one another, you’re forced to interact with complete strangers or people you wouldn’t normally talk to, and you always had some sort of anxiety about being 30,000 feet in the air.  Becoming an air marshal was not your first choice, in fact it wasn’t even your third choice, but the opportunity landed in your lap, and after the collapse of your last job, you were desperate to find something in the law enforcement field. It was what you knew, it was what you were good at.  Besides, you reminded yourself that the job had one good perk, after serving time on different flights, those planes landed in different places, and who would refuse the opportunity for a mini-vacation?

              This flight was going to land in Hawaii, and you were more than ready to kick back and relax with a couple cocktails by the beach. You had somehow worked it out perfectly, you would be spending four days in the sun and the sand, and you had enough money in your savings account, and enough emotional baggage, to drink your face off for three of those days.  Then you would sober up on the last day, and serve your duties on a flight back home. Life was good.  Nothing was going to kill your vibe.

              After popping your carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, you took a seat by the window and sighed.  It was just before 11, the flight would be taking off in fifteen minutes, the rain that was pummeling the plane and runways wouldn’t be enough to interfere.  The view of the world going by beneath you while you were in the clouds would be the best view you had seen in months, if not over a year.  That was until a handsome stranger took a seat next to you. You did a double take, making sure you weren’t imagining the strong, chiseled jawline and godlike profile.  He wore a black ballcap, thick black framed glasses and a classic brown leather jacket.  So, you had a tropical paradise to look forward to, and you had the view of this gorgeous stranger next to you.  Win, win.  But there was something about this handsome man that looked familiar.  You chose to ignore him and play it cool, you had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and you swore off men for at least a couple months.

Then again, swearing off men didn’t necessarily mean swearing off the opportunity for hot sex on the beach with a good looking stranger.

              The flight took off, as planned, no hiccups, no issues or concerns, no suspicious looking passengers.  In fact, the only thing that was suspicious was the fact that the flight wasn’t packed.  Still, any worries or concerns were quickly pushed out of your brain, this was a routine flight and you were hours away from rest and relaxation.  And when the flight attendant started making her way down the aisle, you realized you didn’t have to wait hours to start relaxing. Nobody knew you were an air marshal, that was one of the perks, so you could order a drink, nobody would know. You politely raised your hand to get her attention and asked for an amaretto sour with extra cherries.  The woman smiled and promptly returned with the drink, with three cherries bouncing along with the ice cubes.  You couldn’t wait to dive into it.

“A little early for a drink, isn’t it?” the handsome stranger next to you finally spoke up.  You shot him a quick glance before turning back to your drink, stirring it with the little pink plastic swizzle stick.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” You retorted.

“Well it’s only a little after noon here.” You saw the corner of his mouth curve up into a half grin.  You tried to resist the small smile that grew across your lips.  He was handsome and charming, a winning combination.  You hid your smile by taking a sip of your drink, tasting the delicious beverage and feeling your nerves easing up. “I hope this storm doesn’t get much worse.” He commented nonchalantly.

“You’re more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane.” You reassured, reciting the common line.

“Those clouds look like they’re ready to call your bluff.” He pointed out the window, and you turned and took in the sight of darkness approaching.  Flashes of lightning lit up the ominous looking wall of clouds that was getting closer and closer.  You chose to shake it off, an air marshal should know better than to get riled up over a storm, and definitely know better than to alarm civilians.

“Maybe we’ll get a littler turbulence or something, but we’ll be fine.” You turned your eyes back to your drink and eyed it before taking another sip, only the sip turned into a gulp.  

“You must fly often.” He sat back as he spoke.

“Often enough.”

“Business or pleasure?” he asked.  Something about his voice saying the word “pleasure”, gave you goosebumps.  

“Uh, pleasure.” You thought of a quick response.  “You?”

“Business.” He stated very seriously.  

              You had never caught yourself chatting it up with a civilian on a plane before, in fact you hated doing that usually, but this guy charmed it right out of you.  The plane flew into the storm, staying on course, and you were tempted to close the blind on the window to avoid the horrible view.  Flashes of lightning kept lighting up the stranger’s face, and if you didn’t know better you would have thought it was an omen. Some higher force trying to remind you of your horror with your ex-boyfriend, trying to get you to think twice.

“You look familiar.” He finally spoke again after some time had passed.  

“Do I?” you asked, slightly surprised.  You turned to look at him, to completely take him in sight, for the first time in the hour and half you had been sitting next to him.  You still thought the same thing, not sure of what exactly what it was that made you think that.

“Yeah,” he turned and took you in too.  “What’s your name?”

Could you give your name to a civilian?  You had never been asked.  “Becky.” You decided to lie.

“Well Becky, do I look familiar?” he asked you.

You narrowed your eyes, inspecting him.  You thought for a second you had it, that it was on the tip of your tongue, but something clouded your vision.  It was just like waking up from a long nap, and you tried to blink away the blurriness.  It was then that you realized your head felt funny, you had a dull headache coming on, but your brain felt like an engine that was refusing to start.  You blinked a couple times and shook your head.  You suddenly felt your chair jostling around, which caused you to grip onto the armrests.  Before you could try to contemplate what it was, there was another jostle, accompanied by the gasps and concerned voices from other passengers.  

“Attention passengers, we are experiencing a little turbulence.  At this time the pilot asks that you remain seated, place your trays in the upright position and fasten your seatbelts.” The voice of one of the flight attendants came from over the intercom, and it made your head pound harder.  

“You alright?” the stranger asked, sounding concerned.  

“Yeah…I…I, uh…” your brain felt like it was swimming around in your skull.

A cold sweat started forming on the back of your neck, and you felt like you had to run the lavatory to avoid an embarrassing situation. You forced yourself out of your seat and attempted to side step past the sexy stranger to get to the aisle.  More turbulence struck the plane and you couldn’t avoid losing your balance, and you involuntarily tumbled backwards, landing on the stranger’s lap.  Embarrassment struck you far worse than the headache, brain fog and turbulence combined, and you scrambled to try and get to your feet.

“Careful!” he tried to be polite and help you back on your feet.

“Sorry!” you were mortified.  His hands gripped your hips and he tried to help steady you as you stood, but it was a tight fit between him and the seat in front of the both of you.  

“Maybe you should wait until the turbulence stops.” He offered.  

Any other time, his hands on your body would have been exciting, but you had to get to the bathroom and figure out what was making you feel so sick.  You ignored his plea and marched on.  More turbulence shook the plane, making you reach out and grip the seats on either side of you as you tried to make your way down the never-ending aisle.  Your lips were clamped shut, just in case you felt your drinks coming back up on you, but your eyes were busy taking in the concerned faces of the other passengers watching you.  It felt like every eye was on you, and they probably were with the way you were hobbling along.

You were supposed to try and observe and take note of the different passengers, which was hard to do while the room was spinning. There was an older couple holding hands, looking worried about the turbulence and storm.  A mother and her son sat a couple rows behind them, also looking concerned.  A couple middle aged women sat in close proximity, maybe they all were vacationing together.  There were a few men in casual attire sitting hear and there, and a few men in business suits.  All in all, approximately forty passengers, nobody looked suspicious.  Job done, good enough.  Now to continue to the bathroom.  

When you finally reached the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and leaned over the sink.  A dry heave wrenched at your sides, but nothing came up.  Your heart was racing, your head was pounding, sweat started dripping down your neck, and your vision was now clouded with spots.  You wondered what the hell could have made you feel so terrible, you only have two drinks, you didn’t eat anything.  If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you had been drugged.  The thought popped into you head for a moment, but you quickly dismissed it. Who would do such a thing, and why? It made no sense.  All you had to do was splash some water on your face, take a few deep breaths, stop throwing back the drinks, and make it a couple more hours.  

You kept trying to suppress the panic building in your gut, but something felt wrong.  Maybe it was how quickly the situation turned.  One minute you were excited for fun in the sun, throwing back drinks, chatting with a handsome stranger, and the next the plane was being tossed around like a kite in the wind, with a storm raging and you gagging in the bathroom. You tried to take in your reflection, but the now colorful dancing spots in your vision made it difficult.  But you could make out the lack of color in your face and the sweat colleting on your brow.  “What the hell is wrong with me?” you whispered to yourself before turning on the faucet full blast.  You used one hand to steady yourself against the sink, the other to splash the cool water on your face.  The makeup you had on would start to smear, and the sexy man next to you may have noticed.   But why did you care?  That wasn’t important.  After using a paper towel to blot your face dry you drew in a deep breath and leaned against the counter.  You had this, everything was fine, no need to panic.

The sudden commotion from outside the bathroom, and the blood curdling scream, would prove you wrong.  

              You whipped your head towards the door, causing the room to spin worse, and all you could hear was shouting and screaming. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.  A man’s deep voice bellowed over everyone else’s, commanding them to get to the front of the plane.  You could hear the pounding of feet as people scattered around the cabin.  More screams, some crashing and thuds, definitely not to sound of an ordinary flight.  You had to pull it together and get out there.  It was your job.  

              Your feet moved faster than your brain, and you bumped into the door and fumbled with the latch and handle before winging the door open and racing out to see what was wrong.  Everybody was gathered at the front of the plane, hoarding together with faces full of terror, while two men stood before them with their backs to you, and guns pointed at the civilians.  Your blood ran ice cold, your adrenaline started pumping through your veins, your own heart pounded in your ears so loudly that it made your head ache worse.  The plane was being hijacked.  

“Freeze!” you found your voice, and the two casually dressed men turned to you, “US Air Marshal…!” you went to give them a warning as you reached for your gun that was hidden in your side pocket.  It was second nature, your body moved from muscle memory, you had done this before, you were well trained.  Only the gun was missing from your pocket.  More iciness coursed through you once you realized that you were without a weapon, or your badge.  What had happened?  You were always so careful.  And then, that stranger sitting next to you casually got to his feet and stood in the aisle, turning to face you, with a small smirk on his lips.

“Looking for this?” his voice was so calm and his whole demeanor was relaxed. He held out his hand, teasing you with your gun hanging from his index finger.  You choked.  The crowd of innocent people drew quiet, you could have heard a pin drop, but you wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the pounding in your ears.  And you were suddenly very aware of the bead of sweat dancing down the right side of your face.  The stranger strolled towards you as he pocketed your gun, and used his other hand to hold up your missing badge.  “I’m guessing you’re missing this too.”

You instinctively held out your hand, telling him to stop in his tracks. “Don’t come any closer!” you warned, as if you had any authority left in the situation.  This man had your gun, your badge, and beyond that, you were a discombobulated mess and he towered over you.  But you still had your training.  You could take him, if the room would stop spinning and you could throw a punch in the right direction.  

“It was obvious you’re an air marshal.” The man stated as he looked at your badge before tossing it onto a random seat.  “Unfortunately for these folks, you’re not a very good one.”

“You want us to take her out?” one of the men holding a gun turned and pointed his gun at you.  You froze.

“No, I’ve got her.  Besides, those drinks should start really kicking in any second now.”

“What?” you squeaked out, but then you lost your voice.  Your mouth went dry, and the room started going dark. Against your will you fell to your knees, your legs were shaking and too weak to keep you up.  Your arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.  

“You know what they say, keep an eye on your drink around strangers.” The stranger was now standing in front of you, and you tipped your head back to try and look at him, but your vision was now reduced to a pinhole.  “A US air marshal really shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyway.” He spoke so coyly.  The next thing you knew, you fell forward and your face hit the floor. Your vision went black, but you could still make out the sounds and voices around you.  

“Alright, get the pilot to turn the flight around, cut off all communications. Collect cell phones, laptops or any other forms of technology.” The stranger’s voice commanded everyone.  The plane made a sudden turn, causing everyone to start yelling again.  Your body slumped over onto its side as the plane turned and you couldn’t do anything but hear the commotion.  All of those innocent people were completely helpless.  You were completely helpless.  “All that alcohol only made the affects of the drug even worse.” The stranger’s voice was now closer to you.  You body was suddenly jostled and you felt your hands being bound together behind your back, and all you could do was groan in protest.  Nothing could move, not a finger, not even a toe.  You were rolled onto your back, pinning your bound hands against the floor, and momentarily you found your vision again. The strangers face appeared over you, looking down at you with a smug grin.  

“Stop…” you tried to speak again, but it only came out as a whisper.  He chuckled and removed his hat, releasing golden blond hair for you to try and take in.  And when the glasses came off, you remembered where you had seen his face before.  “Captain Rogers?” you couldn’t be sure.  It made no sense, it couldn’t be.  But before you could try to wrap your brain around it, everything went dark and silent. Your body fell into stillness and darkness, and then there was nothing.

[singularstiletto]

So I’m finally watching Good Omens after like a year or so of having read the book, and just the opening theme is so fitting by itself that I can’t imagine another way they could have opened it? Like something about how I imagined the book internally and then seeing it externally is nothing like how I ever watched the Hunger Games movies. 

To elaborate I had never seen nor read the books until the third movie was a month away from coming out, my grandmother was excited and even offered to take me but I have a personal code of never watching a movie without seeing the previous ones (nor without reading the book, if I can help it [Coraline I swear I’ll read you but Jurassic Park got me first]).

So that’s how I read the trilogy in pretty much a month and watched the first two movies with almost a week to spare before I saw Part 3 in theatres. The first movie tickled me pink with the dystopian magic in the air but the second movie I lost steam and the third spat in my face. Katniss was nothing like how the book built her in my mind and honestly it ruined book to film for me before I even got drop kicked by the Percy Jackson movies. I fucking loved those books, they were what got me into reading (my first novel was the 2nd book of the 2nd series so I had no idea what was going on but was still invested in everything. That probably influenced my respect for Riordan as a writer).

But coming back to more modern adaptations of books, I saw Captain Underpants (don’t ask, it was not my choice) and having tried to read it I was like “wow ok I see what came from where” but I then also understood the magic of the book series because of how they did it. A little someone I know who read the entire fucking series like a fish fresh from the desert was enchanted and loved the movie. I was just pleased not to have another Smurfs on our hands by the looks of the animation but the leaning into it for the magic of a children’s book series was just what it needed. That and DreamWorks has never done me wrong. (I am looking at you Road to El Dorado.)

Then they dropped the ball, in my opinion, with their Netflix animated series. I mean I’m based af because I only respect the Megamind animated series that got swept under the rug because they probably realized it wasn’t gonna work and the Tangled animated series which I am only 20 eps in bc I was bootlegging it (this was before Disney+ but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have bootlegged it now).

Then BOOM Good Omens gets its own series. Several people started recommending it, including a close family friend who I parallel way too much of in media taste. So, following my personal code, I read the book. AND HOLY SHIT. I love Neil Gaiman’s work.* My first X-Mas book present was his Graveyard Book (that still sits on my shelf with every other book I’ve gotten for X-Mas, thank you darling cousin of mine). I didn’t even realize his work was something that sat deep in my heart until I remembered seeing his name before. (I’m so bad at names irl that I’ll even forget my favorite authors sometimes, ok? I also don’t “keep up” with celebs unless they die, that’s it.)

Anyway, Good Omens was a fucking masterpiece. I love Crowley and Aziraphale with a passion along with ever realistic character and snarky narration. In short I loved the book, I need to cut myself off somewhere. Having watched Episode 1, there’s no way I can reimagine the characters, they all look so self assuredly like they are themselves, that I am looking in the theatre that is the story in my mind like I had the hot summer evenings of when I first read the book. There is that magic, and I respect the Hell out of it (if you’ll pardon the wording).

*I haven’t read anything by Terry Pratchett but from Good Omens, I have no doubt about his skill as a writer. It’s just Gaiman was a more personal note in my perceptions.

What was I saying?