#and probably wasn’t supposed to live this long like i should be dead of something by now but i’m Not i’m still alive on accident

[petoskeystones]

hang on guys look away i don’t have a journal

[emomanswhore]

I feel like... if you call ghost daddy in bed he'll go crazy

ghost with a daddy kink ? oh yeah… he definitely eats it up, when his prettiest princess calls him daddy in bed. <33

—❤︎︎ — DADDY’S HOME . . . ❞

SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER

✵. !! WC : 3.7k

✵. !! TAGS & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - service/softdom!ghost (he’s a lil bit mean), cunnilingus, daddy kink, size kink/difference, praise/petname usage, subtle spit kink, squirting, thigh slapping, overstimulation, dumbification, pussydrunk!ghost (hes in LOVE with your pussy), orgasm denial, fingering, the mask stays ON.

✵. !! A/N : hihi babies ! just a lil treat for y’all and thank you for 700+ follows and all the love you’ve given for simon says ♡!! hope you enjoy this mini fic, lmk how we feeling about it !! <33 ps… i folded. im sat. i actually wanna call this man daddy so bad. 🧎‍♀️

In your mind, there was one word— one forsaken word that you refused to utter. A word that only the most sexually deprived would use.

A person with their morals in check, should never attempt to sexualize something that is meant as an innocent title and name. Usually reserved for an actual father, or someone fulfilling the role of a male caregiver.

Right.

A person with their morals in check.

Right. You totally weren’t projecting… and deeply shaming your own innermost yearning, to desperately call your boyfriend ‘daddy’ while he fucked you.

It definitely wasn’t a thing you could say you were proud to admit outloud. Nope, you would quite frankly rather be caught dead than have your questionable cravings exposed to the world.

But every single day, you swore to god that your boyfriend tried to purposely provoke you into using the absolutely forbidden word.

Simon always took care of you. Whether that’d be making sure you got to work safely, cooking you meals on days that you were too tired to be bothered, or even texting you throughout the day to make sure you were resting properly.

You know. You know that’s probably the absolute bare minimum, and what a boyfriend is supposed to do for you in a serious relationship. But you just couldn’t help that ache and flutter you got in your heart, that made you so weak for him.

He worked so hard every single day, busy and moving nonstop on less than four hours of full rest. Even when he had his most stressful and agonizingly long days at work, he still tried to reach out to you. It could be a single worded text message or a phone call that only lasted for five minutes.

No matter what or without question, Simon will do his absolute best to tend to you. It was truly unconditional love, devotion, and his unspoken rule to give you whatever you most desired.

And you feel sick— sick in the head for letting your insatiable lust take over your sense of morality. Putting his mostly wholesome catering ways, in the same category as what you needed to relieve that scorching, sore pounding in your core.

That was alright though, you could live off your little fantasies and scenarios you created in your mind. Always making yourself dizzy and soft headed, imagining a world where he would make love to you and refer to himself as ‘daddy’.

It would suit him so well. Your hulk of a man, who had to put a slight bend in his knees whenever he came through the doors of your home. His mellow, husky voice always gently rasping to you— almost never, ever raising it higher than an octave at you. The way he could spoil you absolutely rotten, only ever calling you by his own little terms of endearment.

Always putting you first when he fucked you. Even in times when it got rough or you two were experimenting with things on the more intense side, you always came first. Literally and physically, since Simon couldn't properly get off himself, without knowing you were completely satisfied.

Your aftercare would consist of cuddling, he’d coo the sweetest of praises as he handled your sore limbs.

“My sweet girl, look at how pretty she is. Did such a good job today, angel. I know baby, I'll take good care of you now. Such a pretty girl, aren't you?”

It’s perfectly fine.

You could keep all those things about him to yourself. Just let your brain work its magic, to create fantasies and fill the deep void of your scorching carnality. You always subconsciously needed that one little thing to make yourself come even harder. But you were a good, grateful girl for him and always let Simon know how well he treated your body.

It’s perfectly fine. You don’t need a daddy kink in your life, to make yourself feel better. You were so much better than that, and you’d never let Simon get the idea that you were some ill, perverted deviant.

It was all fine.

Until today, when he finally pulls the most forbidden word out your mouth— and satiates the bubbling, hot desire that has a heavy chokehold on your heart and soul.

You don’t know how things escalated so fast.

One minute, you get his text that he’s on his way home and he’ll see you soon.

Out of pure joy and excitement to finally see him again after three weeks, you start to get yourself ready for the evening by taking an extra long shower. Making sure you’ve lathered and exfoliated every inch of your body in vanilla scented body polish, with a hint of brown sugar and cocoa butter. It was always Simon’s favorite scent on you, and he’d seemed more clingy than usual whenever your sweet aroma hit his nose.

The next hour, you throw on a simple, yet cheeky little lingerie set.

A delicate floral embroidered baby blue bra, with its matching mini stringed thong panty. You couldn’t help but fall in love with it at first sight. The design is a lovely work of art, the milky color enhancing the glow of your soft skin— yet it’s so scandalous on your body.

You did purposely get a smaller size, but on top of that it was made of see through mesh material. Not a single doubt in your mind that if he looked close enough, Simon could make out the shape of your nipples through the bra. And between your legs? The outline of your folds were perfectly clear and transparent against the light color of your panties.

After spending another minute admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror and taking a few selfies of your enticing form, you slip on a fluffy cream colored robe and head to the kitchen. You wanted to get something in your stomach before Simon came home, so you decided to lightly snack on a slice of pomegranate fruit.

You don’t even make it to the fridge before you hear the sharp clicking of keys turning a door knob, and feel the cold gust of wind that comes with the front door being swung open.

A gasp and squeal flies out your mouth as you bounce up and down on your toes, the actual sight of your boyfriend trudging in through the doorway makes your heart swell and pound in your chest.

“Baby!” You practically skip on your feet towards him, unable to hide your excitement of his abrupt appearance, as he starts taking quick strides to meet you halfway.

You think with how fast Simon approaches towards you, and him not even bothering to take off his shoes at the front door, he must’ve been just as excited to see you.

When you two finally meet each other in the middle of the hallway, you give him a big, dazzling smile as you go to lean in to hug him.

Before you can get your arms around him, he places a large hand on the small of your back and pulls you in close to his chest. You gape up at him, your smile slowly melting down to a look of pure confusion. Knees already feeling wobbly at his close proximity, and the way he has to tilt his head down to look you in the eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, when he slowly drags his open palm up along the cotton material of your robe. Even through its thickness, you can feel the heat radiating off his hand that follows along the curve of your back. Sending tingles down your spine, when his hand eventually makes its way up to the soft nape of your neck.

You both stare at each other. Your eyes become hazy and unfocused, while his dark ones scan over your perfect little form. You hear him pull in a deep breath of air through his nose. Holding it in his chest for five seconds before letting it back out, while he drags his eyes up back onto yours.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day long, y’know that?” He mutters these words, yet somehow they’re loud enough to ring and echo in your eardrums. You pull your lips in your mouth, feeling your core thump in tune with the pitter patter of your heartbeat.

You practically whimper out loud, as he continues onto his sentence,

“ ‘S about time I came home. Think it’s only right to show my princess how much I really missed her, wouldn’t you agree, pretty baby ?”

That was the only warning you were given… for what your boyfriend truly had planned for you, once he finally got his hands on you. Everything after that moment, truly did escalate as if time were being fasted forward.

You knew he missed you. Without him vocally telling you how much he thought of you, his actions spoke much louder than his words.

He was so sloppy.

From the way he practically rips your robe off your trembling body, to pushing you down onto your shared mattress and diving face first into the warm heat of your clothed pussy.

He was truly like a dog in heat. Not even bothering to take his mask off completely from his head, and only lifts it enough to show you his parting lips as he comes face to face with the growing patch of wetness sticking in your panties.

“Look at my pretty lil’ lady,” he coos softly, hooking his thumb into the side of your soiled panties and pulling them to the side to expose your glistening cunt to his heavy eyes. “Missed me, haven’t you? Can’t imagine how tight ‘n upset you are, since I haven’t been givin’ you proper treatment lately.”

It always blew your mind when Simon literally talked to your pussy.

Speaking in soft murmurs and giving it the same delicate pet names that he gave you, the owner of it. As dumb as it probably sounded, you sometimes couldn’t help but feel that ugly swirl of jealousy when he practically treated it like it was an entire living and breathing person.

You don’t have time to mull over your childish feelings, letting out a squeak when he grabs both of your thighs and presses them back until your knees squish against your chest.

“Know you’re mad at me, little one” Another squeak sounds out your throat, as you feel him turn his head to the side of your thigh and he lets his teeth sink into the doughy flesh of your skin. He hums, sucking on the flesh before letting it go and pressing a soft kiss to the flaming bruise he leaves behind. “Gonna show you how much I’ve missed splittin’ you open on my tongue.”

He follows through with his words, putting his full attention back onto your pussy. Using his index and middle fingers to pry open the thick lips of your cunt, groaning when he sees your hole twitching and spasming over nothing. The scent of your nectar coating your thighs and leaking out your pussy, makes him feel even more high and drunk off your arousal.

You’re so messy already. And like the gentleman that he was, Simon always took the initiative to help clean up messes that you made.

Still keeping his fingers spread enough to keep your lips parted, he lolls his thick tongue out before swiping it on your slit. You mewl and flinch at the feeling of his warm tongue, but he grips the side of your thighs to keep you still. Simon continues licking up and down your cunt. Maintaining the same pattern of stroking his strong tongue, as if he were savoring a frozen delicacy that helplessly dripped down the side of its waffle cone.

Once he feels like he’s collected enough of your cum on his tongue, he pulls his tongue back into his mouth to let the taste of you sit heavy on his taste-buds.

Your toes curl and you let out a soft gasp, as you watch him hollow his cheeks, before he lets the sinful mixture of your cum and his spit fall right back into your twitching hole. Chuckling to himself as he watches the way his greedy girl swallows up the little treat he gave her.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, princess” This time he does actually talk to you, dragging his eyes up from your drenched pussy and onto your blearing, glossy ones.

“Always so good for me. Could eat you up every single day ‘n never get tired of it. Can’t believe I went so long without this, fuck.”

Simon starts to probe his tongue along your core, tracing the shape of it until he finally pushes inside you. Already feeling the tight caverns of your pussy ease up, and welcome the thickness of his tongue rubbing up against your gushing walls.

“S-Sim— oohhh,” You throw your head back, unable to finish your squealing when he pulls his tongue completely out of you, and decides to inflict his torture upon your little clit. First he flicks the tip of his tongue over it, then he lets his mouth completely envelop around your pearl. Pumping it a few times between his lips, before pulling off to run his tongue over the expanse of your pussy.

You weren’t going to last.

You were far too sensitive after not having him around to please you for three entire weeks. All you could do was sob and let it happen, letting out a cry before you feel a fat watery gush of cum shoot out your hole. Simon pays it absolutely no mind, only widening his mouth to catch every little drop you gifted him.

“That’s it. Such a sweetheart, you’re already spoiling me ‘n givin’ me a lil’ treat. ,” He feels the way your body starts to relax, already going into its state of after pleasure— but he isn't done. Far from done, actually. Hasn’t even been half of an hour yet, and your legs start shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Ah, Ah,” Simon tuts, slapping his palm hard on your soaked inner thigh, making you jolt and buck your hips up. “C’mon baby, couldn’t have thought I was done with you. ‘S only been a few minutes, ‘n you’re tapping out already? Thought my baby missed me, hm?”

It hasn’t only been a few minutes. Even in your dazed and dizzy mind, you knew that he’d been feasting on your pussy for well over twenty minutes. You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as you let out a soft sob.

“I di-did miss you, baby” You sniffle wetly, feeling him trace his thick fingers along your soaking heat. Shaking your head in protest as he slips in his middle and ring fingers, humming while you babble to him. “But I can’t ta— aaahh, t-take it anymore. ‘S too much, baby. No more.”

“Too much?” He starts to flex his fingers deep inside of you, curling them in slow motions to stimulate your special gummy spot, that has you sobbing hysterically.

“You haven’t had your fill yet, sweet girl. I can feel it. Y’see this?” Simon tries to retract his fingers from your cunt, but your walls instantly clamp down on him. “You’re not lettin’ me out. My little lady down here knows exactly what she wants. So c’mon princess, lay still ‘n let me spoil this pretty pussy rotten.”

Having absolutely zero regard for your whines and sobs, he continues his previous abuse on your poor little pussy.

Seconds, minutes, hours, decades— You can't even tell how long he stays between your thighs.

Simon uses both strong hands to keep your legs steady and trap you from squirming or running away. You can take it. You will take it. He knows how much you need this, humming at every broken little sob and wanton moan that comes screeching out your throat.

Your vision starts to blur while you stare up at the spinning ceiling. Saliva pooling in your mouth and making a puddle next to your temples, as you let it run down the side of your lips.

You’re going crazy.

So high off the overstimulation of his face buried deep in your leaking pussy, that you swear…. you swear, you can feel your brain getting mushy. So mushy that if you shook your head hard enough, it could probably come spilling out through your ears.

He’s speaking into your pussy, saying words and mumbling something out loud. But you can’t hear it. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your throat, and feel the way he shakes his face side to side, while his tongue is plugged in your cunt.

Feel the way his hands grip your thighs so tight, that the blunt tip of his nails dig deep into your skin. You can already imagine the bruising and crescent little puncture marks it’ll leave on your legs.

It’s all so sloppy. Your pleas and cries for mercy, getting lost in the little squeals of ‘yes!’ and ‘simon!’ you can’t help but let out. And he eats it up, kissing your heated pelvis while burying three fingers inside of you.

“There’s my good girl, y’sound so pretty” He goes back to focusing his attention on your sore clit, giving it an open mouthed kiss before he continues speaking to you.

“Wanna hear my girl tell me who’s making her feel good. Hm? Lemme hear it. Say who it is, that can make you sing your little heart out.”

You make some unintelligible garbles, and Simon chuckles at your quivering and hiccuping. He squeezes your thighs encouragingly and smacks the side of them twice.

“Big words, baby. You’re a big girl, so tell me… who’s making you feel good right now?”

“It’s…” You swallow thickly and sniffle, slowly losing your train of thought as he suctions his lips around your swollen pearl. “It’s— ohhh, ‘mmm my goddd. It’s you…”

You start to gather some of your discombobulated brain cells to form a complete sentence. Simon’s name sits on your tongue, and you’re ready to tell him, it’s him. Simon. It’s Simon.

Until he pulls his head back with your clit between his lips— taking it with him, and letting it go with a loud pop!

It’s not Simon.

“Oooohhh g-god. It’s you! ‘Mmmy goodddd… daddy, it’s you… it’s all you, daddy.”

He pauses.

Whipping his head up to see if he really just heard what he believes you just cried out. Tapping the side of your thigh, he tries to get your attention so you can focus on his voice.

“What was that, honey? Didn’t hear you, come back to me and say it again.”

You whimper and hiccup, tears run down the side of your face and you continue whining at him.

“ ‘S you, daddy. Need you so badly, pleasseee baby. ‘M-m so close. I need it.”

Unbelievable.

He lets go of your trembling thighs. Letting the weight of his body help keep them pressed against your chest, as he crawls from up below your stomach and hovers over your face. Simon’s face is covered in your arousal. His lips glisten, and a good portion of the mask is damp and sticks to his skin.

“One more time, honey. Y’said it’s ‘daddy’ ? Hm? It’s your daddy, that’s taking good care of this pretty pussy?”

Simon’s fingers trail back down between your legs, softly shushing you as you keen at the feeling of his digits sliding back inside of you. He stares down at you, practically seeing the little stars spinning in your eyes. You weren’t in your best state of mind right now, but he’ll be damned if you tried denying that word escaping out with your cries.

“Can’t come ‘till you let me know,” You give him big, sad eyes but he shakes his head at you. “Wanna come, right? Tell. Me. Say it again, _____.”

At the use of your real, full name you quickly snap back into reality. It was like a switch, your bubbly headspace falling apart and bursting open once he rasped your name.

You did it. You really did call him daddy. It was your most taboo, and forbidden word—

But fuck it.

Today, your daddy was finally home. And you needed him to take care of you, just like he always did.

“Daddy,” you mewl out, feeling another hot sensation shooting through your spine. It was coming. You were so close. “Daddy I n-need you. ‘S you Simon, so please, pleaasee let me cum.”

His nostrils flare before he’s smacking his lips down on yours. Licking inside of your mouth, and inhaling the little moans you let out from tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Not yet, pretty little baby. Daddy hasn’t had all his fun yet.” Simon pulls away from your lips for a moment, laughing softly at the way you try to chase after his mouth for more. He uses one hand to swiftly fumble with the buckle of his belt, making quick work of pulling down his cargo pants and boxers. Laughing again when he pulls his drenched fingers out your greedy little hole, that puts up a fight to keep him deep inside your cunt.

“Must’a been treating my lil’ lady real good,” You can feel the heat of his hard, thick cock pressing onto your pelvis. Already licking your lips and grabbing onto his flexing bicep for support. “Gotta keep showing my special girls how much their daddy loves ‘em.”

He uses a free hand to guide his length to your throbbing pussy, unable to help himself from slapping the head a few times against you. His cock makes a squishy plop plop when he makes contact with your sticky folds, and teases you with a rub on your raw, swollen clit.

“Want you to remember this, once I’m done with you.”

Simon feels your nails dig into the hard meat of his bicep, bracing yourself when he finally lets the head of his cock greet your warm, welcoming insides. Already feeling the way your pussy grips around him, and makes no plans of ever letting go.

“Want you to remember what’ll happen every single time, that daddy comes home to his pretty, little princess.”

✪-tagging-✪ / : @touyyes @winterbimbwo @sirenh4ll @sailewhoremoon @noriken @kokobunn @fushisslut @dilftaroooo @aasouthteranoswife @daeneeryss @simon-rileys-princess @g4bby @sussywowzaee @lazuli-leenabride @moonshot-eclipse @mietkoz @honeybee54321 @lich1 @terrythetortoise @fuckinriley @actuallyanita @wedonttalkabouthenry @motionlessinrhi @hauntingtherosebush @spookyclowwn

(couldn’t tag y’all </3 ily tho) @benandjerrysisqueer @bleedingmagic-02 @tescomealdeals-blog @getoruii @alyssam14 @officialjotchuagirlfanclub

[sil3ntfr34k]

Postal 4 boyfriend Headcanons

(Guess who found about how to do a buillted list insides of manually putting dots :D)

Mans is probably in his early 40’s and feeling every second of it.

He’s not much a romantic, but he knows how to love. Like he knows he’s supposed to give you gifts, listen to you rant, support you in anything, hug you, give affection and words of encouragement, the whole sha-bang. Is he good at it tho? Kinda,,,

You probably met him during his ‘job hunting’, when he was running around this a sign that said something along the lines of “Willing to do something strange for a bit of change”. Caught your attention IMMEDIATELY

You thought he wasn’t too bad looking, something of a roughed up silver fox. He was pretty toned for someone his age, forearms are pretty big and that’s just what you needed. You ended up taking him up on his offer and made him clean out your gutters. You just sat there and watched as he worked himself throwing out heaps of wet leaves and random junk from your gutters.

He came out obvious dirty so you gifted him $40 and a shower. It’s like heavens light shined upon him when he heard the words “You can take a shower here if you’d like?” fall from your mouth was enough for him to marry you in that moment.

Postal Dude has been raw dogging it homeless style for a couple months up to this point, so any kind of reward he came across was a fortune to him. Gladly accepting this kind gesture, he was still thrown out for the rest of the day. You both came upon an agreement that he could stay the nights on your couch, but he still had to go ‘job hunting’ during the days. Didn’t matter to him, he still accepted it. As long as he had a safe place to sleep with Champ.

Side note, you loathe Champ being around during the day since he digs holes everywhere in your front AND back yard, so you make Dude take Champ with him everyday. Dude doesn't mind since Champ is kinda like an attack dog so homie very useful when Dude's walking around

Once your relationship with Dude has reached it's peak (dating), he becomes very attentive and energetic. Where he was once tired and reclused, he's now got some energy in him and filled with affection

Dude loves to be around you and touching you. Biggest love languages are quality time and physical touch, sometimes words of affirmation if he's feeling extra sappy. He's probably been through the works of brutal relationships, so he really wants to settle down, which leads me to my next thought

Mans is getting old and creaky. Sure he's still got muscle and all, but they're honestly just for show. He couldn't hold back Champ from attacking someone he isn't supposed to even if his life depended on it. So, he's staring to wear down and just wants to find someone to relax with.

Red flag time, he's talking about marriage about 2 months into the relationship and tries to move his scrap in without you noticing, which usually fails. It's not that he's using you for your home, Dude just wants to feel like he's finally in a normal relationship. No bitchy attitudes being thrown around, no constant nagging for something stupid, no arguing over small things, no constant threats, just y’all being in love together

Eventually your gonna have to let Champ wonder the house and train him to be a guard dog rather than just an attack dog. You’re definitely the one to look up dog training classes and making Dude go with you to these said classes.

Even with how much he loves to be around you, there are still times when his mental and physical illnesses make him ill 😔 but he still tries to snap out of it

His main problems are most likely his chronic muscle pains and his auditory schizophrenia. (I think all the dudes are some sort of schizo, it’s just that p1 and p2 are the strongest showing ones)

Being older means his body is slowly deteriorating. Sure he’s not that old, but with how he lived in his golden age, he should really be dead. Constantly on the run from the government, having to stay sharp to kill, and fucking his way through Paradise and Edensin, he’s ready to just lay down and let the earth reclaim him

Having a long history of schizophrenia in the family and his own lifetime, it’s thankfully dwindled down to just hearing voices randomly. Since he can only hear these voices it doesn’t scare him as bad as it used to. All he can really hear is a distant conversation that he can’t make out the words to, it’s sort of like a mumbling between a woman and a man. Many times you’ve found him franticly wondering the house with a confused look on his face saying “I thought there was people in here?”

Overall, he’s an old man who’s been through enough and would just like to relax. Give him kisses, give him cuddles, feed him, and talk to him, and he’ll love you for eternity (so gay)

[yournowheregirl]

omg thank you all for the overwhelming response to part 1 of secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson! here’s a part two as a little treat

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 2: here you come again

Ever since he discovered the Off-Road a few weeks ago, Eddie’s been going there almost every week but he hadn’t joined the open-mic night since that first night. He didn’t really feel the need to, because despite his own belief, he has actually managed to move on from his idiotic crush on Steve.

Well, almost.

Eddie had sworn off his crush once Steve announced that he and Emily were going on their third date. Steve was smiling from ear to ear when he said it too, though that usual sparkle in his eyes had remained absent. Eddie didn’t think too much of it, too busy wallowing in self-pity and cursing himself for setting himself up for heartbreak once again. 

So, he moved on. Went to Indianapolis once or twice, found guys with striped polos and bright smiles who tried their best to take his mind off Steve (which, due to their eerily resemblance, didn’t really work out). Focused on helping Will with his new campaign for Hellfire, teaching him the DM tricks he had learned over the years. Played with his band until his fingers almost started to bleed from strumming the guitar strings a little too hard. 

And it worked. Everything’s all fine and dandy, Steve’s barely on his mind anymore (except for all the times that he is) and Eddie’s just over him. One hundred percent. Done. No more Steve Harrington for him, thank you very much. 

“Emily and I broke things off.”

Eddie almost drops the two bottles of beer he’s holding, stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the spacious kitchen of the Harrington home.

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asks because there is no way in hell he heard that right.

“Me and Emily.” Steve repeats, snatching one of the beer bottles out of Eddie’s hand and taking a long swig, his Adam’s apple bopping up and down. His mouth is glistening when he sets the bottle down and Eddie’s eyes zero in on them and - dear lord, get ahold of yourself, Munson. “We broke up. Turns out she wasn’t the one after all.”

“Oh shit. Sorry about that, man.” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice under control because he should not be jumping for joy that Steve and Emily broke up. No matter how much he wants to. He should also not be fishing for more details, but curiosity gets the best of him and the next thing he knows he asking, “Why’d you guys break up anyway? I thought you said you were crazy for her.”

“I mean, I was. Sorta, but not really, I think. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her and she really is a lovely person, ridiculously pretty too but… she and I just want different things.” Steve shrugs. “She always wants to go out, be somewhere, see something, go on wild adventures every weekend and shit. And I don’t know… I mean I like that, but I also want to sit back and do nothing for a bit y’know? Just simple, easy, like what we’re doing tonight.”

Steve bumps their shoulders together and Eddie tries his very best to ignore how Steve feels so warm, even for that short moment. He tries even harder not too read too much into Steve’s words, which means he’s definitely not thinking that Steve would rather spend time with him than with the supposed girl of his dreams. 

Except when, a couple of beers later, Eddie finds himself a little too tipsy to stop himself from once again, falling for Steve like a ton of bricks. 

But it’s not his fault that Steve’s eyes turn this magical color hazel underneath the warm lights of the living room chandelier. Or that his cheeks are this beautiful shade of pink from the alcohol in his system. Or that Steve’s laugh after Eddie tells the world’s lamest joke, is probably one of his favorite sounds in the world.

Oh, this is bad. This is really fucking bad.

Steve slouches against him when his laughter dies down, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder, all relaxed and warm. “I wish it was always this easy.”

“What?” Eddie asks. He’s surprised at how level his voice is considering Steve’s plastered against him like a vine that climbs up alongside a wall. 

“I don’t know. Life, dating, anything really.” Steve sighs. “Nothing feels as easy as when I’m with you.”

Eddie feels his throat tighten at Steve’s confession. Not because he doesn’t feel the same. It’s the opposite, really. Everything really does feel a little easier when Steve’s around. 

Everything, except this annoying crush that keeps coming back like a goddamn boomerang

“You’re drunk.” Eddie tries to laugh it off, hoping that it’ll make the heavy feeling in his stomach go away.

“I mean it, y’know.” Steve mutters. He rubs his cheek against Eddie’s shoulder and moves in just a little closer. Sighing happily once he finds a comfortable position. “You smell nice.”

Eddie knows for a fact he does not, it’s probably leftover weed smell, but his face still heats up at the compliment. “Let’s just… let’s just watch the movie okay?”

“Hmm, okay.” Steve hums, his eyes drooping already and Eddie just knows he’s gonna fall asleep within minutes. 

-xxx-

Steve’s words keep echoing through his mind the next few days and Eddie’s feeling more restless than usual - if that’s even possible - and on Wednesday night, he drives off to the Off-Road again. 

The drive itself calms him down just a little but as soon as he sits down at Pat’s bar, the feeling of dread washes over him once again. Not even the soft June Carter song that’s playing in the background is able to cheer him up right now.

“Geez Ed, you look madder than a wet hen” Pat says as she puts down Eddie’s drink on the bar. “Tell ol’ Pat here what’s going on.”

“Fuckin’ straight boys.” Eddie mutters, leaning his head on his hands. He’s moping and he knows it, but he really doesn’t give two shits right now.

Pat blinks at him. “You been fucking them or is this more like a fuck them straight boys situation? I’m only equipped for the latter one.”

Somehow, Pat’s piercing green eyes stare right into his soul and before he knows it, Eddie’s just spilling everything. “There… there’s this guy, y’know. He’s my friend.”

“Let me guess? Handsome?”

“Like a fuckin’ Greek God. It’s ridiculous.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “But it’s more than that. He’s also just… so nice. Seriously, he drives our friends around and let me host D&D campaigns at his house and he asks nothing in return. Great cook too, his brownies are to die for.”

“Sounds like a damn dreamboat. But he’s straight?” Pat sighs sympathetically.

“The straightest man you’ve ever seen.” Eddie grumbles. “And it’s fine, alright? I know it’s never gonna happen between us. But he just broke up with the girl he’s been seeing for the last month or so and then suddenly goes around tellin’ me shit like how much he likes being with me. How easy it is when we're together. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? That’s just…”

“Real fucking frustrating.” Tish adds as she passes by with a tray of drinks in her hands. 

Eddie couldn’t have said it better himself. He takes a sip of his Coke, desperately wishing it was something stronger, and patiently waits before Pat speaks up again.

“I think you gotta put some distance between the two of you.” Pat says solemnly. “Now hear me out because it ain’t gonna be pretty, but sometimes you gotta take a step back to protect your own heart. And if you don’t wanna go that far, I suggest finding a healthy outlet to process your feelings because sulking like this ain’t doing you any good, kiddo.”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Do I look like I got the money to go to some expensive shrink?”

“Dunno, maybe some musical therapy?” Pat grins, her eyes darting back to the acoustic guitar on the wall. “You said it worked so well for you last time.”

Pat’s right. He did feel a lot better after playing Jolene the other night, it was like Dolly put all the things he was feeling right into a song. Maybe she could do the same for him now, because Eddie knows exactly what other song in her repertoire fits the situation.

He walks up to the podium once again, not even bothering to introduce himself this time because most of the patrons know him by now. He’s a little more unfamiliar with the chords this time around so it takes him a few tries before he finally gets it and the melody starts filling up the room. 

“Here you come again. Just when I’ve begun to get myself together. You waltz right in the door, just like you’ve done before. And wrap my heart ‘round your little finger.”

It’s like Dolly’s been reading his thoughts these last few days because every single word just rings true in Eddie’s mind. Well, except that part about Steve’s little fingers because they are anything but little. Eddie knows, he’s spent the better half of their friendship staring at them and daydreaming about things that should never see the light of day. 

“Here you come again. Just when I’m about to make it work without you. You look into my eyes and light those pretty eyes and pretty soon I’m wonderin’ how I came to doubt you.”

God, he’s so frustrated now. Steve probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing to Eddie and it’s so fucking unfair. How the hell is he supposed to move on when Steve keeps saying shit like that? When Steve continues to be a, in Pat’s words, a damn dreamboat?

Eddie strums the guitar a little harder, his voice becoming a little rougher. Almost like he’s spitting out the words

“All you gotta do, is smile that smile, and there go all my defenses. Just leave it up to you and in a little while, you’re messing up my mind and filling up my senses.”

The handful of people in the crowd are softly singing along, but it’s not like Eddie actually has eyes for them. His mind is solely focused on keeping his voice level, rather than start screaming. Maybe Corroded Coffin should do a cover of this song, should be a fun surprise for those drunkards at the Hideout.

“Here you come again and here I go…” Eddie finishes the song. He thanks the audience and slouches back into his seat at the bar, not feeling as good as he did the last time he performed here. It doesn’t feel as cathartic this time and instead there’s a hole inside his heart that no Dolly song can possibly fill.

“Feeling better honey?” Tish asks sweetly as she puts another bottle of Coke on the bar for him.

Eddie nods, even though it’s obviously a lie. Another wave of dread and restlessness washes over him. Because if he can’t turn to his mother’s favorite artist for guidance anymore, then what the hell is he supposed to do to get over his stupid crush on Steve Harrington?

Tag list: @henderdads @solosnail @unclewaynemunson @legitcookie @gothbat99 (hmu if you wanna be added to the list for pt 3!)

[fenricken]

You Keep Slipping From My Grasp 4/7

AO3

Ship: Spirit Halloween

first

prev

The rain fell heavily, washing the blood on the ground away as he stepped toward the woman. She was hunched over, sobbing, clutching her dead son to her chest. She glanced up at him as he approached, mouthing silent prayers.

“What happened here?” he asked, carefully ignoring the dead bodies around.

“They came… for a box my family has guarded for a long time. They killed my husband and my son, and they’ve taken my Catherine… They’ll torture her to make her speak its secrets. Please! Please, help her!”

She reached out a hand to him, imploringly. He crouched down to take it.

“I will.”

————

Danny stood before Clockwork, adjusting his new cowboy hat. Maddie and Jack stood behind Clockwork tinkering on the Fenton Omega Siphoner, and arguing over the aesthetics of the machine.

“I have already sent Dani out to help the Justice League locate Batman’s cape. Hopefully we should receive word on her success soon.” Clockwork began, “In the meantime, we do still need someone to make sure Batman doesn’t rush forward too quickly, lest he build up too much energy before we can stop him. Are you ready?”

“Always ready for bat-sitting duty. I’d hope he’s doing something  a bit calmer this time, but I suppose there’s no chance of that happening.” Danny responded, pointing to his hat.

Clockwork just gave his usual cryptic smile before opening a portal for Danny to step through.

————

“Roooooobin. Rooooooooobin.”

Tim whirled around, searching for the source of the noise.

“Oooh, new fit?” Poltergeist asked, stepping out of the shadows. “Ugly cowl, but I like the rest of it.”

Tim lowered his bo staff at her, readying himself for whatever chaotic ‘game’ she tried to rope him into this time.

“Your city’s on fire. You bats trying out some new defense mechanism or something? Like, you think no rogue would want to take over Gotham if it’s a pile of rubble and ash?” She turned in a circle, surveying the chaos Gotham was under.

“What do you want, Poltergeist?”

“Well, so like, Batman’s stuck in time, right? And-”

“How do you know that?!” Red Robin cut in. He had been struggling to convince everyone that Batman was still alive ever since he found those paintings on the walls of the Batcave. Suddenly, here was Poltergeist who seemed to know something about it, but he couldn’t trust her. She was unpredictable, and running into her could mean leaving with anything as benign yet uncomfortable as soaked socks or as irritating and hindering as being cursed to only speak dead languages for the next 3 days.

And things only got worse if she was tagging along with Klarion. Fortunately, he wasn’t in sight, so it's unlikely he was here with her.

“What do you want?”

She smiled slightly at him. “Oh! I want to get Batman back where he belongs before he dies or explodes everything.”

Explodes everything?

“I mean, Gotham’s got a grumpy quota and since you’re his mini-me I figured you’d start trying to take it on and that’d be so boring.” She raised her pointer fingers to the side of her head, imitating Batman’s cowl and adopted a nasally voice. “I don’t have time to play, Poltergeist. Gotham needs me. I have to go stalk Penguin, and then I need to go brood on my favorite gargoyle.”

“So you want to help me find Batman so that I will… be able to play with you?”

“Well, that, but also if he makes his way to the present day on his own, he’ll have built up enough of something called Omega Energy to make all of reality go ka-blooey, and I actually really like this universe. Top 10, easily.”

Tim held up his hand to stop the oncoming ramble while he compartmentalized.

First, Poltergeist knew Bruce was lost in the time stream and seemed to want to help.

Second, Bruce was making his way back to the present, and by doing so was becoming a living bomb

Third, Poltergeist is a multiversal being???

That last one can probably be ignored for now.

“If I were to let you help me find Batman, where do you suggest we start? I’ve been tracking down artifacts I think he’s left behind  to try and convince the Justice League to help us-”

“Psh. Justice League Shmustice League. My dad and my Nana and Pops are already working on it. We just need to find the cape he was sent back in time with for them. Besides, I can probably convince Wonder Woman to help us get the Justice Dorks to help out once we get the cape if we really need to.”

What.

“What?”

“My grandparents are building a thingy-thing to suck all the Omega Energy out of Batman so he’s not a bomb. My dad’s hanging out with him to keep him from dying or something, and we’re supposed to find his cape so we can safely yoink him out of the time stream.”

“I didn’t know you had parents??? What do they do while you’re here breaking things???”

Poltergeist shrugged “King things I guess. And I only have a dad.”

“King things???”

She rolled her eyes, “Anyway, Dad said he last saw Batman’s cape in the Batcave.”

“You didn’t answer my question, and I’m not taking you to the Batcave.”

Poltergeist landed on her feet, and stared at him with wide eyes. He stared back, caught in her gaze for what felt like an eternity, as he felt invisible fingers trickle up his spine. Whispers started low in his ears, building to a crescendo. It was getting too much to bear, until he broke eye contact and looked away. All of a sudden, it stopped. Tim heaved a big sigh.

“I’m… kinda fighting with the current Batman, so we’ll have to sneak in.”

She punched both arms into the air, “YES!”

Tim turned, flicking his cape and walking off, not waiting to see if she’d follow.

“Poltergeist, when this is over you are going to be answering my questions.”

He heard her blow a raspberry at his back, but kept walking.

————

He followed their trail easily enough, the rain trailing after him. As he reached his destination, men came out to fight him, readying pistols, but he made short work of them easily enough.

With his memory having returned in bits and pieces, it had been easy to fashion metal into bat shapes aerodynamic enough to hit true when thrown, and it was these he’d used to disarm the men.

These memories were useful. The ones of children with blurry faces less so, haunting him as they stayed just out of his complete grasp. A constant reminder of how lost and alone he was.

He steadily made his way to the headquarters, where he figured they were keeping Catherine. He whirled around, sensing someone approaching from behind. It was the man with white hair, again.

“Seems you’ve got this well enough in hand, but I hope you don’t mind if I’d tag along all the same.”

“Why?”

The white haired man smiled slightly. “Will you not believe that I just want to help you?”

He stared, unblinking and quiet. Memories from before had proven this a good method to get more information.

His target stared back, also quiet and unblinking. It wasn’t long before he started shifting, and not much longer before he finally spoke again. Under his breath, almost too quiet to hear, he muttered “Just like Dani, I swear…”

Louder, the man said, “I’ve not known you to be the kind of man to ever be on the wrong side of a cause. Whatever you’re up to, I just want to help.”

He squinted at the man, trying to find any evidence of a lie, but the man just appeared open and honest.

“No guns,” he says, before turning back around and leading the white haired man on towards the headquarters.

As they got closer, they noticed two men standing guard. He deployed smoke bombs to cover their approach, sneaking closer with his companion close behind. They were spotted, but the smoke did its work, scaring the two guards and allowing him and his companion to disappear from view again.

“How you gonna tell me there’s no such things as ghosts now???” One of them whimpered, apparently to his white-haired friend’s delight, as he broke out in giggles.

As the smoke continued to grow, he and his friend snuck around the two, tricking them into fighting each other.

He broke through into the offices in the back. They were unfortunately empty.

“Already gone!” He said, slamming a hand on the desk. His companion stood at the window.

“Not long though, look!”

When he spotted their carriage speeding away through the window, he knew he had to act quickly. He launched himself out of the window, and onto the tarp covering the wagon.

An explosion sounded behind him, but he focused on the task ahead of him. His friend always seemed to find his way back, so he’d have to trust he’d do it again.

The ensuing fight was nothing pretty, little more than mad scrambling as he fought to hold his balance, dodge bullets, and wrestle the men actually in the cart so he could get away with the Catherine and her family’s box.

Looking ahead, he saw they were quickly approaching the dock, and a man who was walking down it. Thinking quickly, he swung his body-weight around, tipping the wagon over and sending everyone sprawling. 

The man who had been at the dock had acted quickly, grabbing the young woman and holding her protectively behind him. He stood up, adding to the obstacles that stood protecting Catherine from her kidnappers. Only 3 men remained. From the snippets he heard as two of them fought, he figures the two fighting must’ve been the masterminds behind the plot and the third still in the distance was a gun-for-hire. Taking out his weapons of choice, he quickly dispatched the two men.

Catherine tugged on his cloak. He turned to face her, seeing that she had opened up the box, and was showing him what was inside.

It was Jack Valor’s journal.

He wanted to reach out–to see what Jack had added since they parted, but the gun-for-hire had caught up to them by then.

“My employers may have been dealt with, but I still have a reputation to uphold. Draw.”

He stood up straight, reaching for more of his weapon of choice. Over the shoulder of the gun-for-hire, he saw another man approaching quickly, white-haired. His friend.

A loud bang echoed, and he felt pain in his side. He stumbled, too close to the edge of the dock, and as he fell over he heard one last cry of ‘BAT–’.

And everything went dark.

————

Shit.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

As if Batman stumbling towards the present through who-knows-when wasn’t bad enough, now he’s SHOT???

Danny quickly ripped a portal back to Clockwork’s lair.

“Please tell me you’ve almost got the machine ready.” Danny said after confirming his parents were in the room.

“Almost! Just one problem, sweetie…” His mom said, looking over at her husband so he’d finish.

“Batman needs to die. Or at least be very close to death!” Jack said, ending with a laugh.

“Basically, we can get this machine to suck out the Omega Energy, but it’s tightly bonded with Batman’s life energy, so it’s extremely risky unless we can find a way to diminish his life energy.”

Danny groaned, putting his face in his hands. “It’s just one thing after another! He’s just been shot. Would that bring him close enough?”

His dad tilted his head back and forth, considering. “Likely not, unless he was in a pretty bad way. In any case, we asked Sam and Tucker to take a look into it!”

“We’ve already found something, actually.” Sam said, having entered the room. Tucker followed behind her.

“There’s an herb that I was able to locate, which should slow his heart down to extreme levels, to the point his heartbeat would be pretty undetectable. Only problem is that his heart would have to be jump-started afterward by a great shock.”

“Clockwork let me take a closer look at his monitors into Batman’s original time and place, and I was able to determine that they have defibrillator technology that can administer an electrical shock needed to get his heart pumping again, as well as adrenaline injections in case we’d need the extra boost.” Tucker continued.

Maddie clapped her hands together. “Excellent! If we can get the Justice League to set up the anchor point on the Watchtower, we can pull Batman to that point and perform everything there! It’d probably work best to do it in his original time as well, to avoid any potential effects that could crop up from being in the wrong time when we remove the Omega Energy and try to stabilize his system.”

“Great, some good news.” Danny said, tension leaving his body. He turned to Clockwork, who had been quiet thus far. “How’s Dani’s work coming along? Will we be ready to proceed soon?”

“Dani and Red Robin have recovered Batman’s cape, and have moved it to the Watchtower. I believe Dani was able to recruit Wonder Woman’s help into getting the rest of the Justice League in line to receive Batman.”

 ————

“Red Robin! Did you seriously bring Poltergeist into the cave??? What were you thinking?”

Before Tim could reply, Poltergeist raised a hand to point at Dick-as-Batman.

“AAH! It’s the cops! Run!”

Poltergeist placed her hand on Tim’s shoulder, pulling him and the cape through the ceiling of the batcave and up in the open air of Gotham. As Tim caught sight of Wayne Manor his head whipped towards Poltergeist, hoping she wouldn’t make any connections.

She was staring at him, lips pressed together, looking a bit like a frog.

He was quiet, waiting for her to say something.

She blew a breath of air out, letting her lips buzz.

“Listen, you keep my secret, and I won’t tell anyone Batman’s secret id is some rich fruitloop.”

“...What secret?”

She pivoted them somewhere Southeast.

“That sometimes I can be responsible. Let’s go see Wonder Woman.”

AN:

It's definitely been longer than I had planned since the last update, rip.

Not going to lie, this is like my second ever fic and I definitely thought it'd be a bit easier to get back into the habit of writing. Thought I was making it easier on my self by strongly sticking to the plot of an existing story, but I think that's been an obstacle in and of itself.

Always a little worried that the language is a bit stuffy or things aren't being clear.

[daisychainsandbowties]

Is there anything more beautiful and tragic than Lilith’s self-destructive longing to be loved?

i wrote a little something for this. a little bit of davy jones au

/// lullabies in salt

Lilith sings to her, sometimes, when the ship becomes a ghost and all of her crew are just specks of watery light. They move through the rigging, each one turning into what they really are.

Or what they long to be – Lilith has never been certain of this as she stands alone among them all, watching as eels curl around ropes dangling unattended, as crabs wander the deck with their claws scraping softly on soft wood.

Jellyfish strung like floating lanterns up above as thought trying to replace the night sky.

Her crew, to whom she is not gentle, and yet here they are in their simplest form; their wishful thinking that endures to this depth and makes light for her where there should be none. She has watched their bodies change, like hers, over the years.

(there is no need to admit to herself that she has lost count of them)

They are always so astonishingly alive in the beginning, and of course Lilith is just a ghoul to them. She has to be. Pacing by day in her coat that always drips cold water, her swords lending weight to her hips where flesh and fat and all her girlish ends of her have faded away.

She’s seen how they look at her – eyes bloodshot, gleaming in the candles her crew carry with them onto the wreckage of ships. Lilith wonders each time if this makes for a better ending, as she paces in front of the survivors where they kneel in their shallow saltwater graves, variously bloodied and always on the edge of death.

Her crew, who have all made the same poor choices, whisper that it is. Better.

“Why?” she asks them, her voice moving like water over sand.

Her crew, who she thinks of as beautiful because what else to think or to feel about them? Their faces cracked open by barnacles and occupied by every crawling thing that lives inside the ocean. A girl of seventeen (dead) who did not endure the crossing from England; her eyes replaced by the broad caps of jellyfish, who looked up from her whalebone dice and said, “It’s better to have a choice, I think.”

Even now, she is shy, though the sea has reclaimed all of her girlishness. Her forearms are chitin and her teeth are coral, and even as Lilith stood by, waiting for her to summon her voice again, a tiny krill crawled out of her left ear and settled on the lobe like an earring.

The girl touched it, smiling, as though a pretty boy (or another pretty girl, Lilith supposes) had set it there with bare hands. “I wasn’t ready to be dead,” she told Lilith, quiet but fierce, “And I don’t regret this.”

“You will.”

As the ship falls, passing out of sight of sunlight, Lilith searches for the marshlight of that girl in the strung-shadows, in the ghosts. There are a few she suspects.

One, a dolphin turning loops around the mainmast. It is the pink kind that live out somewhere on the continent west of Europe – oh, Lilith can’t remember the names they put on maps. What she remembers, from the queer knowing of things that is her deathbed companion, is that this creature is a freshwater thing and does not belong here.

Its shape climbs and climbs, into the crow’s nest, and then the ship shudders. They are done descending.

The light vanishes.

Lilith steps away from the wheel, fingers unsticking reluctantly from the barnacle-choked wood. Maybe there is no wood left at all, she realises, taking in the twitching mass of creatures that have consumed every inch of what was once a clean and solid shape.

(what has she done to them?)

Her memory is cloth eaten by moths, and all of this is probably her fault, but she cannot remember why.

Sometimes, when she falls asleep (at last. Always at last) with the ship’s organ falling silent around her, she dreams of a rainswept shore. Scrawny palm trees and dried seaweed strewn along the sand.

Kneeling there like one of the flotsam she fetches out of the sea, face uptilted to taste the rain, to feel it run between her teeth. One last taste before her trembling hand raises something that makes her fist ache. She is shirtless in her dream, lurid in the shine off of drenched skin. Her scars all laid bare for that ruined island to see.

(did she burn them out of their little church on the hillside. did she paint the parish bell with blood and turn the neat little houses to cinders. did she-)

Perhaps the island was deserted when she came, rowing away from the Dutchman in the longboat with her crew watching in their silent way. Arms flung over the railings, hands fiddling with bits of wood or scraps of leather.

She went to where they could not witness her and stripped down. Laying her coat over a fallen tree and leaving her shirt as a smear of white on the sand, weighted by rain. She kept her pants (she has others) and knelt, placing every last letter into the box. A handful of flowers long turned dry and delicate as she shielded them from the rain, snapping the lid shut to protect them.

Turning instead to a smaller chest, all filigreed in the shape of sea creatures. Lilith didn’t make it herself. In the way of things, the ocean brought it to her in the ruins of a dying ship. It knows her mind and what she intends, and there is only a little mockery in the gifting of a chest.

(a locker)

 Sailors, among all types of men, are good at poetry because they see so little of it.

And so much.  

Lilith has seen so much and she remembers certain things with clarity like crystal – warped, but unashamed. Carrying light somewhere, if not where it needs to go, if not exactly all the way to the eye of the beholder.

She remembers kneeling, naked, and something in her hand (terrible) and tears tracking toward her mouth to make the freshwater taste of rain vanish. It was a knife, she thinks, that left hard welts in the flesh of her hand and made her bruise for days.

Her palm a cup of bluegrey turning green, turning yellow, turning on her as she walked unsteadily through the ship.

(and lilith is no fool)

She knows what she’s missing, and few besides her know that it is difficult to walk without a heartbeat – that there’s a rhythm to it. Stumbling like a drunk for days with the ship all run dry of rum.

“When do we make port?”

Her crew, as things crawled up on the deck.

They were afraid at first to become more like the sea, lashing out so she tipped more than one eviscerated body over the railing in that first week. Bodies weighted like anchors to their doom, since they could not sleep without serving her.

(she came back, later, and found them in their shallow graves alongside hidden reefs or close to islands they used to visit in passing, just to lay on the beaches and drink)

“Sorry captain.” Voices almost vanished into seawater and the soft rolling of waves across the ocean floor. “Glad you came back for me.”

(what else could she do? this is all her fault)

 It was cheating, but Lilith made deals and traded favours with other ships to get them supplies. “I’m a ghost, if anyone asks,” she’d tell their captains, who were always variously afraid of her. “Speak of this at all of your own volition and I will send her to find you.”

“Who?”

Only the daring ones asked, and sadly Lilith liked the daring ones. Their smiles and how their fingers lingered on her cold wet hands, fascinated instead of repulsed – give it time.

A hunger to them as they stepped a little closer – they met on her ship, and in their eyes it was because she preferred it this way, and not because her ship would not allow her to leave. “Who will you send?”

She’d smile, like a girl who did not need to keep secrets, “The sea.”

It was close enough to the truth. Lilith does not remember anything of how it came to this, but she sourced paint, canvas, charcoals and paper and anything her crew might need to remember for her. All of her kindest acts have been out of fear.

In their stumbling and then better and then beautiful attempts at painting, or sketching, Lilith has seen the bottom of the ocean as it changes over years. The crawl of objects along the ocean floor as the waves return. They are more loyal than the rest of the world together.

Sometimes she would be stupid and end up in her cabin with one of these odd little artists – her crew which is a collective and also individual. Individuals.

They were like anyone else to fuck – messy, and good, and quiet afterwards, tracing the mark of her own sword on some crewmember’s stomach.

Of course she is not so much of a fool as to say, “Who did this to you?” even in jest, but she wonders.

Who did this?

It doesn’t feel like her, but she remembers and it was and she left markings on her map at each place where she sent a panicked body over the railing.

All of them were right as they came at her with cutlass, saber, chunks of rotting wood.

“You did this to us.”

(and she did. she did)

It is not punishment enough, she knows, to have watched them change, one by one. Bodies she knew – fucked, cooked for, defended with her own – turned to bodies she only recognises because she never looked away. Afraid to blink, sometimes.

She gave them paper and paint so that they could remember, and there is a little booklet in the dry-store of her crew before, or halfway through. Her crew slowly undone as the Dutchman turns and turns around the ocean like a tiger in a cage.

And she is not brave enough to remember why she did it to them.

Lilith has no interest in drawing things, or putting smears of colour down to try, try, try and represent what happened to her. Lilith is a liar, and that should make her an artist too, but she takes what she has and puts it onto piano keys.

Happy, in the end, to remember little beyond her own naked chest. Nothing but a beach, a knife, a bloody shape in her hand.

(still beating)

It has been like this forever. Lilith with lichen growing out of her hairline and glassy teeth growing under the veins in her wrists. As a child she read about Moray eels and their teeth, and as usual her dreams have come back to infect her.

She is sick with longing, disfigured by it, and sometimes she wakes up with her arms bloody and soaking her bedsheets. Prongs of a glasslike substance sticking out of her wrists – and it is terrifying, but Lilith cannot die.

(and ‘cannot’ is a terrible thing, even when it is about death)

Tonight the ocean is calm and nothing has died, so Lilith moved through her crew. Oh, they are quiet sometimes especially when the stars come out. Night so clear you can feel it reaching for you.

Their voices all around her and their hands reaching out, sliding off her slick skin. Lilith, their fresh-drowned corpse, with new shapes sprouting now from her jawline. Following it all the way home into her mouth.

She loves their hands. She loves them.

The new ones as yet unbroken by the slow crawl of time, with their human faces. Almost, now, she finds their eyes unnerving – all simple shades of brown or blue or black or hazel or grey. There is so much weather in these living-dead things. So much of land.

As the sun fell she moved through them, listening, composing something in her head that sounded already as though it would be a sad song. She is good with only two emotions in music.

Anger, and this strange melancholy that falls over her crew when there are no bodies to collect. No limbs floating in the water and no blood in the seafoam.

No sharks.

“Let’s go down”

                                                      “Lilith”

                       “Captain”

    “Let’s go down”

Lilith has seen more of the ocean than anyone alive. Her body is spyglass, map, compass, and complicated in all the ways that saltwater is. There are no clean deaths out here.

Only drownings.

She took them down, waves rushing up the length of the ship to swallow their bodies one by one and how they floated for a while as the crushing took hold. Their bodies ignored it, and Lilith felt only the familiar ache in her wrists.

Here, at least, she cannot drip water onto the deck beneath her like a poor excuse for a heartbeat. Her crew were, at first, themselves.

She hates to find them beautiful, but there’s a helplessness to it; to Lilith and her long acquaintance with the sea.

I miss you.

The thought stepped out like a ghost to frighten her, and Lilith flinched against the wheel, but she did not let it go. Beach, knife, rainwater, and a bead of sharp pain somewhere on her chest.

Sand, blood, and the water catching up to catch her, and drinking it down.

“Are you thirsty, Lil?” (a voice she does not know)

Her crew are beautiful. They are the ocean and they are her and they float so perfectly as the ship descends, dragging their shapes out of sight. Light-swallowed and turning into light as they unravel.

(she will not describe them)

Only their ghosts, strung up into blurry wavelengths as the depths settle like an absent heartbeat around her. Quiet as her grave.

Lilith waits.

Her ship is lost now, barnacles loose in the water around her as they try to flee. (where? there is nowhere to go)

Catching one, she turns it over, watching as featherlike cirri tease from its tip, combing the water even now for food. It is not afraid of her, or it would have retreated into its shell, and Lilith lets its tiny appendages tease over her fingertips. There is plenty to eat on her skin.

She sets it on her forearm, feeling it secrete onto her skin, burrowing down among fine hairs and into flesh. There is a momentary bloom of blood in the water and then Lilith turns her attention out toward the ocean, to where a shape lurks now on the edge of seeing.

“Hello darling,” Lilith whispers, and a kraken’s arm punctures out of absolute darkness, easing toward her like a tongue parting lips, parting water. Easy as a knife parting flesh, carving out space for a ghost.

It moves through her crew, who scatter like wavelengths of light (that is all they are for now) from its path. The barnacle, newly apart of Lilith, quivers against her bones.

The arm stops, extended, a few inches from Lilith where she stands just shy of the ship’s wheel. It is cold at this depth, but Lilith cannot feel that any more than she can feel sunlight on her skin or the taste of food in her mouth.

She reaches out with her left hand so as not to scare the barnacle (who knows its place in the grand scheme even if Lilith does not) and lets the very tip of that unfathomable arm reach forward, curling all around her.

Her kraken hums and Lilith feels the reverberation of it mostly in her chest where there is plenty of room. She steps forward and the arms curls and curls – and Lilith is always dripping water but this creature is wet and she can feel it for once.

Lilith closes her eyes, feels her feet lift away from the deck and she is free, finally, of all that wood and tar, of a million nails and a thousand tiny chips in once-beautiful wood. She feels her barnacle rush toward the inside of her elbow where it burrows into the vein, opening her wide.

A blood trail follows them through the water as the kraken brings her close, away until the ship is just a mirage. Its mouth opens to show her rows of pretty teeth. Lilith has one on a leather cord around her neck, gifted accidentally by a shipwreck she visited one.

“Liar. A shipwreck you made.” (says a voice she does not know)

Its breath is only warmth here as the kraken lazes at this depth, letting faint currents shift her from side to side. They are still far from the bottom of the ocean, but this dark is preternatural anyway. This place hardly even exists.

Lilith, who has been granted space to move in the safety of the kraken’s grip, runs her hand over the suckers on its arm. It tastes her blood.

“Have you been well, dear one?” She asks this through the murk so her voice does not really travel, but the kraken hears her. She feels it twirling her lightly in place, humming more serenely as they dance farther from the ship, together.

Lilith kisses its wet flesh and looks toward her creature, her kraken, her ocean. “It is all I have, to hear that.”

It sends a small shockwave through the water in response – enough to make the barnacle shiver where it sits sipping at Lilith’s blood.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Lilith spreads her palm over what passes for a kraken’s hand, sliding her fingers fully around the thinnest part, the very tip of its arm.

There’s a plea in its voiceless rhythm as the kraken twists in the water. There is so much of it that Lilith cannot follow every arm to its ending. Her creature is vast and it swallows the ocean around them. Everything, instead, is her.

(they are the same thing)

(ocean and kraken. ocean and girl)

Lilith sings.

[fushiguwu]

it’s fxcking over. getou suguru

CHAPTER 4 from the Summer Fever's serie!

ft. dilf!getou and collegestudent!reader

warnings: arguing, truth discovering, kind of cheating? if you squint and think like gojo, gojo being mom, crying, relationship discussion, reader being disappointed, start of enemies to lovers.

words: 2.7k

a/n: hiii sorry for the late hope u enjoy this development chapter

(chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, more to come)

And you did keep your promise. 

After Suguru left, you stayed there for a few more minutes, feeling that something wasn’t right about all of this. You knew he was hiding things from you; even though you didn’t actually know each other, he seemed to be having a great time with you, as you were with him, so why did he hide so much? He didn’t even give you his phone number — nor did he ask for yours. And why would a man his age be at this party? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t supposed to be there, that you shouldn’t be together there? 

So many unsolved questions for a man you barely knew; your mind gave you no rest as a taxi drove you home that night silently. The smell of alcohol and smoke impregnated the car, your makeup probably looked a mess, your hair was dirty and you started feeling really disgusting as sobered up. Everything you had lived with Suguru came up like flashes: even far from all those memories, you felt like you could close your eyes and touch him again by a raise of an arm. And you do close your eyes, but for the headache the drunkenness gave you. 

Not much time passed until you got home. Gojo and your mom were sleeping, the whole house dark, you took your shoes off, staggering over the furniture till the closest bathroom; all you wanted to do was take a shower and sleep for the next ten hours. Your mind needed a break on thinking. You throw yourself on your bed as soon as the bath is over and nothing has ever felt as comfortable as the smell of your cleaning sheets after a long, long night. You don’t want to think about Suguru ever again — for the next few hours.

You woke up the next day feeling like a truck ran over you while sleeping, or maybe you were just hungover. ‘Never gonna drink again’, you think — And you know it’s not true. It was your last couple weeks before heading back to your cruel reality as a college student, the time passes the fastest when you spend it wondering about someone else. Even with all the alcohol running through your blood until now, you remember everything that happened last night; and you don’t know if you’re supposed to feel good or bad about it. The man you’re obsessed with just keeps getting out of your hands and you feel like there’s nothing you can do about it. Maybe you should let the idea of him go for once; you could feel, deep inside, that you’ll get hurt if keep on running after Suguru and his secrets. 

The depressive thoughts of your love life fades away once you head to the kitchen. Satoru’s there making God-knows-what when he sees you and screams your name out. Ouch, bye, poor ears. “Good morning, Satoru.”

“Good morning? It’s 2pm! I’m making lunch already!” He’s wiping his hands on the apron, “I thought you were dead!” 

“Unfortunately, I am not.” You sit on the dinner table with a coffee mug resting your aching head on your free hand. Your eyes were barely open yet.  “Where’s my mom?”

“Buying stuff for lunch tomorrow.” ‘What about today’s lunch at these bratty hands?’ you think. He looks back at you for a few seconds. "It seems someone enjoyed the party last night, huh?” Gojo says as scapes your sight gradually. He seems to have gotten over not being invited. 

“Yeah, you could say that…”  your voice so weak as you closed your eyes completely. When you open it again, Gojo’s holding a medicine — that you supposed was for your headache, and a glass of water at the height of your face. You smile lowly to him and take it. “Thanks, Gojo. I needed it” you say, truly. He smiled back at you and headed back to the stove. 

“I’ve been your age once, kid. Know how it is” He turns off the heat. “Yeah, of course, our mister party rocker”, you said to him almost like a whisper. He gives you a small laugh. “Lunch’s ready, let’s eat.” the white haired man looks satisfied with his hard work. He takes his apron off and washes his hands. Only thinking about food makes you sick. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“And I am not asking you. You’re not getting out of this kitchen without eating something.” you groan loud enough for him to hear and lay your head on the table, what audacity! It does not bother Satoru, though, as he puts a dish full of his freshly made food in front of you. It actually looked pretty tasty if you only weren't dying slowly out of intoxication. Gojo squints. “Now who’s the brat one?”

You felt sick after eating Satoru’s meal, you tried to tell him that, but he ignored your prayers —not because it tasted bad, you were just nauseous from the alcohol; so you spent the rest of that day in bed regretting your actions. All of them. 

Sunday morning woke you up with loud noises coming from downstairs. Muffled sounds of dishes, laughter, talking. It takes a while for you to understand that a whole day has passed and you actually slept for this long, wiping the drool out of your cheeks. Your brain still engaging the clutches to work again, the sun invading your room through the thin white curtains making you squeeze your retinas. The noise decreases. There’s definitely other people in here, and neither your mom nor Gojo told you about guests coming — maybe because you were asleep for the last 13 hours, but that’s not the point. 

You dressed properly, washed your face and brushed your teeth before heading downstairs. You tried to fix your hair with your hands on the way, too. The sound of laughter rising through the walls as you came closer and closer to the kitchen. Exposing only your head, you check the room. Empty, so you enter. The voices coming from outside, you can hear your mom talking near the pool. That’s when Gojo opens the backyard door to probably get some beer and you hide back, unsuccessfully trying to avoid him. He calls your name, happy. “Look who woke up! Feeling better from the hangover?” Oh, yeah, you almost forgot you were feeling sick yesterday — thank god. So you say a ‘yes, thank you’ to him, polite but still very much suspicious, while he heads to the freezer, not a bit bothered. Suddenly something clicks on his head. Gojo says your name before ‘come here’, heading to the backyard. You don’t feel like following him, but he insists with a so excited “Come on!“ that you do. 

There was your mom, sitting by a lounge chair, laughing, and there were other two people facing her, sitting too, with their back to you. You could only see the back of the chair and the top of their heads. You shiver and stay still at the sight of long black hair. Satoru saw you stopping for a second and took your arm gently to bring you closer. You were now facing the guests, but looked away. Gojo walks away from you.

“Getou, I told you about my stepdaughter, remember?” the white haired man slaps his friend’s shoulder, who is sitting. You’re scared to look fully at what is staring at you in your panoramic view, but Gojo calls your attention. Your heart jumping out. You knew it was him. You knew since you saw his silky hair from behind, since you heard him laughing. But nothing prepared you to look him in the eyes. And the gaze he gave you, the mask falling off him as your chest into the ground. “This is my best friend, Suguru, and this is his wife.” he points to the pretty lady beside Suguru, her black hair long like his. Your stomach started churning again like someone just gave you several punches. 

A dead silence within. 

“…ex wife, Satoru.” the raven haired man emphasized after clearing his throat, uncertain to look into your eyes again — and you’re grateful for it, as you felt  your own starting to blur in tears. You looked away too, so no one would notice. 

Gojo rolls his eyes “whatever. You two are here together now, aren’t you?” Getou tried to add that they were there as friends, but the white haired one interrupted his chatting. “Anyways, I just wanted  you to know your new friend’s dad.” 

“Mimiko and Nanako?” you ask, staring at Suguru. He kept looking down. ‘Wasn’t that obvious enough, how could I not notice?’, you thought. “Correct! Isn’t it awesome that we’re all connected now?”, says Gojo, sitting on his chair beside your mom. You take a few steps back.

“…Yeah, I guess it is”, and start to walk inside again, not once looking behind you. Your mind was clouded by so many things, all your questions being answered in the worst possible way now. All the pieces of that puzzle connect, and you are the foolish one. 

“What’s wrong?” you hear your mom saying from afar; you don’t answer. everything else seems to be far from you, even yourself. What a reality shock. Of course he kept things from you, of course he was fucking lying and omitting about his life. What a pathetic girl you are to think a man twice your age would be single and father of no kids, right? It was indeed too good to be true. 

You heard your name on your way upstairs, wiping the tears from your poor cheeks. You already knew who it was without looking back, so you kept your way. He, then, runs to grab your hand and stop you: it does work, but you can’t hide the tears from your eyes, surrendering to Suguru and looking him in the eye from one step up. Your gaze externalizes anger, sadness, betrayal. He feels his heart breaking in a hundred pieces. 

“I can explain this” The classic. What more could you expect? You laugh at him. “Please, listen to me” Suguru says your name in such a tiny voice you hesitate for a second, but then swallow dry your feelings. 

“Don’t want to hear it, Suguru. Or should I be more polite and call you Getou? Since we do not know each other” you pull your hand from his grip abruptly, looking deep into his eyes, seeking for any trace of truth. You stay silent for a moment, not knowing if wanted to have the answer for what you were about to ask. 

“How long do you know?” He seemed confused, frowning at you. It makes you angrier. “Know what?” so he asks back. You could feel your eyes burning in tears again. You wanted to scream at him, scream so everyone could hear what a bastard he is.

“How long do you know who I am? That I’m your fucking best friend’s stepdaughter! That…” you hesitate, “…That I am friend with your fucking children”. You point at his chest, disgusted, crying. Suguru looks away from you for the first time in your discussion. You step away from him, shaking your head, not wanting to hear it. His insecurity was an answer enough. 

“You already knew that, didn't you? You fucking knew it from the beginning” you laugh in disbelief and wipes your face with your hands. “I was just being fucking used” you whisper more to yourself than for him. The raven haired man stands before you silently, holding on the handrail, still not gazing your way. “What kind of kink is that, huh? Does fucking your friend’s daughter turns you on? Do you do that to all of them? If so, I should go out and warn the other Satoru’s friends. That are, oh my,” you pause sarcastically, “your friends too!” Suguru seems to have got some nerve as he finally looks back at you. 

“You know it’s not that” his voice is very low and bothered. You laugh: he is upset. What right does he have to be upset? 

“No, I don’t know about anything.” You think for a second, “Actually, I do know one thing: that I don’t want to know about you anymore. Nor your weird kinks, nor your secrets. Nothing. This— thing, we had, it’s over. It’s fucking over. You fucking used me, Suguru. I really liked you, u know? I thought that maybe you were different, but how naive I am to think a man would be different.” your eyes were starting to get puffy, but you really wanted to spill everything you had left. 

“I passed the last weeks just thinking of you, the whole fucking time. And yesterday was so incredible, we had such a good time. I’m not talking about the making out, but the parts where we were laughing together. But nothing was real, now was it?” 

“It was, for me. You don’t know how much I enjoyed spending my time with you, just let me explain” Suguru tries to get closer to you, touching his fingertips on yours, but before he could keep on talking, a female voice called his name from outside.

“I’m afraid your wife is calling you, Getou.” you step back, keeping a distance from him again. This time, you did not intend to get anymore closer. He was confused between explaining himself to you and answer the calling, so you take the opportunity when he looks back downstairs to seek for the voice, to head to your room without any further obstacles.

When Getou looks at you, you’re already gone, and his wife is at the stair base talking about something he did not listen to. 

You close your room’s door behind you, sitting on the cold floor, processing everything that just happened. You felt used, dumb, stupid, naive. Every bad thing. You didn’t mean to put expectations on Suguru, as you’ve been together only twice, but you didn’t expect him to lie to you so deeply. You two didn’t have much time to talk, too, but he could’ve said something before. He knew you were his best friend’s stepdaughter and kept on, hiding this from you. Hiding that he had a wife and kids. Lucky you, it just lasted for two nights. What could happen if you took more time to find out the truth? 

But you still felt attracted to him, though. You were together two days ago, after all; he grabbed you so tight, his voice so sweet and his grip so strong. He was still so handsome, so gorgeous. Maybe the most beautiful man you’ve ever been with. And yet so negligent. You can’t afford the luxury of keeping this relationship, after all he has hidden from you, after you find out how close he is to your family, and you’ve become to his too. That’s the right choice: to forget what you two had. He had the age to be your father, and worse, you were the age of his daughters. It was a summer fever, that’s all, and shall pass. 

That’s what you were trying to convince yourself as took the flight back to your university, a week later. Suguru tried to make contact with you again through the days, going to your house on the subject of watching sports with Gojo, but he kept looking upstairs from the living room, waiting for you to come down at any time. And when you did, he gave Satoru some excuse to follow you kitchen inside and try to talk. He had such a puppy face you could only see panoramically, as ignored him almost completely every damn time. Sometimes he got upstairs and knocked on your room’s door — which you don’t know how he knew it was your room, and said things like “i’m sorry; let’s talk; let me explain”, as if you’d kicked his ass after a ten year relationship? You were actually pretty fucking tired of his attitude, and it kinda hurted you too, as a man so handsome is begging forgiveness on your knees and you are rejecting him; unfortunately, your mind spoke louder than your heart. And as the time went by, your sadness turned into anger, that made you little to zero patience with the whole situation. You had so much stuff to worry about already, a drama with a man twice your age couldn’t and wouldn’t bother you from now on. 

That is, until your next college break. 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Another Day in Paradise- Chapter 1

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: E for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point?

AN: Coping with mental heal spirals with new fandom crack? Fuck yes we are. Did I think I was over simping for cartoons at 33? Also fuck yes, but here we are. Idk how long this will be but hey, it'll get finished eventually if there's interest in it. I'm playing some with the timeline, starting off prior to season 1 and we're running through it.

Chapter 2

Summery: Amber hated her life but she smiled and took what it gave her. She had tried to be a good Christian wife. She tried to give the to God everything he was due. She tried to be devoted enough. She tried to survive the cult she was raised in. She tried until the day she couldn't try anymore and then, she had hoped to never have to try again.

Instead of an eternal sleep as her punishment for not trying hard enough, she woke in the very place she had been taught was a lie fed by false Christians- Hell. With her body changed, her resilience gone and no way to get her feet under her in her new afterlife, she pulled herself up the hill to the newly renamed Hazbin Hotel, tail between her legs and without anything to offer in exchange for mercy and charity.

Could the safety of the hotel provide her what she needs to finally blossom? And what, if anything, could she blossom into? And why is Alastor interested? And what role could she fill for the King of Hell himself?

~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~<3

Amber opened her eyes, which was something she shouldn’t be able to do. It was supposed to be over. Everything was supposed to be over. It was supposed to have ended. So why was she still alive? 

Sounds flooded her ears as she regained her faculties. That was another thing she was never supposed to do again. Yelling, screaming, explosions, engines and the simple sounds of city life which made no sense. She didn’t live in a city, she lived in bum fuck rural ass no where and more pressingly, she was dead. Or she should have been. 

That was something she had personal seen to, for fucks sake. 

“Good, you’re awake.” A voice that was soft as velvet spoke from a distance. The voice sounded like bells, musicale. 

“Where am I?” She pushed herself up against the wall. 

The room she was in looked to be abandoned, a thick layer of dust covered the ground and trash had gathered in the corners. There was an open exterior door, giving way to what looked like a busy street and the source of the trash. Next to her was a golden office door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. Another wall housed a closing elevator door. 

It was from the elevator that the voice seemed to come. 

“For your sins, you’ve been sentenced to an afterlife in hell. Sorry, that sucks.” 

“What?” 

~~~~~<3

That was how her first day in hell went. She had woken up, dumped on a dirty old office floor with a tank top and cargo pants that didn’t belong to her. She didn’t even have shoes on her feet. 

It took less than a month for her to end up exhausted in front of the hotel that promised to rehabilitate sinners. Amber didn’t know if she wanted to ascend to heaven but she did know she wasn’t going to survive on the streets of Pentagram City for much longer. 

She was weak. she was tired. Her body was starved. In her short time in hell she had learned that she like many of her fellow residents, didn’t have fuck all for powers and no way to defend herself. Unlike many of the others however, she struggled to find the fight to gain a foothold. 

After spending a lifetime being told to be smaller, meeker, and weaker, she simply had no bite to her. No one wanted to hire a girl who was too timid to keep their shop from being robbed. No one would rent a flat to a girl who couldn’t manage the income to afford food, let alone the rent. 

Sleeping on the streets, on benches and in whatever alley she could find provided little rest. More often than not she’d wake with a start, hands on her. When she was lucky, they’d just take what little things she had managed to acquire. Other things it was her body itself they wanted. 

Those that bothered her were so much like her though, weak. Powerless. Timid. Easy to frighten. She easy target for them when she was asleep but as soon as she woke, like cockroaches they would scatter. It was better to not sleep.

Refocusing on the present, she took a deep breath and tried to gather the courage she needed. Her heart was in her throat as she stood at the door. 

In life, you didn’t knock on hotel doors and wait to be let in. It was weird. This was weird. She had almost convinced herself to walk back down the hill when the door opened. 

“Hello~” The tall woman swept the door open with such cheer and energy, attention focusing on Amber in a instant. “Are you here for a chance at redemption?” 

“I don’t know.” Amber answered reflexively, honestly. She had heard tell of how kind the Princess of Hell was but being faced with the first ounce of kindness in her afterlife left her speechless and feeling the urge to run just as much as she would have if faced with aggression. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

The Princess watched her as she turns to leave and though Amber couldn’t explain it, it was like a switch flipped in the tall woman. The kindness and warmth remained but it subdued as she took in Amber’s appearance. 

The Princess’s eyes took stock of the girl in front of her. She was wearing much the same clothes she would have arrived in hell in, if not the very same- it was near standard issue. The girl outside the hotel looked simply rough, hair dirty and tangled. 

“Are you alright?” Amber flinched as the Princess reached out, snagging her fingers. Amber jerked away from the contact on reflex, sure she was going to be hurt. 

“I don’t- I’m not- redemption isn’t for me.” She settled as she backed away a few more steps.”

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Stepping outside of the hotel, the Princess allowed the door to close behind her before she continued. Amber didn’t know it at the time but she was seeing something few had gotten the chance to see- Princess Charlotte caring for one of her people, not Charlie the over energetic dreamer. 

“I’m Charlie. It looks like you’ve had a rough start to your life here. I’m sorry for that. Mom used to have staff that greeted new sinners, helped them find their feet but Dad- He’s fallen away from that. It makes for a rough landing, I bet. Why don’t you come in?” 

~~~~~<3

The princess of hell was in possession of a bleeding heart that made her eager to collect the stray fox regardless of her weak protests at the door.

The reality was, Amber didn’t have the strength to offer much protest at all, though she did try. Trusting in theory was a lot less scary than trusting in reality, she discovered as the Princess dragged her inside the hotel. There were eyes on her as she walked, head down and shoulders slumped but Amber didn’t dare face them. Bitter tears stung at her eyes.

Charlie led her through the halls and to a room to call her own. It was a modest room, though mainly at Amber’s insistence. She had no money to pay for her stay, no hope for redemption and nothing to offer. She wouldn’t take a nice room that they could give to someone better deserving.

“Stay as long as you want. All I ask in return is that you help or participate, even if you don’t think anything will come of it.” Charlie said, as she stood just inside the room. 

“Why?” Amber hated that her eyes stung with emotion she didn’t want to name. “Why are you letting me stay?”

“Because you came for help and this place; it’s about helping people. Clean up, take some time for yourself and when you’re ready, come down. We have dinner at six, if you want you’re welcome to join. You’re safe here.” 

~~~~~<3

Amber didn’t have anything to store in her room. It wasn’t like she could unpack to kill time. She’d have to make do with what she had been ever so generously provided, and she would, without complaint. 

The bed called to her. She was so tired. The call of the shower, of being clean was stronger though. She wouldn’t dirty the bed with the mess that was her clothes, hair and body. 

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she stripped and started washing out her clothes in the bathtub. Dirt, blood and god knows what else dislodged from the fabric while she did the best she could to clean it. It was disgusting.

It was humiliating but she reminded herself that this wasn’t the first time she had washed her laundry in a bathtub. It wasn’t as uncommon as it should have been in her living life. It wasn’t like she had another option, anyway. She didn’t have any other clothes.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock at her room door. “Hold on!” Amber called, searching for something to cover herself with. 

“It’s me again.” Charlie’s voice came through the door, “Can I come in?” 

Amber wrapped a towel around her and left the soaked clothes in the bottom of the tub where they made a dirty puddle of water as she made her way to the door. Opening it, she peeked out at the tall woman. 

“I brought you a change of clothes.” She said, passing the bundle to Amber. “They’re some of my girlfriend’s old stuff, she doesn’t really wear them anymore and she’s shorter than me so they’ll fit you better than anything I have. I hope that’s okay?” 

“Why?” Amber could feel the way her ears sagged, nearly flat against the crown of her head. 

“It’s okay.” Charlie smiled down at the little fox demon, so beaten down by the world she was sentenced into. How could someone so meek and timid manage enough sin to end up down here? “I want to help you.”

Amber nodded, shoulders sagging as she tried to will the burning from her eyes. 

“What’s your name?” Charlie asked as she rested her hand on a bare shoulder, softly rubbing while she watched the girl try to hold herself together. 

“Amber.” Her voice was hardly more than a whimper.

“Do you want a hug, Amber?” 

Amber nodded weakly and stepped into the Princess of Hell’s embrace. Charlie’s arms wrapped around her and held her tight. Amber nuzzled her head under Charlie’s chin as the tall woman stroked her hand down the waves of red hair. 

At first, Amber didn’t realize she was crying. She hadn’t had a chance to grieve until now, the life she had lived and all that she had lost. When death encroached on her, she had thought it was over and she could rest. 

Sobs ripped through her chest as she clung to Charlie’s jacket, trusting the towel to stay in place where it was tucked into itself. Amber grieved for the life she had lived and the sins she had committed. She cried for the bodies she saw ripped apart in the streets over the last few weeks. Her shoulders shook with the power of her grief until the tears finally tapered off, soothed away by the soft weight of the Princess’ hand running down the length of her hair. 

“Go get yourself a hot shower, okay? Throw out those ‘welcome to hell’ issued spawn clothes. I don’t know how long you’ve been here but you can start your life over. You can have happy days in hell.” Charlie spoke softly, glancing down the hall and locking eyes with her worried girlfriend before returning her attention to the small girl in her arms. Amber hadn’t realized she never let the woman in, instead stepping out in just a towel. 

“Okay.” Amber sniffled before forcing a smile that felt as weak as it was forced. “I’m sorry for crying on you. So much for everyone being tough in hell.” 

“It’s okay. It’s hell, not everyone’s big bad and tough but everyone is broken.” Charlie smiled down at her and couldn’t resist resting her hand on Amber’s head, fingers stretching between the soft ears. 

~~~~~<3

Soaked clothes were left to drain in the sink while Amber sat in the tub under the burning spray of hot water. Pain, lovely sweet pain she could control filled her senses as she continued to grieve. She had thought she had run out of tears in the Princess’ arms but she had found a new well to tap when the hot water hit her skin. 

Eventually, the tears stopped and she pulled herself off the floor. Mechanically she used the complementary soaps to wash her body. Washing her hair was a struggle, she accidentally sent water and suds into her ears more than once. It wasn’t a great experience but it did manage to shake her out of her sadness and replace it with indignant annoyance. 

“How the fuck do I do this?!” Amber grumbled to herself, pinching an ear between her fingers and pulling it painfully down, trying to block the water from entering the stupid tall ear while trying to rinse suds from the fur and hair around it. 

It took a her a moment to decide what was the proper thing to wash a tail with, a debate that felt surreal. Did you wash a fur covered body part with shampoo or a body wash bar? Dogs were washed with shampoos, she decided, so that was what she would use but God above, she’s never felt so uncertain on how to clean her body in her life. 

It felt weird to her still, to touch her tail. The changes her body had undergone upon her death were strange but easy enough to forget about as long as she didn’t touch them or look at them too long. She could pretend her nails were just freshly manicured for Halloween into claws. While running, hiding and scavenging, it was easy to not see herself and forget about the new form of her body. 

This was the first time she had a chance to come to terms with the changes. It was also the first the she had no choice but to acknowledge them. Still, it was weird. 

In a way, she was thankful all in all. She’d seen imps that look more like monsters and people that looked like massive bugs. She’d seen ogres and people that looked more beast than man. There were people with more than two arms or legs, only one eye or far more than two eyes. Things walked the streets covered in scales and fur and yet she looked oh so similar to what she had in life. 

Why was that? Why did she seem to look so human? Amber wasn’t sure there was a rhyme or reason to anything in hell. 

She squeezed the water out of her tail after wringing out her hair. This was the most she had handled her tail since realizing it existed. Thick dark red fur ran down the length until it gave way to white at the tip. The fucking thing could hold a lot of water in all that fur, that was for sure. When it was wet, it was heavy and uncomfortable.

Wrapping herself in a towel and stepping out of the tub, she prepared to properly face her reflection for the first time. Glimpses in mirrors, glass and puddles had been the most she had braved looking until now. 

There wasn’t a reason to put herself through that stress while trying to survive in a world of monsters. She’d seen people stabbed to death and some man with a dog’s head step over the still warm body as if it was nothing. 

Now she was safe. Or at least, Charlie said she was and it seemed like she could be trusted. What a world Amber had woken up in, where she drags herself to the devil’s daughter’s hotel for charity. And gets it! 

A giggle at the thought threatened to spill from her throat. It was misplaced, a reaction to stress and anxiety. Wiping off the steam from the mirror as the giggle died down, she took a deep breath and faced herself. 

In life, her skin had been olive and kissed by the sun. Now she looked washed out, pale as a corpse. That was a common skin tone, she had noticed in the last few weeks. Everyone looked pale as the dead if their skin wasn’t covered in fur, even those with darker skin tones were washed out and ashen.

Curly brown hair had been replaced by bright red waves. The eyes that looked back at her should have been rich chocolate brown and instead they were inhumanly green. That wasn’t the only inhuman feature about her. Her face was more angular and her teeth sharp points in her mouth. 

On top of her head sat tall red ears, tipped with black. She watched as they twitched, seeming to communicate her curiosity. It reminded her of how the husky she had as a child would express himself with his ears, always flicking and flattening to tell his mood. It wasn’t something she was very good at controlling but she found she could intentionally move them. 

It was weird. Lifting the hair at the side of her head, she looked at where her ears should have been. It wasn’t just that the ears were missing, the hairline was shifted, going to her neck in a smooth curve rather than dipping back around where the ear would have been. 

Weird. This was so fucking weird. 

She was just thankful looking at herself in the mirror didn’t add much to her trauma or make herself vomit. It was more of a curiosity than anything. The woman looking back at her was so much like herself and yet in every way, wrong. 

She had no bra but thankfully her new body didn’t come equipped with a particularly sizable bust. She would have liked the support and security of a bra for the normalcy the feeling would have provided but beggars and all that shit. The shirt was long and thin, a pretty basic tee shirt that was almost a dress, reaching to her upper thighs.

That was good because Amber didn’t know if these clothes were to keep or to be returned. She tried stuffing her tail in the pants but decided quickly that it didn’t work. There wasn’t a way to fold it up so the pants could rest where they should have. 

It was painful to try. 

The pants were very much like leggings and she rolled the top down so it rest low on her hips. 

“Welcome back to the 2000s,” Amber mumbled to herself as she looked at how dangerously low the pants sat. This allowed the pants to sit so that her tail could hang out overtop. 

It wasn’t comfortable but if she stuck her tail out a good bit but it worked. 

[lets-try-some-writing]

Your pretender au is probably one of my favorites. You are an excellent writer but I have to ask. Ratchet is a good medic. Does he ever notice?

Would Optimus ever have to replace Ratchet with something pretending to be him? Can other bots be replaced like Orion was?

If that wasn’t your intention with the story I’m sorry it just gives such a good horror vibe of this secondary eldritch race replacing them or maybe it’s Primus’s next stage in evolution or maybe it’s unicron infiltrating.

Also just as a bonus, how would the humans react if pretender Optimus and Bee were finally revealed while on earth?

I gotchu buddy. I will forever expand on my precious pretender au.  And don’t you worry, this was 100000% my intention with this AU.  I will need to get to your last little question in another post, but don’t worry, it's all coming together o(^▽^)o

Previous part here. 

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Ratchet knew the moment the supposed Prime arrived that he was not Orion Pax. He had been one of Orion’s closest friends. He could sniff out a fake without so much as rebooting his optics once. In light of this, his very first instinct was to interrogate the fragger to find out who sent him and then promptly drop his body in a ditch somewhere. At least that way Orion could rest in peace. 

That was Ratchet’s plan, but then the fake presented the Matrix of Leadership and had the relic confirmed by the Primacy priests. It was legitimate. He was a true Prime, even if he wore the face of one who should have been dead. With that in mind, there was no way Ratchet could kill him. The fake did not hesitate to take up the position Orion left behind, quickly becoming the leader the Autobots desperately needed. Optimus never attempted to leech off Orion’s old connections or otherwise abuse the legacy he’d stolen, and for that reason, Ratchet let him be. He had no clue how Optimus had gotten Orion’s face and memory, but whenever he attempted to dig into any files and ask Jazz about Orion’s situation before death, the results came up unsatisfactory. 

Of course, Ratchet did not need to search in vain for long. As soon as the Prime began turning up on the battlefield and subsequently required medical attention, Ratchet quickly found out just what he was dealing with. Optimus’s CNA was a convoluted mess that shouldn’t have even been capable of producing a living being. There were strands from Shapeshifters, Insecticons, and even a small amount of Predacon within the Prime’s genetic code. There seemed to also be a bit of Cybernetic flora mixed into his CNA, but it was all so jumbled that Ratchet could hardly make sense of it. Orion’s CNA was like an accessory, a veil that hung over the monstrosity that Optimus really was. 

But Optimus had already proven to be highly intelligent, and he did not allow Ratchet to so much as record his findings. Clawed digits dug into his shoulders and mandibles clicked together ominously behind him as Ratchet looked over the scans he’d taken during Optimus’s examination. Every part of Ratchet screamed at him to run from the predator behind him. He could feel optics glaring at him, hot events brushing over his neck, and a rattling voice that sounded as though it were a sick mockery of his friend giving one order.

“Keep this to yourself, old friend. If you wish for your kind to be preserved, my nature must remain between us alone.”

Ratchet did his best to not shake, but the command rang out in his audials, causing his spark to spin in terror. He did not look behind him, he couldn’t bear to. He watched the screen in front of him, his optics on the distant reflection of the thing behind him. It was blurry and difficult to make out, but there were claws, fangs, optics, and mandibles that did not belong. He did not move from his prone station until he heard the definitive sounds of transformation and a dull almost comforting hum from the being behind him.

“Calm yourself. I mean no harm to your people. My purpose is to preserve, to protect… and to ensure that never again may you fellow creations of Primus enslave yourselves to the whims of your own desire.”

Dangerous digits ran along the side of his audials in what could have been a fond manner before the creature that proclaimed itself a Prime left the medical bay without another word. Ratchet remained still, watching the CNA scans as a biological hologram pretended itself. 

He feared what he saw.

Hidden behind an armored disguise was a being that was in no way Cybertronian. The computing program projected the image of a monster, one Ratchet could not find it within himself to look at for long. It was just a prediction, but beneath his shining shell, Optimus’s appearance was horrific at best. The predictions spoke of a long gangly build with extra arms and two jointed legs not too dissimilar to Soundwave’s. It had a hard shell almost akin to a carapace but with plenty of thin transformation seams where outer armor folded away. Three sets of optics were on a face filled with fangs and covered in mandibles. On the thing’s back were spines that extended down its back and developed into vicious looking raptorial claws that jutted out from around the base of the shoulders. The only familiar things present in the prediction were the colors the thing bore, the familiar finials, and the same optical structure Ratchet knew his deceased friend to have.

A being that masqueraded as one of their own… one that was capable of doing any number of horrific things to further its own unintelligible goals. Ratchet shuddered at the implications, but he closed and deleted every single scan after a few kliks of observing what he had discovered.

He would wait. He would see what Optimus wanted. Then when he stepped over the line, Ratchet would act and use what he knew to his advantage. Whatever Optimus was… he had Cybertronian roots in his CNA. Despite being a convoluted mockery of that which Ratchet and his people were, that simple fact ensured that toxins and disease were likely still viable options when it came to eliminating the threat. And so that is what Ratchet prepared for. Vorns were spent dutifully crafting the ultimate plague, one he carefully ensured was tailored to Optimus’s CNA specifically. No others would die should it be unleashed, just Optimus Prime.

It was a foolproof plan, one Ratchet had every intention of enacting as the war dragged on, peace treaties fell through, and Optimus’s sick tests put him and Jazz through all kinds of torture that thankfully were reserved for them alone. It was easy to see that Megatron would likely be willing to stop the war effort if he could kill Optimus. Somehow, he’d learned the truth regarding what the Prime was. Ratchet could see it in his optics when he flew forward in rage. If Optimus died, the truth would come out and the war could come to an end. Ratchet was not happy with the idea of Megatron ruling Cybertron, but in the face of the threat Optimus posed?

He was willing to compromise.

He spoke with Jazz and silently he selected a date to unleash his plague. But then, out of the blue, Optimus vanished. He was known for leaving for extended periods of time, but this was new. For six stellar cycles not a spark knew where he was. Ultra Magnus held the army together and Jazz wove a few lies to keep everyone calm, but Ratchet only felt relief. There was a looming fear of what was to come, but he enjoyed the lack of predatory presence for a time. And then of course, Optimus Prime returned carrying something in his arms. 

“What in Primus’s name is this?”

“He is what you would call a sparkling.”

“Where did you find him?”

“I did not find him.”

“What… does that mean?”

“This one is mine. Tend to him in my absence.”

Ratchet’s plans shattered into a million pieces as he held the sparkling Optimus brought with him. The little one had wide blue optics, so trusting and so innocent. And yet when he smiled in his attempts to coo at him, Ratchet saw fangs and small mandibles hidden within the sparkling’s intake. His servos shook as he caressed the little one’s helm, coolant gathering in his optics as he came to a harsh realization. This was Optimus’s spawn, the precious life within his arms was another abomination. Despite that, the little one had not asked to be created the way he was.

Ratchet couldn’t kill a sparkling.

The plague vial was hidden and Ratchet gave a series of encrypted codes to Jazz which would lead to its location. The spy was no master decryptor, he would need time and a great deal of expertise to find the location Ratchet had imputed onto the drive containing the codes. That simple fact ensured that in the worst case… there would at least be time to get Bumblebee away. He may have been an abomination like his Sire, but Ratchet could not bring himself to do anything but treat the sparkling with love. He tended to him while Optimus went off to war, he taught Bumblebee how to read and write in numerous dialects, he showed Bumblebee their stories and their culture, and he took all the time in the world to make sure that should all else fail, a piece of what Cybertron was would remain. 

Optimus was a monster, but he cared for his spawn in a strange sense. He brought Bumblebee strange substances to consume, and sometimes he would take Bumblebee away for cycles at a time. Upon their return, Ratchet would quickly take scans and note a disturbing amount of Cybertronian protomatter within the sparkling’s tanks. He never commented, he merely rocked Bumblebee into recharge and sang him songs while trying not to look when Optimus began to grow harsher. No matter how much his spark cried out when Bumblebee was beaten or neglected by his Sire, Ratchet did not act. He refused to. He couldn’t risk it. Over and over he tried to remind himself that killing Optimus would likely only lead to Bumblebee’s death as well.

He refused to kill the sparkling he helped raise. As such, as vorns passed, Ratchet’s tolerance broke and he made one rash decision. 

“Ratchet! Where are we going!?” 

“Away from here! Don’t fight me Bumblebee!” 

“What about Optimus?!”

“He’s not coming. I am going to take you far away from this plasma pit of a world until we can deal with things here. Don’t worry, I won’t let them kill you.” 

“I don’t understand!” 

“You don’t need to. Just remain quiet and live in silence until I recall you. Then… then I will plead for your life before whoever rules our world.” 

He knew it was a death sentence, but Ratchet had to take the risk. He dragged Bumblebee kicking and screaming toward the space ports with every intention of putting the youngling into stasis and shooting him to some far off world. Once that was done, he would unleash his plague and wait until he was sure every other abomination was dead. Only then would he retrieve Bumblebee and proceed to plead for his life. It was a weak plan, but perhaps, if Primus was willing, he might be able to find a way to make Bumblebee normal. It all depended on his desperate attempt to get the youngling off world.

Ratchet did not have that chance. 

“What are you doing with my creation?”

“Optimus! Stay back!” 

“You know too much, and your loyalty has proven to be fickle.”

“Get away you abomination!”

“You have served your purpose, old friend. I believe it is time for another to take your place.”

Optimus grabbed him just before he reached the spaceports with his charge. Ratchet recalled very little of what followed, but next he knew, he was bound to a slab in some facility he did not know. Above him Bumblebee smiled at him eagerly and Optimus stared down at him with calculating optics. The Prime held a larva of some sort in his servos. It couldn’t have been bigger than a digit, but evidently that was as large as it needed to be to burrow into his processors through his right optic. 

He remembered screaming. He remembered feeling nothing but agony for cycles afterwards. He remembered gaping in horror as he ran scans on himself and found the same symptoms Orion Pax had presented. Most importantly, before his recollection faded into nothing but waves of torment, he remembered Optimus calling out to him, telling him that all would be well.

He did not know how long it took, but as he purged energon and organs alike and felt the sweet embrace of death, he smiled, content in the knowledge that Jazz would know. The spy would tell someone, he would give them a chance. All he needed to do was look at the drive Ratchet gave him and decode it. Then-

-Their people would have a chance. 

━━━━━━ 

━━━━

━

It did not have a designation when it woke. But it knew instinctively that it was hungry. Energon was given to it by those its code recognized as kin, and it devoured. It sensed another who was not of its kind observing, but that one fled soon enough. Then, once it had finished consuming, it stood up in its new frame and met the gazes of those who were also of its line.

“Hail Hierarch.” 

Its speech was disjointed as it settled into itself and the memories of its host began to funnel into it, but as the Hierarch leaned down and placed his servo on its helm, it was at peace.

“Hail Ratchet, second born of our line. With the knowledge you have inherited, we shall thrive.” 

Ratchet? That was a fine name. It was the name of its host. A smile crept across it- no, HIS face as he settled. He would surpass his host, he would serve, and by the grace of their maker, he would ensure their survival on a world filled with those not of them.

[gtbutterfly]

new gt story?

hey, so I wrote a short opening to a new story I thought of, should I continue it? let me know your thoughts. criticism is appreciated.

______________________________________________________________

It was winter, way past the holiday months and weeks before it could ever be considered anywhere near spring. In the morning there was ice blocking the glass windows before the sun melted it away and kept the the rest of the day cool. There wasn’t any snow, there hadn’t been in a long time. Anytime it was cold enough for snowflakes to fall, the sky was perfectly clear, and any time there was a storm, it was roughly just room temperature outside. The coldest it got was the nights. Occasionally it would drop to near twenty degrees Fahrenheit. The nights were frigid and silent, no bugs making noise, and barely any cars to be heard in the distance. It was a small, quiet town, after all. Woods surrounded it and no more than a thousand people lived there. The town was founded by a logging company, most of the residents when they first moved there were employees.

Decades ago, there was an incident regarding the logging mill. According to the old newspapers, the workers recalled some kind of earthquake, tremors in the ground, but it wasn’t an ordinary earthquake. It was like footsteps, they said, “thump, thump, thump,” in the ground. “Boom, boom, boom,” as it got closer. More and more workers reported these vibrations in the ground, and worry was caused throughout the company and the town. They even hired a team of scientists and investigators to find what it was, but they never found anything, at least not anything they’ve shown to the public. A few people decided to investigate the tremors themselves. They went into the forest. They haven’t yet been found, presumed dead. The people in charge of our town decided to make rules for the townspeople's safety. There was a curfew installed, and no one was allowed to be outside a building after eleven pm until sunrise. They banned camping out at a certain point away from the town. No one is allowed to do their own investigations of the mysterious tremors that are still felt today. For the most part, this town is silent. The days are filled with the sound of trees being chopped down and falling in the distance, as well as the children playing, and being scolded for going too close to the woods. At night, on the other hand, it was perfectly silent. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop. There was the occasional sound, wolves howling, the wind blowing, trees and leaves rustling against each other, appearing as black silhouettes in the sky.

On some of these nights, I would stay up, gazing out the window of wherever I was staying. Being in this town's foster care system, it would vary over the weeks. I was told that my birth parents were some of the missing persons when the tremors first happened. They left their infant child to run into the woods after some monster or ecological event and were never seen again. I don’t remember them, I don’t exactly miss them either. I couldn’t miss something I never had. The feeling I had was probably closer to envy than anything. Every couple of weeks, I would be assigned to a new family to care for me. Most of them are friendly, but sometimes I end up with the same family multiple times since not many people sign up. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only person in the foster care system in this town. The house I was staying in now was near the edge of town, right next to the dark forest no one was supposed to step in. I’ve heard about other students at my school sneaking out there at night, as part of some dare or just to impress others. Usually, I would never think to do something like that. I never cared much about impressing others, I mainly kept to myself, some would say too much. 

I stared out the window towards the forest. The moon just barely made the scene conceivable. I wasn’t looking at the forest anyway, I was looking above it. At the sky. The area is so rural that there's no light pollution here, so it’s perfect for stargazing if you're into that. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much since the curfew was enacted. I was in one of the few houses where you could see the stars from indoors. The night sky was beautiful, objectively speaking. There were thousands, millions of stars scattered about, circling a white, glowing moon. There was space dust swirling around. The sky was a dark blueish shade of purple, barely on the line between magenta and black. I looked at it. I thought It looked nice. It had to. I knew that, but I didn’t quite feel it. I didn’t feel much toward the sky. I felt nothing. The sky was dark. And blue, and black, and purple, and had dozens of stars and elements of space in it. It was beautiful. And I felt nothing. I just stared out at the sky until I felt something that made me flinch.

A vibration. It was quick, too quick for an earthquake. It was followed by another vibration. And another. The next one was bigger. They kept getting larger and larger. Wolves howled and whined in the distance. The trees rustled against each other harder, but there was no wind blowing at all. Something was pushing them. Then I saw it. Whatever it was, it was massive. A giant silhouette hidden in the night and the trees. I could just barely make out the reflection of moonlight in its eye. It was nearly 50 feet tall, taller than any building in the whole town. I thought I was dreaming. I pinched myself. 

“Ow,” I wasn’t. A fifty-foot humanoid was walking through the forest. I saw it. It walked passed the houses and the trees and retreated into the forest. I got up from my chair and walked away from the window. I went outside the back door. I couldn’t tell you why. All I felt was the same nothingness from before. But why? A literal giant was walking behind houses, and I felt no fear, no dread, no joy, no excitement. Just nothing. I felt nothing as I followed the giant into the woods. Leaves crunched under my slippers. I followed the giant for a couple of minutes, occasionally hiding behind a tree or bush if they ever looked my way. I still didn’t know why. I didn’t have my phone or a camera to get evidence that it existed, I obviously wasn’t planning to confront it. Maybe it was just curiosity. Eventually, the giant stopped. I hid behind a tree, but that didn’t matter. They knew I was there for who knows how long. They turned around. Their voice were softer than I expected, rather than being big and booming but just made the air vibrate. 

“I know you're following me, kid,” they said. Their voices sounded tough and feminine. “You got something to say?”

It all hit me at once. Everything I was supposed to be feeling before, fear, dread, curiosity, it all fell on me as my stomach dropped as the beings voice buzzed through the air and into my body. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t say anything. My eyes were widened as I stepped backwards. Why did do this? Why did I break our towns rules and go out after dark and follow a massive creature that could kill me in an instant? They were looking down at me with its red eyes. They were bending down to look at me better. Suddenly, I was running. There wasting any thoughts in my mind anymore, only emotion, only fear. I didn’t know where I was going, I just kept running away from the giant. It was dark. The trees blocked out the moonlight, and I was sprinting in pitch blackness. It was cold, one of those nights where it got down to near 20 degrees. I could feel tremors behind me. The giant was following me. I ran faster, until I tripped over the root of a tree, falling into a shallow river. It was cold, frigid and shocking. I didn’t move for a moment. The water was knee deep. After the shock of the cold, I felt pain coursing though my body, mostly in my arms and head, I must have hit it against a rock when I fell. My vision was blurry, either from the head trauma or the water in my eyes. I looked up at the dark silhouette standing over me. The giant. They were standing on they’re knees looking down at me. I couldn’t see their expression in the darkness. I heard them sigh, as their massive hand reached down towards me. Then I blacked out.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

If case if you got access to Occult notes: With whom Luisa will reunite first? Isabela and Dolores or her parents? Or a secret third option?

Luisa took a breath, staring at the new front door of her home. The walls too had been redone, it makes the house look more modern and the technique of the brick layering is everything - before everything happened, she loved construction. She had plans to start an apprenticeship in that field, but then of course…

Even now, she’s still scared and nervous and feels like she is going to be sick all over what is surely a nice new carpet. She hasn’t seen her parents in ages. They must think she’s dead, it’s been so long. She has to do this though. If she’s learnt anything from her time away and staying within a wolf pack, it is the importance of family. And hey, if they don’t accept her, sure, it will suck and she’ll probably hate herself forever but Camilo has promised her a home there. Not to mention, she now has friends in Isabela and Dolores, and the most precious angel in Mirabel.

“Maybe… we should go?” Mirabel suggested, quietly. She shifted her eyes around the neighbourhood warily, pulling the cape tighter around her wings.

She shook her head though. “No,” she said. “I need to do this. They are my family. They love me; they won’t do anything to harm me.”

Mirabel didn’t argue with her but looked away in discomfort. Luisa didn’t know what had happened to her, when she was a living person and not an angel, but it hadn’t taken her too long to realise it was something relating to her birth family. Whoever they were and whatever had happened to them. She’s sure they must be proud of such a wonderful daughter.

“I mean, what’s the worse that could happen? They kick me out?” She tried to laugh, ignoring the way her eye was beginning to twitch with the nerves she was failing to conceal. “I’ve already done that myself! And I’ve made friends, they will let us stay if we need a place.”

Without wasting any more time, she reached for the doorbell.

“Wait!” Mirabel squeaked.

“What is it?” She asked.

Mirabel glanced from her to the house, swallowing a little. She looked pale and briefly Luisa wondered if angels could get sick.

The younger shuffled on her feet, “I am not going to go in.”

“What—”

“I’ll stay nearby, in case you need me. But I will not go in.” Mirabel turned on her heel and left.

Luisa watched the girl walk back down the street, until she disappeared out of sight in confusion. She scratched her neck, awkwardly alone, before shrugging it off. She can’t blame Mirabel for not being keen on meeting new people, the last few ones hated her at first sight and the others decided she was food.

To be fair, it would probably be a lot to dump on her parents in one sitting anyways. They will already have to come to terms with their daughter still being alive and having been turned a werewolf by her supposed friends…

She pressed a sweaty finger against the doorbell.

It wasn’t the chime she was use to hearing. This one was more like a loud buzz than a melodic bell. She didn’t like it, it made her ears sting. Was it possible to get a doorbell that sounded like a dog whistle? She nervously fiddled with the zip on her jacket, her mind plaguing her with ideas of different dog torture devices lining the hallway.

The door opened with a sigh, “Sorry, I’m not looking for a new window cleaner today—”

“Papí? It’s me, Luisa.”

[theroseceleste]

Mafia Miguel - Part 5

This is the fifth instalment to Mafia Miguel.

You can find chapter before this one below.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Contains : Female reader, smut - breast play and penetrative sex. Mentions of anxiety and death, brief mention of testing experiments on live subjects

Word count - 3848

Hope you enjoy chapter 5!

----------

The three of you walk together in a park. You, Miguel and Gabriella. Hand in hand; a chain of happiness, love and peace. You three are laughing, smiling and simply enjoying each other’s company. However, that blissful happiness doesn’t last long.

Dark clouds form overhead, an ominous chill creeps over your skin and into your bones.

Ahead of you stands Kingpin. His evil grin spread wide and daunting. Turning back you attempt to go the way you came, Kingpin looms behind.

Any remaining jovial feelings cease running through you as Gabriella releases your hand, leaving it to feel cold and empty.

Looking in her direction you jump in shock to find your boss standing right next to you.

Before you muster up the energy and voice to scream… you wake up with a start.

Eyes snapping wide open as you sit bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily.

A dead weight slips from your chest and onto your lap almost causing you to jolt in surprise. Miguel’s relaxed hand lay limp on top of your leg. He must have had his arm draped over you as you both slept.

As you wake up more, you begin to register his warmth. His heat feels more intense while he’s sleeping peacefully.

Taking his hand, you place it gently next to him.

His face looks so calm and peaceful. It’s hard to believe that his sleeping, beautiful face can be so intense and serious during waking hours. Although he’s been so loving, caring and soft with you since your date.

You cannot resist, your gentle smile grazes his forehead and places a tender kiss. His cute little cow-lick tuft of hair tickles your nose as you give the sleeping man your affection.

Looking at the digital clock on the bedside table you see it’s 7am. You would have loved to sleep in more but your dream disturbed you too much.

Carefully peeling back the sheets, you get up in a bid to not wake him and head for the en-suite.

Warm water cascades down onto your naked form, your skin glistening under the light in the en-suite. The sound of the water hitting the shower floor echoed inside the large square of glass you’re encased in. Wet hair clings to your back as you soak it through.

While lathering in some beautifully scented shampoo you suddenly feel an extra pair of hands greet you from behind. Your body flinches in surprise but melts rather quickly when they slide round to your front and cup your supple breasts, rolling your nipples between fingers and thumbs.

You nearly make yourself jump when an involuntary moan escapes your lips and reverberates in the shower cubicle.

A warm bare chest and abdomen presses against your back while those manly hands continue to fondle your breasts.

Just as quickly as his chest pressed against you, it went away just as fast. However, you felt Miguel rest his chin on your right shoulder instead.

“You left me in my bed.”

If it wasn’t for feeling his smile against your cheek, you would have thought he sounded stern.

His fingers give you a slightly harder pinch and a tug, making you moan again and lean your head against his.

“I should probably be heading back home soon,” you reply reluctantly.

“Stay… for a little longer - por favor,” he whispers into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Oh how you wish you could. The thought of spending a lazy Sunday in bed with him sounds like absolute bliss. However you know Kingpin will be wanting an update soon and it made you feel uncomfortable doing that while under the same roof as the man you’re supposed to be reporting on.

The hold he has on you while you both shower makes things more difficult to resist. Especially when you start to feel something warm prodding into your back. You suppress a moan and squeeze your legs together.

His large hands totally cover your breasts as he massages them and teases your nipples. Maybe staying a little while longer won’t hurt…

While the warm water cascades over the both of you and rinsing off your shampoo. Your hand reaches behind and takes hold of his hardened, throbbing cock. His hips jolt immediately against your touch as he groans.

“Mhmm… cariño…”

He gasps as you squeeze slightly and tug on him.

“Fuck…”

Leaning your head back against his chest you enjoy feeling it rise and fall as his breathing quickens while enjoying your delightful touch.

“Keep going like that and I shall have to fuck you against the shower wall…”

You giggle as you fist his length a little harder and faster.

“Is that a warning or an invitation?”

“Both… Ugh… fuck, cariño…”

A hand slips down from one of your breasts to between your legs. Sliding in and out of your slick, sensitive folds and massaging your clit. Your back arches as a lusty moan erupts from your parted lips.

“You’re so wet for me, hermosa…”

A grunt joins your moans as your fingers squeeze tighter around him.

“Alright, you asked for it.”

He spins you round on the spot in front of him, rendering you slightly dizzy. Fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he grapples you. He lifts you with ease and places you against the cold glass of the shower cubicle, making you gasp.

Without much warning, he enters you with a precise thrust. You cry out as that void within you is filled suddenly. Your walls stretch around him as he takes you.

Both of his arms support you under your legs while his hands grip your ass and lower back. Taking great care in making sure you feel secure.

“M- Miguel!” you squeal.

For extra support, you fist your hands in his soaked hair.

A look of pure ecstasy adorns Miguel’s as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

“Good girl, take me nice and deep…”

He grits his teeth as he thrusts harder into you.

“You feel so good cariño,” he pants heavily, “so damn good.”

At the angle he has you in, pressed against the glass, his urgent shaft hits all the right places inside your aching core. He feels you beginning to clench around him, squeezing him hard.

“You’re close hermosa.” He grunts as he pumps away aggressively. “I can feel it.” His gaze is now fixed back on you as he watches you begin to crumble.

“Cum for me… clench on me nice and hard.”

His words seem to have a magic effect on you. Just hearing him tell you to climax sends you falling into a whirling vortex of ecstasy. Your cries, squeals and moans reverberate again between the glass panes, drowning out the running water from the showerhead.

“Oh God, Miguel!!”

His determined expression burns into you as he continues to slam his hips into you. Grunts accompany your sweet noises of pleasure each time he feels every pulse and clench around his length.

A tightening sensation builds up between his legs. Watching you revel in your pleasure excites him and brings him closer to orgasm.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you away from the glass and presses your body against his.

You couldn’t resist kissing his neck and grazing your teeth against his skin.

Quick, short-burst thrusts pummelled into you in a punishing but exquisite fashion. That cock-drunk haze similar to last night fills your mind once more.

Finally, his grunts grow louder but his frequency slows, matching his speed. Every noise he made punctuated every pump until he groaned uncontrollably. Releasing his hot seed inside you with every pulse and throb.

He stills, allowing you both to catch your breath before placing you back down on the floor. Miguel helps you finish your shower between planting tender kisses all over your body.

***

You make your way downstairs to look for your bag feeling thankful that Miguel will call for his limo. You don’t fancy doing the walk of shame in the clothes you wore yesterday.

To your surprise, you hear the elevator doors open, revealing a smartly dressed woman in a bob hair style.

Her eyes meet yours as she steps out and a smile creeps across her face.

“I knew he’s getting some!” she yells excitedly.

A confused expression creeps across your face.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, ignore me. I’m Lyla - Miguel’s PA.”

The stranger holds out her hand, waiting for you to take it.

Hanging your bag over your shoulder first, you take the woman’s hand and shake it.

“I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.”

A buzz from your phone vibrates in your bag, making you flinch nervously. Lyla subtly raises an eyebrow as she watches you open it and take the phone out. 

Colour drains from your face when you see it’s a message from Kingpin himself.

“I’ve got most of the information I need. Meet me at your earliest convenience at Fisk tower.”

For a short moment, your hearing goes, a constant ring penetrates your ears as your heart pounds and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your grip on your phone loosens, dropping it back into your bag, making a dull thudding noise.

“You good (Y/N?)” Lyla asks, looking concerned.

You give your head a vigorous shake to snap out of the state of shock. Then you put on a smile to play it off.

“Fine, thank you. Miguel should be down in a minute. He’s just getting dressed.”

The personal assistant looks you up and down, however her expression remains looking concerned.

“Miguel’s never spoken about you. What do you do (Y/N)?”

Not this question again…

“Just some boring office job. Nothing special like what Miguel does in the world of politics.”

A chuckle from Lyla fills the air.

“Heh, yeah - politics. Thrilling job…”

You detect the hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Footsteps coming down the stairs indicates Miguel is coming.

“Morning Lyla,” he says as he fastens the final couple of buttons on his shirt. Approaching the both of you.

“I see you’ve met (Y/N), I hope you’ve not been acting weird and scaring her off now…”

A guilty but cheeky expression grew across her face.

“I may have shouted something about you ‘getting some’-”

“Jesus - Lyla! Right - I’m docking your bonus for finding-” he pauses as both his and Lyla’s eyes go wide for a second, catching himself before he mentions Kingpin’s name. He clears his throat.

“Finding the perfect birthday present for Gabriella…” he finishes while glaring at his PA who’s doing everything in her power not to laugh.

Your eyes flit between the both of them for a moment.

“Well, I probably should get going. Thank you, Miguel, for a lovely evening.”

You step towards him and plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I had lots of fun with Gabi too.”

“Oh, don’t you want breakfast?” he asks you, his eyes wide, looking desperate for you to stay.

“Something’s come up and I really need to go sort it out. Besides, Lyla’s here now.”

You step away and make your way to the lift.

“I can come with you, Lyla can wait here,”

“Eh? Hang on…”

Miguel’s PA sounds rather indignant at his comment.

Turning back to the mafia man you reply;

“I’d really love you to, but I can’t get distracted with you about. I’ll text you later, okay?”

His shoulders slump with disappointment. It’s clear he wasn’t ready for you to leave.

“Alright cariño…”

He holds the lift doors open, to stop them from closing between you both and gives you one last kiss.

“Speak to you later,” he whispers.

“Of course.”

Miguel reluctantly takes a step back and releases his hold on the door, allowing it to close. After hearing the lift depart, he turns back to Lyla.

“Alright, what do you want?”

***

Your shaking hands fumble as you push your key into the lock. Twisting it, you hear the click and push the handle down to enter your apartment.

You need to change, eat and get back out again to go to Fisk tower. As you rummage through your wardrobe, your mind is abuzz with rushing thoughts. What information did Kingpin find?

After finally choosing something to wear, you remove your current clothing and change completely.

You wolf down a sandwich you quickly made for yourself before texting Kingpin back to say you’re on your way and rush out of your apartment door.

***

Arriving at Fisk tower, another text from Kingpin tells you to find him in his office. Once again you find yourself in a lift. Your hands fiddle nervously as your heart pounds. Although you feel slight relief as it sounds like Kingpin might not need you to report on Miguel so much - you hope.

The wide metal doors slide open, revealing the large man already waiting at his meeting table. Countless sheets of A4 paper are spread all over the desk as Mr. Fisk gazes down on them pensively. He barely even acknowledges your arrival until you pull out a chair and sit down.

“Ah, (Y/N). Thank you for coming at such short notice,” he begins with a smile before looking around for something.

“I trust you had a good day yesterday baking and getting cosy with Mr. O’Hara?”

The all too familiar nauseous feeling returns in your stomach, making you regret eating that sandwich.

“While you’ve been gathering information, I had my own puzzle to solve.”

Finally he grabs an empty folder labelled '#2099'. You presume the contents of the folder is what is strewn about all over the desk.

You remain silent, but your gaze flits between the documents, the folder and your boss.

“The other day you told me that your man, Mr. O’Hara, had a wife; correct?”

Swallowing hard, you give a nod in response, hoping the nauseous feeling will pass soon, but you won’t bank on it.

“And she died a few years ago?” he continues to ask before you give another nod.

Taking a piece of paper, he hands it to you for you to look at. You glance down at it, realising there was a fair bit to read. With shaking hands, you take it from Kingpin and skim through the information printed on the paper.

Alchemax Project #2099

Team assigned to project:

Maria O’Hara

Randall Turner

Julio Garcia

Jonah Krause

Frederick Becker

Project Leader:

“Kingpin”

Project Details:

Using Maria’s fascination, wisdom and expertise in spiders, research and experimentation has begun on producing a serum containing arachnid DNA mixed with a non-lethal dose of radiation.

Specifics as to why this project is necessary is withheld by the project leader as this is written.

So far, all experiments have been a total failure. Small test subjects have all perished after being injected by the serum. This goes without saying, but some members of the team are greatly distressed with the use of live subjects, however it has been insisted upon by the project leader.

I have sent in a request for more details, so we can get a better understanding of what is required.

Dr. Julio Garcia.

“Spider DNA?” you ask with a furrowed brow.

Kingpin takes another piece of paper and hands it to you. At the top there are the same details of the team members and project leader. But a different entry had been written in the project details section. It looks to be some form of diary that a member of the team had kept while the project was being run at Alchemax.

Project Details:

It is with great sadness and regret that I write in this journal that Maria O’Hara suffered a catastrophic reaction to the serum and passed away as a result. It is not clear what possessed her to inject herself with the serum. Perhaps it was severe stress, or a protest against using live subjects. It is unknown if she knew this would be the outcome.

Alchemax has requested that this project is suspended for the time being.

Dr. Julio Garcia.

Your heart falls into your stomach. Catastrophic reaction? You can only imagine how that must have felt, or maybe you can’t. A shiver runs down your spine just thinking about it.

“This is why Mr. O’Hara wants me dead. I’m ‘responsible’ for his beloved wife’s death,” Kingpin said with a hint of indignation, no remorse whatsoever.

“What did you want with a serum of radioactive spider DNA?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

Your boss shrugs nonchalantly.

“It was, and still is, I suppose, a desire to enhance my employees; giving them an edge over any other mafia groups, like O’Hara’s and the police for that matter. We’d be unstoppable, imagine the possibilities.” A wide grin develops across his face, creasing his cheeks.

“But why specifically spider DNA?"

“Why not? They’re stealthy, fast and agile. Besides, the spider was also the most researched creature in Alchemax, lead by Maria O’Hara. It seems she was fascinated by them.”

Swallowing hard, you’re thankful that the project never became a success. Although it’s sad that it was brought to an end due to a tragic death.

Kingpin stands and walks over to his desk in search of a cigar. As he leaves you at the large meeting table alone, you look down at another piece of paper right in front of you. Another project journal entry is partially hidden by other sheets piled on top of it.

“Have you read everything on this desk?” you ask, trying not to sound suspicious.

Your boss has his back to you as he begins to try and light the cigar perched between his lips.

“No, not yet. There’s a lot to go through, clearly.”

Carefully sliding the paper from underneath the pile you take a quick look. It seems as though the journal was written after Maria’s death as all names but Dr Julio Garcia’s name was entered in the project team section.

Final journal entry for this project. I have carried out - in secret from the rest of the team - creating an antidote for the serum; should it threaten to cause another catastrophic reaction after being administered. Only I know its location in hope to keep it safe.

If anyone finds this journal, I implore you to never touch the serum of project #2099. However, if you are foolish enough to dabble with it, please come to me should the antidote be required.

Subtly folding the paper, you stash it into your bag before Kingpin turns to face you again after lighting his cigar.

“So, what do you intend to do now with this information?” you ask as he approaches the paper covered meeting table.

Mr. Fisk takes his seat again as he puffs away, sending columns of smoke into the air. You try your best to stifle a cough as your lungs immediately disagree with what you’re breathing in.

“Before I answer, I need you to give me his address.”

You groan internally at the thought of handing that precious information over to your boss. But what choice do you have? After a moment of hesitation, you reluctantly give him the requested details and look at him expectantly to answer your question.

“I’m sorry (Y/N). I know I said I’d answer, but I lied. I fear you have got too close to Mr. O’Hara despite my warnings-”

“You bastard!” you exclaim, slamming your hands against the table as anger erupts unexpectedly.

Kingpin nearly drops his cigar from his mouth. A flash of anger gleams in his eyes at your reaction.

Instead of retaliating, he takes a deeper drag and then exhales, sending all the smoke your way. You cough again as you use your hand to waft it out of your face.

“And that reaction is proof that I’m right in not telling you,” he pauses, “now, get out of here before your attitude lands you in more trouble.”

Mr. Fisk’s expression is cold as he speaks. He knew you’d get too close, but it was a risk he was willing to take to get the information he needed. It’s clear he never cared about your feelings in all of this.

Standing up suddenly, sending your chair sliding backwards across the floor as you glare at your boss. Grabbing your bag, you throw it over your shoulder and flounce out of his office as fast as possible.

You can’t get out of Fisk tower quickly enough. Nausea, anger, frustration and anxiety swirls uncomfortably in your mind.

All you want to do is return to your apartment and hide away under your bed covers. With a pounding heart, you make your way back home to do just that.

***

The next morning, Lyla sits at her own desk in the Web. Her boss isn’t in yet, she came in early with something niggling in the back of her mind. It had bothered her all day yesterday and all night. 

Maybe she has been in this job too long. Despite her cheeky persona with people she knew well, she couldn’t help being suspicious of new people. In hope to ease her mind, she begins to search for your name.

Lyla remembers you mentioning working in a boring office job, and yet your name doesn’t feature in any companies based in Nueva York. Her brows furrow. Things are already starting to look suspicious.

Her next port of call is searching the CCTV network. A contact of hers kindly gave her access a long time ago. She chose the day you saved Gabi outside her school, and ran a facial recognition program on all camera footage gathered since that day.

The first she found was you walking arm in arm with Miguel on your date. A faint smile cracks her face riddled with suspicion at the sight. She notices how happy her boss looked in the footage.

Next is a recording from a shop near your home. You’re carrying grocery bags. Nothing suspicious there…

No results showed up for the following couple of days. Nothing until yesterday, after Lyla saw you for herself that morning.

Her frown deepens as she watches footage of you entering Fisk tower.

“Oh, (Y/N)... what are you doing?” she whispers with a grave expression on her face.

Instantly, she grabs her phone and begins tapping away a message as she wears a rare expression on her face, a serious one.

***

It’s that time of the week again. You have been shopping for next week's groceries. It’s late at night, you had spent all day running errands and only now had the chance to buy yourself some food.

As you climb up the stairwell, a familiar pleasant smell fills your nostrils. Your heart beats fast as you recognise it as Miguel’s cologne.

Reaching the final step you see him standing there, waiting. The fast pace of your heartbeat increases, but not for a good reason. His expression is dark and you swear you see the whites of his eyes are slightly pink.

“Hello, (Y/N). I think we need to talk…”

----------

Click here for Part 6

I hope you enjoyed part 5.

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[apex-academy]

Chapter 6: The Decay of Our Lives (#19)

I don’t know where I expect to find him or if I should even move around to find him, but here I go, anyway.

“Monochap!!”

I turn the corner to the main hall before I find him.

“O-oh, Kakumi!”

“Were you calling for me...?”

I keep charging towards him.

“U-uwah?!”

“I need answers, and you're going to give them. Your ability to carry out your precious game hinges on it. Got it?”

“......”

“I don’t understand...”

“You will.”

“Um... Okay...?”

At some point the cafeteria doors must have opened again, because Aidan and Ichiriki have joined us at a distance. Neither has said anything, somehow. Maybe they can button it long enough for me to get this done.

“So. Let’s start with this: the bodies of the killers and victims were kept alive long enough for the fourth motive. All of them. Right?”

Monochap straightens up, like he hadn’t been expecting something he could actually answer.

“Oh, um! That’s correct, yes!”

“But you only gave that motive one chance, so when Aidan was selected, there was no need to keep the others alive.”

“I-I guess so?”

There’s enough murmuring going on to distract me now, but only for a second. Kanagi and Tsunyasha have stopped at the far side of the main hall, just past the dried paint splashes. I don’t quite make eye contact with them before locking onto Monochap again.

“Next point. Where were they being kept?”

“U-um... Where we needed them to be?”

“Be more specific.” 

“It’s somewhere on campus, right? No need to take unnecessary risks moving bodies around, and you can sure keep the electricity on here. Guessing your miracle machinery needs a lot of juice.”

“Probably, mm-hmm...”

Well. I can’t expect him to know all the technical details. Why program your robot with any knowledge it doesn’t need for its task?

“Were they in Lab Room A? That’s the only reason it would still be blocked off—that room specifically, for the entire time we’ve been here.”

“.........”

Fine, be that way. Guess I don’t need that specific an answer, anyway. 

“Let’s move on, then.”

Someone else peeks in through the dormitory doors but remains silent. I don’t look long enough to determine who it is. All eyes on Monochap.

“You’re not permitted to hurt anyone who hasn’t broken the rules—which the victims wouldn’t have broken just by dying. So if they were taken off their ‘life support,’ it had to have been the young master’s doing. Because you can’t break that rule.”

“U-um, I guess that would be right...”

“So then.”

“When the fourth motive was no longer in place, the young master ended the lives of some of their fellow students on the Apex Academy campus.”

“Isn’t that grounds for a class trial?”

The words hang in the air. I hear fabric shift somewhere, but I’m still tunnel-visioned on Monochap.

This is it. The logical conclusion. Maybe there are holes in my argument somewhere. A loose link, some loophole—but that doesn’t matter if we can settle this before someone points it out.

So what will Monochap do? If he’s programmed above all else to follow the rules of the game, he has no choice but to cooperate.

“E-eh?!”

“Could that really...”

“WHY are we all CLUSTERED here like GAPING PEONS?”

“Dude, you were here first.”

Monochap’s nervous shifting from foot to foot sends metal rattling.

“But, but...!”

“The investigation is supposed to start when a dead body has been discovered...”

Ah. I really should’ve reread the exact rules before starting this. “But...”

“But a dead body has been discovered!”

I blink and back up as Aidan approaches.

“Eh?! When?”

“Not long after their deaths.”

“It wasn’t for an excessive span of time, but I regained consciousness earlier than anticipated—isn’t that right?”

“A-are you sure?”

“Yes. The others hadn’t been removed yet—but they had already been killed a second time. Naturally, it would've been an immense waste of resources to keep them alive any longer than necessary.”

“......”

I don’t know if Aidan actually remembers this, or if he’s just making stuff up that no one can prove. I'm not turning down the help either way.

“Dude, you’re telling me we coulda had a trial, like... forever ago?”

Kanagi charges forward, and I’m tempted to stick a foot out in case she lunges at him. Wouldn’t end well for whatever ankle I hit, though.

“But, um...! You don’t really know if—!”

“Wasn’t all that, like, super forever ago? So we totally shoulda been hunting down the master-dude before Yuki ever pulled her crap?”

She hasn’t thrown any punches, but she leans in close to Monochap’s face.

“You owe us bad. You owe us this thing, and you—”

“You owe us Kaich back. Give ‘im.”

“A-ah, but, but! Kaichi was never put on the machine!”

“Especially by now, he’s, um, not really...”

Before Kanagi can think too hard about where that sentence is going, I attempt to step between them.

“Then you definitely owe us this investigation and trial.”

“It’s time to put an end to this.”

[BACK] [NEXT]

[separatist-apologist]

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain had never run so hard in her life. Tricked by the huntsman, lured out in the woods only to be spared at the last minute. Elain didn’t know if she should be grateful or furious. Fear overrode every other emotion as she tore blindly through the trees, terrified he’d change his mind and come after her. 

The skies opened as Elain tried to figure out a path to follow that would get her far, far away from her stepmother. Maybe, she thought wildly, she’d follow Nesta. Go to the wall, vanish into the Illyrian Mountains. Assuming she managed to survive the night.

The rain was cold, mingling with her tears. The only benefit was the thunder and the wind drowned out her loud, uncontrollable sobbing. All Elain could imagine was her stepmother ordering the huntsman to kill her—and how stupid she’d been to trust him. He’d let her go, though. 

Elain clung to that as she ran blindly, slipping through mud until her dress was torn at the hem. Her hair caught on branches that seemed like vicious, grabbing hands, ripping it from her head until she screamed.

In the end, Elain found a large enough knoll in a tree to climb inside, shielding her from the worst of the elements. Knees drawn to her chest, the best she could do was sob into the fabric of her gown. Sure, she and her stepmother had never been friends but to want her dead?

“Why?” she whispered, as if the trees might answer her. There was only silence and the rustling of animals that convinced her Lucien was coming back to finish what he’d started. She couldn’t sleep, even when the rain died down and dawn broke against the horizon. 

Elain’s legs ached when she unfurled them, stumbling to her feet blindly. She had no idea where she was and the rain had washed away any semblance of a path. That was both a blessing and a curse. Lucien wouldn’t be able to track her down but she now had to keep moving and hope she didn’t die before she found safety.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself. Pretty words that were functionally useless, and yet it convinced her to take that first step into this terrifying new life. She couldn’t go home—Lucien had promised to kill her if she did. How would he explain her death? What would Nesta think? Nesta.

Dread solidified like ice in her gut. Feyre was probably dead, then—and Nesta sent on some far flung mission where no one would be surprised if she died, too. All three daughters easily eliminated…though for what purpose, Elain couldn’t begin to guess. It wasn’t like her father would be giving another woman children, and as long as there was a whisper of hope that Nesta was alive, her throne would be safe.

Assuming that was even what was happening. Maybe Elain had done something to deserve this. Had shared some secret with Graysen she wasn’t supposed to, or otherwise undermined her fathers regime. For hours, Elain racked her brain for any hint of wrongdoing, certain she must be missing something.

She simply refused to believe Lucien’s assertion that it had been her looks that had caused this. That was crazy. And yet…and yet as Elain continued her miserable hike, she thought of Amarantha’s laughter every time Graysen spoke. How she’d felt like they were in a competition for his attention. Those nails on her shoulder when Elain had said beauty couldn’t run in their family because they weren’t related. Her beauty was a result of her parents—but that slight surely wasn’t enough to sign her death warrant.

What did Elain know? Not enough, she decided. She’d been too complacent for too long and now she was lost in the sprawling forest hoping she’d find a village or a person who wouldn’t recognize her. Someone who would whisk her away to safety. 

Elain wanted to sleep. She wanted to eat something, wanted a bath and a warm bed. For hours, all Elain had was her stiff dress, ruined from the rain the night before and her aching feet. Convincing herself to just give up and go back—to run to her father and tell him everything and pray that was the thing that finally woke him up—Elain didn’t notice the cottage sitting silent and dark in front of her until she tripped over a loose stone. 

It was clear no one lived here from the built up weeds and the window pushed ajar. Someone had broken in at least once and had the decency not to destroy anything. Elain tried the door handle and when that didn’t budge, hiked up her dress, and climbed through the window, too.

It was small. A kitchen, a living room, and a loft overhead where she assumed someone might sleep. All of it was covered in a thick, near suffocating layer of dust. Elain made her way to the kitchen where she found several jars of pickled vegetables and canned fruit. She opened one and, after tasting it, ate an entire can of sweetened peaches hoping they were still edible. 

Her stomach momentarily full, Elain found the little bitty bathroom, complete with a toilet that flushed and a bathtub filled with spiders. A table in the main room held two chairs with two equally broken legs. The stairs that led to the loft creaked when she put her weight on them, but otherwise held.

She’d been right about the bed. A moth eaten blanket covered a springy mattress, all of it smelling faintly of mildew. Still, a bed was a bed, and shelter was shelter. She’d take what she could get. At least she was alive. That was what Elain told herself when she collapsed atop that blanket. She’d been spared by the huntsman and once she figured out what was going on, Elain swore she’d figure out some plan to return. 

Or, that was what Elain told herself as she drifted into sleep.

She woke to the sound of the stairs creaking and then a voice, dark and masculine, asking, “How did you get in here?”

Elain sat up, heart hammering in her chest. Light flooded the downstairs, illuminating the features of the person staring her down.

“Is…is this your house?”

“Technically,” he replied gruffly, looking at the threadbare blanket she was curled beneath. “Did you break in?”

Elain was going to break down. Tears gathered behind her lids, Elain tried—and failed—to come up with a reasonable explanation.

“Don’t…don’t fucking cry,” the man ordered, brown eyes wide with unmistakable fear. “You ah…you got a name?”

She should have lied. “Elain,” she whispered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Okay, look. Don’t go around telling’ everyone I’m out here doing favors, alright? People will start asking me for shit. But if you ah…clean this place up, I might be willing to look the other way for now. You’re gonna need to get a job!” he added when a smile bloomed over her face. “I’ll be expecting rent from you!”

“Okay,” she agreed. “When?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Spring? Give you some time to ah…get on your feet. And work on this place. I mean it. I want to see real improvements or you can crawl back to wherever you came from!”

“I will,” Elain promised, creeping a little closer. “What’s your name?” 

“Jurian,” he said with a deep frown. “That’s all you need to know. I’ll be getting locks for those windows…you’re the last person crawling through them, do you understand me?”

“I understand,” she whispered, offering him another smile. Jurian merely blinked, as if no one had ever done such a thing and he didn’t know what to make of it. He was rather grumpy, but Elain decided right then that she liked him. 

“I ah…” he rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’ll be back. Don’t open that door for strangers.”

He didn’t have to worry about that. How long before Amarantha wasn’t a looming threat, she wondered? A few days? A month? Elain watched Jurian climb back down the steps, flinging the musty blanket from her body to follow him down. 

“I could use some other things—”

“Does it look like I’m running a charity here?” Jurian demanded, taking stock of the rather pathetic living area. Elain could fix that easily with just a little water and soap. And a rag, if she could hunt one down. Jurian, too, seemed to realize it would be a tough sell asking her to clean up his dilapidated cottage with only the things she had on hand. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally grumbled, turning in a half circle again. “Remember what I said about letting in strangers.”

She nodded. “I promise. No strangers.”

That didn’t seem to appease him. In fact, Jurian seemed all the more disturbed by the events unfolding. But Elain was thinking, trying to figure out an escape route. For now, staying in the cottage made sense but she’d have to leave eventually. She couldn’t risk someone recognizing her while she was still within her fathers borders. 

“How far are we from Avalon?” she asked. She’d heard stories of Beron Vanserra, the King of Avalon and his seven sons. The rumors were each was more handsome than the last, making his youngest so beautiful it hurt to look upon him. Whether that was true or merely a myth meant to make his sons seem more marriageable, Elain didn’t know. What she did know was a man with seven sons would need wives and after the first, he was likely hoping for just any advantageous match to benefit his kingdom.

Elain could barter for an alliance with her sister. Perhaps she could marry one of the younger ones, someone of no consequence bound for the universities or priesthood. Or maybe Beron would merely trade her safety for information—that was better than another marriage.

She merely wanted to be prepared.

“Two weeks walk,” Jurian told her gruffly. “Through rough terrain. Are you from there?”

“I have a friend who lives that way. I was thinking I might pay them a visit when winter is gone?”

Jurian leveled a long, unreadable stare at her. “Well. I’m not helping you with that.”

Elain offered him a sunny smile. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you for anything else. This is far too kind already.”

“It is too kind,” he grumbled. “Don’t forget what I said. Do not open this door to strangers.”

“I swear,” she agreed, waving as Jurian made his way out. If she could scrounge up enough fruit and sugar, maybe she’d make Jurian a pie to thank him. But for the moment, she was as safe as she could get. She had four walls and a roof.

And somehow, it felt like paradise.

LUCIEN:

“Well?” Amarantha demanded when he strode back into her bed chamber. She was dressed obscenely in a black, lacy thing that threatened to overturn his stomach. He betrayed none of his hatred, setting a wooden box atop her vanity. She strolled forward, leaning forward so he could have looked straight down the front of her dress if he’d wanted.

Lucien averted his eyes. 

“Did she suffer?”

“I carved out her heart,” he replied dryly, refusing to imagine what that would have been like. Elain was safe and alive somewhere in the forest and just as soon as he finished here, Lucien meant to go track her down. “What do you think?”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have seen her face. Do you think she realized it was me who ordered it?” Amarantha asked, pulling that heart from its tomb to hold it in her hand. Lucien fought back the urge to vomit, waiting until she set it back in that cedar box and closed the lid.

“She knew.”

“Good. You’re dismissed,” Armantha added, waving a hand at him.

Lucien turned from the dark bed chamber, listening to the howling sounds of wind and rain from just outside. And as he went, he swore he heard Amarantha speak.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?”

Lucien didn’t stick around to see if the mirror could talk back. He wanted to go straight back into the woods and find her and knew he was probably being watched. Lucien didn’t like Amrantha’s black guards—soldiers loyal only to her, paid with whatever money she’d brought with her. They did all her bidding and Lucien didn’t doubt that if he slipped out in the middle of a storm, Amarantha would hear about it.

He was tempted to check in on the party happening in one of the halls and didn’t think he could look at the prince who was supposed to be marrying Princess Elain knowing he’d sent her far, far away. In the end, Lucien went to the small room he was allotted in the palace for the night, if only to bathe and sleep. 

Lucien’s nightmares were plagued by visions of those trusting brown eyes. A whispered please, and the way Elain flung herself away from him, running as fast as she could to escape him. Lucien woke a little before dawn, bathing himself in an attempt to shake off the memories.

He’d saved her life. One of the black guards would have drawn it out, making sure she suffered before finally killing her.

The problem, outside of his own desire to see her again, was the fear that she’d turn right back around and come home. That she didn’t believe him or thought she could change the ending. Maybe she’d buy herself time—but Amarantha would know she’d been thwarted and no matter how far Elain ran, she’d always be looking for her.

Better for the princess to vanish entirely. Lucien could put her on a boat for Rask by the end of the week. He could get new papers drawn up for her, a new identity, a new life. She’d never be a princess, but she’d be alive.

And maybe he’d sleep again. 

Lucien dressed himself after his bath, grabbed his usual breakfast, and was out the door without a second glance. That was hardly unusual. Lucien loathed spending time in the palace, preferring to be outdoors and in the woods minding for poachers and keeping the local wolf population from getting too out of hand. 

Lucien made his way to the forest with ease, hand on the hilt of his sword. He traced the path where he’d left Elain and then, with nothing else to do, guessed the route she would have taken. Thinking of her like a frightened doe, Lucien imagined she would have run in a straight line, veering only when something in her path forced her away. 

The tell-tale traces were there. Strands of her hair tangled in low-hanging branches and pieces of her dress buried against the mud. Lucien collected them all, erasing the evidence without a second thought. Relief filled his veins at the knowledge that she had heeded his warning.

Where had she gone, though? She didn’t seem the sort to rough it, but after walking well into the afternoon with no hint as to where she’d ended up, Lucien was beginning to suspect Elain Archeron was dead. 

Lucien told himself that was for the best. One way or the other, his lie was safe and Amarantha had gotten what she wanted. Still, it seemed a shame to lose a person like Elain. Lucien trudged forward, still thinking about her bouncy step and her big eyes. He’d see Jurian about all that meat he’d asked to be dried. If nothing else, Lucien could hole up in the forest with jerky and try and ease his wounded conscience.

Jurian was waiting in his home, a frown on his face. Lucien stepped through the door, noting his meat was tried and neatly packed up in brown paper. 

“What do I owe you?”

Jurian rattled off double the usual price, the lines between his eyes creased. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you trying to cheat me?”

“No,” Jurian replied gruffly, “but I’ve got new expenses.”

“Finally knocked up one of the barmaids, huh?” he teased, fishing out the coins despite the markup. 

“I fucking wish,” Jurian replied, snatching the gold coins from the rough wood table. Lucien gathered up his meat, surprised to see a basket of unusual items sitting just beside the fireplace. Blankets and cookware were mingled alongside a set of pretty yellow and red dresses. He saw soap and rags and a few gardening supplies peeking from the bottom, which likely housed more things he could only imagine.

“Are you bringing home a wife?”

Jurian’s cheeks darkened. “No, nothing like that. I ah…you know, don’t worry about it.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes.

“Did you, by any chance, pick up a new tenant?”

Jurian was the most crotchety man Lucien had ever met. There was no one and nothing in this world that could convince him to go out on a limb or do something that didn’t directly benefit him. If he was gathering supplies for a woman he didn’t intend to make his wife, Lucien could guess who might make such an act of kindness possible.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Jurian demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because I’m on my way to visit Elain,” he lied, mentally running down every little cottage Jurian owned in the village. “And I know what she’s like.”

“She’s not…this isn’t manipulation—”

“Trust me,” Lucien said, clapping a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. “I know.”

Jurian blew out a relieved breath. “She seems like a nice kid. I want to help her out.”

Lucien nodded. “I can take this to her if you want.”

“Yeah. Every time I look at her, I…” Jurian ran a hand through his closely cropped brown hair. “She’s just…you know?”

“Yeah,” Lucien agreed, unwilling to admit he felt immense relief that not only was Elain alive, but she’d managed to engender more than enough good will. Hell, Jurian was trying to keep her safe. That was good and bad. With that kind of charm, Amarantha would know he’d lied before the week was out. He needed to warn her to be careful, to dial down whatever magic seemed to shimmer around her.

Just long enough for Lucien to get her out.

“Remind her of what I said,” Jurian said absently, turning toward a pig's carcass hanging from a hook just over a large tub shaped sink. 

“You got it,” Lucien replied, wondering if he was supposed to know what that warning was. Jurian told Lucien where Elain was—tucked away in the woods just outside the village in the cottage the healer had lived in before she died. That was better than Lucien had been imagining. No one else would know she was there so long as someone brought her supplies. He could do that until he got her out.

Lucien made his way to Elain—a short walk from Jurian’s workshop built against two ancient oak trees. Her cottage was tucked against a hill and judging from the ruined front garden and the peeling paint on the door, it had seen better days.

He rapped his knuckles against the door. Elain flung it open, her smile shifting to horror when she saw him. She tried, to her credit, to slam the door on him, but Lucien wedged his boot against the frame and pushed in.

“You—you can’t be here,” she breathed, arms wrapped around her body. “I did what you said—”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Lucien interrupted, ignoring the twang of disappointment he felt. Of course she wouldn’t be happy to see him. Why should she be? Lucien was happy to see her, though. 

He set the basket on the floor between them, noting that she was still in the clothes from the night before. She looked exhausted and a little too pale for his liking, but otherwise unharmed and alive. “This is from Jurian.”

“Oh,” she said, some of the light returning to her eyes. “He sent so much.”

“You made quite the impression,” Lucien teased, closing the door quietly behind him. Elain had already sunk to the floor, rifling through the items with delight. 

“Why are you here, huntsman?”

Ouch. He supposed he deserved that. “I came to warn you to lay low. I can get you to the continent–”

“I’m not going to the continent,” she scoffed, pulling one of the yellow dresses from the basket. “Not that it's any of your business, but I’m going to Avalon.”

She was joking. “Why…why would you ever go there?”

“I heard the king has sons,” Elain told him, unable to hide her earnestness. “Seven, to be precise.”

There was an unspoken question beneath her assertion, so Lucien, crossing his arms, nodded his head. “He does.”

“Surely some of them need wives. I’m suitable enough, maybe for his youngest.”

Lucien nearly choked on the air he was breathing. “You want to marry King Beron’s youngest son?” he asked her. Did she…did she really not know? But Elain only nodded her head before rushing to explain the rest of her plan.

“I’m still a princess, and my sister is going to be queen. I think that’s an incredibly good match for someone likely destined for the universities, right? And my stepmother can’t kill me if I’m under another king's protection. He could…he could help me put Nesta on the throne, even.”

Unlikely. Lucien didn’t bother to tell her all the things wrong with her plan. Namely, she was standing in front of Beron’s youngest son and though he had been destined for a university, she was a prize worthy of Eris or Cadmus. Not him. Beron wouldn’t have wasted a princess, even one who’d fled in disgrace, on Lucien.

“When?” he asked instead. If Elain was planning to go to Avalon, he’d at least see her to the border. He’d have to flee again, too—Amarantha would likely be demanding his heart next.

“Once winter has faded,” she said. Lucien wondered why she wanted to wait three months, and Elain answered. “Nesta should be back with Feyre by then. She will be back by then.”

Nesta was likely dead, as was Feyre. And he could see on her face that she was calculating that possibility, too. Elain was living in delusion and Lucien figured if she was plotting to marry him, the least he could do was help her out.

“Alright,” he said, looking around. “You’ll probably need some chairs, then?”

“What are you doing?”

“I didn’t risk everything just so you could sit on the floor while you ate,” he replied.

“When the snow clears, I’ll take you to the border.” Where he’d tell her who he was, assuming she didn’t put it together first. Vanserra

wasn’t exactly a common last name. 

“Why risk anything for me at all?” she asked, clutching that dress to her chest.

Lucien made his way toward the door, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. What I do know is our fates are tied together, now. So do me a favor, princess?”

She looked at him with those eyes that haunted him.

“Don’t open this door for strangers.”

And then he was gone, grateful to be out of her presence.

And somehow missing her all the same.

[lieslab]

The depths between: Chapter eight

Intro

Chapter seven

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

When you finally woke up with a soft groan, Felix realized he was doomed. How did this happen? He had barely known you for a day, knew the bare minimum, and yet somehow his heart was already beating rapidly in his chest.

Maybe he just longed for human connection or his brain was playing tricks on him. It had to be one of those. He couldn’t be falling for you. Falling in love with a human was a dangerous game to play. You already weren’t supposed to know about the world of sirens. 

Sirens were supposed to be silent creatures. They were supposed to live between this world and the next. They weren’t supposed to interact with humans unless it was needed. The only exception to that was the dark sirens and their hunger for killing.

It wasn’t like someone was going to come and murder him for interacting with you. There wasn’t some higher committee that’d be coming after him. Sirens were just given the rules and as far as he knew, people followed them. He chalked it up to being in their nature somehow.

“There you are. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry, I kind of forgot that you weren’t a siren. I’m so used to it being normal that I didn’t think it through fully.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you mumbled weakly. 

He chuckled and reached out a hand towards you, but you shook your head. “Keep your fishy claws off of me. I can’t even look at you right now. Here I thought you were innocent and then you bit a head off a fish.” 

“I said I was sorry!” 

“I don’t know how to get the image from my head.” 

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic. Get up and stop screwing around. I think that we can start a fire maybe. I don’t know how, but I’m working on it. Maybe you should do that one thing that they do in movies and write an sos in the sand.” 

“Wow, look at you, thanks I’m sure they’ll be here in no time. All the helicopters and airplanes that are-” You glanced up and squinted. A hand cupped above your eyes to block the sun. “Nowhere in sight.” 

“I’m trying my best here!” 

“You don’t have to take things so literal! I’m just teasing you!” 

“Yeah, well, I’m going out of my way to try and help you! If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead. You should, at least, show a little more appreciation for it!” He snapped. 

You blinked, taking in his words and frowned. The sudden playfulness in your voice disappeared as you mumbled an apology. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I’m sorry. I’ll go try and see if I can find something to start a fire with.” 

“Wait!” He called out as you spun around, but you didn’t stick around. You walked further away from the water and disappeared into the forest. “Shit,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

Hyunjin had gotten into his head and toyed with him. He was angry, but it wasn’t directed at you. It was more that he was angry at Hyunjin for the entire situation. If Felix could, he’d have you back on that ship in no time, but he didn’t know where the oversized vessel was. 

It wasn’t the smartest idea to drag you into the endless void of water. You’d get tired and hungry. He could swim fast, but even he’d get tired. The oceans and seas were connected. He wasn’t aware where pirates were and where they weren’t. 

He could easily escape by diving down beneath the waves, but you couldn’t. Plus, he had to worry about the dark sirens. The areas he swam around, he knew them. He knew where the light sirens were and the areas that dark sirens made their demonic playgrounds. 

Surely, things were always changing and expanding. If he led you into a pit of dark sirens, it was over for the both of you. Felix would turn into sea foam and you, you’d probably turn into a siren. If you were a light siren, you’d be seafoam too. If you were a dark siren, you’d be just like them. 

He didn’t know you exactly, but he was pretty sure you weren’t made of dark siren material. Sure you had guts and some wit, but you seemed pretty mellow personality wise. He couldn’t imagine you as a dark siren. 

He sighed and let himself sink back beneath the water. He’d stay in the area and wait for you to come back. He doubted you’d be in the woods for long. You didn’t know your way around. Hell, he didn’t know his way around them either. It’s not like he could go in there after you and fix things. He was left in the waves until you came back. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Next part: Chapter nine

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[lykaonimagines]

Rest of Our Lives (Part 2) - Sherlock x Reader

Part 2 of Rest of Our Lives, but can be read stand-alone.

(I’ve got power back! Still waiting on wifi, and data is still sketchy but hopefully will be back to normal soon ^_^ )

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,619

Description: Sherlock sets his plan in motion to make their relationship more permanent. 

Other Things: Fluffy fluff. Proposal.

Warnings: Anxious/nervous Sherlock.

This was absolutely maddening. Sherlock can’t remember a time in his life where he was less decisive than at the present moment. Y/N’s hand tucked snuggly into his own as they walked in the chill December night air, the little box in his pocket practically burning a hole there.

This was supposed to be simple. Say four words, hand over the ring. All done in the comfort of their flat. Then John and Stamford had to make him doubt his plans.

He had found the perfect ring surprisingly fast, then found himself invited out to the pub that very night with the two. They’d been surprised but happy for him at his declaration that he was going to ask Y/N to marry him, but it all fell apart from there.

-

“So what are the fancy plans for tomorrow then?” John asks as he sips his beer with a bemused expression. “How dramatic and grandiose are you planning? Any disguises?”

“Posh restaurant surely,” Stamford chuckles as they both look up at a confused Sherlock.

“Fancy plans? I was going to ask her after our dinner at home while we watch tv and chat,” he explains as his brow furrows.

“You’re going to ask her to marry you after take-out on the sofa at Baker Street?” John asks incredulously. “That’s it?”

“Does it have to be more? I thought at home was best. What is wrong with that?”

“It’s just that… well… Sherlock many people look forward to being proposed to. It’s a special occasion, and a story to tell their friends and look back at fondly,” Stamford explains patiently as Sherlock grips his own drink tightly.

“Something to show her she’s special and like you made an effort,” John adds on. “Sliding a ring on her finger while you’re watching telly isn’t exactly er… romantic?”

“You think that it needs to be overtly romantic for her?” He questions.

John nods and chuckles, “You’re asking her to marry you, an incredibly romantic and intimate thing. So yeah, she probably is going to want something romantic Sherlock.”

“Dinner then?” He asks as he taps his free fingers on the table.

“Fancy dinner works as long as no one comes back from the dead during it,” John replies with a knowing look.

Sherlock winces at the reference and mutters another apology as he stares down at his drink.

“Fancy dinner is nice, or some big romantic display. Something that fits the two of you,” Stamford suggests. “Make an effort and make it romantic and I’m sure she’ll like it.”

“I’m not… particularly… romantic,” Sherlock bites out, shame at this perceived inadequacy washing over his face.

“Could have fooled us,” John teases before seeing the somber look on his friend’s face. “She loves you mate, and you know her. You’ll figure it out.”

-

Y/N’s tug on his hand brings his mind back to the present for a moment, and he lets her lead him down the street toward the bridge.

They’d opted to walk home from the restaurant, which had been a disaster in his eyes.

He’d managed to get the reservations, and get Y/N and himself there dressed up. But the moment never felt right.

It felt like everyone was staring at him waiting for something, though he knew logically they weren’t. They couldn’t have had a clue of what he was planning. Even he wasn’t entirely sure of how he planned to do it.

He had been nervous and on edge the whole time, that his food had been tasteless and the wine did little to calm his nerves. Each moment he thought he should ask, doubt crept into his brain.

What if she said no? What if she only said yes because there were people watching? What if she was angry with him because he put her in that position? What if it’s too cliche?

And so he didn’t ask. It felt like there were far too many eyes about to do it justly. It needed to be their moment, just theirs.

Though now he found himself running out of time on his chosen day, and frantically trying to figure out a romantic proposal he could spring on her between now and Baker Street.

He couldn’t disappoint her. Not on this. They said she needed a story she could tell her family and friends, that he did something right as her partner. Something romantic and thoughtful and…

Something that wasn’t him blowing apart their kitchen, running around the city after a murderer for a week straight, leaving body parts in their fridge, or missing any other basic cue of a relationship he may have.

He needed to give her something normal and worthy of this, he needed to feel worthy of this he realized as they stopped on the small bridge under the glow of a streetlight.

Y/N turns to him with a laugh, her features glowing in the light, her eyes sparkling as she reaches toward him.

“You’ve got snowflakes caught in your hair,” she says affectionately, her fingers running gently through his curls as his eyes focus intently on her face.

A sudden surge of energy bursts through him and he drops immediately to his knees as she stares at him with a bewildered expression.

He hastily remembers only one knee, shifting the other back up and scrambles for the box in his pocket and thrusts it out at her, “Marry me. I mean, that is, would you? Would you marry me?”

“I- Sherlock I never would have thought!” Y/N stares at him in shock, her eyes glancing at the box in his hand.

“Never would have thought what?” He asks breathlessly.

“That you would want this, would want to get married,” she explains.

“I do,” he says quickly, the feeling of dread coiling in him as he tries to steady his arm. “Do you… not want that?”

The cold ground sends a chill up him the longer he kneels, his eyes staring into her own pleadingly, feeling dangerously exposed.

“I do! Of course I do Sherlock!” She shouts, gripping his cheeks between her hands. “I’ve always wanted to, I just thought it wasn’t something you would do and had accepted that. But I definitely want to!”

“You do?” He asks quietly, his own voice sounding small to him.

“I one hundred percent do,” she says warmly, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks.

Climbing back to his feet, he hastily opens the box to pull out the ring, scolding himself to still as he slips it onto her finger.

Looking down briefly at the piece of jewelry, Y/N throws her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

Her lips practically caressing his own, slow and sensual, causing a chill to run up his spine. His own arms wrap tightly around her as he finally lets out the tension he’d been holding onto.

“Is this why you’ve been so tense today?” She asks as their lips break apart.

“Yes,” he admits sheepishly. “I was told it had to be significantly romantic, and that is not my realm of expertise. I hope that it was?”

“You didn’t have to do anything special, I’d have said yes anywhere at any time I hope you know,” she smiles and slowly releases him. “But yes, under a streetlight in the flurry snow is significantly romantic.”

“Good,” he responds quickly as his cheeks flush. He curls one arm around her shoulders protectively and pulls her into his side as he directs them to continue down the street.

“So what brought this about so suddenly?” Y/N asks as she rests her head against him as they walk.

“I… want to be with you permanently,” he grumbles out quickly.

“You thought I was going to leave? If I did something to make you doubt that I-” she begins before his hand quickly covers her lips.

“No! Nothing of the sort,” he responds immediately spinning her to look at him. “I want to be your husband, I want to be at your side, I want to hold you every night. I want this, properly. Forever. You’ve been more than I could have ever asked for. More understanding, and lovely, and supportive… You are everything, and I want to be that person for you.”

Lifting her hand he gestures toward the ring, “This is my promise that I will be that man, that I will be there for you, and you will forever have me in every way there is to have me. No matter what the future holds, I will always be there Y/N.”

Her hand in his tightens its grip on him as her eyes search his, and a slow smile spreads across her face before she launches herself against his chest.

The moment seems to freeze as his arms loop around her, until a sniffle pulls him back to the present.

His free hand carefully lifts her chin to examine her face and the tears dripping down her cheeks, “Have I said something wrong? The intention wasn’t to make you upset darling.”

“I’m not upset,” she sniffles again and turns her cheek into his palm. “Happy tears Sherlock, very happy. That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

His own soft smile curls on his lips before he leans in to press a kiss to her own, “I suppose I can be romantic.”

She hums in affirmation, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “I think that’s one realm where you’ve always underestimated yourself, I’ve never had any complaints.”

Burying his face in her hair, he smiles at her words, “Let’s go home, I believe some celebrations are in order.”

----

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