#also left out the sunglasses cause I could not be bothered to try to draw that at fuckin midnight

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

ART JUMPSCARE‼️‼️‼️

I love Seth, I couldn’t not draw him

(You will probably see more Yuurivoice characters at some point, I adore them)

[thefanficmonster]

Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing. 

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him.  One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

[gaylittleinnkeepers]

MIRACUCLASS B99 AU???

HEAR ME OUT GUYS HEAR ME OUT

- ok,,,ok listen,,,sabrina as the captain? i feel like that would be so cool?

- YOU BET YOUR SOCKS THAT JULEKA IS THE PERFECT ROSA DIAZ,,,BUT INSTEAD OF COMING OUT AS BISEXUAL, SHE COMES OUT AS LESBIAN (BUT EVERYONE SECRETLY KNEW)

- juleka: i’m lesbian. one minute for questions, go. marinette?

marinette: how long have you known?

juleka: pretty much since i was born. rose?

rose: will you fucking marry me

- but like,,,,alya would make an awesome amy santiago, secretly?

- SKDJSKSM ALIX AS GINA LINETTI

- so like, their entire precinct is a fucking mess mostly bc anarka can’t be bothered cleaning stuff up

- there are several animals which have taken up residence there, most notably a dog named mozzarella (get it?? cause cheddar?? no?...okay.)

- ok ok starting w characters. adrien is probably one of those ppl who mostly stay at the precinct and are completely happy with staying at the building and doing paperwork. occasionally sabrina forces him outside

- sabrina is the captain: shes older than everyone else (not by too much, maybe two or so years) and she’s married to aurore beaureal who stops by a lot. she’s not exactly sure how the captain-ing works, but she’s working on it

- also she adores everyone in the precinct and makes sure she says good morning to absolutely everyone when she walks in. (mozzarella also belongs to her)

- marinette is one of their best detectives, she’s super badass and has secretly been seeing kagami, one of the higher-up detectives

- (rose and juleka both have gaydars, she can’t hide from the lesbians)

- kim is out in the field a lot, works a lot in the shootings and stuff

- max is usually back at the precinct, doing paperwork and making calculations ig. nobody rlly knows what max does, he’s just there. so is sabrina. if y’all have any ideas then pls tell

- ivan and mylene are partners in cri- law, they’re always out solving cases and interrogating people together, and they’re fuckin awesome at their job

- ohhhh rose and juleka!,! they’re mostly in charge of a lot of the undercover type things, cause they’re really awesome at looking discreetly like just another gay couple™️

- ivan: why can’t me and mylene do a couples undercover case?

rose, wearing a matching pink striped dress with sunglasses with juleka wearing a purple counterpart: cause only we can really fucking rock it, ivan

- despite popular belief, rose swears quite a bit

- also juleka is usually the one everyone turns to when interrogations are hard because she’s just so scary when left in a room to stare at the suspects

- ahhhh, alix my beloved

- she’s pretty much a gina linetti, she’s like the unofficial receptionist/counter lady of the precinct

- she also does some cases, usually when everyone else is busy

- but alix mostly deals w the calls that come into the precinct.

- chloé!!! my beloved!!!

- her job is kind of a terry crews? i know it sounds weird but. she‘s the oldest and had a hand in training all these guys

- chloé likes to pretend she’s always annoyed but rlly she’s a total mom to everyone (except alix, who has been trying to serenade her for god knows how long)

- chloé: what’s burning?

alix, leaning on her table: only my love for you

chloé: alix…aliX KUBDEL THE TOASTER IS ON FIRE

- nathanael is the guy who does drawings of suspect’s faces?? yo yo in those shows where a witness describes the suspect and the dude draws them?? yeah that’s him

- marc, his boyfriend, pops in a lot mostly for mental and emotional support

- alya is amy santiago?? thoughts??

- mostly it’s cause i feel like she overworks sometimes to seem like she’s rlly awesome at her job even though she really is. and nino (who would make a freaking awesome jake peralta) is always there to support his gf and be the token straight couple in the precinct

- ok ok now general shenanigans

- juleka and rose are actually the people that most go to for relationship advice. like, if nino and alya are fighting or something, they’d both (separately) go to see julerose and ask them what to do (juleka usually says ‘bone’ while rose says something a bit better)

- also, everyone is convinced that juleka and rose ‘do things’ in the basement but nobody can ever catch them at it so they’re not sure

- ivan and mylene work so WELL together and it’s so awesome to see them out and about

- adrien and rose are in charge of lost kid cases and the such

- one time there was a baby left behind by his mother, and those two took care of him until they found an orphanage that could take in the baby

- (rose cried for a week straight after that)

- y’all don’t know how CRAZY birthday parties get….we’re not going to go into chloé’s birthday that one time……

- oh! luka and kagami! my children! luka works part-time at a pizza place and part-time at the pub that everyone in the precinct goes to

- he occasionally brings them a pizza while they’re working and hangs out w his emo sis and pink future sis-in-law

- kagami, i said earlier, works with the higher-grade detectives and police guys

- she does more awesome spy-like things, but she adores the people of the precinct and makes a point of stopping by (probably to look at marinette)

- aurore is sabrina’s wifey who comes along for cookies and emotional support

this is already too long i’ll write more later

*retreats into hole*

[cherriesradio]

Class 1-A relationship headcanons

Part 2 - https://cherry-cake-pies.tumblr.com/post/640893672076001280/class-1-a-relationship-headcanons

Part 1 - https://cherry-cake-pies.tumblr.com/post/640877154337538048/mha-relationship-headcanons-class-1-a

Fluff

Mezou Shouji

Best hugs ever

I mean what else is he gonna do with all those arms? Fight villains?

Y/n is the only one who can call him by his first name

Shouji is super tall and y/n just calls him “Mezou McTallMan”

He has like 5 million IQ and plays chess with y/n and they just sit their feelin stupid cause they keep losing

Shouji and Tokoyami are best friends and then when him and y/n get together all three of them are best friends and it’s adorable

Y/n never really cared about the mask but was like “hey you don’t need to take it off if you don’t wanna”

And it melted Shouji’s heart that they were fine with it

Thier hair is always ruffled because of how much he messes with it

They just don’t bother anymore

He doesn’t like getting to much attention so for events they have little at home/ in the dorm party’s with just a few other kids

He 100% takes advantage of how scary he can look

If someone is trying to get at y/n he will look at them with the most haunting glare in the world

(*cough* Mineta *cough* *cough*)

Kyouka Jirou

Rockin out to rock but also crappy 2000’s pop music at three am

Jirou will just be sitting beside y/n as they mess with her lobes

Y/n is as much as a crackhead as the rest of the Bakusquad so they all get along great

Bakugo has almost stabbed both of them for kissing in public and being affectionate in public

Coming back to the dorms all sweaty from going to a concert and jumping around for four hours straight

Has the hardest time trying to teach y/n how to play everything because it hurt their ~delicate fingers~

Leaning on each other’s backs and listening to music sharing ear buds 😫

Getting records and hanging them on each other’s walls and painting them if they don’t like the songs 💜

She has a ton of vintage art/ band hoodies and they just share them at some point because they keep stealing them from each other

Going to the arcade with Denki and Kirishima and whoever else wants to come

Y/n always says Jirou has a “out shine the stars smile” and she becomes a blushing mess every time

She’s not very good at comforting :(

She tries tho

She’s great honestly

Hanta Sero

He asks y/n if he annoys them and y/n legit feels so bad like “I love u so much don’t you dare think that>:(“

He likes saving up for dates and going to fancy restaurants and stuff but he’s fine with small inexpensive dates

They’ve gone to sixflags at least ten times and they have definitely broke a whole ride from messing around with his tape

That couple where even before they were dating they were dating

Jokingly kissing each others hand/ cheeks, cuddling up to each other, always asking if the other was going somewhere too, that kinda stuff

Hammock cuddles

I think you understand

Prank war in the whole dorm and y/n and Sero are the kings (or queens) (or non-binary royalty) of it

Bakugo has declared war on them multiple times but never goes on it because of how hard they go

Everyone has said it, you know it

Spider man kisses

He has almost passes out from the blood rushing to his head before

if Mineta walks up to y/n from behind he will tape him up and they can’t have a normal conversation without Sero glaring at him

So many inside jokes

Once y/n put his hair in a bun or something and he was like :0 “oh my god there’s a world without hair in ur face”

Sometimes either of them will sneak in the others dorm in the morning before they wake up and put sunglass on them or draw on their face

“This reminds me of u” insert simp meme

This boy will make sure y/n is always holding his werid long lanky hands

They teach Todoroki what “Yeet” means and now they all use it all the time unironically

Fumikage Tokoyami

👏head 👏scratchys 👏

Y/n has to get him a nightlight so Dark Shadow doesn’t go wild in the middle of the night

Huge edge lord y/n is his only soft spot

Watch dumb vampire movies

They binged all the Twilight movies in one night and everyone makes fun of them for kinda unironiclly liking it

I know Halloween is only really a american thing but they 100% have Halloween party’s at the dorms

They’d set up the whole thing

Y/n gets him black nail polish and skull rings and edgy everything

He has a box that takes up like half his closet of just gifts from y/n

He doesn’t do gifts as much as just spending time with y/n

He does love the gifts tho

Give each other plenty of space

Just say “hey I wanna be alone for a bit” and he’ll be gone in a second

He’s always the little spoons cause he’s scared of peaking their eyes out accidentally

They didn’t keep the relationship a secret they just aren’t very physically affectionate to each other

So one day Shouji is like “oh are you crushing on y/n? Like you are really nice to them and they give you stuff”

And he sits there like “dude we’ve been together for months how do you not know”

And then they are like maybe we should announce it just to make sure? So they do that and the whole class is in shock that they were together for so long and no one noticed

Jokingly calls Tokoyami “Emo Peacock” 

You can’t tell me they try to do the Waltz as a joke but get really into it and do it whenever they hear any music now

Jirou could literally be playing hard core rock or heavy metal and they’ll be doing the waltz to it

Dark Shadow low key feels like a third wheel sometimes but then y/n give him a tight hug and he feels appreciated

Shouto Todoroki

Feeding the simps

So ya know that thing in the notes app where you can share notes? Yeah they share one of those where they list things they hate about Endeavor and after a month they are already on a thousand

Just sit in the same room

Could be doing anything not even envolving the other but it’s nice just to have the other there

Protecting the girls from Mineta together ❤️👏👏

at first it honestly just seemed like they were really good friends because they kept it a secret (mostly cause if it got out to the public Endeavor would find out and probably try to break them up)

Even in private they would just kiss the others cheek or forehead and hold hands and that’s the only difference

He talks to his mother about y/n a lot and she is so excited to meet y/n

She has really high expectations just because of how good they sound but does take in that Shouto is literally in love with them, he’s gonna have slight rose tinted glasses

Yeah their just as good as Todoroki made them out to be

When he told y/n about his childhood (endeavor, his mom, his scar, Dabi…) y/n cried because they felt so bad and cuddled him all day trying to help any way they could

They totally made him go to therapy 😌

Has a written down list of thing they said they like so he can get them one if they feel down

He has literally bought them a cat when they were feeling really down and y/n had to explain that he can’t just go and buy a cat when their feeling bad

They keep it tho don’t worry

He’ll turn off the air conditioning when he wants y/n’s affection

They’ll just come running at him and tackle him so he can warm them up/ cool them down

Expect goodnight texts

Make custom memes about how bad of a parent Endearvor is

Legit the start of Todoroki crushing on them overhearing them tell a friend that they don’t think Endearvor is a good hero/ deserves to be number 1

Once asked All Might to adopt Todoroki (I mean he thought about it for a second before Aizawa told him no)

Todoroki let’s y/n cook stuff on his left side

Deku will just wake up in the morning smelling eggs and think someone’s cooking but find y/n cracking eggs onto Todoroki’s left side

[morizoras-cave]

Robbed (Request)

Jake Gyllenhaal x gn!teen!co-star!reader, Tom Holland x gn!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Request Description: hi! I'm absolutely IN LOVE with your work and was wondering if you could write a Tom Holland x teen!costar!reader and Jake Gyllenhaal x teen!costar!reader. Whilst hanging out together, the reader chooses to go out alone at night to buy food and ends up getting mugged. She doesn't come back for a while, so Tom and Jake leave the hotel to find her crying on the side walk. They take care of her and are super protective and there's just a lot of fluff. Tysm!

Warnings: robbing, violence, threatening, language

(A/N): hey so reader doesnt buy food but rather pads for their friend :) 

“Come on, Harley! Whaddya doing?” 

Yes, not even two minutes into the mobster movie you were watching, had Jake decided to put on his Italian accent and yell hopelessly at the character. Thirty minutes later and he was, unsurprisingly, still doing it. You and Tom exchanged glances and laughed at him, because although it was mildly annoying, it was also viciously funny. 

“Wait, no! They can’t kill Harley?” Tom complained, looking up from his phone to realise Harley was, in fact, dying. 

“I know. I’m so bummed out,” You sighed and stuck your hand in your bag of sour gummies. 

You, Jake and Tom, being the leads for a new movie, had been working together for several months. Over the course of filming, you’d gotten into the habit of hanging out every Friday (which was originally a way to stop you from going out and being irresponsible).

It was one of those hangouts you now found yourself in. Just relaxing after a hard day of work with your pals. 

“Man, this movie sucks, dude,” Jake said, this time uncloaking his voice of the Italian mobster accent. You and Tom both nodded. You were about to suggest playing some board games, when your alarm, that traumatising and reality crushing tune that woke you up every morning, blared throughout the room. 

Your brows furrowed and you picked it up. The message that was displayed on the screen, was put so eloquently: ‘you need to go buy pads for lily. im like 100% sure you fucking forgot, you idiot’

“Nya, shit,” you mumbled and quickly turned off the alarm. 

“What’s up?” Jake asked, shuffling in his chair. You sighed and started gathering your things and your jacket. 

“I’ve gotta go buy stuff for my friend,” you said vaguely. You never thought of periods as embarrassing, but you knew Lily, your best friend, was a very private person, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate you telling two of the biggest Hollywood stars on the planet, that she was at home bleeding to her death. 

“Buy stuff?” 

You rolled your eyes, “It’s female-friend stuff. It’ll take me, like, 20 minutes to buy it and bring it to her. Don’t worry about it.” 

Jake and Tom exchanged glances, chewing on the idea. “Alright, but be back quick, because I think we should play Monopoly instead of watching the only good character in this movie die.”

“Done deal!” you said and with that you were out the door. 

At first, everything went just as you expected it to. You went to the store that was 5 minutes away and bought some pads (and some chocolate because you’re a nice person) for Lily. You exited the store, and decided to walk behind the store to get Lily’s house faster. 

“Don’t fucking move, dipshit.” 

Admittedly, a pathetic opening line of a robbery. That didn’t make the knife you felt being pressed into your side any less scary. Looking to your right, a man, your attacker, was standing. 

He was pale and skinny and had a long beard. His eyes were crazy, wide open and twitching. He was smiling, too. He pressed the knife a little harder, causing a whimper to escape your lips. 

“I just want your money. That’s all I want,” he was trying very hard to look into your eyes, but you couldn’t stand his. You chewed your lip, wondering what to say. 

“I- I don’t have any-”

Given the situation you found yourself in, maybe you shouldn’t have been so shocked at this, but the slap and the sound and the rippling pain that all came at once, sent a gasp and tears spilling over your eyes. 

“Wrong, bitch! Give me your fucking money!” he pressed the knife harder, you swore it was drawing blood. You tried shying away from it, but he had a firm grip on your shoulder. 

“Okay,” you whispered, shaking hands reaching into your pockets to pull out your wallet. “Okay, okay, here.. Here..”

You pulled out any and all cash you had, probably all summing up to be about 35 dollars. 

“Good, kid,” he patted your head like he was your uncle, like you were old friends, and then removed the knife from your side. You heard him running away, but you couldn’t be bothered to look where. Your legs wobbled and you collapsed right there on the side walk, doubling over and starting to cry.

Meanwhile in the Gyllenhaal household, Jake and Tom were growing pretty impatient. 20 minutes had passed. They’d set up the Monopoly game and even picked the characters. Now, they just sat and waited.

21, 22, 23, 24, 25 minutes passed, and they just waited. 

“This isn’t like them,” Tom finally spoke up. He’d been resting his head on the wooden table and blowing air on his shoe-character, trying to make it fall over. 

“I know! I’m trying to text them, but they’re not answering. Should I call?” 

They looked at each other. Then the time. 30 minutes had passed. “Yeah, call them.”

Unsurprisingly, you didn’t answer (seeing as you were crying on the sidewalk with a small cut in your side and a slapped face). 

“Something’s wrong,” Jake decided. Tom nodded too. 

That was how they decided to go out and look for you, going to the nearest grocery store in their coats and sunglasses and scarves. You were nowhere to be seen inside the store (although, Tom did confuse you for an old lady for a moment). They went outside. 

An unnerved feeling churned in their stomachs. Tom led them to the path near the road, but the crunch of their steps on the asphalt was halted. Jake heard a sniffle. It was so faint, he wasn’t sure he was right, so he grabbed Tom’s shoulder harshly and halted him. 

Sure enough. Sniffles and sobs. And so the boys jogged behind the building, and heart beating nervously, they saw you there on the side walk, crying and shaking alone. 

“Y/n!” 

You snapped your head up. Your face was puffy and eyes shiny. You wiped them furiously, but only making yourself cry even more.

“What happened, holy shit, are you okay?” 

And you fell into Tom’s arms, whilst Jake rubbed your back comfortingly. You retold the shaky story of how this man had mugged you, and how he’d had the knife in your side, and hit you. And how scared you were.

When you first said you’d been mugged, Tom’s eyes widened in shock. He leaned back to look at you. His arms tightened and his jaw clenched. You felt Jake stop rubbing your back for a moment. You turned your head and saw him pulling out his phone. 

“It’s okay now, N/n. It’s okay. You’re safe now, we got you. He can’t hurt you, alright?” Tom whispered lovingly. Jake had left your side to call the police. You had calmed down then, terror still roaming you skull hauntingly, but you were no longer crying, and your heartbeat was steadying. 

“I was just so scared. He could’ve done anything..” You whispered and shook your head. Trying to shake the feeling. 

“I know, I know. It’s okay to feel scared. But I’ll protect you now, Jake too. He won’t hurt you. He can’t.”

You nodded. 

The police arrived shortly after and you told them exactly what had happened. Jake, being the oldest and most responsible of the two, helped you with each question and each part of the process. 

Turns out, the police knew the guy. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that to teenagers. He was caught pretty quickly. 

Still, even though the fucker was in jail, you couldn’t help but feel scared. Tom and Jake never let you go to the store alone anymore. Not even in the daytime. But you liked that. You were pretty sure if they weren’t constantly going with you, you wouldn’t have gone at all. 

You had nightmares every once in a while. But Jake always came to your hotel room to comfort you. And when you felt like you were being overdramatic, he’d always convince you, you weren’t. 

You got over it (mostly) eventually, but you knew you wouldn’t have been able to without Tom and Jake. It felt good to know that they were willing to do so much for you without getting nothing in return. It felt good to have friends. And you’d return the favour any day for them. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906​ @xiumin-girl99​ @frostedgiant

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

Part 1/4 - A Grudge Like No Other

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re tasked with an impossible mission and an even more impossible partner to complete it with.

Authors note: I have never not once seen narcos all I know if based on other fics I’ve read so pls be kind but let me know if anything’s wildly out of character! Also I’m aware forensics wasn’t a solid discipline (especially DNA fingerprinting) but we’re gonna pretend it is. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) 😊

Tw: Mentions of fake parental death, swearing, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.1k

Tagged list: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning sun radiates down on your shoulders as you lock the door to your apartment complex behind you. Despite the early hour it was already far too hot, but at least the humidity wouldn’t kick in until the afternoon. You’d been working in Colombia for a few months now, but the heat wasn’t something you’d ever get used to. You weren’t complaining, most days you preferred it to the frigid temperatures that painted your childhood. The frost bitten noses, wool socks and thick snow falls coating tree branches seemed all but a distant memory now. You’d settled on Columbia after your long time best friend Connie convinced you to take the universities offer. She had recently made the move down south and was eager to have you there with her.

She’d told you about the job and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had marched down to the university herself and dropped off your resume. She’d flown up to Brown and helped you pack up your life and then unpack it after your arrival to the terraced apartment Connie had picked out for you both to live in. It was a decent size and the balcony was south facing which gave you all day access to the sun. When you weren't working you spent your time out there soaking up the sun and watering the small garden you had been tending to since your arrival. Your days were primarily spent at the university working out the finer details of the forensics lab you were hired to set up. Your PhD in forensic anthropology has left you with various laboratory based skills, including DNA analysis, making you a coveted asset to the campus. Whilst in school you had also completed an art certificate which came in handy when facial reconstructions were needed.

After everything was in place you began running samples, processing unidentified remains by working on dental ID’s and facial reconstructions, as well as testing for drug residue. Despite being run by the University your job wasn’t as research based as you would have hoped with your work often falling under the DEA’s jurisdiction. You weren't involved in their day to day protocols. You mainly just ran the tests, or identified bodies recovered from the crime scene only conversing with them when it was absolutely necessary. Police work wasn’t in your wheelhouse, and it wasn’t a profession you supported or believed in.

Many faces passed through your workspace all demanding your utmost attention claiming their projects to be the most important. One frequent flyer through the lab was Steve Murphy, who Connie had met down in Miami a few years back. His relationship to your friend was the only reason you had bothered to make an effort with him. A friendship was established between the two of you faster than you had expected, due in part to his easy southern charm, but mainly because he and Connie evidently had feelings for eachother. You always found it easier to get along with men who weren't trying to get into your pants which was, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence in the male dominated discipline you worked in. There was only one flaw you could attribute to Steve, his work wife, the other half of the DEAs “dynamic duo”, agent Javier Peña. You’d never been formally introduced to the man, but his reputation preceded him. His was a face that also made frequent appearances in your lab but you'd never spoken more than three words to each other which was, probably for the best. You had what some might deem a confrontational personality and from what you understood Peña was, to put it nicely, an asshole.

He always came in sporting a more casual look and sunglasses which he kept on despite being indoors, a habit that drove you up the wall. He’d tap the file on the glass to get your attention always making you walk the five extra steps to get to him. You didn’t bother to look up when he passed the beige folders to you just grabbed the file from his hands and added it to the pile on your desk. He’d started attaching yellow sticky notes with “put a rush on” scrawled across them in impatient handwriting, as if his case was more important than the remains you were currently working on identifying. Not talking was a strategic move on your part, you’d heard he was quite the charmer when he needed something done, and you weren't going to let him get away with that. You ran this lab, not Javier Peña. Was your dismissal of him warranted? Maybe not, but your gut instinct was usually right and the rumour mill had painted Peña in a very specific manner. You weren't about to let yet another hot headed alpha male who took “too much male energy” to an entirely new level into your life.

Unfortunately, your knack for avoiding him became nearly impossible when you were called out to work on a crime scene. Despite your refusal to work in the field, the remains couldn’t be moved so you had to go to them. The site was just far enough away that a daily commute would have been tedious so you, along with the dynamic duo and your forensic team were booked into a nearby hotel. You weren't sure what you'd done in your past life to piss off the gods but somehow you’d ended up sandwiched between Steve and Peña. Steve wasn’t the issue, apart from the TV which you’d hear blare spanish dubbed reruns of Miami Vice between 4 and 8 PM, he was a quiet, considerate neighbour. Peña, on the other hand, was neither considerate or quiet particularly during the late hours of the night while you were trying to sleep. Sharing a wall with the agent proved to be an issue, so much so that by the third day just looking at him filled you with such intense rage that you'd given yourself lockjaw.

Every night without fail you laid awake as the exaggerated, bordering on ridiculous, moans coming from whoever he'd enticed into bed that night reverberated through your shared wall. You'd tried it all, earplugs, pillows so forcefully wrapped around your head you were essentially smothering yourself, but the sounds still permeated through the plaster and into your head. On the fourth night when you heard the talking start you knew what you had to do. You furiously wriggle free from your sheets and make your way out into the hallway. You walk one door over and inhale deeply before aggressively pounding your fist on the door.

“Hey” you say, through gritted teeth.

“Hey?” a slightly disheveled Steve murmurs eyes squirting into the hallway’s bright lights as his arms cross clumsily over his bare chest.

“Look I hate to ask but can I sleep on your couch, the walls are thin and...”

“And Peña has a thing for loud women '' he finishes for you, shoulders relaxing as he opens the door up for you “surprised you lasted this long, come in i'll grab you some pillows”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here, I think I may have killed him in the field tomorrow if I didn't get at least an hour of sleep. Also this isn’t some tactic to get you to bed so you can stop trying to cover your modesty” You say wiping your eyes, as Steve drops his arms to his side laughing.

“I know, believe me, besides i'm sure you're aware I’m only interested in one person.” So he did have a thing for Connie.

“You should go for it, I think she'd say yes” you offer, even in your sleep deprived state you were still a pretty solid wingwoman.

“You think?” His eyes light up, further cementing your belief that Steve, despite being friends with Peña, was a good guy.

“Thanks” you murmur as he hands you some pillows and a light sheet. It's not long before the AC’s quiet hum draws you into a deep sleep.

The alarm blaring out from Steve’s room pulls you from your dreaming state, groaning as you squeeze a pillow over your head. Why was it that you always felt worse after getting a good night's sleep? You briefly doze off again only waking as the smell of burnt toast convinces your brain that either a fire has started, or you were having a stroke.

“Tryna burn this place down?” you mumble, relaxing back into the couch cushions as you watch Steve scrape the burnt bits off into the garbage before buttering it and taking a bite.

“You think you got enough sleep to not kill my partner this morning?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“No, but I did get enough to realize if I killed him in the field there'd be witnesses” you remark pouring coffee into a cracked mug. “Thank you for letting me sleep here “

“Anytime, though Javi should be the one thanking me considering I basically saved his life. Lucky were leaving today or I’d have to put him into protective custody.”

“And I'll never have to hear him ever again” you say suddenly feeling a bit better. You were glad for Steve being so accommodating to your needs, especially considering he didn't really know you that well. “Well I should go get ready for the day ahead what it's supposed to be out?”

“A balmy 40” Steve offers, as he washes your cup up in the sink.

“Wow I should have packed my snow pants when I moved down here.” you dead pan, the delivery causing Steve to snort as you exit the room. As you exit, Javier opens his door kissing the woman he’d spent the night with one last time watching as she strides off down the hallway. You don’t see him, but he sees you. Specifically, he sees you leaving his partner's room, and in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, he raised his eyebrows. Good for Steve from what he’d heard half the department had been trying to get your attention to no avail. Your head was always buried in paperwork and your ears were always donning headphones blocking out small talk, maybe he should take a page from your book. He didn’t say anything to Steve in the field, but he did watch you interact with one another. Paying specific attention to how you'd made Steve laugh while photographing the murder weapon. Javi watched as you meticulously gathered up a few finger bones that he'd overheard you saying would be used for DNA fingerprinting. He'd tried to talk to you a few times this trip, but the second he'd stepped in your direction he noticed your jaw clench and your body tense up, not wanting to upset you he decided it was best to back off. After getting what you need you packed up your things and headed back home, with no intentions of ever having to interact with Peña for more than 5 minutes ever again.

Several months later

Your lab was now contracted out full time by the DEA which meant you still got to do research but you didn’t have to teach any teenagers which was quite frankly a dream. Unfortunately, the contract meant you'd now be spending time in two male-dominated fields. The boys club offered little that would qualify as genuine friendship. Turns out the ones brave enough to approach you were only nice to you because they wanted to sleep with you. Something you’d found out after overhearing a less than true story about you from one of the guy’s you’d hooked up with. After that you’d stopped sleeping where you work and started looking elsewhere. Your few short lived romances were mainly found in dive bars only going home with people that had been thoroughly vetted (and vaguely threatened) by yourself, Connie and Steve. Who was now a relatively permanent fixture in your life after finally asking Connie out, and you really didn’t mind it. He was good to Connie and he never minded being excluded when you needed a girls' night without him. You also assumed the decrease in misogynistic talk amongst the agents was Steves doing, you made a mental note to thank him later, as you took another swig of the beer you’d been nursing for the past hour.

Steve was still inseparable from Peña and where he went Javi was sure to follow. Your inability to not become enraged by him meant you often found yourself leaving the room as soon as he showed up, subsequently cutting your Connie time in half. Devastating both you and her.

“You know he’s not really as insufferable as he acts” Connie states, Javi was due to show up any minute which meant it was just about time for you to leave.

“ You're not gonna sell me on this” you say, chewing on a stale nacho chip from food you’d ordered hours ago.

“Seriously, he's almost nice sometimes” your pointed look tells her to drop it. Connie was nothing if not resilient and you were constantly amazed by her. You don’t know how she worked as a nurse. You had a hard enough time with the dead, how she also dealt with the living as well was beyond you. She was a quantifiable saint which was probably why she saw the good in Peña.

“Remind me to never make you mad” Steve says.

“No one holds a grudge quite like her” Connie exclaims

“Awe you say the sweetest things about me” you retort after finishing the last of your beer.

“Alright well I’ve got an early morning shift so we should be heading out, tell Javi I say hi” Connie says kissing Steve before the two of you exit the bar.

“Are you really going to keep up this affront against Javi?” Connie asks, interlinking your arms together as you exit the bar.

“Yes, now please and can we stop talking about Peña even thinking about him gets me riled up”

“I thought you said you hated him” she teases causing you to roll your eyes.

“Please don't make me gag” you say pulling a face that causes you both to break into a giggle fit.

“What up her ass? Seriously, am I infectious or something?” Javi asks, slumping down across from Steve who's filling out paperwork at his desk.

“Well considering your history, probability is pretty high” Steve quips back earning him a thwack to the head with a folder you’d dropped on Peña’s desk earlier that morning.

“You know her, what's her deal, why does she hate me?”

“Everyone hates you Javi, it’s a fundamental part of your personality” Steve laughs.

Javier usually wasn’t one to concern himself with how others perceived him, but his work frequently overligned with yours and he figured his life would be made infinitely easier if he could get into your good books. Sure, at first his intrigue in getting to know you was purely physical. He knew looks aren't everything, but for what he wanted, they played a fundamental part. He wasn’t the only person to have noticed you the day you showed up, all eyes were on you as you walked through the DEA embassy for the first time. Your arrival had sparked a competitive energy amongst the men with the agents often vying over who got the honour of dropping off case files to you. A few were apparently even so lucky to have actually spent the night, at least that's what he’d overheard some agents proclaiming loudly, making him doubt their validity.

He’d cracked down on what some would call “locker room talk” when he thought you and Steve were sleeping together, after seeing you leave his room early that one morning. Though if Steve had been spending nights with you he’d never brought it up to Javi, and after he started dating Connie there never seemed a right time to ask about you, so he let it go. He’d gotten more proactive with stopping it once you’d been hired on full time. He’d upped his guard when he’d caught one trying to cop a feel of your ass the day you had been called in on your day off. You’d come in wearing a skirt shorter than what would be considered workplace appropriate gaining you more attention than usual. He noticed the guys hand drop down low, but any contact was stopped when Javi smashed the guys arm back into the wall behind him. In most cases a move like that would have earned him a swift punch to the face but a simple raise of his eyebrows was enough to get the pervert to sit back down.

Despite the scene playing out a few feet from you, you never noticed carrying on about your day as if nothing had happened, headphones on, paperwork in your arms and various scrawlings across your hand, reminders of meetings he knew you'd be late to anyways. He assumes your chronic lateness was a tactic to spend as little time around him as possible. Your hatred for him was palpable, he wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He'd noticed how you would stand in meetings when the only seat available was next to him. It was starting to get to his ego. He wanted to know what he possibly could have done to be treated like the scum of the earth by you. He’d heard from Connie that you didn’t like cops, but you got on fine with Steve. Your lives continued on with minimal interaction until the day you were called into the head of the DEA’s office.

“Office now!” your boss shouts from the door. Fuck. What have you done now?

“Hey you need something?” you ask, lips parted and forehead wrinkled, feeling like a child who’d just been called to the principal's office. Your head snaps to the left when you feel eyes boring into you, eyes belonging to Peña. He shifts around in the chair to escape your violent gaze. You turn to Steve who's gazing up at the ceiling.

“I have the dental results here for the missing persons from the case last week, it’s a match, I know it's late but...”

“It's not that,” he gestures his hand to the chair beside Peña and you sit, placing the documents down on the table. Javi cranes his neck slightly, eyes darting over the various statistics strewn across the page surprised you were able to piece it all together.

“You have an art degree right?”

“I have an art certificate” you correct

“and you paint”

“A bit”

“She was featured in local galleries back in the States” Steve pipes up.

“ Good, we need you to go undercover” you snort before laughing aloud. Your amusement quickly fades when you realize no one else was laughing with you.

“Wait you're serious? You want me... to go undercover? I'm not an agent, I can’t use a gun, I don’t think I've even held one before” you say, tearing through all the excuses you could think of.

“You can shoot a bow and arrow,” Steve pipes up.

“Ya very different instrument Steve, also does Connie tell you everything about me” he shrugs his shoulders.

“You won’t need a gun anyways, you'll have a trained agent with you at all times.” Your boss reassures.

“No. No way! Im sorry but this… this is beyond the scope of my work and my skill set” you assert, not budging.

“You’ve been to crime scenes before, you’ve been in dangerous scenarios, excavated mass graves, we need you you’re the only one who can help with this”

“Why? You have multiple agents out there who would kill to go undercover, why me?” you push

“ Your background, and relative anonymity. There's been an increase in art dealing amongst the sicarios.”

“So what? Maybe they just really like art.” you offer

“Does anyone really like art” Peña pipes up

“ Yes, the whole world actually” you shoot back, successfully shutting him up.

“We think they're using convincing fakes to smuggle drugs without suspicion” Steve offered, helping to clear up the situation.

“Okay... then hire an art expert to go in and see if the paintings are real”

“We need you to test for residue on the paintings, and to recreate one in time for the next move”

“Okay im good, but I am not good enough to recreate a painting worth thousands of dollars.”

“From what I’ve seen you are,” Steve says further cementing your fate.

“What if I say no?” you ask, exhaling deeply.

“Then you're fired” Javier pipes up, once again causing your head to turn to him.

“And who, pray tell, made you judge, jury and executioner” you spit “last time I check Javier Peña wasn’t the one signing my paychecks”

“No, but I am, and you will do this” Your boss's backing of Peñas statement makes the smirk on his face even more aggravating.

“Fine, but just know I will be personally mentioning you all in my will so everyone knows exactly who got me killed, and I'm gonna want a raise, more vacation time and a new piece of lab equipment if I make it out alive. ”

“Fine” you smile feeling slightly vindicated.

“So what's my story? Who am I to have a million dollar painting in my possession?” you ask, as your boss pulls up a document on his computer.

“You’ll go by Melanie Alverez nee Smith, you were born in London England to parents Maria and Calvin who passed in a car accident four weeks after your nineteenth birthday”

“Shit” you mutter, thinking about your own parents who were very much alive.

“You dropped out of Oxford where you were undertaking a degree in chemistry and moved to New York where you began painting. You were a struggling artist for the first two years but received funding to attend Julliard. After graduation your first major piece was accepted by a local gallery and put up for auction. It sold for 10,000$. The buyer wanted to meet you after seeing your photo. He’d sent thousands of flowers to your gallery before showing up and asking you on a date.

“Must be nice” you murmur

“After a whirlwind romance you eloped and moved down to Columbia where you continue to work as an artist.”

“Alright easy enough, short live romance is a good call that can be used to explain why we don’t know certain information about each other.”

“You'll be staying here” A huge spanish style house appears on the screen. Its prestige was only overshadowed by the mansion looming over it from across the private beach. Must be the target's house, you think.

“It was built by the target, he lives there with his fourth wife. He’s rich, sources claims from drug smuggling, they think he may even have direct links to Escobar

“Like, as in Pablo?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Apparently he’s his art dealer. We need you to go in and see what he knows, if it's not enough then test the paintings in their homes”

“And if they trace?”

“You'll give them the fake implemented with a tracking device so we can target its route.”

“Okay well I'd say easy enough but the threat of being murdered isn’t lost on me. Who's my husband anyways? Obviously he’s rich but did he tragically fall down the stairs and die, did I kill him?” you ask, smiling as Steve laughs.

“What?” you say looking up

“What...” you say as Steve refuses to meet your eyes as he chokes on his laugh.

“Well you haven’t killed him yet but I give it a week.” He responds.

“Who's my husband” you ask, again suddenly afraid and very aware that there were two men in this room, and one was currently laughing at you.

“Your lucky day sweetheart.” Your head turns comically slow to face Javi, the effect only causes Steve to snicker more.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you whisper.

“This mission is anything, but a joke.” your boss interjects “If we can trace the arts movement it brings us one step closer to catching Escobar. I don’t know why there's animosity between you two and frankly I do not care. You two must work together. If you are to succeed you have to be believable. Study up on each others aliases the target hasn’t made it this far without being killed by being stupid. We’ve tried to get to him before with no success, he will be on high alert. You two will have to convince him, and his wife, that you’re sincere.”

[ricaffeine]

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞

an: i'm sad because of hyunji drought and this is helping me cope :( but fr if tvn decides to make hotel blue moon then yeaji needs to be in it!!

also very annoying, i can't reply to comments bc this is a side blog (bruh wtf tumblr, i'm so sad should i make a new one?) reblog if you feel like it and my asks are open if you wanna chat 🖤✨

CHAPTER TWO

Weekdays at Seoul's National art gallery were usually the same. Buzzing curators dealing with hot-tempered clients. One thing or another was typically going not right and art directors cried about their wrong coffee order.

Although today was not the usual as to the crowds of bubbly news reporters and dazzled art critiques swarming up the wide place. As to Munyeong on the other hand, she was not pleased to the slightest.

"Just smile at the cameras, don't forget about the paycheck you're getting today." Sangin repeated himself for the fifth time. "Don't cause a scene, just think about the money."

Ah right. The paycheck.

As to The Nightmare Garden was bid off for over ten-million dollars, all of today's fanciness was dedicated to her, nation's celebrated female illustrator. However in all honesty, Munyeong barely liked her so-called masterpiece, but considering the amount of cash it will make her, she could be appreciative for the sake of it.

Behind her oversized sunglasses, Munyeong glared at her pesky manager– if looks could kill, he'd already be eleven feet under his grave. Sangin shut his mouth.

"Let's just get this over with," she simply responded, hooking off her eyewear then strutted into the hall with her long legs. Eyes whipped at her and cameras started to flash intensely, almost blinding her and Munyeong wondered how much those little pests could afford her if they got her blind.

And so the event played on. More pictures were taken– as if they hadn't blind her enough cheerful compliments flowed along with the spring breeze. The insincere joker smile she mastered whilst she met her million-dollar client– according to Sangin a hotel owner, though the woman did not have the looks for it– and the glass of filthy wine she almost had a chance to taste if Sangin's sixth sense was not so creepily fast.

Another dreadful two hours later as the dusk had set, hitting the edges with its golden flare, everyone had left. They got their articles and Munyeong will certainly be getting her pools of cash.

To her displease Sangin had informed her to wait as he had to take care of some paperworks she doubted he went to bribe the press into censoring her quoted inappropriate words. 

Nevertheless it was not her bother. She gave his plead a second before storming off to the complimentary section of the building.

Luck on her side, for nobody was there and she was able to grab one of the wine bottles with her– as for a fact it definitely was not stealing.

"Don't be shy, I know you want it."

Munyeong stopped within her steps as soon as an obnoxiously familiar voice echoed from the gallery she previously was in. Curiosity taking the lead, she peaked through the corner and had to muffle her own snort. Stood there, nation's art historian with the sharpest tongue– Choi Seojin.

She finds it hard to believe that his articles are highly known around, or even relevant, when his mouth is full of complete shit. However not disregarding the nastiest tea yet– a frightened girl seized under him. Her hands were locked, frightened eyes grew larger as the man spewed out nasty things.

Instantly, she took out her phone to film the disgraceful scene. Munyeong grinned to herself, reminiscing the rage she felt last time when he mentioned about her mother, and how her irritating manager had interrupted her before she could've sent him down the stairs to Satan.

The man reared into the poor girl's cheek when she attempted to fight him off, and Munyeong's smile dropped.

That piece of shit.

Munyeong entered the room, arms crossed, head high. Her wedge heels clicked against the hardwood as she let out an unamused wow.

Mad dog– what she personally thinks he should be called– 's head whipped at her with wide eyes. Like a child getting caught of lying.

"Oh my. Your hobbies are quite interesting Mr. Choi. Talking shit and sexual harassment?" Munyeong spat. "The girl looks like she'd rather kill herself, why are you even trying?"

As if he thought he could get away with what he just did, mad dog released his foul grip on the girl. Munyeong clicked her tongue and tauntingly held out her phone.

"Oh no, don't bother pretending. Judging by the looks, that won't even favor you at this point." She spared a glance at the quivering girl. "Why are you waiting? Go."

Shakingly and with thankful eyes she nodded and left, her footsteps filling void of silence before it coated the air again.

Mad dog snickered, as if there was something to laugh about. "Don't mess with me Ms. Ko. You know me, I won't die alone."

"Certainly I'll drag you and Mr. Lee down with me. Why do you think they call me the suicide bomb?"

Munyeong walked towards him and spreaded a smile, though even dogs could tell you shouldn't push her further. "You mean the bastard you can't fall down without dragging everyone else with him? Why?"

"I can destroy your career with the tip of my pen, I'm sure you know." He gave her a look, panning out his hand. "Now if you hand me your phone, I think we can compromise something."

Munyeong unraveled her arms, eyes hardening at his next sentence. "You think so?"

"Nation's beloved artist turned out to have antisocial personality disorder. What do you think will happen when people find out?" Mad dog sneered. "Her mother who mysteriously commited suicide–"

"Shut up." She warned. His words lit up the flame from their last encounter, adding fuel to her burning fire. Her head pounded, hard. For a moment she had hoped that if he proceeded as she said, then things would not have to get ugly.

"And her father? Spending his last days in the psychiatric hospital."

But men never listen, do they?

Munyeong tightened the hand around her bottle and striked it at him with full force. The bottom part crashed the wall behind him– just above the hung painting- glass shattered as rich burgundy stained its way down, smearing all over. Its taste fused with the air and Munyeong glowered at the creature who dodged her flawless aim.

"You crazy bitch!" He yelled, scrambled on the floor. But Mad dog was quick to lunge at her, they both hit the ground, stumbling as her open purse had been knocked away– and Munyeong's eyes landed on something very specific.

She was quicker, getting on her feet and spared the bastard a strong kick in the groin, leaving him groaning as she reached for her pen.

Her favorite calligraphy pen– its lining was stunning, coated in shiny teal with hints of gold, but most importantly, the dangerously sharp tip. The way it writes like reaping out blood from your hand– hence why it is a favorite.

She hawled back over and he screamed at her, though she didn't hear him. Her head was light as she felt blood rushed through her veins. Munyeong raised her arm and struck it back down.

Die.

Both of them froze. No, not her and mad dog, but him.

Deafening silence had lied between the walls and there they stood, eyes pierced into another's souls. Hers burned like fire, but his were dignified like the deep ocean.

Droplets of blood trickled down his forearm and splattered the floor, staining the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt. What a waste.

"Let go. You can't kill him." The man– still with a bloody pen graved in his palm said.

Munyeong couldn't help but scoff, especially after that fucking bastard had just strangled her. "Don't be dramatic. I was just going to give him a few scratches."

Well maybe that's not entirely true.

Rough scrambling erupted underneath them, but when Munyeong turned to look, the mad dog had just ran off, like a lost puppy. Angrily she bit her lip, close to drawing blood until she felt the man draw his own hand back.

She watched as he did. The way he carefully slid her pen into his jacket and brought out a black silk handkerchief. Very rarely, she'd be astonished by something, and now it's him. Though she found it quite difficult to understand him– since when do you interrupt another's stabbing session by screwing up your own hand instead, and also the audacity to tell her she could not stab somebody?

So lost in her thoughts it took her a few seconds to realize her pulse was not pounding anymore.

"Did anyone not tell you that it is basic etiquette to not pry into someone else's business?" Munyeong said– seized the napkin from him, and began to tie a knot. She shot him a glance.

No reply. The man simply stared at her.

"Hmm?" She raised a brow, amused at his slight flinch when she tugged a little harder.

"Don't stress it too much, my manager will take care of our little incident." Munyeong chuckled as he proceeded to ignore her. "Do you know what? There are a lot of people in this world who deserve to die. And some very thoughtful freaks secretly take care of that, so clueless humans can sleep peacefully at night, completely unaware. Which one do you think I am?"

She dropped his hand, anticipating for his answer. Flares of light shined through the blinds, sharpening at his strong features and she noted his small– yet devilish smile.

"A clueless freak."

He finally responded, leaning towards her. His eyes traced her face, gazing down at her lips for a second too long, before their eyes were locked once again. "And of course you will have to pay, but at what price?"

taglist -> i could not tag some of ya'll :( @anotherdush @callmeashipper @ourcoffeeaddictme @nothingcreativeyet @pancat @hotstuff-benswolo @lookingatthesunset @evielovesfood @waywarm @gloster @hello-79 @ailander

[philicheesecake]

(U. L.) An Impossible Defeat

Synopsis: After he survived witnessing the giant’s Banding, Warren seems to be the target of a vengeful giant. It seems just quitting the Unseen Legion was not enough to protect him.

Warnings: PARTIAL HARD VORE, GRAPHIC SEVERE INJURIES, PARTIAL DIGESTION, NEAR DEATH, F/M halfsize unwilling nonfatal vore, fatal mention,

((Phili’s note: 

Me: takes 4 months to write one U.L. story  Also me: Writes this story the next day in under 24 hours OHhhh yeah babyee we movin’ along! And yeah I got pretty violent for this one, so if you’re squeamish, I would be cautioned. Also if ye like this story, go ahead and reblog! It helps spread my work and it means a lot! ^w^ ))

“Well I came a long way to be here today

And I left you so long on this avenue

And here I stand In the strangest land

Not knowing what to say or do”

The windows of the old silver Civic were rolled down and the speakers blared the upbeat tunes of Electric Light Orchestra. Warren had his elbow propped out the window, some aviator sunglasses, and his hair blowing back in the mountain breeze that gushed through the windows. He was belting out the lyrics of the tune, stumbling over some of the lyrics, but he didn’t care. His voice was high and steady despite his stumbling over the words. 

“As I gaze around at these strangers in town

I guess the only stranger is me”

Unknown to the ex-hunter, something with glistening eyes followed from within the treeline. Its speed rivaling a racehorse, though quieter than a cat. Its figure was too fast to be seen beyond a subtle blur past the treeline as a hulking silhouetted shape masked by the glare of the setting sun.

“And I wonder, Oh I wonder

Is this the way life’s meant to be?”

He was having a great time with the free air. No more U. L. missions. No more giants or near-death experiences. Just him and his friends about to meet up at a concert out of town to have a fun evening. The sun was beginning to descend over the road, casting its golden glare over the windshield. In his mind, he might’ve been a Lone Ranger riding into the sunset. He had seen some things no one else would believe. That alone could power a Western film. 

Though he was beginning to associate dusk with death, he was safe in his car. Nothing could get him here. He’d be with his friends when he got into town. Safety in numbers, right?

“Although it's only a day since I was taken away

And left standing here looking in wonder”

The figure in the tree line burst out. Warren didn’t notice it immediately with the sound of blaring music, but one glimpse at the rearview mirror showed what was going on. “OH SHIT--!”

A giant. Seriously? What sort of gods decided to toy with Warren’s luck at this point? This was just ridiculous at this point. He thought he could recognize the figure. Long white dreadlocks, dark skin, flashing silver eyes. She was even taller than Eli by a good two feet. She had a weird name, but Warren couldn’t remember exactly what Eli had called her back then. Not that he cared. His first thought was getting the hell out of here.

“Oh, the ground at my feet, maybe it's just the old street

But everything that I know lies under”

The melodic voice continued on, despite the alarm in the situation. The sheer contrast only seemed to add to the stress of the situation. 

He stepped on the gas, speeding faster. The giant was in hot pursuit, soon practically on the car’s bumper. Her claws dug into the asphalt, powering her unbelievable speed. 60 mph. She was still not lagging behind. 

Her claws lashed out and she lunged forward, digging her claws into the back of the car and pulled herself half-onto it while her feet dug into the ground to gain traction. The car screeched, lurching to a halt. Warren was thrown over the steering wheel and the impact jammed into his ribs causing a painful crack. 

He wheezed, blinking through the adrenaline to realize the car was at a complete halt, and the silver-haired giant was approaching the driver’s door. 

“And when I see what they’ve done to this place that was home,

Shame is all that I feel”

He gasped, almost immediately coughing from the pain of the shifting of his lungs disturbing a freshly cracked rib. He hastily unbuckled, trying to scoot away from the driver’s seat as the large figure stooped over the window. Her slit silver eyes peered in. An expression of complete indifference played on her face. No response to the intense fear he was feeling. It almost scared him more than any taunts. There was no connection of emotion. Just complete apathy.

“And I wonder, yes I wonder,

Is this the way life’s meant to be?”

The door was ripped from its hinges. Her clawed hand reached for him, trying to grab through the narrow space to get ahold of him. He scooted backwards. His breaths rattled in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears. Tears pricked the corners of his wide eyes as the claws barely skimmed him as they fought to gain purchase. He ducked beneath the console of the passenger’s seat, digging out his phone and his shaky fingers struggled to operate the device to send a hasty message. 

A crushing grip closed around his leg. He screamed.

“Too late, too late to cry, the people say

Too late for you, too late for me”

He was dragged out of the car, clawing for purchase. Trying to grab onto one of the seats or the steering wheel. His cracked ribs bumped painfully against the seats. She pulled him out of the car, hoisting him onto the air by his ankle.

“You've come so far, now you know everything, my friend

Look and see the wonders--”

Her ears twitched and she stomped her foot over the front of the car, smashing the radio. She didn’t seem to enjoy it. Without another word, she rose to her full height again, leaving the ground far below Warren as she began to walk back into the treeline. The ex-hunter whimpered, struggling to try to reach the hand that held his ankle. It was scary and disorienting to be held this high above the ground upside-down. A fall like this could break his neck, but not escaping would lead to certain death. He had encountered giants plenty enough times to get a pretty good idea about where this was going.

“P-please-- R-- Riki-- uh-- Riri--?” Warren struggled to remember her name, but honestly he couldn’t think at this point. 

To his surprise, she let out a cold laugh. “If that Arawn knew you called me that, he would have finished what he started last time.”

Warren shuddered, recalling how they had parted last time. She was climbing up a cliff and Eli had eaten him to protect him from the other giants. He had been certain he was going to die. 

“I--” “I should have known he had gone soft like his sister. I suppose I will soon deliver him the same fate as she has received. This human, however,” She lifted him higher so that they were practically face-to-face, just inches apart. He took in a shuddering gasp which stung his lungs. 

“It’s lived too long to see too much… Things that no human should have seen. Not that it makes any distinction from the rest of the humans.” She sighed and opened her mouth beneath him. His eyes widened and he flailed, trying to jerk away from her open mouth. He quickly reached up to dig into his pocket. His fingers nearly slipped to drop the object, but he caught it, unfolding a pocket knife. She gave him an unimpressed look, and her other hand reached up to grab it just as he managed to slash it across her face. “GAHH-!”

A growl sounded through her throat. Her hand crushed around his leg, snapping his bones like twigs and he screamed in pain. Her other arm reached up and gripped him roughly around the torso. Her teeth snapped over the knife-wielding hand and spat out the weapon onto the forest floor. Blood poured down from a slash across her face, dripping down from her chin. 

“I think that you’ll learn that fighting will only worsen things for you, human.” Her voice drawled. Warren cried, barely able to focus on her in the blinding pain. She shifted her grip to let go of his leg and reinforce her grip around his waist, beginning to lower him into her mouth backwards. Warren sucked in a terrified breath as his feet met the back of her tongue and she began to gulp them into her tight throat. Things were happening so fast. His shattered ankle screamed in protest as it was engulfed into the passage of rippling muscle. 

“No! Nono— wait—“ 

The giant swallowed again and he suppressed a shout of pain. Her legs were now fully encased in the throat and his lower torso was entering her maw. Fangs jabbed painfully around him. She clearly didn’t bother being careful about how rough she was in the process. The giant’s tongue slathered his torso in gross saliva as she gulped more of him down. The ex-hunter whimpered and grabbed for the edge of her jaws in a poor attempt to stop his descent. This only made things worse when she met the blockage. 

Her jaws widened for a second before crushing down over his chest, not enough to snap him in half, but enough to draw blood and hurt like hell. There was a distant scream of pain. He was getting lightheaded. He was losing blood, and was faintly aware of the feeling of blood dripping from his limp fingertips, and pooling our from her jaws. There was a hungry growl that sounded around the throat from the taste of his blood. The tongue cupped under him and she began to tilt her head back. He had lost the strength to struggle, in a state of shock and agony that made it too hard for him to think. 

Another swallow sounded around him, bringing his head into the mouth. His chest was squeezed into the too-tight throat which crushed his already cracked ribs. He was barely able to choke another breath through the pain. It was a frightening sight to see the jaws wide around him, the saliva dripping over his line of sight. The marks of his own blood trailing down from the fangs. He didn’t have the strength to struggle in his state of stupor and pain. 

One last gulp dragged him completely into the darkness, and his arms soon followed. He distantly felt pain shoot up his ankle as his feet began to press through the esophageal sphincter and the rest of him began to follow into the tight organ, forced to curl up in the claustrophobic space. As soon as his head and arms finally joined him, he coughed and gagged for air, finding it difficult to breathe with how much each breath hurt. The air was scalding and humid and burned his already aching lungs. The jagged movements of his rapid breaths only hurt his cracked rib further. He hugged his knees and cried. 

“R— Rikki— R— Rhyka— please— please don’t do this.” He barely managed to recall the giant’s name.

Rhyka ignored him. She couldn’t care less. The giant was so tall and broad that her stature nearly perfectly concealed the small imprint he made, and the only mark of his existence was subtle. It made it all too easy for him to be ignored. 

“L-listen, I’m…” he hissed in an anxious breath through his teeth, trying not to fully break down now. The heat was exhausting, and the main thing keeping him conscious was the intense pain. He just wanted it all to end, but at the same time, he didn’t want to die. Not like this. His sisters needed him, and he tried his best to not abandon them, only for his luck to turn for the worst once again. He could recall Olivia’s lessons on giants and hoped to god something might work here to give him a slim chance of survival. “R-Rhyka… I’m sorry humans drove giants into hiding. I— I wish things were— were different between our kinds… but— but killing people won’t fix that.”

To his surprise, the giant let out a laugh. “You truly believe that having a, ah, ‘heart-to-heart’ will spare your life here? Your kind is an inferior race. Weak. Pathetic. Even if your kind had not done what they did, it does not change the fact that we are the predators, and you are the prey.” 

Warren shuddered, biting back a sob of fear. “B— wait—“

“You could save your meager breaths now. I have heard all the same arguments. None sway me. Do yourself a favor and accept your fate.” 

Warren could feel the movement from her walking seem to settle. There was a dropping sensation and his environment seemed to tilt sideways. She must have laid down or something. He squirmed in place, biting back a hiss of pain as he had to reorient himself with his vulnerable broken shin and ribs. The puddle of fluids he was sitting in splashed over his face, making him sputter and cough weakly. He noticed a faint stinging and his heart rate picked up in alarm. Acids—? Giants only digest when they’re asleep… which meant Rhyka must be heading there now. 

“Wait— no—no— please— I— you can’t—“

He froze as he could hear the giant’s breaths slow to a more relaxed rate. She didn’t respond. His eyes widened in the darkness and he took in shaky breaths. An ominous growl sounded nearby from the organ. The puddle of fluids was half-filling the space now, and still having trouble to reorient himself, he had to sputter and squirm to avoid breathing in the stinging fluids. 

“Nononono— G-God— p-please…” he cried. He didn’t want to believe this. He didn’t want to die like this. He had dodged death before, he had to do it again. But Eli has told him time and time again he was weak, and he was right. 

The stomach groaned and clenched tightly around him, causing the level of fluids to rise briefly before the walls relaxed. He took in a sharp gasp of pain, bracing his shattered leg that just felt like pulp now. He could swear he felt something crack from the way his leg bent just then, feeling the limb was beyond repair. It was probably just held together by shredded muscle and tissue at this point. 

He was too tired and in too much pain to really fight back the oppressive stomach folds that began to clench around him more rhythmically. 

“I guess you’ll die then” Olivia’s voice echoed in his mind, recalling her lecture from before. 

Warren took in shaky breaths in the heat. Olivia had a point. She gave him lessons, and if he gave up, he would be dead. Not every giant would be generous enough to let him live. Rhyka wasn’t one of them. He had to think.

Olivia had mentioned a pressure point against the spine that could do… something? His brain felt foggy, but some part of him could recall that it might save his life. He hadn’t succeeded last time he tried. 

He grimaced as the stomach gurgled loudly again and its walls crushed in closer. The acids were beginning to sting worse. Burning at the bare skin of his hands and face. He held out his elbows on either side to hold the slimy walls off of his face, letting out a rasping breath through his teeth. He felt around in the darkness, trying to orient himself to figure out what was where. Doing some calculations based on how he had been swallowed, and the new position of the sleeping giant, he made a blind guess of an idea. He was facing the wrong way. Being swallowed feet-first and backwards, he was likely facing the outer wall of the stomach, instead of the vertebrae where his target lay. 

He grunted, twisting around in position and using his one good leg to try to reorient himself to face the spine. He had no idea if he was right about this, and every inch of the tight organ was identical. It was especially difficult to figure out if he had turned a 180 or just a few inches because of how disorienting the rippling muscles were, making his laborious movements either too small or too big to calculate. He settled at where he ended up, however, taking a moment to gather his breath. The heat was really making him feel like he was about to pass out, and he just wanted a break from the pain of his mangled leg and ribs. He couldn’t rest though. He had to at least try.

He leaned back as far as he could, using his hands to press himself backwards in the stomach as his one good leg kicked at the spine. There was no response, and he tried kicking everywhere along the opposing wall. Everything felt the same, so it was impossible to know how close he even was from it. The walls around him crushed in more tightly. He could barely breathe now. The fluids were rising higher. He was on the verge of passing out. The heat. His mind was numb and far away. His only thought was his sisters. He had to focus on them. He could barely even recall their faces. So tired...

Kick.

The tightening walls suddenly went limp, freeing the small pocket of air. Warren gasped for air, feeling lightheaded from all the effort. He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t even know if he had succeeded. Everything was too foggy to focus on. His mind slowly drifted from consciousness.

***

“Rrrg. Wha... what did you do… to me…?”

Warren was slowly brought to his senses by a rough jab that met his injured rib which prompted a scream of pain. He gasped, foggily beginning to regain his senses. Everything hurt. The first thing he noted was the voice… so loud and rumbling around him. There was a numbness around him. He could barely feel his limbs, but at the same time, he was faintly aware of a burning sensation covering everywhere. He was soaked to the bone by a deep pool of slimy fluids. It was hard to know how much of him was left, and if most of him already been melted away. The walls weren’t as active or crushing as they had been before. The place felt oddly dormant aside from an occasional groan or squelch from the environment, the sound of the giant’s breaths, and the thumping of her heart nearby. How long had he been in here?

“Wh…” Warren’s tongue felt like it wouldn’t cooperate enough to speak. “Whd’yamean…” He slurred. He couldn’t think. He was too tired. He just wanted this hell to end, whatever this hell was. 

“Don’t play stupid with me, human... You… you shouldn’t still be alive! What have you done to me?” Her voice almost sounded pained in a way, though his brain was too tired to pick up the tone. The jab once again met his side, though thankfully hit his shoulder this time. He weakly tried to raise his arm to push back. 

“D’nno… wha you… mean. Wh...what time’sssit…?”

The pressure increased by his side and he could hear a gurgle nearby. “I am finished with your games… Hunter. You will be dead soon enough… what… whatever tricks you are using will… wear off.”

“I.. I dunno wha-- what…” he took in deep breaths, on the verge of passing out again. He was faintly aware of a shifting from outside and the pressure lightened to be circular rubs. Any other moment he’d be indignant to the action, but right now, he was too tired to really think about it. There was definitely something off about her voice. She sounded… fatigued. He didn’t think into it.

“Please… j-just… just make it s-stop…” the ex-hunter groaned weakly. He was regaining awareness of the burning sensation around his skin. The pain from his broken leg and ribs. 

The giant didn’t respond aside from an annoyed growl that rumbled to her core as she rubbed the form in her stomach as if to help him digest faster. Her breaths began to calm again. He could hear another gurgle from the stomach and the dormant walls began to pick up their act again, rubbing against his skin and distributing the numb, stinging fluids over his skin. He didn’t bother squirming. He was too weak to think. Rebeka. Liss.

What were those names anymore? He could barely recall their faces. Just concepts at this point. But more than anything, he wanted to see them again. 

Had the kick done something before? 

A clench tightened around him, bringing up the acid level higher, briefly submerging his head under the caustic fluids. He choked and struggled weakly for breath just as the walls loosened up again just enough to give him a chance to take shallow gasps for air. He tried to focus, lifting up his good leg briefly to jab into the opposite wall again. It took every fiber of strength for the action. He kicked a few times. The walls tightened again and he was submerged. His heart pounded. He could hear the giant’s heart thump more slowly. The distant gurgling sounds of the stomach around him. His lungs burned for air. He kicked out his leg again, trying anywhere for that pressure point. His foot slipped, then dug into the opposite wall. It just barely managed to hit the right place. The walls loosened up again and Warren coughed weakly, gasping for air. The whole stomach seemed to grow limp again. His body followed suit. He didn’t have the strength to keep this up. Even if he was alive for now, he was prolonging the inevitable. He wasn’t going to make it out of here alive.

He was too tired to cry, but there was a pang of emotion in his chest nonetheless. His body grey limp again. His ears began to sink beneath the stinging fluids. His mind fell to dormancy again. 

***

Olivia had been sound asleep through the whole night, unknowing of her phone buzz with Warren’s text. Her face was planted on the alchemy table and her glasses were falling off of her nose. In the late morning, she rose again to get some coffee and sat down with her entire carafe of coffee with her alchemy equipment, ready to put this frustratingly difficult concoction in the past. She worked for a while at her project before she saw her phone buzz. It was another hunter wanting some more potions for lycanthropy. She had been getting too many requests from that same hunter, it was beginning to get rather tiring. Wait a moment… There was another message from Warren. 

Her tired eyes scanned it with her bulbous spectacles before sighing tiredly and picked up her pastel pink bag of alchemy equipment and got in her car to drive away.

***

The white dump truck hummed down the winding road into the forest. Olivia was dead tired and really didn’t want to be doing this. She would much rather finish that lycanthrope-enthusiast’s order, or sleep instead. The road was not a popular route, one of the back roads. It didn’t look like anyone was within miles of the stretch of asphalt. Though something laid ahead in the road. A smashed silver car was sprawled out over the asphalt in shredded bits of smashed metal. Her brow raised slightly and she parked her truck on the shoulder of the road, giving the wreckage a good once-over before she sighed and pressed through the treeline. 

She took out a small vial of blue liquid from her alchemy bag and opened up the bottle, placing a small drop on her finger and dabbed it beneath her nose. She sniffed in the odd scent of the concoction and the effect was instant. A faint blue mist seemed to appear in the forest. A scent trail that led further ahead. Wordlessly, she followed it. 

There was a dip in the forest path that led into a steep ravine which was difficult to travel into, though she managed. At the bottom of the ravine in a dip in the rock, the scent trail led to an end. 

A white-haired giant laid asleep on her side. There was a slight bulge in her middle. Her clawed hand rested over it. It didn’t take much imagination to deduct what had happened. The alchemist sighed, taking a small yellow orb of ice out of her bag and put her teeth together, making a high-pitched whistle barely audible to human ears. The response was instant. The giant’s eyes opened, though she remained on the ground. She tiredly turned to her side, scowling as she spotted the alchemist. 

“I take it you’ve eaten William, then,” Olivia’s tired voice drawled.

Rhyka’s eyes narrowed and she sat up, glaring at the ice that the alchemist wielded, knowing exactly what it was meant for. 

“He is dead. Your point?” Her voice was groggy, almost coming out in a slur. 

Olivia sighed. “Well I guess I have no restraint from using this, then.” She raised the ice and approached the giant with an unphased expression.

The giant held up a hand hastily. “Stop… It… I will release the human if you throw that into the woods. I lied. He might be alive. I can’t know for certain at this point, though it’s the only chance you have.”

Olivia shrugged and tossed the ice aside indifferently. “Alright. Let him go.”

Rhyka looked like she hadn’t expected this, but groaned. Her eyes were exhausted. She looked like she had been through hell with some sort of terrible indigestion. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Heaving sounds came, then the bulge in her middle reformed in her throat, slowly traveling upwards. She lowered her head and gagged. The form of the bedraggled, slimy hunter spilled out onto the ground in a pool of reeking fluids. 

Olivia barely seemed phased at all by Warren’s appearance. He looked like he had been thrown in a meat grinder. His left leg was crushed to pulp beneath the knee. He was covered in acids and his own blood. Past the dripping slime, patchy red burns littered his skin. 

The alchemist didn’t waste a moment before reaching into her bag again and threw another yellow orb of ice at the giant, hitting her clean in the face. Rhyka let out an infuriated shout as the enchanted ice seemed to melt into her skin. There were cracking and shifting sounds and she began to decrease in height. The giant roared, lunging forward to slash her claws at Olivia, only to shrink further and bat harmlessly with declawed otherwise human fingertips. She collapsed onto the ground, hissing in pain. She eventually shrank down to a complete human size, though she was still a good foot taller than the short alchemist. 

Olivia pursed her lips, ignoring the giant as she stepped toward Warren. He wasn’t moving. Neither was the giant. Whatever vigor she had before was short-lived. She seemed too wiped out to fight. 

“Wilhelm, listen to me,” She sat down on the earthy floor, taking his slimy hand. His hand remained limp in hers. She shot a look at the now shrunken giant. “You killed him.” She spoke levelly. She sighed and withdrew a black orb from her bag and pressed it into his hand. “Wake up,” She muttered.

The black orb melted into his hand, seeming to grow warm before disappearing. For a moment, there was no response, before she glanced over at him to see Warren’s chest slowly rose and fall. He was breathing. Weakly, but steadily.

***

Two were dragged into the truck by the tired alchemist. Rhyka’s hands were tied together, and Warren was seated next to her, unconscious, and wetting the seating with the gross slime that dripped from him. 

They drove back to the alchemist shop in silence. Rhyka still seemed ill from whatever had happened, not in much of a talking mood. 

Once they arrived back at the shop, Olivia put out a blanket on the floor for Warren and tied up the camouflaged Rhyka in a chair. Olivia did her best to clean Warren’s wounds and treat the burns, but for his broken leg, not much could be done.

***

Warren groggily returned to consciousness. A day had passed. He was lying on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling of Olivia’s basement. The light was dull, which was a good thing, to not be overwhelmed by too much light with his senses returning. He was in pain, though the worst thing of all was his leg. He could feel a crushing, burning sensation coming from it, though part of it was foggy and dampened. He must have been given medications while he was asleep to numb the pain.

What just happened. 

The last thing he remembered was… He grunted as he rolled to his side and his blood froze. Rhyka was sitting tied up in a chair before him. His heart picked up rapidly. 

“Look who awakened,” she smiled coldly. 

“You… How... what..?” Warren mumbled. How was he here? How was he even alive?

footsteps sounded from the floor above. Olivia appeared on the staircase, looking over Warren tiredly. “Ah, Winston. Good to see you are alive.” She spoke in an expressionless drawl. “I suppose the pressure point techniques work after all.”

Warren hugged his arms, leaning back on the hard blanket. He just tried to level his breaths instead of thinking too much into it. He might have been in a state of shock. 

“And my apologies about your leg. It seems not all of you was intact enough to be saved.”

Warren blinked, then glanced down at his legs. His breath caught in his throat and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Ho-holy shit.”

His left leg was gone. Amputated beneath the knee. He stared for a moment in shock. Olivia sat down next to him on the floor, taking a swig of her coffee from the glass carafe. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it. Just take it easy for now.”

He shuddered, biting his lip. “I… No… no… this can’t… I quit the U. L.. I-- I was supposed to be safe. W-why… Isn’t fair.”

Olivia sighed, glancing toward Rhyka. “The giant who ate you seemed to have a grudge from when you witnessed their Banding ritual. Apparently it’s no thing that any human should live to see. She had been hunting you down ever since.”

“B--but it’s not my fault! The giants brought me there! I-- I didn’t want anything to do with that!” 

Rhyka rolled her eyes, staring at Warren in a deadpanned sort of way. “Ah, excuses. None of that will change anything, you are aware?”

Warren covered his face, shaking. “You… you cruel person… you wanted to kill me. I didn’t want to get involved with the giants ever again and-- and y-you went and…”

The alchemist’s hand tapped his shoulder and she let out a tired groan. “Rachel is right. None of the things that happened will change. However,” She rose to her feet, walking over to her alchemist desk and withdrew a shimmering grey knife. She turned to look at Warren. “I do not kill monsters unless I have to. If you wish to kill Roxanne, then that is up to you.”

Warren tried to stand, leaning against the wall and lifted the stump of his leg above the ground. He stumbled over toward Rhyka, using the wall as support. “Give me the knife.”

Rhyka’s eyes narrowed. Olivia sighed and went over to Warren, placing the knife in his hands. He gripped the blade, trying to keep a straight face through the pain in his leg and glared at Rhyka, holding it to her neck. 

“How does it feel having the tables turned, huh Rhyka?” Warren grit his teeth. “You… You don’t care about humans. What did you say we were? W-weak? Inferior? ‘Lesser beings?’”

Her cold glare remained unwavering, locking eyes with Warren’s. She remained silent.

“Look at me now. You tried to kill me but failed.” The knife pressed more firmly against her throat, threatening to draw blood. “You-- you have no idea w-what you put me through. No one. No one should ever have to go through that. Killing you will avenge god-knows-how-many people you’ve murdered like that. I don’t wish death on many people but… You…”

His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. His grip tightened over the knife until his knuckles were white. He didn’t act for a solid few seconds. Rhyka held her breath. 

The knife dropped to his side and clattered to the floor. 

Rhyka let out a cold chuckle. “Coward,”

“I’m not like you, Rhyka.” Warren backed to the wall again, sliding down to be seated. He put a hand on his injured leg, hissing through his teeth and looked to the side, trying not to focus on the pain. He was defeated, even if he had survived. He had just lost his leg, though it felt like he had lost so much more.

------------------------------

Rest of the series can be found here.

[honney-boy]

Best Thing You Never Had (part one)

Pairing(s): JJ Maybank x Reader ,

Reader x Topper Thornton

gif by→ @sci-fi

WORD COUNT: 5.7k+

Summary: You're dating Topper; lately the relationship has been a bit rocky but you guys can get through it right? You also meet the pogues, and begin hanging out with them, especially JJ when the others weren't around. Being around both boys makes your head spin, and as it turns out, they're both the best thing you never had.

Warning: fluff, angst-ish, underage-smoking + drinking, mentions of implied smut

Request: yes by @jjxobx

A/N: Sorry again for taken so long to get this up but here it is! I got carried away and ended up splitting this request into a couple of parts.

if you want to be tagged in any of my work, send me an ask or message me! taglist is at the bottom of the fic :)

The sun sat high and bright in the sky. Blue skies with a gentle breeze, but it felt like a hotbox. Your dark sunglasses shielded your eyes from the bright light, but even with your tank top and denim shorts, the rays still heated your skin, leaving it warm and sticky.

Unamused and bored, you sat on the short rough grass of the golf course at the Island Inn Resort. Home and the heart of the country club, your parents insisted on paying a lot of money for memberships just for four people. The place wasn’t all that bad; there were plenty of things you could do. There was a tennis court, a pool, a gym, and other group activities. Still, some members embraced the stereotype of the luxurious lifestyle, flaunting the money, and being snooty. Some members had kids you went to school with, and you hated them just as much as their parents even though all your parents were friends.

You really shouldn't have come with him, or the other things you did with him after the fight you two had last night. It was another stupid fight that started out as a playful banter when he was taking you home. It escalated to the two of you yelling at the top of your lungs once someone said the wrong thing that got the other irritated, you getting out the car and deciding to walk yourself home. That didn't settle with him either. He ended up convincing you to get back in the car - really your feet were beginning to hurt - and took you home where he came in, and you two spent the next two hours forgetting about what you were fighting about.

You let your head fall back, and a sigh left your lips while closing your eyes and listened to what was around you. You could hear the water splashing along the shore, a little chatter from others on the course in different areas, and the frequent smack of a golf club hitting the hard rubber ball across the green. You wanted to be anywhere than here right now. You wanted to have a beach day and hang out by the water. Even hanging in your pool sounded nice, but you were being a nice girlfriend and came to the country club because your boyfriend asked you too. 

He could pretend that the fight didn't happen, but you were over his recent nitpicking.

The sound of little laughter pulled you back and drew your attention away from the sun.

"Hey babe, this one is for you," Topper said, pointing a finger at you and his face serious. Rafe rolls his eyes while standing next to him and mimics Topper with a different pitched voice.

"" Hey babe, this one is for you." don't dedicate an air shot to her," Rafe said, walking around Topper so he could get a better view of where his putt would go. Topper scoffs, shaking his head at his friend, but decides to not pay him much attention as he turns to look at you again. Though he could see your face, he couldn't see your eyes past your dark sunglasses, which means he didn't catch your eye roll. You held your hand up, hiking your thumb, and adding a smile to show you heard him and appreciated the gesture. But to top it all off, you cheered him on.

"You got this, babe! Hit the ball in the hole for me," Your words seemed to brighten Topper's spirit before he turned around. Rafe snickered at your lack of knowledge with golfing terms, but he knew you didn't really care too much for it. Topper fixes his posture, positions his feet shoulder lengths apart, relaxes his body, and concentrates on the ball for a few seconds before swinging his club. The hit sent the ball a few feet in the air, landing on the ground with a few bounces then rolling the rest of the way to the hole. All three eyes watched the ball slowly draw closer to the hole, catching the edge and circling its shape a few times before finally landing in the cup.

"Ha eat that." overjoyed, Topper threw his hands in the air, a grin set on his lips as he looked from you to Rafe.

"Yeah, yeah, nice back door putt, but I can do better."

"Okay hotshot, I want to see you try."

"Alright then, let's move on up so I can show you how much better at golf I am than you." Rafe grabbed his bag containing his other clubs and balls, leading the way to the next part of the course. Topper doing the same, took ahold of his stuff but made his way over to you and held out his hand. You graciously take his hand, letting him help you off of the ground. You felt his fingers lace through yours as he pulled you both in the direction of Rafe.

He turned his head to look at you, "Did you see that play?" he asked you, and you smiled, pulling yourself closer to him and nodded. "For a minute, I thought the ball would decide not to go in—you know you should let me teach you how to play."

"I don't golf, tennis is more my sport," you say. You reach for your glasses and lift them to sit on your head; you glance at Topper, seeing him still look at you smiling.

"I know you don't, but I still want to teach you," You arched a brow giving him a hesitant look but still shook your head lightly. "Oh come on, Y/n, don't you trust me? I promise I won't set you up for failure." He gave you a little nudge with his shoulders, hoping to win you over. You knew that if you didn't at least let him try, he would be bugging you about it for the rest of the afternoon, and you surely wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, not like you were anyway.

"Fine, you can teach me your golfing ways," you reluctantly agree. Here you go deciding to do something with Topper again even though you should be mad at him, but you were irritated with yourself that you gave in to him quickly. Topper grinned even more at you.

"You'll be learning from the best," you force another smile on your face, and the two of you walk across the fairway to the next tee. Since Rafe walked ahead of you guys, he made it to the next tee and began setting up for his turn. You were too focused on getting to the next area that you didn't notice that Topper stopped; you only figured that out when you got pulled back with your hand still entangled with his. 

You glance back at him, the grin on his face is gone, and his cheery mood is replaced with a serious one. "What's wrong with you?" he asks and pulls you closer to him. "I know there's something up, so don't say there isn't anything wrong." He knew you too well, you couldn't say he never paid attention.

"Nothing is wrong-" he gives you a look, but you continue. "-it's just a bit hot out today." you shrug your shoulders half-heartedly and pull his hand to get him to start walking again. "Come on, let's not have Rafe wait on us all day." He didn't budge, his eyes were still set on you.

"Is it because of the fight we had? I thought we were past that, we made up," You turn away from him, wanting to drop his hand but you didn't. You took a deep breath, faced him again, and shook your head. 

"I know we made up Topper, it's not that," you answer and tug on his hand once more, and this time he did move, so you took that as a sign to continue walking to where Rafe was.

"Then what is it? I can tell something is bothering you, we've been together for a while. You gotta give me more credit than that."

"I know that that's why I see no point in lying to you," You see Rafe almost done setting up for his next turn, which ushered you to pick up your guy's pace. "So please believe me when I say there's nothing wrong." Topper stopped in his tracks, which caused you to stop once again. You whipped around, ready to snap at him for not believing you and keeping up with his stubbornness, you saw it in his face, but his words threw you off.

"Okay, I believe you," He meant it, and you knew it, though his eyes said something else, you knew he was sincere with his words. "I'm sorry."

You stepped closer to him and stood up, kissing his cheek. You flashed a smile once you stepped back. Topper smiled back, it was almost sweet, but when his hands wrapped around your arms, it stopped you from dwelling. And then he kissed you. 

"Hey, you two, we're supposed to be golfing, not sucking each other's faces off." Rafe sounded a bit annoyed, but you both knew he didn't give a shit.

You pulled away first, patting Topper's bicep and stepping back. "Well, you have a bet to foresee and some lessons to teach." He held your gaze for a split second, nodded his head and walked over to Rafe, and stood next to him.

Rafe was right, he did better than Topper, and he wasn't going to hear the end of it. You knew you wouldn't either, along with the future constant complaining of your boyfriend. But now, it was your turn at attempting to be a golfer.

"Alright, it's pretty easy. Just uh, line up to your target..." Topper took his club—shifting on both of his feet to get into his stance. He glanced up at you for a second and then focused back down on the club. "Nice, easy backswing." moving his arms a bit, he tapped the ball twice with the club, and the third time he went full swing and hit the ball. You both watch the ball fly in the air, bounce a few times, and roll into the hole. "And voila. That's the basics of the swing."

You ready yourself by grabbing a ball - Topper had already gotten you a club - and kept repeating Topper's instructions in your head. Line up to your target, Was his feet shoulders width apart or just a little bit? You stood where he had lined your ball, standing on the same side of the ball you saw him stand and with a deep breath, you tried your best to remember his instructions and went for it. You swung at the club and felt the melt slip right through your fingers. 

You wince seeing it land some feet away, turning to look at Topper, the corners of your mouth turn down with a pout. "Did you see that I suck." Topper smiled, finding your pouting state cute, it even brightened his poor mood.

Shaking his head, he grabbed another club by Rafe - who had a massive grin on his face at your feeble attempt, he and you both knew he would tease you about it later - handed it to you. "No, you're new to this, it'll take some practice, I promise you'll get better," he says.

"I highly doubt that this is why I play tennis."

"Yeah, and I like watching you play," he said with a smirk and moved to stand behind you. You began situating yourself - rolling your eyes at your boyfriend and his boyish ways.

"You only like to look at me with a tennis skirt on." You said in a matter of fact tone, which made his smirk grow.

"Hey, what can I say, my girl looks good in a skirt," you playfully huff at his comment; you stood in your previous stan, lining the club with the ball ready to swing but hands on your hips distract you. 

"Hands to yourself, Thorton."

"I'm not trying anything," he says through an airy chuckle. "I'm helping you fix your stance." His hands stayed on your hips as he got closer to you; close enough, you could practically feel his body heat. He put his left leg in between yours and used his foot to spread your feet apart. "It helps if your feet our about shoulders widths apart,"

"Shoulders width apart, got it." Topper moved his arms around you until his hands were on top of your own gripping the club. Not only was your back to his chest, but you could feel his breath against your neck; when he spoke to you, you shivered as a chill went down your spine.

"You're gonna want to look at your target first. Imagine the ball going toward it till it lands - or rolls - into it," all you could do was nod as you gazed at the hole. "Then look at your ball-" your eyes quickly move down to the highlighter yellow rubber ball at your feet. "-take a deep breath while your mind imagines you making a putt. What I like to do is take my club and ready my swing with small taps on the ball." Topper, with his hands on yours, moved yours back a bit and then forward to tap the ball, he did it two more times before he spoke again. "After taking a deep breath, I relax and give my club a full swing like so," He pulled your arms back a bit further this time, and you both swung your arms forward, only missing the ball since he was simulating how it should go. "Think you got it this time?" he asked, moving his arms from around you but kept his hands on you.

"Yeah, think so," you mumbled, and he took a step back.

"Alright, let's see what you got."

You loosen up a bit, keeping your feet shoulders width apart and took a deep breath. You had this, if you made it, maybe you wouldn't have to play golf with them. You look over your shoulder at the boys, both of them waiting for you. Rafe looked like he wanted you to hurry up, and Topper just sent you a smile, which you returned. Turning back, you eyed the hole, imagined the ball flying in the air, and then rolled until it fell into the hole. You looked at the ball, doing what Topper did - tapping the ball three times with the club - and then when you got ready to swing, you drew back your arm and swung as hard as you could, keeping the grip you had on the club.

"Holy shit Top, Y/N did better than you!"

You get out of the car, grab your bag you had packed, and walk toward the water. You scan the beach - hand held up to your eyes, blocking the sun - looking for your bubbly blonde friend. You catch her running out of the water, being chased by a guy with a severe tan and shaggy brown hair - that had to be John B, the guy you hear so much about. You smile, watching him wrap his arms around her waist, making her laugh with the biggest smile on her face. You didn't want to ruin their moment, but she was expecting you to come. 

After hitting a 'perfect putt' as Rafe referred to it as you were super proud of yourself that you couldn't help but tease your boyfriend about being better. He called it beginners luck, he was just too bitter about it, but you didn't care. At some point, while the boys were playing, Sarah sent you a text asking you to come to hang out with her and a few others at the beach. You gladly accepted the invitation and let Topper and Rafe know you were going to go see Sarah. Rafe didn't care, and if Topper did, he didn't voice it or show it. He told you to have fun, be safe, and gave you a kiss on the cheek before you left. You headed to your house first to grab a suit just in case. When you get to the beach, you see a handful of people scattered along the sand and in the water. At first, when you left Topper, you felt bad because he wanted to spend time with you. It was sweet of him, but you know he's only kissing butt because he was trying to get you to not be mad at him, but leaving the club and coming to the beach was the right decision.

"Hey Sarah," you called out to her. You pulled the attention of a few people on the beach, but she didn't seem to hear you, so you cupped your hand around your mouth and called her name again a little louder. "Sarah!" She turned away from John B, her eyebrows pulled together as she looked around. You wave your arms around, which finally grabbed her attention; she pulled away from John B, said something quickly to him, and ran toward you. 

"You made it!" she beamed and pulled you into a tight hug. "I thought Topper would never let you go," You give her a squeeze and pull away enough that just your arm is around her waist, and she left an arm around your shoulders; you didn't really care if she got you wet.

"He almost didn't. After that fight last night, he hasn't really let me leave his side,"

"Now you see why I left him," You gave her a side glance, one she missed while waving toward the group of people a few feet away around what looked to be an unlit fire pit in the sand. "Hey guys, this is y/n, the friend I was talking about. Y/n this is the gang, Pope and Kiara," she gestured to a guy with a tan hat that sat backward on top of his head. Though he was sitting down, you could guess that he was a decent height - taller than you, of course - his skin was dark brown, and he was toned. Then she moved to the girl that sat next to him, Kiara. She had long wavy dark hair; her skin was a strong brown-red that was sun-kissed and warm. Kiara gave you a small smile while Pope gave you a little wave. "And John B, you already know." John B took two of his fingers and gave you a salute. 

You met John B a while back when you went to bother Sarah when you were bored and didn't want to be bothered by Topper. When you got to her house, the one place you knew she would be - if not outside - was in her room. What you didn't expect to see was a pair of broad shoulders hovering over your really good friend's small frame. It was awkward, to say the least.

Your eyes move over to the last person she hadn't introduced yet. He had sandy blonde hair, a hat on his head backward like Pope, his skin sun-kissed like Kiara and a pair of sunglasses to top off the surfer boy vibe he was giving. Even with the sunglasses on, you could feel his eyes on you, and his gaze was almost intimidating. "And this is JJ." Sarah finished. You could finally put a name to the face, but as soon as his name fell from her lips, he moved his attention to the ocean. It bothered you when it shouldn't have, but you hated when others weren't polite.

You just smile, keeping your arms crossed. "It's nice to meet you guys; hope I'm not intruding your hang out."

"Oh, no, you're not intruding. The more, the merrier," Kiara said. "Don't just stand there, come sit with us, we don't bite." She waved you over, scooting away from Pope to make room from you, which you thanked her with a smile.

"JJ might," Pope jokes, JJ tilts his head back, probably rolling his eyes.

"Haha, funny. Better watch it before I bite you,"

"Oh, kinky," Sarah teased.

"Bet that does get a rise out of you." John B added with a snicker.

"Bet that does for you too; you and Sarah don't hide those hickies very well. That bandana isn't fooling anyone." Pope and Kiara let out a course of 'ohs' and Pope whistled, and you joined in with a muffled laugh covered by your hand.

You guys carry on with the conversation, all light-hearted and entertaining, staying on a topic no longer than ten minutes, not counting the 30-minute discussion about if F.r.i.e.n.d.s or That 70s Show was better. You liked That 70s show the most, and Pope agreed with you while Sarah, John B, and Kiara loved F.r.i.e.n.d.s, and JJ liked both shows. You liked hanging with pogues, you could finally see why Sarah liked them too. They kept you in the conversations, easing the awkwardness at the beginning; you were chiming in. That's what it seemed like, and you hoped you were. Even though you were included in the conversations—every once in a while, Kiara would say something to you, Pope would ask you a question. John B would ask for your opinion, and Sarah answered for you sometimes—it didn't take you long to figure out JJ hadn't said anything to you. He just chimed in when it seemed best, laughed when something funny was said, but he didn't ask you questions or ask for your opinion. You usually didn't mind if someone never said anything, but that made you feel weird after it came to your attention, it was like JJ chose not to say anything. When you did speak, you'd see from your peripheral that he was looking at you, you even caught his gaze, but he always averted his eyes.

You guys had been talking and hanging out for a few hours, and you knew that because the sun had set and the moon began to slowly rise in the sky. At some point, Pope had gotten up and lit the small bonfire you guys sat around, and like the other times before, the topic had changed.

Through some laughs over something dumb, JJ said, Kiara took a drink of one of the beers passed to her. After her laughter died down a bit, she asked everyone: "Okay, okay, so if anyone of you were on Fantasy Island, what would be your fantasies?" It was definitely an interesting question, and one you - all of you had to think about. Sarah decided she would go first, immediately, piping up with her fantasy.

"If I were on the island, I would wish for my future home to be an animal rescue. I'd live by the water, saving baby turtles and sea life with my rescue dogs running around enjoying their life."

"That's so cute, I can see you doing that in real life anyway. Make it a reality Sarah," you say, and some of the others nodded their head agreeing with you. John B pulled Sarah closer in his side, kissing her on her forehead and mumbling something to her, which caused her to smile. After Sarah, it ended up being Pope's turn, and his fantasy was to be a successful man, and with that success, he wanted to take care of the people he loved. He would get his parents a house in the figure eight - Pope knew his dad would never leave the island he was born and raised on - he would pay their bills, and the rest would go toward black-owned businesses that need it. 

John B wanted his own boat business where he built and repaired boats for others or sell. On top of that, he would have a little surf shop where he crafted surfboards for tourons to rent, or for the ones who wanted to get their own. "I want everyone who gets a board for me to have a great experience, and if someone is buying their first—ever surfboard, I want to be the one to give them their first."

Kiara wanted to live through her favorite decades. Experience the music, styles, compelling, and peace movements of the '60s and '70s. Live through the time where iconic musicians like Freddie Mercury, Mariah Carey, TLC, Tupac, Micahel Jackson, Aaliyah, and more were in their prime. But if she had another choice, she wouldn't mind being the first woman and woman of color president. You loved both of their fantasies, they were empowering and selfless. Both Kiara and Pope, even Sarah, wanted to make the world a better place or live through experiences that haven't lived before. Heck even John B wanted to make an impact. Their fantasies put yours to shame, they could turn theirs into a reality. 

When it was finally your turn, you didn't answer right away, and to the others, you looked like you were still thinking about your fantasy, but you already knew it. Your fantasy was a bit silly, but maybe you could think of a cover like a self-owned business idea like John B's. Or a world and local changing influence like Kiara, Pope, and Sarah. "Well, this may sound weird, but it's a fantasy right, so who cares," you started off, lifting your shoulders in a shrug. "If I were on Fantasy Island, I would bring back my childhood best friend Chewie; he was the family dog. Chewie and I would live on an island in Greece where everyone knew each other, loved each other, sang and danced their hearts out." Hearing yourself describe your fantasy caused you to laugh as if it were a real fantasy. "Basically, I'd live with my dead—but an alive dog in the movie Mamma Mia."

Kiara tilted her head with a thoughtful look. "That is definitely one fantasy, but i really like its sound." she pulled her lips into a grin, laughing softly and slightly buzzed. Some time ago, JJ had lit a blunt, and it was being passed around.

You smile and shake your head at Kiara, you agreed with her, you had one hell of a fantasy, but it's something you always wanted. Sarah joined in and giggled along with Kiara. She leaned forward, passing the blunt to JJ, then laid her head back on John B's shoulder. "I miss Chewbacca, he was a good pup," she mentioned, her words making you smile more significant, and you couldn't agree more.

"You are right about that." 

"Wait, you named your dog after a Star Wars character?" John B questions; you nod and from the corner of your vision, JJ offering the blunt to Pope but, he shook his head. JJ just shrugged and took another few hits of it.

Still looking at John B, you answer: "Yeah, my dad and older brother are huge Star Wars fans, and they got me hooked on it at a young age. Chewie was a big dog with curly brown hair like Chewie, and at four years old, he looked like the Wookie copilot. Can you really blame me?"

John B chuckled and shook his head. "I guess I really can't." 

JJ leaned forward, already knowing it was his turn to speak. He inhaled the smoke of the blunt and held it out for you and tilted his head toward it. "Wanna take a hit?" You looked at him with round eyes, caught off guard by him, finally saying something to you. But just as quick as it happened, you blinked a few times and reached for it only for him to pull it from you. "Have you ever smoked?" You wanted to roll your eyes

"Yes, I've smoked before JJ," you replied, with an unamused face. "Now, give it here."

Huffing out a short laugh, JJ let you take hold of the blunt. "Alright, chill out, no need to get serious and demanding." He was shocked that you have actually smoked. Sarah mentions you here and there when she was around them and not once had anything she said about you hinted at such actions. You were good, you weren't rebellious like Sarah or outspoken; JJ assumed you were a goodie two shoes, and he still thinks it. Maybe you could change his mind. He watched you place the blunt to your lips, draw in the smoke, then take a deep breath to let it take over your lungs. 

He tore his eyes away before you looked at him, and when he looked at the others, they two were impressed at how well you handled it. You hadn't choked like Sarah did her first time. "Let's see, if I were on Fantasy Island and granted a fantasy, I'd want unlimited days to chill with my friends and have tons of Mary Jane, beer, and some waves. Probably use some of that time to find my true self, do some more things I love, learn something new, fall in love if it comes," he lifted his shoulders in a half shrug and sat forward on his elbows. "That's all."

"And what if something goes wrong like John B goes crazy and has black gooey crap come out of his eyes because, I don't know, he went crazy." Pope picked at the fire with a stick he found while gathering wood earlier in the day. Pope had a good point. Fantasy Island was known for its fantasy granting and the dark and twisted reality that comes out of it.

"I'll throw 'em in the water, problem solved," JJ replied, as you passed to Kiara.

"Here, Kie."

"Well, if he comes at you with a weapon, would you still throw him in the water?" Pope asked.

"Duh, and I'd run, it's a basic human instinct," JJ said like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do. All those horror movies you've seen only supported his answer; all the people seemed to stay and try to figure out what the noise was or trip on thin air, giving the killer a chance to get them.

"JJ does have a point," John B Spoke. Clapping his hands together, he threw in another question for the group to go around and answer. "Alright, in your opinion, what's the best pizza topping slash pizza?"

Sarah's expression lit up at the question. "Good pizza, that's the best pizza." 

"That doesn't answer the question, Sarah."

"She's stoned, let her be, "Kiara said through a chuckle. "Hmm, to me, the best pizza is veggie pizza."

John B shook his head "Veggie pizza is alright but not the best. The best topping is cheese." JJ made a disgusted face, one John B frowned at because he noticed. Pointing at him, he says: "Dude, I'm telling you, the best pizza is cheese pizza."

JJ scoffed, clearly not liking his friend's choice. "John B shut the hell up, cheese is the most disgusting flavor of pizza ever,"

"Well, without cheese, is it really pizza?" Kiara wondered aloud, causing you and Sarah to giggle at the thought.

"Whatever," JJ brushed you guys off. "We all know the best pizza is pepperoni pizza." you pretend to gag. To add dramatics, you lean forward as if contents we're coming out onto the ground. You earned an eye roll from the blonde and giggles from Kiara and Sarah, even a soft chuckle from Pope.

"For a dude that smokes, you have horrible taste."

He frowned, offended by what you said, "What is that supposed to mean? I have an amazing taste." 

"It means your taste is bad once you're high. I don't know about you, but when I have the munchies, I mix stuff that tastes amazing. Like for example, the best pizza, Hawaiian." JJ's face scrunched up; Pope thought about it but ultimately agreed with you that Hawaiian was a good type of pizza, he wouldn't say it was the best, but he had his opinions, and you had yours.

"Never had Hawaiian, you'll have to introduce it to me, "Kiara confessed while gazing into the fire until she peeped up at you. You grinned and nodded already planning possible days for you two–even Sarah–to meet up and hang out so you can make them your homemade Hawaiian pizza.

"Definitely! Just let me know when and we can plan a hangout."

John B cut in, letting his thoughts out. "I think I tried it once...I don't think I liked it." 

"Yeah, you did, I was there, and you kept throwing pineapple at me—which by the way, pineapples do belong on pizza." You all grew at JJ's response, Pope even pretended to hold back hurl. 

"JJ, man, just stop."

"I agree with Pope and acknowledge my previous statement: "For a dude that smokes, you have a horrible taste"." You say to the blonde boy across from you.

"You don't even know me, so how would you know what my taste is?" Whether he meant it to sound the way it did, you didn't miss the irritation in his voice. You were only joking, but you guess he took it to heart. Before you could say something else, John B leaned forward, tapping JJ on the arm, gesturing to the blunt before speaking up.

"Chill JJ, no need to be hostile, this is supposed to be an enjoyable hangout, just enjoy it, "JJ grumbled something you couldn't really hear from where you sat, but you didn't make a fuss about it. He just sat back in one of the fold chairs the group brought and took the blunt back from John B, smoking the rest. For the rest of the night, you guys continued talking and laughing, even going for a swim in the water. You liked hanging with the pogues, and you also admitted it to Sarah when you dropped her off at home after you guys were done hanging out. She even asked what you thought of everyone–disregarding John B because you had already met him–and you weren't lying when you said you enjoyed their company, you would totally hang with them again if you could, and they didn't mind. You knew right, then Kiara would be a close girl friend like Sarah, and the boys would be like brothers, but when it came to JJ, your mind wondered. You wanted to know more about him, you weren't sure why but that boy intrigued you.

Taglist :)

[pearlsephoni]

When Immortal Meets Ineffable

Can also be read on AO3 

Rating: G 

Fandoms: Good Omens, The Old Guard

Pairings: Joe/Nicky, Aziraphale/Crowley (ofc)

Summary: Nicky's love for books has introduced him to many wonders, but he never anticipated meeting a pair of men whose existence seems just as impossible as his own. Or: a gay, immortal couple walks into an old bookshop owned by a gay, angel/demon couple. 

A/N:  The sign on Aziraphale's bookshop door is real, I copied the text from here lol And I owe my life to this 3D recreation of the shop Also this is my first time attempting to publish a fic on here, so pardon any formatting weirdness. More author’s notes can be found on the AO3 page!

Immortality was exhausting. It was impossible to build a normal life and settle down without sparking suspicion, so no single place could be “home” for very long. They couldn’t build a family, or climb the ladder of a career, or even build many friendships outside of their core group. 

Without the more…“standard” goals available to them, each member of the Old Guard ended up setting their own personal quests. Andy learned every language and style of martial arts she could. Booker challenged himself to try a new whiskey at every bar they visited. Joe was close to completing his goal of visiting every possible art museum in Eurasia, and would soon be expanding his scope to the world. And Nicky was determined to read as many of the world’s books as possible. 

But that wasn’t the only reason why he and Joe ended up seemingly visiting every bookshop in Europe. Living forever meant you had an infinite amount of time to lose and find things, and unfortunately for Nicky, his list of lost items included a near-first edition copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy. 

Books didn’t hold the same appeal for Joe, but he was still always willing to join his life partner in his visits to bookshops. What caused him chagrin wasn’t the visits, but the seemingly futile quest to find such a rare copy of a classic book. So when Nicky immediately tugged his jacket back on to head into London, Joe was a bit more reluctant than usual. 

“Hayati, wouldn’t we have better luck looking in museums for something so rare?” 

“I’m not just looking for La Commedia, my heart,” Nicky reminded him with a small smile. “I need a new book to read, too.” 

“Of course, and that’s why you are going to Waterstones and not another small, old bookshop?” That small smile turned guilty, and Joe couldn’t help letting out a sigh. “Do you have a destination in mind, or will you be wandering again?” 

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” 

It wasn’t fair of Nicky to use his rare, broad smiles to win their smaller bickers, he knew it. But even a relationship with the love of his life wouldn’t have lasted almost a millennium without the occasional cheap trick. And it was so hard to feel guilty when his little tricks resulted in Joe’s hand warmly wrapped around his as they walked through London. 

As it so happened, he did have a destination in mind: A.Z. Fell & Co., an old bookshop that he remembered seeing on a random street corner in London. It had been closed the first (and last) time he tried to pay it a visit, all those years ago, and the sign on the door detailing the store hours simply raised more questions than answers for Nicky: 

Bookshop Opening Hours: 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays.) 

-A.Z. Fell, Bookseller 

“It’s a miracle this place is still running,” Joe muttered now, squinting at the wordy sign. Nicky was more interested in the sign hanging next to it, blissfully simpler and blessedly flipped to read, “Open.” The door was unlocked, and rang with a cheerful jingle as the immortals pushed it open. 

“Hello there! Welcome to A.Z. Fell & Co!” 

Nicky had barely been able to fully take in the warm, crowded space of the bookshop before his attention was pulled to a small, pale man dressed in a white suit. He seemingly appeared out of thin air from behind a small desk next to a bookshelf to the left. He had a bright, welcoming smile, and looked positively cherubic with his light blonde curls and rosy cheeks. “How may I help you today?” 

“Oh, I-” 

“We’re just looking,” Joe cut in, giving Nicky a gentle nudge. It was a reminder enough not to draw attention with their unusual search. “Wanted to see what we could find in such a unique shop.” 

“Lovely! Well, if you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to ask!” 

“Thank you,” Nicky replied with a smile, before wandering over to the cluster of bookshelves on their right, pulling Joe with him. 

He always lost track of time in bookshops. Even Joe, for all he insisted that Nicky was the reader, could get lost in the trinkets and random findings to be seen in an old shop. Maybe that was why, for all their battle-honed instincts and attention to detail, they didn’t realize someone else had entered the store until a new voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Angel!” 

“Ah, Crowley! What a pleasant surprise! What’re you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to see what you’ve got in stock.” 

“Really?”

“No, of course not, I was going to ask you to lunch.” 

“Oh! Well...that’s very kind of you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just close my shop in the middle of the day!”

“Yes you can, it’s your shop, if anyone can, it’s you.” 

“But I have customers! Like...like these young men!” 

Nicky, with a thousand years of life behind him, never thought of himself nor Joe as “young.” No matter how ageless they were, every year weighed on them, a burden that was only bearable because they didn’t have to weather it alone. So it didn’t occur to him that they were the “young men” the shop owner referred to, until the small, pale man suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Hello there! May I help you with anything?” 

A Genovese curse flew from his lips, followed by a grunt after Joe gently pinched him. Nicky smiled apologetically at the owner. “Sorry, ah...we’re alright, just looking.” 

“Yes, well…” The shop owner had a confused tilt to his eyebrows, at odds with his kind smile. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy, but...was that Old Genovese you were speaking?”

“You recognize it?” Nicky blurted out before he could stop himself. It had been centuries since either of the immortals had met someone else who knew the language. 

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” A pink tint had risen to the small blonde’s cheeks, and his eyes now had a proud glint to them. “That’s very impressive, I didn’t think anyone spoke it anymore!”  

“No...neither did we.” He glanced at Joe, and was met with eyes that looked as disconcerted as he felt. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Please let me know if you need help with anything!” The shop owner cheerfully strolled back to the counter, where his friend - Crowley, Nicky remembered - was staring at him and Joe with what felt like suspicion, even through his sunglasses. The redhead murmured something to the blonde that made the latter glance back at them with another smile, one that Nicky returned before he quietly urged Joe behind another bookshelf. 

“What the hell?” Joe hissed as soon as they were out of eyeline of the shop owner. 

“Language, tesoro mio.” 

Joe’s words switched to old Maghrebi, but remained just as confused and indignant. “Nico, we haven’t met anyone else who speaks Genovese in decades, maybe even centuries, if we don’t count linguists.”

“I know.” 

“So how does an owner of an old bookshop recognize it?” 

“We’ve seen some books that are much older than what we usually see in a shop like this. Maybe he recognized it from a book?” Even as he uttered the words, Nicky knew the explanation was pathetic. The look of disbelief he received from his lover let him know he wasn’t alone in thinking that. 

“He said it’s been a while since he’s heard it,” Joe reminded him. “And he recognized it as it was spoken, not written down somewhere.” 

“What are you trying to say? That he’s another immortal? One we somehow haven’t dreamed of in all this time?” 

“No, of course not...but…” Joe peered at the shop owner and his friend through a gap in the books. “Maybe there’s something different about him. Maybe immortals aren’t the only strange people in the world.” 

“Even if that were true, Yusuf, don’t you think we would have run into one before? Our abilities have been noticed before, by people who didn’t know what to look for. We of all people would have noticed if there were other powers out there.” 

“Unless they do as much as we do to stay out of notice.” 

It was Nicky’s turn to peer at the odd couple through the books, except this time, the redhead, Crowley, was looking right at him. Or at least, in their direction. He jerked away from the bookshelf and immediately moved deeper into the shop, tugging Joe with him. “We can talk with the others about it later. For now, let’s buy something and leave.”

“Still determined to find your book?”

Nicky offered a sweet smile to Joe, but didn’t bother hiding the mirth in his eyes. “Of course, my heart.” 

He didn’t end up finding the book he was looking for, much to his disappointment and Joe’s quiet amusement. But he did find an old, old Italian Bible that stirred distant memories of a classroom reciting verses, and that was enough to justify the visit. 

Satisfied in his choice, he moved towards the cashier register, only to be pulled up short by Joe. Nicky furrowed his brows in confusion - for someone who had been so reluctant to come, Joe suddenly seemed very keen on staying. He glanced back at him to find those dark eyes trained on the men behind the counter, one finger to his lips. Battle instincts kicked in, and he obediently trained his hearing to the low muttering coming from the other men. 

“Now really, Crowley, it’s simply not possible! Even if the Almighty really did send spies after us, I would at least recognize them. I’ve never seen those men in my life!” 

“Then maybe they’re demons. We’ve always had better corporeal disguises anyway. Would explain why we don’t recognize them.” 

“Have you ever seen demons behave like that with each other?” 

“Like what?” 

“Oh come now, you must have felt it. The energy around them is downright bursting with love! It’s just like…”

“...Angel, like what?”

“W-well...like two people in love. Nothing at all like you demons behave.”

“‘You demons’? Might I remind you of who saved the most valuable books here, Aziraphale?” 

It could’ve been just another argument between an old couple, especially an old married couple. There was no mistaking the love and pure affection that drenched every bickering phrase between them. But where Nicky had thought “Angel” was a sweet nickname, the casual use of terms like “demons” and “the Almighty” stirred a deeper sense of suspicion awake in him...and a rush of exhilaration. The sensible majority of his mind told him there was no earthly way he was staring at an angel and a demon. Even if angels and demons were real, they wouldn’t own an old bookshop, or walk around dressed like a dandy or an aged member of a rock band. 

But a small part of him, the part of him that had him wandering to a church on calm Sundays and uttering panicked prayers over Joe’s body in the middle of battle, felt a thrill at the idea that he was staring at proof. Proof that his centuries of faith, his short-lived livelihood in the church, wasn’t in vain. When he finally tore his eyes away from the odd couple to look at Joe, he was met with a small smile of understanding under an unsure gaze. Of course his love understood what was running through his mind, even without a single word uttered between them. 

Nicky took a steadying breath before he finally nodded at Joe, giving his hand a light squeeze. The shop owner and his...friend (partner?) were still bickering when they approached the cashier, and Nicky caught snippets of something about a church, a bomb, a satchel of books, before the argument was cut short by their arrival at the counter. 

“Ah, gentlemen, hello again! Did you find everything alright?” the small blonde man - Azira...phale..? - greeted them with a wide smile, while Crowley simply stared at them with an unnervingly straight face. His gaze prickled at Nicky’s awareness, despite his best attempts to ignore him and return Aziraphale’s smile. 

“I didn’t find the book I was looking for, but you have many rare gems here.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry you couldn’t find it!” 

“Don’t be. We have visited almost every bookshop in Europe in search of it,” Joe snorted with a grin. “At this point it’ll take a miracle to find it.” 

Aziraphale perked up at Joe’s response, and glanced eagerly at Crowley...who returned the blonde’s hopeful smile with a stony stare. A moment of silence passed before the redhead finally muttered, “Sounds like you won’t be finding it any time soon.” 

“No, but that’s alright. Seeing all these wonderful little shops offers a special kind of joy,” Nicky murmured with a reassuring smile to Aziraphale. “You should be proud of this shop. It’s a lovely refuge in this city.” 

The owner looked a bit crestfallen, but brightened at Nicky’s smile and words. “That’s very kind of you to say! I’ve had it for quite a while, so it’s turned into a home of sorts for me. I’m so glad it feels that way to my patrons as well!” 

Crowley’s attention was back on Nicky, and even though he couldn’t see the redhead’s eyes, he didn’t feel as burdened by the scrutiny anymore. It felt somehow softer now, more of a mild annoyance as the transaction was carried out. Crowley had been so quiet throughout their visit that when he suddenly spoke up, the surprise nearly made Nicky drop the small paper bag containing his book. “Just out of curiosity...what book were you looking for?” 

“Ah...an early edition of The Divine Comedy in the original Italian. First edition, if possible.” 

“...Dante’s Divine Comedy?” Crowley repeated, skepticism practically dripping off his words. “You’re looking for a first edition from the late Middle Ages?” 

Nicky could hear the rustle of Joe straightening just behind him, ready to defend his admittedly-futile quest. He shifted just enough to hook their pinkies together in reassurance while he shot a small smile at Crowley. “More just seeing if it’s possible to find outside of a museum.” 

Crowley nodded, but he still had a small frown of disbelief on his lips as he wandered towards the bookshelves at the very back of the shop. Aziraphale watched him meander away with wariness and hope lining his eyes, a combination of emotions that made Nicky wonder what kind of history the odd couple shared to prompt that kind of response. 

“Nicolo,” Joe murmured, pulling him out of his idle curiosity. “We should be going. Andy will wonder what happened to us.” 

“Right...yes, of course.” Nicky smiled again at Aziraphale, who suddenly looked panicked at their impending departure. “Thank you again.” 

“Oh, are you leaving so soon? A-are you sure I can’t help you find anything else? I have other first editions that might interest you!” 

“Really, it’s alright-” 

“Here we are.” Crowley was suddenly back at Aziraphale’s side, tossing a book onto the countertop with a carelessness that became alarming when Nicky realized what he was staring at: an old, worn volume, the cover made of what used to be red leather, but was now faded into a dull brown. Pressed into the leather, and traced with gold flakes, were the words “La Commedia.” Nicky reached out to brush the worn cover, gingerly lifting it to reveal the title page, where he could read the publication date: 1438. “This...this is…” 

“Not quite first edition, but about as good as you’re gonna get outside of a museum.” Crowley’s voice was casual, as if he had simply found any old book. But his smirk was smug, the gravity of his achievement definitely not lost on him, especially when Aziraphale was staring at him in what could only be described as adoration. 

“How...how did you find this?” 

“Call it a little miracle. How much does a little miracle cost, angel?” 

“Oh, ah...well, the best miracles are priceless, wouldn’t you say?” 

Nicky’s gaze jerked away from the book to stare at Aziraphale in shock. “No, I’m sorry, I cannot in good faith take this without paying you.” 

“No, really-”

“Please, I insist-” 

The shopowner was strangely reluctant to give Nicky a price, but with Joe’s help, they were able to settle on an amount. By the time they left the bookshop, it was even later than they had planned on leaving, but Nicky was in such a daze of disbelief over his luck, Joe ended up being the one to call Andy. 

“Boss, we know, we’re sorry, but you’ll never believe- no, trust me, even Booker will get excited over this. We’ll be there soon, it will be worth the wait, I promise.” He laughed as he tucked his phone away, shaking his head fondly at Nicky. “Well, my heart, I hope this find is worth Andy’s wrath. She is not happy with us.” 

“Yusuf...who were those men?” Nicky was staring numbly into the bag, still not believing the impossibly old book he held in his hands. 

“What do you mean?” 

He finally looked away from his new treasure to meet Joe’s eyes. “Do you think...that maybe…” 

“What? That an angel and demon helped us find a book?” 

“Stranger things have been true.” 

“Perhaps…” Joe’s arm wrapped around Nicky’s waist, tucking him against his body to drop a kiss to his temple. “Whatever those men were, they were kind. I hope the bookshop continues to do well.” 

“Mm...thank you for coming with me.” Nicky’s smile was full of adoration, and earned him another kiss, this time on his lips. 

“Of course, hayati. Anything for you.” 

“Anything? Well, there’s another book I’ve been looking for-” 

“Buuuuut Andy and Booker might not approve.” 

After almost 1000 years, he should have been able to better resist the effect of Joe’s cheeky smile. But after almost 1000 years, Nicky wasn’t in the habit of denying himself the little joys to be found in life, especially when they came from this impossible man. 

[god-of-identity]

i’ve been listening to way too many creepypastas.

@irrelevant-proxy-bitch as promised, my creepypasta sona/oc origin story. hopefully it meets the standards, heh

Genesis Caveat Origin

or, How I Became a Proxy

That thing is watching me again.

I first noticed it after a particularly boring day of school. I hadn’t paid attention in most of my classes, instead opting to scroll through Tumblr, mess around on Discord, and listen to Creepypasta readings on Youtube. I’m probably failing most of my classes at this point. I can’t bring myself to care. I can’t bring myself to care about much of anything these days. Fiction is the only thing that piques my interest, those made-up worlds are so much more entertaining than the boring one I’m stuck living in. That’s probably why I like writing so much, I can create and destroy whole worlds with no consequence to me, I can control everything and nothing, and it can be as entertaining as I want it to be.

I’m getting off-track. Sorry.

I’d been ignored all day, as per usual, so when I was walking home and felt someone watching me, I was confused and more than a little curious. I normally walk at a fairly quick pace, but I slowed my steps a little when I felt I was being watched. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. The sidewalk was empty. Actually, the whole street was empty, which is what caused my anxiety to spike. There were no people, no cars, even the storefronts looked empty. I turned back forward and picked up my pace again, walking quickly all the way home. It wasn’t until I’d reached my front door that I realized the feeling of that stare had vanished the instant I’d turned around.

Since then, I’ve felt that stare every time I walk home from school.

After the first day, I didn’t bother looking back. Something told me I wouldn’t be able to see anyone if I did. I was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. Why was someone spying on me? How long had they been watching me before I noticed? I was half-convinced I’d been singled out because I’m a textbook wallflower- no one at school would know if I went missing, and they definitely wouldn’t care. If someone snatched me while I was on my way to school, my parents wouldn’t find out until I was late getting home, and by then their frantic calls to the school and police wouldn’t do a thing- I’d probably be long gone.

I guess I was right about that part, heh. Just not for the reasons I thought.

. . .

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where were we? Ah, right.

It’s the seventh day of me being stared at as I’m walking home from school. For the past week, caution won out over curiosity, and instead of trying to spot whoever’s stalking me, I’ve just gotten home as fast as I can. I also made a habit of texting my parents when I leave school- they know how long it’s supposed to take me to get home, so if I get kidnapped they’ll know sooner. Same as when I head to school in the mornings, because I’ve been feeling the gaze on me then too.

I think part of me always knew it wasn’t human.

Shit, sorry. Focus.

Anyway, walking home. Seventh day in a row. Blah blah blah. Only this time, my curiosity outweighed my caution. Maybe I was just so damn bored of the life I had, that I’d do anything to mix things up. Actually, I’m sure that’s what it was. Suffice to say, as I walked down the eerily empty street, this time I slowed my steps instead of speeding them up. Then I slowly turned my head to look behind me. And saw it. The thing that was stalking me. I only caught half a second’s glance before it vanished, but that was enough. The details flashed in my mind. Tall, freakishly so. Black suit, torn sleeves. Something like tentacles raised up behind it. And the face- no face. At least not that my mind allowed me to see.

Then it vanished.

I spun back forwards and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The minute I got home I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing the curtains closed and booting up my laptop. A barely comprehensible entry in the Google search bar was autocorrected in seconds, and with a shaking hand, I moved the mouse to click on the images tab. Photoshopped pictures, fanart, and blurry photos stared back at me.

“I knew it.”

Like I mentioned at the start of this narration, I listen to a lot of creepypasta readings on Youtube. So I’m familiar with some of the stories. Laughing Jack. Jeff the Killer. Lost Silver. So many others. And of course, the one that started it all.

Slenderman.

“Holy fuck.”

I was being stalked by Slenderman. Why? And why hadn’t he killed me? I needed answers. Luckily, the internet is a magnificent place. I curled up in my swivel chair and started typing away, searching up everything I could about Slenderman and his proxies. Even the stuff I already knew, I read or listened to again. I took in as much information as possible. It’s said that knowledge is power, and for some things, the more you know, the more danger you’re in. But in this case, well. I’d seen him. He knew I’d seen him. What did I have to lose?

The next time I look at my clock, it’s nearly five in the morning. I’d done about all the research my brain could handle, even with my hyperfixations running at full throttle. More info probably wouldn’t matter anyway.

I’d made my decision, my plan.

Now, to execute it.

I empty my backpack of school supplies and pulled out a Sharpie. Lowering the felt tip to the fabric on the inside of the backpack, I let out a slow breath. With things like this, power always came from belief, at least that’s what the stories told me. I’d seen him, I knew it was real, it was all real. Now that I knew that, anything was possible. The line between fiction and reality is blurring.

As an author, it’s my job to break it.

I scribble a phrase on the inside of the backpack and capped the sharpie. Then I reach over to one of the books I’d stacked in the ‘bring with’ pile and drop it in.

The book hit the bottom of the bag and vanished.

I grin and reach in, hand passing through a cool sort of veil. I feel around, grabbing the book, and pull it out. It worked. It worked! I giggle, flapping my free hand in excitement. Pocket dimension backpack, success!! I start piling the books into it, all the stories I will carry with me. Then my sketchbooks and drawing supplies. My laptop, chargers, wallet, phone, anything I think I might potentially need. Even some of the food and drinks I’d snuck into my room. My blankets and pillow. Some clothes I’d grown attached too. Hell, let’s bring my stuffed animals and collection of keepsakes too, why not? It can all fit! I empty my shelf of little knick-knacks into the backpack. Nearly everything that I can lift in my room has gone into that pack.

Now… to wait.

7am. I make my move.

I stand in front of the mirror in my room, looking myself over. I’m wearing an outfit I wear almost every day. Grey jacket with a red upside-down heart on the chest, grey shorts with red on the edges, boots, a long red scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves. The only difference is that now, all my clothes have been altered by my newly discovered ability. I’m calling it “author powers” because that’s the closest I can get to properly explaining it. Now, my entire ensemble is fireproof, waterproof, and much harder to cut through that ordinary cloth. My boots are much more comfortable and molded to my feet. Everything fits just right.

Oh, one more thing. I pick up the blue-light glasses I’d left on my desk. I don’t even have to write on them to alter them, but it’s a fun little gimmick so I might just keep doing it. A couple lines on the glasses, and they’re suddenly much more useful. They’ll function as sunglasses now too, as well as a night vision and heat-seeking mode. And they’ll stay on my face without falling off. I push the glasses up my nose and look back into the mirror.

I guess the function wasn’t the only thing I altered. My ability has a lot to do with intentions.

Instead of glasses, I’m wearing a black mask with turquoise lenses. The mask only covers the upper half of my face. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Instead of my hair being the usual dirty-blonde and down to my shoulders, it’s pink, shorter and sorta spiked up- at least that’s the best way to describe it. Not spiked, that’s too sharp. But I can’t find another word right now, so we’ll stick with it. It was a transformation I hadn’t anticipated, but one that I’m sure to keep. I grin, showing teeth sharper than normal.

“This is gonna be fun.”

I hear someone in the kitchen. My dad, getting ready for the day. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work. We don’t have a foster kid at the moment, so mom will be sleeping in. And my sister is still asleep in her bedroom. Perfect.

I raise a hand, seeing the black claws that now extend from the ends of my gloves. I’d been wondering how I’d get to a knife, but I guess now I won’t need one. I tighten the straps of my backpack and step out of my bedroom.

“Heh. Time to raise hell.”

~

Six days later. Thirteen days since this all started.

It took me for-fucking-ever to find the mansion. Even longer to get there with the burden I’m dragging along. But here I am. It looms over me, giving off the same creepy vibe I got from my stalker. I know he’s there, and he knows I’m here. Someone will answer the door soon, I don’t even have to knock.

The smell of blood isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m glad I made my clothes stain-proof, I’d hate to have to throw away my gloves. As I’m waiting, I tap my foot idly and inspect my fingers. I have a nasty habit of biting the skin around my fingernails, which shows even with my claws. Oh, there’s blood on my claws. Not quite dry, so I just lick it off. Huh, doesn’t taste that bad either.

Someone’s moving inside. I straighten up slightly, hand dropping to my side. I nudge one of the bodies next to me with a foot, then take a half-step away when an arm flops to the ground. I look back to the door, arms crossed (carefully, to avoid cutting myself) as I wait. The door finally creaks open, revealing someone I don’t recognize. I assume it’s one of the proxies, but it’s not one that I’ve read anything about. Only one way to find out.

“You’re one of his proxies, I assume?” Even my voice is different, with the mask. I like it.

The proxy laughs. “Fuck yeah, I’m the number one proxy bitch. But you can call me Irre.” She pronounced it like ‘eerie’, which I thought was fitting.

I snort with amusement and take a moment to look the proxy up and down. She has pale blue skin, long hair that faded from black into red, and silver eyes. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, with a healthier-looking build than the almost-too-skinny twig stature I see every time I look in the mirror. She even looks to be about my age too, give or take a year. She gives off a chaotic sort of presence, but in a way that’s almost difficult to perceive. I’m reminded of my school days, blending into the background. After a few people told me my stare was creepy, even though I’d just been looking at them, I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Apparently I had an intensity others found unsettling, but only if they noticed me. I’m reminded of that with this proxy, only with chaotic energy instead. I smile slightly. We might just get along.

“Well, nice to meet you, number one proxy bitch,” I respond with a chuckle. “Speaking of proxies. Where do I sign up? I brought a peace offering.” An idle hand gesture draws her attention to the bodies sprawled next to me. Two bodies, carved up with precise markings, and very much dead. What remains of my parents. My claws had marked them, turned their corpses into a work of art. I’d saved the blood, bagged it and put it in my backpack. I might need it later.

Irre looks the bodies over and grins. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here. Course, that’s not my decision.” She glances back at the house. “The others will get curious soon. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m not going back. Besides, he sought me out first,” I admit. “Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

She nod in understanding. “In that case… what’s your name?”

I grin, showing sharp teeth. “I am Genesis Caveat.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Argonaut Atalanta

[Tour!Verse]

This was supposed to be a fic about body image issues...but then I was writing it...and it didn’t become that at all

This also isn’t my best work. It feels kinda rushed but 🤷‍♀️

Word count: 2596

Prompt: “Look at you… Goodness, you’re so cute.” “Thank you for staying with me.” “Don’t look.” “No, please! No, no no no no no!”

Tw: Blood

———————

A wave roared into the beach and crashed around Howard’s feet. Her toes sank into the wet sand. Her pink and dirty blonde hair billowed in the wind.

She couldn’t really remember whose idea it had been, but someone had decided they were going to spend the week away at a rented beach house. Not that she was complaining. It felt nice to finally get out of the cities and get away from performing.

Suddenly, there was a blur of aquamarine to her left- Maggie crashed into the water a moment later. Howard watched her flounder around in the small, but powerful waves in amusement for a moment before she managed to roll over and get back to her feet. She threw her arms up with a triumphant yell before stomping further into the ocean to go swim. Anne and Maria soon joined her, while the others finished setting up.

“Alright, kids,” Aragon said, flipping on her sunglasses. “Do not bother me for the next four hours. There will be hell to pay if you do. Toodles!” She waved and then loped over to a beach chair, which she promptly lounges her elegant body on. If she was trying to show off her toned stomach and muscles arms in her golden bikini, then it was definitely working.

“Do you have mommy issues?” Cleves strangely asked Joan, who had been caught staring at the queen. “Because isn’t Catalina like your—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Joan cried. Aragon lifts her sunglasses to peer over at her when she yelled, but resumed sunbathing when she was sure the music director was okay.

Howard shook her head before looking around curiously. It only took her a moment to find who she was looking for.

“There’s my sweet girl,” She cooed, walking over to Bessie, who had been rooting around through the fluffy white sand.

Bessie looked up at her and grinned brightly. She, like Joan, didn’t have a bathing suit showing, instead donning a white sundress. Although Joan was wearing swim trunks and a rash guard because she would fry in the sun. But Howard could assume why Bessie wasn’t taking off her covering.

“Found anything?” Howard asked, crouching down next to her.

“Not yet,” Bessie shook her head. “But we just got here! So I’m sure I will soon!”

Howard ruffled her hair, which was dyed pink at the tips (she had wanted to match with her mother), affectionately.

“Wanna go in the water?” She asked. “Or do you want to keep digging?”

Bessie perked up. “Let’s go in the water!”

Howard laughed and helped the girl to her feet. They both snagged goggles from the beach bag before venturing into the cool water.

“This is freedom, Bessie,” Howard said, taking in a deep breath.

“Freedom smells a lot like fish.” Bessie observed, and Howard splashed her playfully.

They both walked until they were in stomach-deep water. Well, stomach-deep for Howard, closer to her shoulders for Bessie. Still, the shorter girl seemed content as she put her goggles on and then disappeared under the surface. Howard watched her swim down with a loving smile before joining her.

Swimming was a tad difficult to say the least. The current kept trying to shove her back up to the beach and then yank her out again, turning her body into the rope used in a game of aquatic tug-o-war. Bessie, however, didn’t seem phased, as she pulled herself through the water to look at the sea floor. She grabbed at handfuls of sand for grip, but the ground was far too loose to hang onto, and she was left flapping her hands awkwardly as she tried to stand at the ground. Howard laughed as she watched this, flurry of bubbles exploding from her lips, and Bessie stuck her tongue out at her—only to remember she was in saltwater.

“Silly girl,” Howard chuckled when they both resurfaced. Bessie was still spitting and sputtering. “You’re such a good swimmer! Like a little bleached frog.”

Bessie’s face flushed red and she laughed awkwardly, but Howard can tell that comment made her uncomfortable. She could see her arms snake around her stomach in the water, and her theory of why she kept the sun dress on was suddenly proven.

“Hey, hey,” Howard said quickly. “I’m sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. I just meant you were swimming like a frog. You know—they do that kicking thing with their legs. That’s what you were doing.”

That just made Bessie blush harder and she sunk below the water without a word. Bubbles burst on the surface as she sank. And then she’s careening right into Howard’s legs like a cannonball when a vicious current knocked her forward.

“Sorry!” Bessie cried when she came back up. “I’m so sorry, Kat, I didn’t-“

“Shh,” Howard cupped Bessie’s wet cheeks after regaining her balance. “What did I tell you about apologizing for things you didn’t cause?”

“Don’t do it...” Bessie’s shoulders hunched. “Sorry. Argh! Dang it!”

Howard chuckled lightly. She leaned forward and kissed the girl’s forward, then immediately began spitting out the salt that brushed her lips.

“Ew.” She said in distaste. “Anyway, we’ll still work on that. Now...think you can find me a nice shell?”

Bessie lit up. “I’ll find the prettiest one!”

With an excited giggle, she disappears under the surface like an eager dolphin. Howard watched her go with a loving shake of her head, then turned around to observe what everyone else was doing.

Aragon was still lounging on her beach throne, although she was in a different position. The closest person to her was Joan, who sat under an umbrella and was simultaneously reading and drawing. Cathy and Jane were sitting on the bay, letting the tide lick hungrily at their legs as they drizzled mud on their thighs and knees over mild conversation. Maria and Cleves were playing with a volleyball in the shallows, while Anne and Maggie were somewhere further out. Howard thought she saw a flash of her cousin’s emerald green bathing suit a few meters away. Then, there was her wading in the water and her precious Bessie exploring the depths below her.

Where Bessie was, the water was much warmer and bursting with aquatic life. Plain sandy plateaus turned into a petrified forest of pale pink and washed out orange coral. Bessie stared at the underwater jungle with wide eyes before getting another breath of air and paddling over excitedly.

There were so many shells!

She dug her hands into the sand as best as she could after deciding that grabbing onto the coral wouldn’t be the best idea. She gawked at all the shells around her and grabbed a particularly pretty white and grey one. She turned it over and was immediately met by a grumpy hermit crab. It flailed its little legs and pinched its claws in the air angrily until she put it down. The tide captured it almost instantly and Bessie watched it bounce around the sea floor until rolling to a halt a few feet behind her. She giggled, then moved on.

After a bit of searching (with two trips back to the surface for air), she spotted a long, brown and pink-white shell with a pointing end. She picked it up and made sure there was no residence inside before darting back to Howard.

“Oh!” Howard yelped when Bessie suddenly popped up in front of her. “You startled me, baby.”

Bessie giggled, then proudly held up the shell she had found. Howard gave an impressed coo and plucked it up from her palm.

“Pretty?” Bessie asked hopefully.

“Very pretty.” Howard confirmed, smiling at her.

“Yay!” Bessie cheered. “I’m really glad! There’s a lot more over— EEP!!”

The girl suddenly leapt into Howard’s arms, wrapping all her limbs around the woman to cling onto her like a frightened koala. She looked fearfully over her shoulder to peer into the water.

“Something touched my foot!” She cried.

Howard gasped. “How dreadful! I’ll make sure to squash it to tiny pieces so it’ll never do such an evil thing to my princess ever again!”

“Mum,” Bessie groaned, burying her nose against Howard’s wet neck. She giggled when she was given a quick peck on her salty cheek.

“Look at you,” Howard said, bouncing the bassist in her arms. “Goodness, you’re so cute.”

Bessie made a flustered noise and pressed her face further into Howard’s neck. She was lucky the queen didn’t mind her throat being touched or else she surely would have been shoved off.

“What? I never had a daughter, darling. I’m going to gush over you. You know that.” Howard chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bessie said back. She peeled away from Howard after a moment, although she felt colder when not in the queen’s arms. She felt like she fit perfectly in them.

They began the short trek back to the beach after that. Howard retired to a towel to tan on, so Bessie bounded off down the shoreline so she could find some more things.

She passed by Joan, who was sculpting a very intricate sandcastle and didn't seem to be aware that her arms and legs were baking in the sun. Bessie winced at the alarming shade of red the skin has already turned to.

Further down the beach, quite a ways away from the little campsite, Bessie found that the sandy bay turned into a rocky shoreline that was dotted with colorful tide pools. Pale pink starfish clung to the edges of the dugouts while schools of bright yellow and orange fish spiral through the enclosure. White and grey oysters and clams sat lazily at the bottoms in the grains of sand.

Bessie stepped carefully over the pools to get to the edge of the shore. The waves were much stronger there, crashing heavily against the sides of the rocks and sending a spray of white foam splattering through the air. The water cascaded over her feet, churning around her ankles, then sucked back jarringly. Bessie stumbled at the force, then fell.

The riptide seized her. She’s pulled into its raging body and smothered with its mass. She struggled when the shock wore off, but something caught her in foot and anchored her back down. Something sharp and pointy, which elicits a despaired wail before salty water rushes down her throat and clogs every passageway.

—

Howard jolted upwards on her towel. She looked around, then shot to her feet and briskly walked down the beach. Uneasy was prickling through her and she wasn’t sure why. She felt way too restless to just lay in the sand and try to tan.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong; because she soon spotted a figure convulsing under the water further down the beach.

Bessie.

Her daughter.

Howard broke out into a sprint, adrenaline now pumping through her veins. She dove into the water and swam over to where Bessie was struggling. Flailing limbs whacked Howard several times in the face, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t get the gel to calm down. She just kept writhing in the angry tide.

Clouds of murky red were billowing around her. Blood. She was bleeding.

Howard took a breath and submerged herself. Despite the horrible sting of salt water, she opened her eyes and began to search, quickly finding what had her daughter ensnared—a fishing wire.

She pulled, but all that did was cause Bessie to make an agonized cry. Howard tried again to no avail. She swam lower, feeling the undertow claw desperately at her waist and legs, and just decided to bite the wire, cutting it in half with her teeth.

Bessie convulsed as she was freed and Howard grappled her body, swimming her to the surface. A wave instantly crashed over them and slammed them both into the rocky shoreline. Howard took the brunt of it, wincing when her waist hit against the rough stone. She shook the pain off and clambered onto the bay, pulling Bessie up with her. She half carried, half dragged the girl back into the sand then set her down. Immediately, Bessie began to cough, and seawater came flooding out of her mouth.

“Get it all out, sweetheart,” Howard encouraged, helping her roll over. She patted her back. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

“Mama,” Bessie sobbed through another watery cough. Her head flopped back miserably against the sand.

“I’m right here, baby girl.” Howard brushed her soaked cheek. “I’m right here. Mama’s here.”

Her eyes slowly gazed down as Bessie continued to struggle with the water she had swallowed. There was a dark stain in the sand around her legs—blood. There was blood on her left foot, too, from where a fish hook was pierced all the way through her flesh.

“Oh no,” Howard muttered.

“What?” Bessie said fearfully. She tried to get up to look, but Howard eased her back down.

“Don’t look.” Howard said. “Just relax and try to breathe for me. Think you can do that?”

Bessie nodded shakily. She rested her head in the sand, doing her best to maintain her breathing, but it was hard after nearly drowning and with the panic he mother was giving off.

“You’ve got a hook in your foot, baby.” Howard told her grimly. She saw Bessie’s entire body tense up and her heart ached for the girl. “I’m going to pull it out.”

“No, please! No, no no no no no!” Bessie begged. “It’s gonna hurt. P-please don’t!”

“I have to, baby,” Howard frowned. She brushed a clump of pink-white hair out of the girl’s face. “It’s going to hurt worse if I leave it in. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Bessie just made a miserable whimper and screwed her eyes shut. Howard took that as permission to get to work, so she held Bessie’s left ankle down with one hand and carefully grabbed the hook caught on the side of her foot. The tip had gone all the way through and was now sticking out of the top. Howard winced; Bessie was not going to like this.

The cry Bessie made when Howard slid the hook down was heart wrenching. Her body convulsed with pain and she wailed again as Howard continued to pull the hook out of the hole it created until it was free from her foot. She threw it away and then cradled Bessie’s head in her lap as she wept.

“It’s out, sweetheart. I got it out.” She told her, stroking her hair and face. “You’re okay now. The hook is out.”

Bessie sniffled weakly and opened her teary brown eyes. Howard was smiling down at her warmly.

“I-it is?” She asked. Her foot twitches slightly.

“It is.” Howard assured her. “I promise.”

Bessie took a few deep breaths, then nodded. She squeaked softly when Howard suddenly scooped her up in her arms.

“Wh-what are you doing?” She asked shyly.

“Carrying you,” Howard replied. “You can’t walk in the sand with an open wound!”

“But everyone is gonna laugh at me,” Bessie whined, hiding her face.

“Then I’ll kill them.” Howard simply said and Bessie giggled.

“Thank you for staying with me.” Bessie said softly.

“Of course,” Howard said. “I wouldn’t just leave my princess on the beach with a hook in her foot!”

“I’m glad,” Bessie closed her eyes. The panic of being stuck underwater surfaces for a moment, but then she hears the sound of Howard’s heartbeat and calmed down slightly. “Did you see Joan’s sunburn?”

“Oh yeah. That’s BAD.”

[jungle321jungle]

Do Souls Taste Good? (You Seem To Think So)

Souls taste like sugar, chew like stale gum, and go down like a rock only to dissolve into energy before they even hit the stomach. They're an acquired taste; one for murderers and kishin eggs and the demon weapons who take them down.

Dee has eaten ninety nine of them, and chews them like bubble gum until the flavor is all gone; Roman's not had half as many, but he only gives them a few cursory chews out of habit; and his brother Remus doesn't even have a dozen, but he always licks them with a grin before popping it in his mouth and swallowing hard so that it's path down his throat is violently visible.

They all think the souls taste too sickly sweet.

Ao3

Tagging: @ashensanity

~~~~

Episode One: Matters of The Soul

“Number ninety-nine, congrats! Did your meeting with Lord Death go well?”

Virgil gave Patton a nod but Dee smiled proudly as he collapsed into his seat, “It did! And this time tomorrow I’ll be a full fledged Death Scythe.”

“I could get ninety nine souls,” Roman muttered into the air but hearing him only caused Dee’s excitement to rise.

“Jealous are we?” He asked his sharp teeth exposed as he smiled. “Well we did make a bet a while ago over who would be the better sword, and well, it looks like I win.”

“That’s unfair. You both have different strengths,” Patton chided. “Dee is better with speed and flexibility, and Roman you can switch modes!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and ignored the urge to tell Dee to make him shut up because though he wouldn’t admit it, he was just as excited. But he also equally nervous.

“You are all quite loud this early in the morning.”

Virgil looked up in surprise as Logan sat down beside him. “You’re later than usual.”

Logan sent a glare to his partner who hadn’t seemed to notice. “I am due to certain unapologetic someone.”

“I will never understand how you ended up with Remus.”

“I suppose it’s as the saying goes, opposites attract? So, how was your evening Virgil?”

“Pretty good,” Virgil nodded. “Actually Dee and I-”

“I’m going to be a Death Scythe!” Dee interrupted.

Logan raised an eyebrow unimpressed, “That is the goal of all the weapons in this school, yes.”

“We got the ninety-nineth kishin egg yesterday,” Virgil explained. “So next is...”

“The witch’s soul.”

“Right. We also learned there’s a witch not to far away named Remy. So hopefully Dee will be the newest Death Scythe.”

“And we’re rooting for you guys!” Patton cheered despite Roman’s almost pitiful expression.

Logan adjusted his glasses a few times before he spoke, “...Remy? Then I ask that you both proceed with caution?”

Virgil frowned suddenly feeling more worried than moments before, “You don’t think we can handle it?”

“He thinks that the witch will turn you both into thousands of tiny pieces which he’ll use for potions,” Remus tossed in.

“That is not at all what I was going to say.”

“Or maybe he’ll save you both as sacrifices for spells! Blood of a virgin is an important thing.”

Logan gave a groan as he rubbed at his temple, “I was going to say that reports say that something about Remy is a bit off. Thus you should exercise caution.”

“Ah yes we should be cautious of the witch living in a fucking pumpkin on the edge of Death City.”

Virgil shrugged, his eyes not leaving the large vegetable as he wondered what sort of wards could cover the place. “We should just stake it out today. Come back to attack tomorrow.”

“Or we could just go in that open window,” Dee suggested pointing as he did.

“No! We are not sneaking into a witch’s inner sanctum!”

“Then how else do you expect to fight him?”

Virgil paused, he had planned out multiple possible attacks but all of which involved fighting the witch outside his own home. “We need to lure him out.”

“How?”

Virgil blinked, mentally running through the plans in his head but apparently that had been the missing detail which had been bothering him all day. Finally he gave a shrug, “By... knocking?”

Dee didn’t reply initially as he began to climb a tree. “I’m going in the window,” he said finally. “You knock and tell me how that goes.”

Virgil opened his mouth to complain, but Dee was already in the window. He swallowed listening intently for any signs of distress, before he took a deep breath and climbed the tree. His heart was pounding almost painfully in his chest- and it only increased as he pulled himself up higher. There should be sound.

And yet inside was nothing but silence. If Dee has encountered the witch there should be sounds of fighting, or even if the witch wasn’t there, Dee should be poking his head out to call for Virgil to go faster. There should be something anything. At least if Dee would scream, Virgil would know that he was alive.

As he touched the windowsill Virgil took a breath to prepare himself for what could be inside. He was prepared for the worst. For literally anything.

Anything except Dee standing frozen at the sight of a naked man who was standing there with a frown. Virgil felt his cheeks heat up as he tried to force himself to function.

“Y-you’re Remy?”

The man nodded once a casual expression on his face, “Oh there’s two of you? Shark teeth here is a tad cuter though.”

Virgil tried his best not to be offended as he moved to stand beside his partner, “Sorry to catch you like- like this, but your soul is ours!”

He liked to think that the words were more confident than they came out, as Virgil tried to look basically everywhere but at the witch. It also wasn’t helpful that Dee hadn’t used that perfect moment to switch to his weapon form.

“Dee!” He hissed. “We kind of need to fight the witch!”

Remy looked amused, “Witch? No need to censor yourself.”

Dee seemed to be finally shaken from his stupor as he blinked, “Oh yeah.” With nothing more said he transformed and Virgil felt the familiar weight of the silvery yellow rapier that was Dee in his hand.

He held Dee in front of him trying to focus on what he was here to do, not how the witch was distracting him. But thankfully the witch seemed to understand the concept of a fight as that’s when he snapped once and he was (thankfully) clothed. He wore a simple pair of jeans, shirt, and a leather jacket, but with that he also has donned a witch’s hat (and a pair of sunglasses?).

“Let’s get this over with,” he smiled raising a hand. “Pumpkin, pum- pumpkin...”

Virgil released a breath ready for the attack, letting his opponent attack first to observe better understand.

“Halloween canon!”

Unfortunately all Virgil observed was the sensation of being blasted backwards out the wall and flying backwards until he hit a tree and promptly fell to the ground.

“Should’ve attacked first,” Dee commented unhelpfully as he leaned over him.

Virgil gave his partner a glare as he pulled himself to his feet unsteadily. “You could’ve caught me.”

Dee gave a shrug and looked back to the pumpkin- with its now Virgil sized hole. “Round two?”

Virgil nodded, “Ready when you are.”

Dee nodded once and transformed again, “This time avoid that attack.”

“I will stab you into a rock.”

~~~~

“How are they doing?” Emilie asked worriedly entering the room.

“They’re struggling,” Thomas admitted as he watched Virgil get hit by a blast for what must've been the third time now. “To be honest I’m not sure if they’ll win.”

Emilie gave a noise of distress drawing Thomas’s attention away from the mirror in front of him.

“Listen,” Thomas started. “I’ve seen many many many students loose their lives again a witch-” at Emilie’s eyes widening Thomas quickly gave a cough and tried to refocus on the point. “Virgil’s not going to be one of them!”

“You think so?”

Thomas nodded with a slight sigh of relief, “Yeah. He may not win this fight, and he may be left with some broken bones but he’ll be alive.”

“How many broken bones?”

“Um... Not too many?” Wow he was bad at this. “He’ll be okay. He’s a tough kid.”

“He’s still-” Thomas watched as the death scythe gave a visible cringe as Virgil narrowly dodged a blast, and from here they could see where a hole had been singled into Virgil’s patchwork cloak. “Still a kid.”

“But he’s a capable one. How many kishin eggs have they collected?”

“I know I know,” Emilie sighed sitting down to watch. “It’s just the father in me that worries. You’d be the same if Logan was out there.”

Thomas gave an awkward shrug in reply, “ I think Logan would disown himself if he ever found out I was worried about him in a fight. He’d probably add it to the pile of reasons he thinks he’s not good enough to be shinigami.”

“Isn’t he doing well though? They’ve finally gotten a few kishin eggs, right?”

“Lo is pushing himself to perfect soul resonance with Remus and they’re not exactly getting results. He’s just too hard on himself. Plenty of students can’t. But I’m sure he’ll gain confidence in himself soon enough. Just like I’m sure Virgil will finally come round to talking to you.”

Thomas has meant it on an uplifting note, but Emilie only seemed to look more upset as he watched the fight. He gave a sigh himself and redirected his attention to his students, one thing at a time.

~~~~

Virgil tried to control his breathing as he sprinted down the city street. It had taken far too much time, but it seemed he had finally lured Remy out of his comfort zone. Unfortunately however, Remy was floating out Virgil’s reach.

He gave a quick turn right, barely dodging a blast as he started down another street. Virgil was silently thankful that no civilians were around to get hurt, but as he ran toward a parked car and idea came to mind. He ran up the car hood and stood on the roof Dee in hand as he waited for Remy to close in.

“I just want the sword!” The witch complained as he came closer. “Come on, I’m sure he’d be happier with me anyway. Right babe?” He purred.

Virgil ignored him launching himself into the air and thrusting his sword forward. It was enough to make contact and shove Remy off the pumpkin and down toward the ground, but not enough to do much else.

The witch gave a groan as he pulled himself up, and he gave a glare as he pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them to the side. “I guess I’ll just kill you then. But I’ll give the pretty sword one more chance to join me and live.”

“Oh shut up!” Virgil shouted at him his anger rising. “You can’t just take my partner!”

Remy seemed pleased with getting under his skin, “That’s up to him, no?”

Virgil grit his teeth, “Fine! Tell him Dee!”

Dee didn’t respond, but Virgil’s grip was forced to be released on the hilt as Dee’s human form moved to stand in front of him.

“Dee?” Virgil asked quietly.

“He makes a good point,” Dee shrugged as he put his hands in his pockets.

“And what point is that?”

“Living? The way I see it, as long as I’m your sword, we can’t win this fight. If I go with him at least I won’t die.”

Virgil felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

“So you’re just going to throw everything away? Just like that?”

Dee moved closer to stand by Remy’s side. “Surviving and hanging with a witch? Way better than dying with you... Better than being around you in general.”

“Leave then!” Virgil shouted taking a step forward. “Leave like everyone always does! Go ahead and break your promise!”

“You broke a promise? I need some popcorn,” Remy smiled leaning on Dee’s shoulder.

Virgil found himself taking another step forward as he glared at witch before looking to Dee. “When my mom left, you swore you’d always stay by my side as my partner.”

Dee gave a shrug “Did you expect something else? I’ve been a liar since birth. So what are you going to do about it?” He reached out a hand mockingly. “Come on, hit me!”

Virgil moved close enough and set his hand in Dee’s. There was a short pause in which he basked in the radiance of Dee’s smirk before he let his human form go, and embraced his scythe form.

He heard Remy open his mouth to question in response, but Dee had already pulled Virgil’s blade through.

“You’re acting has gotten a lot better,” Dee praised as Virgil turned back to him human form.

Virgil shrugged, “I’m friends with Roman. It’s a consequence.”

Dee laughed and looked to where the dust had settled to reveal the purple soul- souls?

“There’s two?” Virgil asked in confusion.

“Hell yes!” Dee cheered grabbing them both before he offered one to Virgil. “Now we can both become Death Scythes at once!”

Virgil took the offered soul skeptically. “Why would a witch have two souls?”

“Stop thinking so loud. Bottoms up?”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile as he nodded, “Bottoms up.” He took a deep breath before putting it on his tongue, then vaguely aware of his oddly sweeter taste than most kishin eggs, he swallowed whole like a pill.

For a moment he felt nothing.

And then he felt everything.

He could feel the air, his heart, the power coursing through his veins- and then nothing.

He blinked and looked to Dee who looked as confused before a laugh hit his ears. He turned to see a black cat sitting a few feet away, a witch’s hat on its head. “What?” The cat asked. “Do I not taste good?”

Virgil’s brain wasn’t capable of a functioning response, so all he could do was watch as in a plume of smoke the cat vanished and Remy took its place.

“You’re a cat,” Dee stated. “Ass! You tricked us!”

“I never said I was a witch,” he shrugged with a smile.

“Damnit now we need to find more witches.”

Remy gave a bit of laugh which only caused Dee’s scowl deepened. “What?”

“Oh nothing babe,” he purred. “I’m just a cat with multiple lives, and now I’m down two of them. So you took two of my lives... I took your opportunity to become Death Scythes.” He gave a smirk. “I think it’s a fair trade.”

“What are you-”

“We fucked up,” Virgil realized as devastation set in. “The rule is, if you mess up on your last soul... you have to start over. We just lost one hundred and ninety eight kishin eggs... we fucked up.”

Dee shook his head in disbelief, “No, no. We- we can um- we can-”

“We fucked up,” Virgil said again. “We fucked up.”

Fuck.

~~~~

Episode One - Episode Two

[erideights]

Through history to get to you. (2)

Summary: Reader's an angel casted out of heaven because, well, she's weird. She's in love with Crowley and, of course Crowley is in love with her. Our poor Aziraphale is just fucking tired of seeing how neither of them realize the feelings of the other.

Part one: here

Pairing: Crowley x Angel!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 3219

Warnings: None, I think.

A/N: Okay so I actually have to wipe out some details because tumblr said it was too long to post it. Bitch, wtf? I've seen fics with 8K but yeah, you do you. For the record, I could (and I would love to) write a 3rd part if you guys like this so, let's go!

What for any human being were seconds, for him seemed like hours.

The hours days, and the days weeks.

How could such a vain human feeling as that one destroy his world piece by piece and rebuild it upside down?

His heart was beating so hard inside his chest he truthfully believed it would come out of it at any moment.

But yeah, often, —from time to time—, Crowley also remembered past times, crucial moments in his life.

Crucial moments with her.

How each interaction by her side throughout history had achieved the impossible: to fall in love with her a bit more, a bit deeper, every-single-fucking-day.

41 AD, we find ourselves again in the large and great Rome, its taverns still full and its people enjoying the wealth of their lives, but this time, the perspective of the universe will turn 180 degrees and will present us his point of view.

Just nipped in for a quick temptation, he thought, a simple job, going in and out, enjoying the best concoction he could buy and leaving as he had come; without friends, without insubstantial talks of any kind with drinking companions or beautiful ladies to enjoy a night of pleasure.

He would leave the same way he came there; alone.

Having clear his priorities and how events would develop, he should add that the presence of Aziraphale didn’t surprise him. Not at all. They had the strange tendency to meet once every certain number of years and exchange a couple words, like two old friends who meet in the darkness of the night to become a distant memory when the sun rises.

However, he saw her.

A young woman with long hair, smooth and immaculate skin and so bright, Crowley could confuse her with one of the many stars that he, before falling into darkness and the shelter from Hell, helped to build.

Not only did she stand out for her colorful choice of attire, which he no doubt saw reflected in him, but for her presence; It gave the impression that she could change the world if she wanted with a single smile of hers.

But Crowley didn’t see her smile, not yet.

She nipped her bottom lip nervously, eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s, who after inviting the demon to eat, had excused himself for a second without giving reasons. Without saying why.

She was the why, or so Crowley guessed, taking a long sip of the drink in his hand to hide a small, amused grin behind his pottery; what could it be that would hysterise so much the nerves of that beautiful woman?

He was dying to know it, and long before he had even known her name, he was already thinking of her with more interest than, perhaps, he should.

1538, oh, the beautiful Venice during the heyday of the Renaissance in Italy, what a joyful time for artists, aristocrats, noble European families with their ornate clothes and eccentric homes.

Its intricate canals were full of life, of gondolas with lanterns as companions and lovers enjoying the calm offered by the night while the musician, unknown to his people but key to the romantic atmosphere that reigned there, dedicated his poems and songs to the most beautiful of the ladies, the one who lived in his memory, who stole his heart and prevented his rest when trying to sleep.

Oh, Venice, cruel your final sentence, the destruction that awaited you behind the darkest corner, because a demon without bad intentions but with a job to fulfill walked for your cobbled streets and through your low buildings, the smell of salt flooding his nostrils and filling his lungs until exhale a deep sigh that would be lost in the night air.

He couldn’t help but think that scenario would have been to the liking of his friend, the book-loving angel, because if he wasn’t misinformed, the magnificent city housed the first public library in all Europe. He could already hear Aziraphale eager about all the books he could read during his stay, or see reflected in his eyes the affection that the celestial being professed towards all the knowledge of the universe stored in those leather covers full of sheets of paper.

He’d thought of her, too. Crowley always thought about Y/N when visiting a new city, how he would enjoy walking hand in hand with her when discovering the hidden beauty in its streets or hearing her melodious voice, probably excited to discover a new artist to idolize; she loved art.

The problem was that each and every time he was thinking about her in that way, he felt disgusted with himself. He hated it. He hated that warm feeling that spread from his heart to every one of his nerves when he thought of her, when he met her soft gaze or, when by chance, he felt the brush of her fingers on his skin.

He hated love.

He was a demon, for fuck’s sake! He shouldn’t be able to feel love. He shouldn’t want to feel love. He shouldn’t even think about love.

But there he was, making a fool of himself whenever he could be with her.

He hated it, but at the same time, He needed it. He needed her.

Melody of soft, sweet violins then slid through the air and between the voices of those who walked down the avenue to reach the demon, who with slow but sure steps was heading towards his destination, ready to start the mission assigned to him and be able to move quickly to another place. Or enjoy the experiences Venice could give him, whatever first seemed to crave his exquisite persona.

A huge mansion stood out among all the houses at the end of the road, its eccentric facade screaming loudly that it belonged to Italian nobility that little wanted to leave to the imagination of others; showing off was a luxury that not everyone could enjoy. And so, its tall and ornate doors, wide open so that everyone could look inside, let the light escape from it to illuminate the street, successfully attracting the gazes of children, families, onlookers and other spectators who, by chance, passed by.

Two vast guards, whose clothes gave the impression of imitating the fates of The Death, made sure that no one who didn’t have an invitation could go inside.

Crowley, for example, was one of those people not invited to the party, but bold of anyone to assume something like that could stop him, because with a small, subtle and smug smirk adorning his lips and a snap of his fingers, both guards nodded at once and stepped aside, imitating for him a small corridor to get to the inside.

But that smile? Vanished from the moment he put a single foot in that place, feeling his whole body assaulted by a violent shiver that ran from head to toe and held his breath for more seconds than he would have wished.

He knew by heart that feeling, and from the moment he felt it ruffling his skin, he knew he was fucked up and that, most likely, he wouldn’t accomplish his mission. It couldn’t be that easy, right?

A deep and heavy sigh, followed by a shake of his head, accompanied him to the true interior of the luxurious home, crowded to the unthinkable by hundreds of people of high social status in the Italian community, their faces hidden behind masks of thousands of colors and different forms, their bodies, at the same time, wrapped in clothes, jackets and dresses of an exquisite quality that of course, matched the theme of each of their costumes.

A venetian masquerade wasn’t exactly the best scenario to search and identify someone from among all of its guests, but soon his slitted eyes scanned the huge room with hysteria running his veins and an iron pressure tightening his mischievous heart.

The positive side of all that? His mask —black, with golden and red details; what an unexpected surprise— fitted perfectly to a large part of his face, making unnecessary the use of sunglasses so that his peculiar eyes didn’t draw attention to him and, therefore, helping being able to see perfectly normal in the dim light of the hundreds of candles that illuminated the ballroom.

Couples dancing to the tune of the tender melody were gathered in the center of this one, the rest occupied by groups that chatted lively, young men waiting their turn to dance with the lady of their dreams and some more… unfortunate, who only dreamed from their corner with a glass of champagne between his fingers and his sad expression hidden behind a venetian mask.

Some collide against him, too absorbed in his search to bother to dodge people or find a safer route to move, but would he apologize? Never. Not only because Crowley hadn’t apologized in his entire life, but because he didn’t see it necessary to do so. After all, the reason for his hasty movements was far more important than anything that those idiots could ever imagine.

However, when he saw her, everything stopped.

Even his heart.

She had her back to him, her beautiful silky hair pulled back in a high bun that left a pair of curls falling down her shoulders, one on each side, towards her chest.

She wore an apple-green dress with white and gold details here and there, the tight corset making it inevitable to notice right away her beautiful body and the huge skirt attached to it, giving her the look of a gorgeous european princess.

No, from his perspective he couldn’t get to see her whole face, —he barely reached part of it thanks to a couple movements of her head—, but he knew it was Y/N.

There was no doubt.

She laughed, chatting with those she supposed were acquaintances of the angel and the cause and reason why she was there, that among all the times, among the hundreds of masked dances that Venice was witnessing, she was there, the same day, in the same place as him.

Oh, destiny was some capricious bitch and he ended up being a mere puppet that would dance to its tune.

Clearing his throat by positioning himself just behind her —so close that he would only have to put his hands on her waist and turn her around to finally kiss her— he successfully attracted the attention of those around them, who gave away strange glances at the demon; some confused, others suspicious, others distrustful.

The one Y/N gave him when she turned around and their eyes met for the first time in some years was the only one that really mattered.

Her hypnotic eyes, behind that mask that so gracefully embraced her sweet features from the middle of her forehead to below her eyes, opened wide recognizing the gold ones of Crowley, who without thinking twice, took the left hand of the girl, lifted it to his lips and left a kiss right on its back.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, more like a mockery for those presumptuous around him than as a formal request to the angel in front of him. It was easy to appreciate how his eyebrows were raised upwards in the slightest in a subtle grin and how that small and mischievous smirk that she loved so much was partially hidden only by the back of her hand that he still held against himself, and before she could prevent it, that same expression was drawn in her own features, hopelessly excited to find him in that kind of situation.

‘’I’ll be damned.’’ she answered in an incredulous, playful whisper, the demon the only being that could get to clearly hear her and, therefore, tearing a low and attractive chuckle from his throat as a result. She thought she was gonna melt in that very moment.

Saying that, Crowley rose from his bow and, pulling her hand, he led the girl —who didn’t have time to say goodbye to her company— to the center of the room, avoiding the rest of the guests as much as possible and when they arrived, the demon separated the angel from him, throwing her gently in the opposite direction to attract her to his body just a second later in graceful and elegant move thanks to the grip he had in her hand, making the chest of Y/N softly collide with his own.

In the blink of an eye, Crowley's free hand was at her waist and hers, on his shoulder, an amused expression adorning her face. ''I thought demons didn’t know how to dance.'' She teased, raising an eyebrow, her eyes fixed on his at absolutely every moment.

''I thought angels didn’t dance at all.'' he remarked in a flash, as arrogant as always, rocking the girl to the sound of the music that echoed between the walls of the room.

‘’Touché.’’

Not that much passed in silence between them until Crowley raised his voice again, trying to relieve the tension that was gradually forming inside his chest because, of course, she didn’t feel the same. Or so he thought.

Also, not looking at her lips having her so close to him and without his sunglasses that could conceal such act became more difficult each passing second. ''Are you going to tell me what are you doing here or will I have to take a guess myself?'’

''The question is not what I’m doing here,'' she said firmly, twirling in the demon's arms as the rest of the ladies swiveled in the ones of their partners as if that were a choreography with hundreds of dancers in perfect synchrony, only that in her case, when she resumed her position, her voice became just an audible whisper that went straight to the ear of the ginger, the soft velvet of his ornate jacket caressing the palm of her hand when gently pulling it towards herself to bring him closer to her. ''but what are you up to, Crowley. Nothing good, I assume.''

The hit of her breath against his skin and the seductive tone the woman used made every hair on his body stand up and his breath trapped at the beginning of his throat, unable to fight her words with some intelligent and sarcastic comment for his part.

He could only watch, in silence, as Y/N parted a couple inches to be face to face with him again, a smirk on her lips as she knew, she’d won that round.

‘’Touché.’’

Nowadays. Again. Almost 500 years later.

''Crowley?'' Her voice echoed through the walls of the luxurious flat while the front door —its white glass showing a dim light inside— opened wide, braking just before reaching the back wall. ''I just saw your message, is everything okay?''

Not too many minutes ago she’d received a "strange" message from the demon asking her to go to his apartment as soon as possible, making the angel inevitably frown, worried, and teleport there with a simple snap of her fingers.

The strange thing definitely wasn’t him sending her a message, but everything else. It was 2 o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday night, there hadn’t been any serious event that required her attention —or so she thought— and in general, it was Crowley who always, no matter what time, was looking for an excuse to drive his beloved car through the streets of London to the destination he wanted.

That it was she who should move this time was... odd.

The only source of light in the room was a small lamp placed on the huge red marble table that occupied the center of it, which barely came to illuminate enough to know if she was or not alone there.

She didn’t have to raise her voice again, anyway, because the ornate throne next to the table slid back carefully and the demon could be perfectly made out from the rest of the shadows in the room.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ It was the first and only thing Crowley said once he turned around and fixed his gaze —which seemed to shine with its own light— on Y/N, who astonished, raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a thin and incredulous expression; it was the first time in her life that she’d listened him ask for forgiveness, no matter what or whom.

''What are you sorry for, hm? What have you done now?'' She asked in her usual playful tone, waiting for the most elaborate and mind blowing response ever from the redhead.

But it never came.

He moved quickly to erase the distance between them and without stopping to reconsider his next step, —although she could swear, she saw a glimpse of doubt and fear in his eyes—, Crowley took her face with both hands to caress her cheeks and kissed her right away, giving her all he got.

No, it wasn’t tender, romantic or typical for the first kiss you give to your first love. It was hungry, animal, passionate, needy and desperate, as if he’d waited his entire life to be able to taste her lips and lose himself in them while his heart hammered his chest and deafened his ears.

In fact, that was exactly what happened.

And he didn’t expect Y/N to kiss him back in that very moment, because an act as impulsive as that should have shocked her to say the least, but she did, and before they could really think about what was happening, the demon had his angel cornered against the wall, her hands lost in his reddish hair and his, squeezing and pressing her hips against his own body with such force he suspected, could leave bruises on her skin.

But she didn’t mind.

His kisses were all she ever dreamed of and more, a slight taste of whiskey and coffee lingering in his mouth while doing everything possible to steal her breath and make her addicted to him; she was intoxicated, she couldn’t think of anything else.

She didn’t have time to be shocked or to ask herself the most obvious question: why now.

And that's why, when he parted just enough to lean his forehead against hers and breathe on her lips, a heavy sigh left her without any oxygen in her lungs, displaying her annoyance at the lack of his wet touch.

''Am I going too fast for you?'' He asked, the same fear she saw in his eyes minutes ago now in his voice; it was, again, the first time in his life that he looked so worried about messing something up.

His slitted, golden, demon eyes scanned her face for any sign that would make him stop, so close that the image faded irretrievably, and when in his place he found the same craving he felt in his veins, he dampened his parted lips, knowing there was no going back.

‘’If anything, you’re being too slow.’’

[patchwork-panda]

If A Moment is All We Are (5.1/?)

This chapter is REALLY long so I split the text ver into 2 parts for Tumblr. 

AO3 link: here

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Story type: Romance/Drama/comedy

Pairing: Dazai x OC/reader (Dazai is endgame, fic is long-running and will also feature Kunikida x OC)

OC (Kusunoki Kyou) and Ability are based off of "The Story of Your Life," written by Ted Chiang, aka the basis of the Amy Adams movie "Arrival."

Rating: M for Blood/violence/themes of depression, anxiety, suicide TW: The second half of this story will deal more heavily with themes of suicide, depression/anxiety. *No major character death will occur*

Story follows OC as she joins the ADA, partners up with the detectives to solve various cases around Yokohama and develops feelings for Kunikida and Dazai (Dazai endgame).

Written for those who want an immersive ADA experience :)

Updates every Sunday evening around 6pm PST

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It wasn’t always like this.

Okay, maybe it was.

For as far back as I could remember, the visions had always been random, random events I would see of the future. If I was in physical contact with someone, the visions would be from their future. If I wasn’t, then the visions would be from my own life. Sometimes when I was really stressed, the visions of my future would actually come in the form of a dream, like in manga or novels.

Perhaps that was the best way to explain how The Story of Your Life worked; it was like taking out a book, keeping a finger against the pages and flipping until that finger finally caught on a single page. Then, flip open that page and read the first paragraph that jumps out; the book was the person’s life and the paragraph was the event, a single scene from that person’s future that I bore witness to.

The visions didn’t always show me death, blood and despair.

In fact, the very first vision I had was that of a puppy—a cute little thing my friend Kiko gifted me at my fifth birthday party. I must’ve seemed shockingly unsurprised (and possibly rude) to Kiko and her parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain that I’d seen her giving me this puppy half a year ago.

In retrospect, the puppy vision had been great. Sure, it took some of the fun out of a surprise gift but it was still a vision about a puppy. Honestly, if my visions were nothing more than glorified versions of baby animal videos, I’d be perfectly fine with that.

Maybe then, I wouldn’t be left with this overwhelming fear of my own Ability.

I used to be able to touch people, shake their hands, and hold them. In the beginning, “The Story of Your Life” only activated with a prolonged touch...

At first, “prolonged” meant more than ten seconds. That meant getting to play tag in kindergarten, going over to friends’ houses and having sleepovers. Normal stuff. My life didn’t even change all that much when ten seconds shrank to seven some time around middle school; I was able to play contact sports and go out on shopping trips without incident. Seven seconds became five halfway through high school. Again, no need to make lifestyle changes. I could still hold hands with friends, so long as it didn’t go on for too long and I was still able to have my first kiss without seeing even a hint of my boyfriend’s future.

And then, college. Five seconds was no longer doable. It became three at best and just before I’d become a shut-in, even an instantaneous touch was enough to trigger my Ability. By then, however, I’d gotten pretty used to having the visions, so I remained relatively unbothered when I’d see a vision of the barista breaking up with his girlfriend when I got my morning coffee. In other words, managing my Ability was no big deal.

Or so I thought.

About six months ago, my visions went from being an occasional distraction to a panic-inducing nightmare. I still wasn’t sure why...

Maybe it was just luck of the draw. I’d only seen good things, mostly, for the first ten-plus years at least: faraway cities, weddings, and graduations. Every once in a while there would be a failed exam or a lost wallet but overall nothing too out of the ordinary for an otherwise regular teenager to see.

Maybe it was just a sign of the times. As I got older, so did the people around me, so the more likely it was that they were entering that phase of their lives where things could start to go south. Or perhaps their previous lives were just catching up to them.

Or maybe, it was karma finally catching up to me. I’d be lying if I said that I’d never used my Ability for personal gain before. There were a few exams I managed to ace with the help of a well-timed touch of the hand and a few pitfalls I’d managed to avoid through a combination of sheer luck and a decently fast reflex. Perhaps six months ago, whatever granted me this power finally decided that I had a good run and it needed to end in the worst way possible...

And it all happened so quickly.

I never had much control over my visions to begin with and they never really bothered me before but suddenly, they were invading every part of my life—and with each vision I saw, the accuracy increased. My dreams became more vivid than ever; I would see things that had yet to occur and before I moved out, my college roommate would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my screams. I started passing out in the middle of class if someone so much as tapped my bare shoulder and when I came to again, it would be a minute before I remembered where I was and what I was doing. I was starting to consider seeking some kind of help until one day, I finally saw my first death.

It was horrible. I was at dinner with friends on a group date and I hit it off with one of the guys. He wanted to take me to the movies that weekend, and being relatively new to college and Yokohama in general, I agreed. Then, smiling, he’d held my hand just a millisecond too long and I saw it: him getting hit by a car while crossing the street.

I tried not to think about it too hard. Sometimes the vision were wrong. There were times when they’d been off by just a fraction of a second and because of that, I still had hope. Maybe there was a chance that things could change last minute, either by a miracle or by someone’s sheer force of will. But as time passed, my anxiety grew. He was running late and I didn’t like it. Finally, I spotted him at the intersection and, frantic, I waved him down just as the “walk” sign lit up and he started crossing the street.

That’s when it happened.

A single black vehicle, no license plate, ran a red... and ran into him.

I would remember seeing his body flying into the air for the rest of the semester.

After that, I started taking an alternate route to class, just to avoid going anywhere near the part of campus where he’d died. It wasn’t that people were whispering behind my back or accusing me of having a part of it—I just couldn’t handle the memory.

That was the first death.

The first.

It was as if some kind of floodgate had been opened. I had never seen death before that day but after...? Death became all I saw. I briefly shook hands with a foreign exchange student and immediately saw an image of a middle-aged woman lying in a hospital wing. The woman had been the student’s mother and I heard she died a week later. I could not have been responsible for the cancer that claimed her life but I spent weeks feeling guilty about it anyway. There was another incident where I accidentally, and literally, bumped into my English teacher on the way to class. I saw his brother being hit by a bus downtown. His death was announced a month later, on the morning news. When I saw it, I broke down in the middle of the cafeteria and my friend Eri had to take me home.

And it just kept happening.

I became afraid to touch people. I began wearing longer layers during the summer months and started keeping to myself. When even a brush of the hand or bumping into people on public transit could trigger a vision, I started wearing gloves. I got a lot of stares on the subway for wearing itchy winter gloves in the subtropical heat and the knitted fabric made gripping the overhead handholds difficult so I ended up changing to disposable nitrile instead. I got less stares for that but unfortunately, I eventually had to give up public transit entirely when I got squished between two tourists and had a panic attack in the middle of the car.

But giving up public transportation put me in a tough spot. My dorm was pretty far from campus and I didn’t know how to drive. If I really wanted to, I could walk but that would take far too long and make for far too many chances to see another person’s death. And I really didn’t want to ask anyone for a ride because that would just mean more questions and more explanations I wasn’t willing to give.

And yet somehow, I managed to make it work for a time, waking up early to go to class, avoiding hangouts in-between classes and running back to my dorm as soon as I got a chance. But I was still attending classes with lots of people in a crowded lecture hall and living with roommates in a dormitory building. Ultimately, the stress of trying to avoid people while also trying to keep up with increasingly difficult classes caused me to start having nightmares. They were frequent and they were bad. And I knew that these were all things that would someday happen to me: me and a friend being held hostage in an abandoned apartment building, a woman in a suit and sunglasses pointing two machine guns directly at my face, a man didn’t recognize growing steadily colder in my arms as I screamed for him not to leave me...

That following morning, I woke up sobbing—crying as if I wished I was the one who had died instead. When my roommate tried to comfort me, I jerked away out of instinct and immediately realized I’d made a mistake.

And that was it.

I couldn’t it take any more.

About a week later, I left the dorm and found myself a tiny studio apartment, one that I could still afford on my shoestring budget and more importantly, one where I could live completely alone.

Soon after, I dropped out of college and became a shut-in. In true shut-in fashion, I shunned all contact from classmates and friends in case someone came to visit and decide they needed to barge in because they couldn’t—shouldn’t—do such a thing. My apartment had become both my sanctuary and my jail. So long as nothing changed around me, none of the horrible visions would come to pass.

Thankfully, a month into my new lifestyle, the nightmares stopped.

So long as nobody came near me, I wouldn’t have to witness another death with my waking eyes...

I still remembered the night I decided to stop going to class. It was the same night I looked out the windows and saw my own reflection, touched my fingers to my face and pulled them away, confirming that it was indeed blood and not salt tears that dripped down my cheeks. I started avoiding mirrors from that day on and threw myself fully into watching anime, joining fandoms and drawing commissions, anything to distract myself from the invasive, self-destructive thoughts that grew stronger whenever I looked into a reflection of my own eyes.

Yes... Staying was the only solution. If I never stepped out of the apartment again, the world would be spared the sight of my hollow eyes and bloody tears... And I—I would be spared the curse of witnessing things I should never have seen to begin with.

***

“So you’ve been holed up in your apartment for the last six months doing...”

Kunikida frowned, tapping his pen against his chin.

“What exactly? Rent in Yokohama isn’t cheap. How have you been supporting yourself?”

“Commissions,” I explained. “I started watching a lot of anime and playing video games and fans pay good money for drawings of their favorite characters, original characters or even pictures of themselves in a stylized form.”

Summing up my Ability meant practically telling these two my entire life story, not just recalling the events of this morning, and I had to commend the detectives’ patience for sitting through what I would’ve considered a pretty long-winded explanation. Now I was even telling them how I’d stretched my budget and supplemented my allowance.

I held out my hand.

“If I could have some paper and something to write with, I could show you, if you like...?”

Dazai immediately ripped Kunikida’s notebook and pen out of his hands. Ignoring his partner’s protests, he held them out to me and, throwing his arm out to keep Kunikida from taking back his own things, sat back to watch me draw. Within seconds, a coarse outline appeared on the pages, followed by facial features: eyes, nose, hair—a minute later, I handed back Kunikida’s notebook, a quick, rudimentary pen sketch of each detective on its two open pages.

As one, they leaned in to stare at it.

“This is pretty good,” Kunikida said, looking up at me. He squinted down at the page, tracing the lines with his fingers, mumbling, “Does my hair really look like that?”

“It is... isn’t it?” Dazai agreed, rubbing his chin.

As Kunikida puzzled over the drawing, a mischievous glint appeared in Dazai’s dark eyes.

“Kusunoki-san... Have you ever considered a career as a sketch artist?”

At once, Kunikida shot him a warning look.

“Don’t even think about it, Dazai,” he growled, “Making decisions without the President’s approval—”

“I’m not making a decision, only a suggestion,” Dazai declared. “And what’s wrong with a good suggestion?”

“Dazai...”

Ignoring Kunikida entirely, he turned to me.

“Really, I don’t know how we survived like this for so long. We’re a detective agency, one of the best in the city and yet, we don’t have a sketch artist... It’s a shame, don’t you agree, Kusunoki-san? What do you think? Interested in a change of career?”

“Wait... are you asking me to join you?” I asked warily, looking from one detective to the other. “Why would you want someone like me? I can’t fight. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

“I’m asking you,” Dazai said pointedly, “if you would be interested in becoming a sketch artist. I mean, it just so happens that we are in dire need of one—(“No one said that!” Kunikida roared)—and you happen to have the exact skill set we are looking for! Not to mention you’re an Ability User... Just think of all the people you could help.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking away, “Wouldn’t someone like me be more of a burden than an asset? I can’t even control my Ability, much less use it to help people—”

“But what if you could control it?”

I froze. Having had no control of my Ability for my entire life, the possibility hadn’t even occurred to me...

“There’s a way?” I asked, looking back up just as Dazai’s grin turned into a triumphant smirk. “How?”

“I could tell you,” he drawled, his smirk growing even wider, “But it’s a closely guarded secret. You’d have to join us if you want to find out... Of course, I’d be more than happy to vouch for you if you’d like to apply—”

“Dazai—!! You—!”

Kunikida was on his feet.

“We can’t just offer a job to every stray Ability User we rescue from the Port Mafia! Atsushi was one thing but—”

“Oh my, so you’d be perfectly fine sending a nice girl like her back into the jaws of the Port Mafia? Really, I thought better of you, Kunikiiiiiida-kun—”

“That’s not what I said!”

“So you agree, we should take her in?”

Kunikida’s face was in his hands.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but it’s not our decision to make! And besides, she’s clearly been through enough, what makes you think she would agree to—”

“I’ll do it.”

Kunikida’s mouth dropped open. He looked stunned.

“You will—? Wait, no, I never said I agreed—”

“Let me apply,” I said, looking him firmly in the eyes. “I want to help people. I’ve always wanted to. Isn’t that what you do here at the Agency? Use your special Abilities to make their lives better?”

“That’s true,” Kunikida admitted, folding his arms over his chest, “But this can be a dangerous job. Especially for a non-combatant. You almost died today! Why do you want to help people so bad? In fact, let me ask you...”

His eyes flashed from behind his glasses, his expression fierce.

“Why did you go so far for a neighbor with whom you weren’t particularly close?”

I glared right back.

“I had to save her.”

“But it sounds like you already did, when you pulled her off the sidewalk—”

“That’s not good enough!” I burst out, startling Kunikida. “How could I say I saved her, truly saved her, if I knew she was going to die in a week and I did nothing to stop it?”

My hands clenched into fists.

“That doesn’t count. Saving someone means seeing it through to the end, to fully committing yourself and doing what’s right! Isn’t that what you did for me? What both of you did to bring me here today?”

Kunikida was struck dumb. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Dazai got to his feet.

“I think it’s about time I take Kusunoki-san back to her apartment,” he said, making his way to the door, his long tanned trench coat swishing elegantly as he moved.

He patted Kunikida on the shoulder.

“I’ll let you think about what we should tell the President later.”

Kunikida instantly flushed an angry, embarrassed pink.

“Dazai, you—”

Ignoring his partner, Dazai called out to me.

“Kusunoki-san? I won’t be taking you back to your original apartment tonight. We’ll be going to one of the Agency’s safe houses instead. After everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Port Mafia had staked out your building and had someone ready and waiting for you at home. And if you’re wondering, Yamazaki-san is on her way to her nephew’s place in Nagano, so you won’t need to worry about her.”

“But what about my things?” I asked, “What am I gonna tell the landlord?”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Dazai replied, opening the door for me. “Shall we?”

[beyondconfessor]

The Infernal Contract [5/16]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Lilith sat behind the Principle's desk and slowly looked up from her paperwork with an arched eyebrow, a bright smile pulling on her lips as she realised who had entered. "Ms Spellman. What a delightful surprise."

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda set the newspaper down, realising that she'd been reading the same article for over ten minutes and couldn't remember a single word of the story.

"Something wrong, Aunt Zee?" Sabrina asked, looking over her cereal at her.

Zelda felt a pang of guilt in her chest as she looked into her niece's eyes. She wanted to answer that yes, her guilt was bothering her and explain what she'd discovered last night after she'd confronted the so-called Mary Wardwell, but the words didn't come out. Instead, she gave a dispassionate wave of her hand and offered a weak excuse about Ambrose.

The truth was, she'd stayed up half the night thinking about Lilith's words and what they meant. Eventually, she had begun going over the woman's actions, which lead to her thinking about the woman's lips grazing over her own.

She'd traced her lips twice this morning as if it might make the ghost of her touch disappear. It hadn't, and it had only awoken a more primal urge to see her, which only caused further guilt because she should have been thinking about how to get answers, not satisfy salacious desires (no matter how plagued her dreams had  been by them).

"Aunt Zee?"

"Hmm?" she asked, drawing her eyes away from the tabletop. "Sorry, I admit I didn't sleep well."

"So you said," Sabrina replied, her brow furrowing. "Are you okay? Did Father Blackwood do something?"

"His Unholiness," she reminded Sabrina. "If you're to speak to the Council, the proper titles are required for all members, even if some are only interim members."

Sabrina frowned but didn't disagree. "You seem different since your honeymoon."

"Yes, well, it's been an adventurous few weeks. I'll be glad for things to return to normal once Ambrose is home safe." If he comes home safe, she thought. There was no telling what would happen. They could very well take Leviathan's verdict and view it as inconsequential, throwing Ambrose to the chopping block to avoid an otherwise messy situation.

She lifted her cup of coffee to her lips and felt her stomach twist. She didn't know what she would do in that situation, but there was no way she was letting the guillotine drop on her nephew's neck.

"Okay, well anyway, I was saying that yesterday I cured Roz's blindness with Ms Wardwell. I undid whatever curse the witches placed on her family."

Zelda placed her cup down on its saucer hard enough that the bone china rattled. "You undid another witch's curse?"

"It was pretty easy. I just had Roz wash her eyes out with running water. The instructions were pretty simple in the book."

Zelda blinked. The cure for blindness could be that simple, but another witch's curse was not. To undo a curse took weeks of work and powerful magic. For something as old as blood curse that attached to the genes of a mortal, it could be a painful, dangerous process involving the destruction of the blood curse and then the mending of the eyes.

"Ms Wardwell gave you the spell?" she inquired.

Sabrina nodded.

"Did you have the book?"

"Oh, no. I returned it to her."

Zelda grew tall in her seat, thinking over the possibilities. "Perhaps it's time I came to learn of the witch's abilities. She seems to be more a mentor to you then the Academy or I."

Sabrina smiled, almost teasing as she asked, "You're not jealous, are you? You, Aunt Hilda and Ambrose, will always be the foundations of my magic. It's just that Ms Wardwell seems to know more of the new ways, I guess. Where yours is more traditional. Still important, but just different, I guess."

I bet. But Zelda held her tongue, keeping the words to herself. "Perhaps I should pick up Leviathan. After all, I'm sure you would prefer to spend time with Mr Scratch before we're all called before the Council."

"Oh, no, that's fine. Baxter High isn't far."

"And how do you expect to get there? Catch the bus?"

Sabrina frowned. "I was going to teleport nearby. There's a-"

"Nonsense. Go to the Academy. I'll procure Leviathan and bring him to the Academy."

Sabrina eyed her warily. No doubt concerned that she would willingly step foot in the mortal school. "Did something happen between you and Ms Wardwell last night? When you came inside, you were acting pretty strange."

"Nothing out of the usual," she lied. "It's just that if this woman insists on pushing into our lives and acting as a mentor to my niece, I would like to know her better. Is that so wrong, Sabrina?"

Sabrina shrugged, shaking her head. "I guess not. Just try not to scare her away, you can be a bit intimidating to others. Even witches."

While that was undoubtedly true, and Zelda prided herself in it, it was rather amusing to imagine that she could intimidate the great concubine of Satan. "I will do my best to remain agreeable."

"That's all I can ask for," Sabrina said.

As it was, Zelda waited until Sabrina had left for the Academy before she climbed into the car and made her way to the school. In the rearview mirror, at a set of red lights, she checked how she looked in the mirror (after all, she had to show her best face to the woman).

It would have been better had she stopped at the Academy to change into the clothes she left there, but the ones she kept at the Mortuary would do.

She parked the car across two spaces and made her way through the school. Most of the students were out of the halls (Praise Satan), and it only took one mortal she presumed to be a teacher to direct her to where the Principle's office was.

She entered the office, pushing the door open and came face-to-face with a petite woman with her hair severely pulled back and overtly bright can-do smile. "How can I help you?"

Zelda pulled her sunglasses down to look over them at the woman. "Is Wardwell in her office?"

"Oh! Ah, do you have an appointment with Principle Wardwell?"

Zelda drew in a deep breath and looked at the woman, waiting for her to respond correctly. The woman's smile turned brittle as she awkwardly looked to the door. "Um, she is, but you- hey, you'll need an appoint- excuse me, you'll need an appointment!" the woman said, trying to stop her as Zelda pushed the office door open, removing her sunglasses as she entered.

Lilith sat behind the Principle's desk and slowly looked up from her paperwork with an arched eyebrow, a bright smile pulling on her lips as she realised who had entered. "Ms Spellman. What a delightful surprise."

Zelda tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs Meeks, I'll take it from here," Lilith said, setting her pen down.

Zelda stepped into the room and stood before the desk. Behind her, the blonde woman pulled the office door shut with a soft click. Once it had, Zelda folded her arms and cast a look over the room. "Where's Leviathan?"

"Safe, if that's what you're concerned about. But I do believe you're here for another reason."

Zelda took a moment to study the woman. She was reclining forward in her chair, her hands clasped before her, resting on the desk. What annoyed Zelda was the sincere expression tilting up at her as if Lilith was absolutely fascinated with what she might say.

"What does the Dark Lord want with Sabrina?"

Lilith smiled before offering a shrug as she leaned back in the chair. "Your guess is as good as mine," she admitted. "He tends to keep his cards close, but I can imagine he wants her for something important."

"You don't even know what you've been sent here to do?"

Displeasure briefly crossed her face, but it disappeared quickly behind a mask, "I don't presume to know the Dark Lord's will. I only enact it at his request. So far, his current request is for me to remain here and overlook our darling, Sabrina."

"And where do I come into this?"

"You don't. That was purely for my indulgence. I believe we had this conversation last night if I'm not mistaken?"

"I'd hardly call last night a conversation."

"No? What would you refer to it as, then?"

Zelda's jaw clenched. She ran her eyes over the room, looking over the different books that littered the shelves in the office. There were a few Zelda recognised, some that were meant to distract the casual viewer, but a few she didn't recognise at all –– most likely from Lilith's private collection. "Sabrina advised me this morning that you had helped her to cure one of the mortal's predicaments."

"Yes, well. Hardly difficult work."

"Just as the exorcism was hardly difficult?" she asked, turning to look at the woman.

"Quite," Lilith said. "She did rather beautifully upon your arrival, don't you think?"

"And yet, I'm certain she could have done it with just your hand in that blasphemy should the need have arisen."

Lilith shrugged. "Is it truly a blasphemy, just because your husband dictates it?"

At the mention of Faustus, Zelda drew backwards, looking away from the woman to eye over the Book of the Dead she had present on her shelves. As she reached out to touch it, a magnetism pulled at her fingers, telling her of the ancient powers that were in the pages.

This was no meagre Book of the Dead you'd find in the Academy's library. "The Council dictates it, not him." Though Zelda understood her point nonetheless, it raised an important question, "Why did you choose the mortal school and not the Academy?"

"We already had someone at the Academy," Lilith said from directly behind her. Zelda whipped around to face the woman, having not heard her rise and move around her desk. "Though he's no longer interested in the Dark Lord's will. Rather jealous of our Sabrina, wouldn't you say?"

"She's not yours," Zelda spat.

"No, I suppose not. She belongs to the Dark Lord," Lilith said, placing her hands on the bookshelf behind Zelda, effectively pinning her in place. "But you're mine, aren't you, dear?"

"I don't belong to anyone," Zelda said. Her heart began to race as she stepped back against the bookshelf and felt the spines of the book press through the material of her dress. How she kept ending up in this spot, she didn't know. But it would be preferable if it stopped happening. "And it definitely wasn't stipulated in the contract before you attempt to suggest that."

Lilith hummed, "No, it was not, but to sign the contract, you would be agreeing to it."

"Please, that's not how it works. And if you think I'm going to continue with this after knowing you're manipulation of Sabrina, you're more thoughtless than I could have predicted."

Lilith tsked. "Manipulating, guiding, are we not all serving the Dark Lord's will in our own ways?" She pushed closer, so they were only a breath away as she wound her fingers through Zelda's hair, tugging just enough to set the nerve-endings alight. "Tell me that you don't want this. Say the words out loud and mean them and you'll be free to walk out of here, unravished."

Zelda drew in a breath, and a part of her wanted to say the words. Wanted to tell Lilith that she could go to Heaven for all she cared. But the woman's eyes were so very blue, and her lips were so very close, and the hand in her hair was tugging in such a way that Zelda could feel a reaction pooling beginning between her thighs. "I..." she tried to say, but her mouth dried up and a sudden longing to feel the woman's mouth on hers filled her.

Lilith smirked at her. "You what? Speak up."

Zelda closed her eyes, trying to pull back, but there was nowhere to go, and the woman's body was so close to hers.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll provide it to you," Lilith whisper, her lips grazing over her own before they brushed over her cheek, down her throat. Zelda stretched her neck, wanting to feel the mouth press harder, to feel teeth sink against her flesh and hands grab hard enough to bruise, but Lilith pulled away.

As Zelda opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the blue irises once again, patiently awaiting her response (already knowing).

The knowledged settled like a weight inside of her.

"I want this," Zelda admitted, feeling the guilt flood over as she said the words. And yet, it felt like such a relief to own them as the truth. She wanted Lilith, wanted her touch, her kiss, wanted to breathe in her perfume and be marked by her teeth. She wanted her inside of her, fucking her until she couldn't remember how many times she came around her fingers. "I want you."

"Good girl," Lilith said, and then her lips were on hers. Zelda felt her stomach flip as she pressed closer, feeling the woman's hand curl tighter in her hair as she was pushed back into the bookshelf hard enough that the shelves rocked against their brackets.

Lilith didn't play with her this time. She rolled up Zelda's skirt and shoved the underwear aside, slipping two fingers inside of her.

Zelda gasped, feeling the fingers curling the wall of her vagina, hitting a spot that had her pushing up on her toes.

Everything melted away as the woman's fingers thrust inside of her. All of her fears and concerns disappearing from her mind as the only thing she wanted was for this moment to continue endlessly.

Zelda clutched at the woman, feeling her back slam against the shelves again. She heard books tumble to the ground, likely alerting the shared wall's occupant that something was occurring.

A part of Zelda knew she shouldn't make too much noise. The last thing she needed was that mortal woman with the big smile flinging the door open and seeing them in the middle of this. But Zelda didn't stop or quieten or move away from the rocking bookcase. Her worldview had shrunk until only Lilith contained it, and all she wanted, was for the woman to keep doing whatever it was with those fingers against that spot as she clung to her for stability.

"Look at you, already dripping," Lilith said to her.  

Another finger had slid inside of her, rubbing against a spot inside of her, causing a fast build of stars to form behind her eyes. It was all she could do to move her hips in time, gasping against the woman's mouth and hissing out a soft moan whenever she felt she might slip over the precipice (but didn't, because Lilith was teasing her and by Satan, she was doing it well).

Zelda bit her lip and bowed her head against the woman's shoulder. Her fingers scrunched, her body squeezing, but the relief didn't come. "Lilith," she moaned.

"Yes?"

"I swear ––" her throat closed as she rose and fell again, "oh for pity's sake - Please," she hissed as she pushed onto her toes and almost - almost, but didn't.

"Please what?"

"Please... Can you let me finish?" Zelda asked, opening her eyes to look at the woman. "Are you happy?"

Lilith grinned. "Immensely."

It was quick and messy. Zelda came fast, her moan stifled by Lilith's mouth pressed against her own. Her nails digging into Lilith's arms as she nearly sobbed at the intensity of the climax.  

When the shuddering eased, Lilith mouth moved to kiss down her jawline, over her neck and slowly withdrew, intentionally sliding over her clit as she flicked the underwear back in place.

It was enough for Zelda to crave a second round until she heard the sound of distant chatting outside of the door.

Tugging her skirt down, she watched as Lilith walked over to her desk and pulled out a tissue from a tissue box and wiped her fingers clean. Going behind the table, she picked up the mouse cage hidden from underneath and set it on top of the desk, gesturing to Zelda. "I believe this is what you were after?" she said with a knowing smirk.

Walking over Zelda snatched the cage, looking over it briefly to ensure it was Leviathan that rested inside, moving amongst the water and food that had been set inside the container. "Thank you," she said tightly.

She realised too late she should have clarified the object of her appreciation. Lilith grinned at, intentionally misinterpreting her. "My pleasure," she responded, her voice almost purring.

It didn't help the situation, and made Zelda all the more hungry to take Lilith on top of the desk.

Before Zelda could do anything, a knock sounded at the door.

Lilith looked from the door to Zelda and then passed Zelda a fresh tissue, gesturing to the woman's neck.

Taking the tissue, she rubbed the lipstick marks away, quickly fixing her mouth before Lilith nodded. "Come in, Mrs Meeks."

Mrs Meeks opened the door with two men standing behind her. She looked between Zelda and Lilith before noticing the mouse cage. Her inquisitive face eased as if the mouse cage answered some new question. "You're nine-thirty is here," she said, directing her statement towards Lilith, while also politely advising Zelda that she would need to leave.

Well, Zelda didn't need to be told twice, certainly not by some mortal.

With the cage in hand, she exited out of the office and made sure not to look back. Though she was confident that she could feel the woman's eyes watching her leave.

Once she'd exited into the hall, Zelda felt as if she was almost running out of the school. Not that she did run, instead she merely strode towards her car, knowing she needed to return to the Academy with the familiar before noon. And given that it was half-past nine, there was no need for her to walk this fast.  

And yet, it felt as if she should. Because if she was honest with herself, Zelda had intended to walk into that office and undo the very same contract that had only been set up a day prior. But she hadn't. Instead, she had ended up getting fucked by her.

Zelda set the cage in the passenger side, buckling the seatbelt over it to keep it steady before climbing into the driver's seat. Once the door had shut, and the motor had purred on, a wave of guilt rolled through her. It twisted at her stomach and gripped her lungs.

Zelda knew it was wrong, and yet she wanted her again. Worse, she knew when Lilith beckoned for her, she would heed the request and obey.

Looking to the rearview mirror, she wiped at the smudged lipstick, fixing around the edges before putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking lot.

The vehicle hummed, a ticking noise in the change of gears that she would need to have looked over soon. The radio buzzed some horrible mortal music, and Zelda tried very hard not to focus on the residue feeling of Lilith's fingers inside of her.

"Satan save me," she whispered and looked to Leviathan. "You should ensure that keep your mouth shut about this unless you want to lose your tail."

Leviathan gave a soft squeak before backing into the corner of the cage. At least someone respected her authority.

The drive seemed short as her thoughts circled over the tryst. Despite her intentions, she could feel Lilith's touch over hers again and again, as she contemplated what the right thing to do was (usually Zelda didn't care about what was right, but this effected more than her own life, and the repercussion it could have on her family were too disastrous for her to dismiss).

On the one hand, she felt as though Sabrina deserved the truth about Ms Wardwell and the Dark Lord's intentions, and yet on the other, she knew if she informed her niece, the girl was likely to rebel for the sake of rebelling against the Dark Lord, which would have its own repercussions.

And yet if she didn't tell her, and Sabrina found out she knew all along, she would never trust her again.

Over and over, she considered the different circumstances, of what they might mean for Sabrina, for her family, for her coven –– and still she couldn't decide. The Dark Lord had not directly advised her to keep it hidden, so she swore no oath to do so.

Even Lilith hadn't sworn her to secrecy. Instead, she annoyingly proclaimed that Zelda wouldn't speak the truth (which ironically made Zelda want to tell for that reason alone).

Still, it wasn't a good enough reason.

Even as she arrived at the Academy, unbuckling the seatbelt that held Leviathan's cage in place, her thoughts circled over and over. She wanted to tell Sabrina, she wanted Lilith, and the two situations could not mutually exist.

"Sister Blackwood," Prudence said as she stepped out of the car. "His Unholiness has requested to see you."

Zelda pulled the cage out, feeling her shoulders deflate. Of course, he did. Likely, he was ready to make a plea bargain with her. Well, there was very little that could change her mind.

"Did he say what he has to offer?"

Prudence shrugged, but the smirk she had on her face caused Zelda to narrow her eyes. There was something smug about the girl. Something that made Zelda caused anxiety to snake through her nerves, and yet she knew that Prudence would side-step her every question if she pushed.

"Lead the way," she said, taking the cage in hand.

Prudence led her through the halls of the Academy, taking her to Faustus' chambers where she opened the door and gestured Zelda to enter.

Zelda overlooked the area, taking a deep breath to see if she could feel any hexes or curses that laid in the area. There was nothing outside of the usual protection charms.

Stepping into the foyer, she looked over the dim lighting. Faustus sat before the furnace, next to a cradle which he rocked with the toe of his shoe.

Zelda held the cage tighter and stepped towards him, feeling the warmth flicker over her skin as she came into light and Faustus eyes moved to her. He reclined in his armchair, gripping a glass of scotch with one hand as he continued to nudge the cradle, rocking the sleeping Judas.

"Zelda," he greeted.

"Faustus," she said in turn. "We have Leviathan."

"So I've been advised." He turned and looked at the creature, casting it a sharp glare. "And I suspect you'll turn it over the council?"

Zelda stared at him. He was at ease, unconcerned towards the threat she held. Instinctively, she brought the cage closer to herself. "That depends," she admitted. "Was there any last words you had to offer that may dissuade me?"

Faustus smirked as he looked over to her as he continued to rock the babe. "Prudence came to me last night. We spoke briefly about Ambrose and the...unfortunate situation he was in."

Zelda waited, but she could feel the anxiety growing in her chest as if it would soon push and crack her ribs.

"And informed me of the most interesting thing, Zelda. You see, Prudence advised that she was not my only daughter." Zelda felt as if the room had grown colder as she looked to the crib and realised it was not baby Judas inside, but baby Leticia, their noses were different, as were the curve of their chins. "It would be a shame if any harm were to come to such a darling girl. But I hear that some witches are prone to early, childhood illness and often don't make it to their first birthday."

Zelda felt the words choke her. There was the baby girl she had tried so hard to smuggle and save from Faustus. Leticia laid in the crib, her sock falling off her left foot, suckling on a bone rattle likely gifted from Desmelda. Zelda wanted to step closer to fix the socks and swaddle her in a blanket, but she didn't allow herself to move.

She had to be careful.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I already have a daughter," Faustus advised. "If this babe were to be returned discreetly to Dezmelda, it may suit her. However, I would request a sudden blood price."

Zelda looked to the familiar in her hand, turning to look over at Prudence who continued to smile smugly by the door. Every part of Zelda wanted to slap the girl, ask why, why would Prudence offer up her own sister as a tool for blackmail. But it didn't matter. Leticia was here, and if Zelda played her cards wrong, both of them would be slaughtered before she could do anything about it.

"How would I know that she would remain safe?" Zelda asked.

"You have my oath."

She glowered, stepping closer, "You'll have to do better than that."

"Hand over the familiar, Zelda, and you can take the babe with you to where ever you wish."

Zelda paused, looking to baby Leticia. "And Ambrose?"

"Collateral damage, he never should have lived I'm afraid."

No, of course not. Zelda felt her heart sink. Her choice was simple, a witch's life for a warlock's. How could she choose? She looked to Leticia, suckling on the rattle, and then to Prudence, her pride fracturing across her face, uncertain of what Zelda would choose. Unsure of what she wanted in the choice. And then she looked back to Faustus.

His face was calm, unwavering. Convinced that he had her in the crosshairs.

"No," Zelda said, holding the familiar close. "For your life, you'll allow both Leticia and Ambrose to live."

"I'll kill the baby now if that's what you'll have."

"You won't," Zelda said. "Because if you do, you know that I'll take Leviathan to the Council and you lose all bargaining with me. The offer is there. Ambrose, Leticia, Judas and Prudence are to be safe against your hand and will. They will live the rest of their lives out, and you will not harm a single hair on their head. Only then will the Leviathan disappear. Should anything change, then I suppose an interesting conversation will be held with the Council."

"Ridiculous."

"Is it?" she asked. Placing the familiar down on the ground, she banished it from the room, taking it out of the play so that Faustus couldn't attempt anything senseless. "There, now it's out of sight."

Faustus rose, anger fuelling his face as he tried to summon the cage back, and then failing because he had no idea where she'd banished it.

"Tell me Faustus, what do you think the Council will do when they find out that not only was it you who was behind the assassination but that you're the cause of the needless slaughtering of warlock members when we're in such short supply of them?"

Faustus growled at her, low and deep in his throat. And for a moment she was sure he'd try something. Then his hand lowered, and a sad, resigned look took over his face. "And how do I know I can trust you?" he asked.

There, Zelda knew she had him. "You'll have my oath. A witch's oat," she said. "No less or more than that."

Faustus glared at her, his lips drawing over his teeth, baring them like some animal. Zelda stood tall, glaring across at him. His options were limited, and his attempt at blackmail pitiful. She knew him well enough to know that his sense of self-preservation was too strong to let him ruin this chance.

"Leticia and Judas," he offered instead.

"Father-!" Prudence snapped.

"Ambrose, Prudence, Leticia and Judas," she repeated. "No less or more. I'm sure even you could manage that."

"Done," he agreed tightly, sitting back in the armchair.

Zelda smiled, walking over to him, she held out at her hand to seal the oath. Faustus glared at it, obviously looking for a loophole in the words before he raised his hand and shook hers, clutching tight enough in an attempt to fracture her fingers.

She smiled through it.

"By these words, bind us in an oath. For the lives of Ambrose, Prudence, Leticia and Judas, the familiar with not be bestowed to the Council," she said, invoking the witch's oath. "So let it be."

"By these words, bind us in an oath. For the familiar to not be bestowed to the Council, I will not harm the lives of Ambrose, Prudence, Leticia and Judas. So let it be."

The magic zapped between their hands, seeming to buzz through their palms and up their forearms. Zelda dropped her away first, watching the anger fester in Faustus' eyes. She knew he loathed her now, having humiliated him in front of a witness would serve to stoke that fury for some time.

"Prudence," Zelda called. "Why don't you take Leticia back to Dezmelda? I'm sure she's quite worried about her."

"Of course," Prudence said. She walked over to the crib and picked the baby up carefully, ensuring she supported the head as she cradled her. "I'll return soon," she said to her father, but Zelda could hear a hollowness in her voice.

Zelda turned looked Faustus over, noticing his cravat wasn't sitting right (likely showing his anxiety this morning when he dressed). "I take it classes remain suspended for the day?"

"They are," he agreed. "You know, Sabrina will be pleased with this. She will likely try to produce the familiar, and then you'll be in violation of your oath."

"Let me worry about Sabrina. You should be concerned about how you're going to save Ambrose."

Faustus scowled at the tone she took, but Zelda didn't care. She stepped forward towards him, fixing his cravat so it sat flush against the collar, watching as a conflicted look overcame Faustus' face as if he couldn't stand her hands touching him, and didn't want her to stop. "Time's ticking, Faustus. I would come up with a plan soon." She smoothed the lapels of his jacket before stepping away and exiting out of his chambers.

Faustus was right, however. She would need to find Sabrina and advise her towards the situation as soon as possible.