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heybrownieboy · 2 months ago

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A MURDERER, A DEMON, AND AN ELEMENTAL?

POV: 2nd Person. Y/N.

— Word Count: 2K+

Author’s Note: Finally an update :). In all honesty, I’ve been struggling with getting back into writing lately— after not having time nor mental energy to in so long— but, I’ve also have felt awful going M.I.A for over two months. So, while I was working on this, I decided to break up what I do have and give you all this little update. I wanted to reassure you all that I am NOT giving up on this SMAU. At all. I will be continuing and finishing it. But for now, I hope you enjoy this. I apologize for it being short but, I promise the next chapter is much longer (once I’m able to actually put this one damn scene into words 😭).

“Do you honestly think this is a good idea?”

You tore your eyes away from your TV—which was currently playing reruns of “Happiness”— and to the spirit siting on the couch next to you.

“What?” you asked.

“Tonight,” Minho said. “Do you honestly think going to that shrine tonight is a good idea?”

“Yes,” you said.

“That caretaker is crazy, Y/N. Like completely batshit crazy."

“So I’ve heard,” you said.

“I mean it,” Minho said, exasperated. “I think he’s the one that actually killed Jisung and I.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait what?” you asked.

“I don’t remember a lot from that night,” he said. “Like at all. And I know you said spirits tend to forget more and more things the longer their earth bound.”

You nodded at that.

“But I remember some snippets of that night,” Minho said. “And I think he was there. I swear saw him for a spilt second. I was too shocked when I found…” He took a deep breath, an obvious expression of pain and grief crossing his face. “When I found Jisung’s body. So, I wasn’t exactly paying attention to my surroundings. I saw the caretaker run behind me from my peripheral vision. But, before I could react there was a rope wrapping around my throat.”

“I thought you two were kidnapped?” you asked.

“I think we were,” he said. “At least in a sense. Do you remember when Jeongin talked about that night he went to the mountain alone?”

“He said he doesn’t remember the car ride there,” you said quietly.

“Or half of his hike through the woods,” Minho finished. "Not until he heard Jisung. From what I remember, something similar happened to me.”

“It was probably the demon controlling you,” you said. “They’re good at that. It’s like a semi-possession.” You rubbed your temples. “So I’m about to go spy on a murderer, a demon, and an elemental?”

“What do you think they’re doing up there?” Minho said.

“Honestly I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything. Everything for me with this whole thing has been guesses.”

“Yet you’re still trying to help,” Minho said.

“Of course I am,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s dangerous and you could get hurt,” he said. “Or even die.”

You shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve almost died.”

“Yeah,” Minho said slowly. “What’s with that huh? How are you alive and have been to hell?”

You winced. “It was a long time ago,” you said. “And in all honestly I don’t really like talking about it much.”

“I get that,” Minho said. “And I won’t push you to talk about something you don’t want to. Hell was the worst thing I ever experienced in my life. I mean, yeah I guess it’s Hell but, I never expected it to be like…” He grimaced at the memories.

“Yep,” you agreed, completely understanding of what he meant.

“I thought it was just going to be super hot.” Minho let out a humorless chuckle. “I wasn’t exactly religious before all this so, I guess I never really read up on it.”

“You could say Dante wasn’t too far off,” you said. “And I do think it’s a little different for everyone.”

“Yeah. Sometimes Jisung and I would see different things.”

You squinted at the spirit. “Have you seen any other spirits lately?”

Minho tilted his head at you. “No actually,” he said. “Now that I think about it. The only one I’ve seen all week is Jisung. Why?”

“Fucking hell,” you grumbled. You leaned against the back of your couch, head thrown back and eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I’m starting to think that’s what these rituals are for. Because in my twenty years of life, I’ve never gone a day without seeing a least four or five spirits. I’ve only seen three others— besides you and Jisung— in the last week. That’s it. And it been over a week since I’ve seen a demon.”

“That’s not a good thing?”

“God, I wish it was. But, no it’s not.”

“Fuck,” Minho breathed. “So, what should we do? I knew this was complicated and dangerous but this? This seems next level.”

“I don’t know…” You threw up your hands exasperated. “I feel like that’s all I’ve been saying lately. ‘I don’t know’. It’s so fucking frustrating.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Minho said softly. “You’re trying. You’re helping us even if you don’t have to. And so far you’ve done an amazing job okay?”

You have him a half hearted smile. “Thank you,” you said.

“Is there maybe any kind of research you can do on this?” he offered. “I mean, there has to be some answers out there somewhere right?”

“Maybe,” you said. “I only have like an half an hour before Jay and Nico pick me up though. And kind of search isn’t something I have easy access too. Not to mention it’s the supernatural. Nothing is finite. There’s thousands of rituals out there. And thousands more that aren’t recorded.” You nibbled on the inside of your cheek nervously.

“You grew up in a family of Shaman right?” Minho asked. “Can’t you ask like an elder or something for help?”

You scrunched your nose at that. “I don’t talk to most of them anymore,” you said. “But, I do have someone I could call. My aunt should be able give me some kind of advice.”

You leaned over to grab your cell phone off the coffee table. It should be around five P.M in London right now. You scrolled to your aunt’s contact and hit call. It only took a few rings for the line to be picked up

“Y/N-ah.”

The sound of your Aunt Bora’s gentle voice on the other side of the line immediately had you relaxing. The tension that had building up all day seemed to almost completely melt away.

“Hi,” you said softly. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, honey,” your aunt said. “But what about you? It’s almost one A.M in Korea right now. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I wish I could,” you said. “But I’ve been stressed out lately and couldn’t sleep.”

“Stressed out about school?” Bora asked. “Because you shouldn’t be. I know studying to get your nursing degree can be challenging but you’re extremely intelligent, Y/N. You’ll make an amazing nurse in the future.”

You smiled at that. “Thank you,” you said. You let out a soft sigh. “But that’ not the reason I called you. I need advice. On the supernatural.”

“Oh? What do you mean? What’s happening?”

“Do you remember those two men that went missing last year?” you asked.

“Yes,” Bora said. “Lily-ah and Natty-ah knew them through friends, correct? What were their names again?”

“Lee Minho and Han Jisung,” you said. You glanced at Minho for a second. He was the one now leaned back into the couch watching you contently.

“Didn’t you try to help find them last year?” your aunt asked.

“I did,” you confirmed. “But I couldn’t. I didn’t find a trace of them physically or spiritually.”

“I’ve always found that strange. It’s almost like…”

“Someone might have been hiding them.”

“Exactly,” Bora said. “Did you finally find them?”

“Kind of,” you said. “It’s more like they found me. Well, technically Jeongin found me.”

“Jeongin?”

“Their friend. Um, how do I even explain?”

“Start from the beginning yeah?” Bora said, her voice gentle. “Tell me everything you know.”

And so you did. You explained how Jeongin originally had come to you or “Eris” for advice because he thought his friend was haunting him. How that turned out to be correct and that Minho was in fact trying to get through to him. You explained how you saw Minho and then had the premonition about Jisung. You explained their spiritual debt and how they were tricked by those three. How they had to escape hell and how half of their soul was stolen from them.

“So,” Bora said slowly, “you’re trying to help them break their spiritual debt and move on?”

“Yes,” you said, with a slight wavier to your voice.

“But?”

“But that’s not all. One of the trio he made a contract with was human. A living human. Minho is pretty sure that he’s the one that murdered them.”

“Y/N,” your aunt said lowly. “You can’t confront a murder.”

“Oh, I’m not done though.”

There was a few beats of silence before your aunt asked, “What do you mean?”

“In the past week or so, I’ve seen three spirits and no demons,” you said. “Only one of those spirits talked to me. And all it did was ask for the time.”

“Asked for the time? Spirits never ask for the time. Unless…”

“Unless they’re being summoned somewhere,” you said. “I think they’re all being summoned to that mount Minho and Jisung went missing on. By the human.”

“You think he’s summoning them all there for something bigger,” Bora said.

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s been preforming rituals for about two weeks. At least that we know of. “

“He’s most likely a Shaman. A very powerful one. Rituals like that? They aren’t easy. At all.”

“I know,” you said.

“And I’m guessing there’s more,” Bora said with a soft sigh.

“The other two being they made this contract with are supernatural. One is a demon. But the other one, neither Minho or Jisung knew what it was. They said it was different from the demon.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“I’m pretty sure it’s an elemental, yeah.”

“Y/N,” your aunt said voice now taking on a firm, cold edge. “You need to stay away from elementals. They can and will kill you if you ever get in their way. Forget the murderous shaman. Elementals are not bound to the same rules as demons. Not to mention they hate humans more than demons ever have.”

“I know,” you said. “I do but…” You took a deep breath. “I cannot not help. There’s something seriously wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter. This is your lif—“

“They have wards to keep away angels,” you said cutting your aunt off.

“What?” she asked, utter disbelief overtaking her tone.

“Minho said that the mountain is littered in wards keeping angels out,” you said. “Namely Azrael.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You would think. At first he thought it was just the hellhounds being kept out. They got too close to the mountain and they were repelled, But he said that Azrael has not been able to get onto the mountain at all either. That the barrier the wards created repelled him as well.”

The other line went silent. After a few moments you began to worry that the call had disconnected.

“Hel—“

“I don’t like this Y/N,” your aunt said quietly. “At all. I understand Azrael is probably the last angel you want to see since… since all of that happened. But he’s still an angel. He’s still a protector. If you go on that mountain, you have absolutely no protection. Not against the Shaman nor the elemental.”

“I realize that,” you said. “And I completely understand that. But like I said. There’s something seriously wrong happening. I think Minho and Jisung were apart of whatever plan they have going on. Not to mention they’ve been talking about Jeongin. Another human life they most likely want to take. They’ve been planning this for at least a year now, Aunt Bora. Whatever it is, it’s huge. God know how many people will eventually be dragged into this."

Your aunt let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I know there’s no way to talk you out of this.” Another sigh left her lips. “ Let me think for a few minutes. Maybe I can help.”

You smiled. “Thank you,” you said. “So much.”

Your aunt simply hummed. After a few minutes she began speaking again. “How were those to boys killed? Do you know? I might be able to narrow down what ritual they’re trying to get ready up for.”

“They were strangled,” you said. You peered at Minho for a second, your eyes focusing on the wound around his neck.. “Well, honestly it looks like the rope cut into their throats. They both have these huge infected gashes.”

“Infected?” Bora asked.

You copied her hum from a few moments ago. “Yeah.”

“Y/N, if they were dead, how could their wounds be infected?”

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moondirti · 1 year ago

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7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts.

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel.

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them.

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between.

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?)

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this.

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing.

Deep space, your stars – your Sol.

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.)

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it.

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing.

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies.

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next.

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour.

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.)

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened.

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place.

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement.

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution.

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror.

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected.

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–”

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,”

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul?

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway.

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.”

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.”

“Whit is it this time?”

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame.

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?”

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?”

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression.

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time.

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come.

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–)

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please.

Just this one thing.

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut.

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns.

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care.

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance.

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you.

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right.

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved.

Huh.

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology.

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh.

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it.

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side.

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like.

The day pass?

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse.

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds.

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him.

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion.

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should.

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple.

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you.

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”)

You really hate him sometimes.

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.”

He squints.

(Rightfully so.)

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass.

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve.

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero.

You hope that one day, you will too.

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues.

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief.

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.”

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?”

“You bet on my survival?”

“Silver linings!”

“Lyra.”

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.”

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving.

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?”

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.”

“Explain something to me, would you?”

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath.

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation.

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place.

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours.

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion.

Get a hold of yourself.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.”

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–”

“You can’t control your powers, can you?”

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options:

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit.

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here.

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again.

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.”

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously.

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?”

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.”

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud.

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference.

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,”

“There was a thing with a super-collider.”

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk.

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.”

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command.

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.”

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile.

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced.

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense.

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.”

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you.

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how.

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice.

chapter eight

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aggro-my-beloved · 6 months ago

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Shaw Pack HC’s (1/?)

note: I promise after this I’ll get some sleep…and dream about more redacted audio HC’s, that is

• Sweetheart has made it their mission to teach Aggro the most random tricks, without Milo’s knowledge. We’re talking fetch, speak, high fives galore. Sweetheart still isn’t sure how Milo hasn’t noticed the cat’s recent weight gain from all the treats he’s been given for “motivation”. It wasn’t until one fateful night that Asher and Baaabe were invited over to break in their new house and Asher left his mode of transportation lying around (him and Baaabe arrived separately since she was working late) that the result of their secret training lessons were exposed.

“Uh, sweetheart,” Milo begins, voice curious and steady.

“Hmm?” His mate hums, craning her neck to peer at Aggro flawlessly passing over the hardwood floor of the living room. It’s yet to be adorned by a rug of their choosing.

“Why is our cat on a skateboard?”

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Baaabe has never encountered a physical fight in their life. Always one to stay out of trouble, they keep to themselves and never enter any altercation that involves a clean uppercut or south paw, because they’d surely fail.

Or so they thought. Hell, even Asher did when he begged them to join him in his adventure to the arcade and purposefully led the two of them up to the Boxing Punch Game. It’s the first time Baaabe is seeing the name of the machine, but they are familiar with it. The player decks the red punching bag dangling before them and watches the score tally up to deduce whether they are as strong as they thought or indeed a weakling.

Too afraid of what their results may yield, Baaabe volunteers Asher to go first, which he does without complaint. The sound of his fist colliding with the bag echoes across the arcade hall and perks a few ears, and his score grazes the seven hundreds. Baaabe feels her toes curling in anticipation while Asher keeps on encouraging them to just give it a shot, and that “the score doesn’t matter. You’re unempowered after all, I have a bit of an advanta—“

The rest of his sentence gets caught in his throat, his jaw slack as her numbers climb and climb to over a thousand total points. But even more shocking—to Baaabe’s total disbelief and Asher’s amusement, the punching bag lie on the floor, disconnected from its machine.

Yup. Baaabe broke the fucking game. All from a single hit.

It made Asher hard a little scared of his mate’s true strength. He did the dishes that night without complaint.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

• Clumsy as they may be, I think Angel is secretly good as secretly good as sewing. Perhaps they worked as a part time seamstress for a past job, maybe a uniform store that involved hemming a measurements. This is a wonderful tool to have for emergency instances, like that broken zipper on Baaabe’s wedding attire which Angel resolved with ease. Baaabe would claim the rest of the night that Angel really is a saint sent from higher deities out of our control. Everyone will blame these babbles on the mate’s alcohol intake.

But in the comfort of their home, Angel uses this power for pure, ungodly chaos. Including, but not limited too:

1. Slightly hemming Davey’s tank tops to fit him slimmer around his waist. His mate loves how it shows off his physique.

2. The clothes he hasn’t worn in a while will be cropped to better fit Angel. How they gaslight David into believing his security hoodies keep shrinking in the wash and he needs a better vendor who uses less cotton is still a mystery.

3. Three Words: Ugly. Matching. Sweaters.

4. The entire pack has one designed by Angel personally and almost everybody loves them. Milo pretends not to be offended when he is gifted his sweater that’s two sizes too small. David rarely wears his unless Angel pulls out the puppy dog eyes, which he can never deny pleasing. Baaabe and Asher wear theirs religiously, even if it’s the dead heat of summer.

#redacted shaw pack #redacted fluff #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted audio fanfic #redacted audio imagine #redacted asher #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted headcanons #david shaw #Milo Greer #seamstress angel #boxer babe #cat whisperer sweetheart #confused wolf bois #i should go to bed

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bedlamsbard · 2 months ago

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periodically it hits me that I won graduate school and I have to go sit with that for a while. like, yes, I finished, I got the doctorate, but I was never in any actual doubt that I was going to finish the degree, just concern over how long it would take. I was -- like I think most graduate students are, especially in the humanities -- in some pretty serious doubt that I would be able to get a job in academia, let alone a tenure track job. (I applied to a couple of alt-ac jobs in university admin and was looking seriously at government jobs, but only applied for one internship I didn't get.) and yet! I won graduate school! I got a tenure track job! in a department that I like a lot, even if it's in a location that I am uuuuuhhhhhhh still less than enthused about. in the humanities! as an ancient historian! there aren't exactly a lot of jobs for ancient historians out there! (I know, I applied to like 95% of them last cycle, and the only ones I didn't apply to were at public universities in Texas or Florida or at private highly religious institutions, those were my red lines.)

it's actually genuinely shocking that I got a job doing the thing I spent the last sixteen years of my life (counting my undergrad) training to do. getting a TT job in academia is a little like playing pro sports or making it in Hollywood or becoming a prima ballerina, just way less glamorous. like, do I want to stay in this town? not particularly. will I still want to be in academia after a year-two-three-five in this position? possibly not! but I still get to put "assistant professor" on my CV and like. I won graduate school.

#my advisor told me she didn't expect me to get a job #lolsob #she also ghosted me after I turned in my dissertation and I didn't hear from her again until after I'd graduated and moved to south dakota #she's great but also like. that SERIOUSLY messed me up #your girl #anyway I'm going to submit this conference paper late because I got the dates wrong sigh #but it is what it is

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 4 months ago

Note

Do you have a molly redesign?

I do!

She isn’t a fullbody or finished at all but I love her dearly. Whenever I draw her face I like to make her look really sweet until she opens her eyes and its like ⚫️w⚫️ and its like “oh! um!” Cause I love doing stuff with eyes. I want hers to be kind of creepy looking cause I mean shes a spider! But also I want her to look a bit out of place in heaven, her halo is a little crooked, her eyes are really big and don’t have much shine to them, and her general appearance is just a little off putting the way she stares and her interests. Like she was in the mafia and witnessed her brother overdose and slowly die in a coma, shes going to be kind of fucked up. Plus she has a bit of a thousand yard stare in canon anyway

I think molly being in heaven is really interesting honestly and it’s a large part of her character, like she’s very important to plot once Sir Pentious gets into heaven and we actually see more of it. Shes still her own person of course but she also serves as a way to show that some people in heaven are almost as strange as people in hell. Molly loves spiders and has an intense interest in true crime and surgical procedures, also again, she’s something that people are usually afraid of, like when you die and go to heaven most people usually aren’t like “OH MY GOD I HOPE IM A SPIDER…” but she totally was cause shes just like that.

Unlike Angel (hence why he isn’t up here) Molly was very religious and still holds a large chunk of religious trauma, however she remains faithful and is using her faith as a way to cope with her grief and stress. A large majority of her family were homophobic and transphobic so having two twins that were respectively gay and trans they didn’t take very kindly to that. Molly was just much much more closeted than Angel/Anthony. She still tried to help him with his problems but found it hard to when he was so engaged in the family business and turned to drugs instead of talking to her and we know how that ended up turning out already.

Molly never really got to transition while alive and spent the remainder of her life after Anthony died more closed off and a bit more sad than she already was. She didn’t entirely shut down but for a few years she absolutely did and eventually separated from her family and tried to pursue herself and her religion further (ie. getting a boyfriend and going to church) While Angel broke many of the 10 commandments, Molly made sure to do her best to respect them and would always pray afterwards. She did end up dying of old age and ended up in heaven, though upon arrival realising her brother was in fact not here was a detrimental blow to her mindset and sets up a bit of the point with how religion can be used both to help grief but also can be used to completely ignore grief as well as coming to terms with the fact those you care for might not always be the best people and sometimes you’re forced to leave them behind because of that.

I have not reached this point in the rewrite yet to figure out how or if Angel gets redeemed at all but I really like imagining them hugging and being shocked at how much the other has changed

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uglypastels · 1 year ago

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Not Wholly Evil |IV| pirate!eddie

a/n so sorry for the long wait. Let this be a celebration of the beginning of summer :) and lets hope for many fics to come (i cant make any promises tho) I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Please remember to support by reblogging and leaving comments on what you think of the story <3

Series Masterlist

word count: 7.5k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. religious (Christian) references.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 4: Columba

A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really..."Do the stars gaze back?" Now, that's a question. ― Neil Gaiman, Stardust

‘We’re… lost?’ You stared blankly ahead.

‘I’ll admit, lost is a strong word, princess— Misdirected feels more accurate. Sailing off-course.’

You stammered for a response to the confession you just heard. ‘How– How could we be off-course?’ The captain’s words had not fully come through to you yet, perhaps by his casual stance and lack of urgency for a solution or panic. He stood there, arms behind his back, studying his map like one of the painting hanging on the Queen’s wall. And yet, according to this man, you were heading into uncharted waters. You have been heading towards them for God knows how long.

‘It is quite simple. Here–’ he was still analysing the markings on the wall as he spoke, and he must have wanted you to step closer, for he looked at you expectedly. Something around his mouth twitched when he looked your way. The eye contact was piercing both ways with so much said between the two of you, and yet not a single word had been exchanged. With two ringed fingers, he pulled an invisible string that he hoped would have some effect on you.

It did not.

All you did was raise a brow in your expectation, ready to see what the captain would do now. Arms crossed, you remained in your place.

‘Do not make me come over there, princess.’

‘Do not make me come over there, Munson.’ The words were bitter but tasted sweet, like honey on your lips. If you had blinked, and as luck would have it, you did not, you would have missed the captain’s reaction; a deep breath in as he hollowed out his cheeks, pushing back any clearer indications of frustrations or signs of weaknesses. The patience ran out of his dark eyes. Then, with a stretch of his neck, he returned to his first problem as if the short interaction between you had never occurred. He sounded entirely unphased as he, despite your distance, went to explain the conundrum. ‘Several days ago, the Hellfire stumbled upon a certain ship,’ he tapped one of his fingers on a small mark south of the map. It then dawned on you that, by surrendering to your stubbornness, he had won the bigger battle. Your curiosity was gaining on you, and from where you stood, you could not put much more meaning to his words, as the islands around it were unfamiliar. He knew this and could tell you were frustrated with yourself, but you were too stubborn to walk up and look at what he was showing you… yet where you stood now was no good either. The captain continued explaining as if you were right by his side, not addressing anything else of the situation. ‘Tonight, we were meant to have only been a week’s travel away from our destination–’ your home. This shocked you, for before, you had no indication of how much longer it would take—a week. What was supposed to have been a week is now an undetermined eternity as the ship sailed on.

The mention of your home hit you at the deepest level, overshadowing any other emotions you felt. Any stubbornness was pushed aside for anger as you crossed the room.

Nothing was exchanged as you moved past the desk towards the captain. He did not look your way, but the grin on his face was undeniable. You could still feel it when he brought you closer to him with a quick pull, shaking you around practically like a rag-doll. You now stood between him and the map, his shoulder against your back. His breath on your neck. His muscles brushed over you as he moved his arm to point out the locations on the map. The flash of heat coming over you could not have been anything but the anger you felt at yourself for letting this happen.

‘To sum up, we met here, darling,’ he reached to tap the map again at a southern point, bringing himself closer to you with the excuse to reach the chart. His chin practically leaned on your shoulder, and his hot breath became overbearing to all your senses. All you could focus on were the rings that adorned his fingers in front of you—one of the few aspects of him you could always trust to remain constant. You watched him move his hand across. ‘—were meant to arrive here—,’ One straight line towards home with a dark, blotted circle on top of it. It made you wonder how long that ink sat upon the canvas. Had he written it once you came aboard, or had he been planning something much longer? Had your abduction been a plan all along? It was hard to imagine but not impossible.

‘And now we’re… well, God knows where we are,’ he chuckled with wicked amusement, and you did not see the humour in being lost at sea. You did, however, see the irony of him speaking of God. He, a Satan’s spawn himself. It is ridiculous to think that he had the gumption to speak the Lord’s name so casually, especially with him being who he is. It simply did not sit right with you.

However, none of your concerns seemed to have drawn his attention as Munson went on: ‘I felt something was wrong as we were supposed to have arrived at Escondrijo last night, a rest stop we often sail past,’ he read out the name of this island right at your skin, the S slithering from his tongue onto you in shivers. ‘I thought maybe my calculations were simply off; the wind, after all, had not been the kindest. Of course, it could have been a delay– but alas.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘What we stumbled across was–’ He slammed his fist into the map, making you jump at the extreme action, ‘Such a useless piece of land no one bothered to give it a name!’ He laughed away his frustrations, which chilled you to the bone. ‘Not even the damned sould that live there.’

Damned. That’s what he was. What all of you were as the ship sailed on.

You tried to take in everything that he had just told you. All the locations he had pointed to. Considering the unknown status of your location, the world must have turned upside down for you to arrive here. The fact the Hellfire had stumbled upon the nameless island must have been dumb chance in itself, and just as quickly as it had made itself shown, it was now becoming nothing more than a memory.

Still, this island could be anywhere on the map, but it must have been close to the planned destination. The climate would have raised suspicions much earlier if it had been otherwise. And that is precisely what you suggested to the captain, hoping that giving him some kind of positive idea would direct him away from the anger he must be feeling. Not to mention, at this moment, you were both in trouble, in danger, and the only way out of it was to help him… as much as you disliked the idea of doing so. It was the only option.

‘Yes, exactly. All my calculations had been perfect. That is why this is all so perplexing.’

You could name several more reasons why the situation was “perplexing”, including one thing you did not yet understand:

‘Why did we even leave the harbour? Why not stay and orient yourself?’ There were people there, other sailors; naturally, someone could have helped track the right direction to sail onward to. Someone there might have had more information. Anything.

And yet, the ship had already set sail into the abyss of the night. You could hear the waves sloshing around you, and when you turned around, the fiery light coming from the island was thinning on the horizon.

‘You overestimate the usefulness of a drunken man. Or the charitability of a passerby in a midnight alley.’ Munson spoke, ‘Or perhaps, you simply underestimate my willingness to find a solution, for that matter. As if I did not try to ask for help—because, whatever you may think of me, I am not ashamed of seeking out outside recourses—’ There was that clicking sound of his tongue that announced nothing but smugness. Next thing you know, his arms had snaked their way down, wrapped around your middle, trapping your arms within his hold. His lips were at your ear, freezing you like a spell. ‘And here I thought you would know me better by now.’

You wished you did too, but the truth was much more brutal. With every moment you spent in the captain’s presence, he only seemed to be becoming more and more of a mystery to you. None of your million questions regarding the notorious Captain Munson had been answered.

With a slow intake of breath, you spoke to him as calmly as possible: ‘Get off of me.’

‘Mmm,’ he hummed, swaying you back and forth, enhancing the ship's movements, ‘I don’t think I want to, princess.’ In reality, it was a loose grip that held no power, authority, or fear over you. All it did was plague you with his touch, scent, and sound; it was all over. You could feel him everywhere. The heat of his body was radiating onto you, boiling you alive.

From this position, you could not see his face. Your peripheral vision only gave you a blurry profile of his features without indicating what he was doing. You both stood there for a long moment, looking at the map as if it would reveal some secret message. Something to magically guide you back on the right path. It was quiet around, with nothing else but the waves outside, the fire of the candles in the room flickering, and two pairs of lungs breathing. Two hearts, beating fast.

His grip loosened, but you did not move. Too scared that any movement would remind him of you. Although, maybe he had not forgotten but simply lost interest, for the captain took a step forward, passing you right by. His eyes were locked in on a spot on the map.

This silence had given you one thing, and it was the time to think. Maybe not clearly—that was barely ever possible with him around—but long enough to devise a train of thought. With that, one more question struck you.

‘Why tell me all of this?’ Was he confessing this all to you because he was not planning on having you stick around for much longer? Airing out a confession to a soul that he had already sentenced, either way, leaving no trace of his mishappening behind? If that was the case, you had to leave this room quickly. Tell someone about all of this…Because what stopped you from going out there and telling everyone that their captain had failed them? Led them to be stranded at sea. This may be what you need. This may get them on your side. Maybe–

‘Oh, it is wonderful how your mind works, princess.’ He turned around on his heels, and his hands found your shoulders, dug in like claws, shaking you lightly. Shaking you straight out of your escapist fantasy. ‘Truly, fascinating.’ The two last words burned with a growl. He chuckled a little bit more before redirecting himself towards his desk. The captain did not bother walking around the desk. Instead, he sat down on it and let his legs swing around, knocking several stacks of parchment onto the floor in the process. He did not even look down at the mess he caused. Instead, he slightly bent back to look down. His eyes shot down, an eyebrow was raised, and then he looked back at you.

‘Nosy, were we, darling?’ There was a metal twinkle that piqued your interest, and you noticed the silver key hanging around his neck. He pulled it off and unlocked the drawer you had been toying with before his arrival.

Had it surprised you that he pulled out a bottle of rum?

Slightly.

But you watched the captain uncork the bottle and take a large sip as he sat on the armrest of his throne. He was sloppy, and the liquid spilt down his chin. He was wiping it off as he extended his other arm towards you, inviting you for a drink. When you did not respond, the captain shrugged, mumbled something about stubbornness, and drank until barely anything was left. He put the bottle on the disorganised desk and roughly wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He let out a satisfied sigh. ‘Mmm. Now, where was I,’ he tapped his fingers on his thigh, trying to remember the last seconds. Once he did so, he laughed.

‘It is so easy to think that one tiny mistake could cause a man’s respect, but these men—together with me, may I add—have been through a lot. We are a family, sweetheart, and family isn’t so easy to get rid of. No matter how hard or often you try.’ His dark eyes pierced through yours. ‘So, I hope you do not set your hopes on a mutiny too high because that just won’t happen. If my men wanted to get rid of me, they would have done so long ago.

‘I’ve made much bigger mistakes that could have cost me my head, yet…’ he knocked his knuckles on the side of his skull, giving you an almost apologetic expression, indicating that he was still present and accounted for. ‘I’m sure they’re all aware of our little problem by now. Hell, it’s their fault, but I don’t want to vex them with this. They have enough work on their plates.’

‘So?’ You did not see the point of this anymore, not believing that he had no one in his crew that could help him right now. That would have been more helpful than you.

‘So,’ he mocked your inquisitive tone. ‘Out of everyone on board, you’re probably the last that needs a good night sleep–or at least can miss one.’

You wanted to argue with him, call him a monster for depriving you of simple decency such as a night’s rest, but then it dawned on you that he might have actually been right. While the floor gave you no comfort, you had, in a way, the luxury of sleeping as long as, and whenever, you pleased. Meanwhile, the crew got barely any sleep and then had to work most of the day to keep the ship afloat. That was a rationalisation of yet another lost battle, at least.

‘Even if I did want to help you,’ you sighed in defeat, ‘how could I?’ You didn’t know how to steer a ship, let alone guide one back onto a correct route in the middle of the deep waters at night. Munson looked at you, still very much amused, and clearly held back his tongue with a comment on your words. Instead, he answered your question genuinely. Possibly doing so for the first time.

‘It is the middle of the night; the sky is clear,’ he spoke as if this all led to the most obvious of conclusions, ‘why not let the stars guide you?’

‘What makes you think I know how to?’ Did he think you had any experience in this field? ‘Well, I doubt you keep looking up there just because the stars shine oh-so charmingly.’

‘You do not think the night sky to be beautiful?’ You asked curiously. It would explain so much about the captain if he could not appreciate the simple beauty of such things. But, the man threw you in for a loop.

‘I do, but I also know it has many more functions than decor. You must know it too.’

‘I do.’ That was basic enough knowledge that you had picked up on as a young child, but was that it? Just because you were fascinated by the heavens did not mean you had any expert knowledge on the subject. Besides, where would you have even been able to acquire it? ‘And this makes you think I can steer us back on the right path?’

‘Call it intuition.’

‘And on the principles of your intuition, you dare to put your fate in the hands of a…prisoner?’ You had never heard of such a tale for a captain to let his prisoner take the lead on the ship. Giving him their trust.

‘I think we are past such formalities, are we not?’ Were you? He must have read the doubt on your face, for he took the task of explaining: ‘You are no longer locked away; you have the freedom to go anywhere on this ship. I brought you a delicious meal—which I would still like to have received some gratitude for, but that is beside the point—and now I am asking you for your help. Some would say you are going up the ranks quite swiftly, princess.’

‘Funny, I do not recall you asking for my help at all? Just being locked away in a room for hours and given no choice but to do as you say.’

‘The pirate life!’ Munson spread his arms wide, slipping down into the seat of his thrown. You thought it would be futile to argue with him, seeing what humour he was in. The way he had just devoured the bottle of rum would not be helping your case.

‘Why me then? Why not do it yourself since you seem to know as much as me about the stars?’ You thought it would be easier and faster if he had done the work independently. It would already cost less time not to go through this discussion.

Like a thunderbolt, anger struck his face. ‘Because, I say so,’ he snarled before returning to his previous self, ‘and I thought you might like having something to occupy yourself with. Pushing around crates must become boring after sometime, does it not?’

‘How do you–’ He had seen what you had done with the lower deck. But… when would he have had the chance? You could not recall many instances, if any, of the captain coming down to see you after he freed you from your cell.

He pushed himself up from the throne and walked back over to you. Then, he began walking in circles around you, and you tried to keep up with him, but it quickly strained your neck. ‘Yes, I know all about your organizing down there. And about your inquiring nature.’ He nodded over to the desk you had tried to pry open. Something must have given it away. He clicked his tongue. ‘Remember whose ship you’re on, darling. There is nothing that goes by around here without me knowing about it. If you do something, it’s because I let you do it.’

‘I hardly believe that.’

‘Well, believe this then: on any other ship, you could have gotten into a lot of trouble if someone caught you going through another man’s things—’

‘Don’t try and tell me all of that is yours. I know you stole it off other ships.’ You rolled your eyes. Munson played a victim, placing a hand over his chest, pausing in front of you with his big eyes, imitating hurt.

‘Some of it very well may be. This,’ he flicked the collar of the shirt you were wearing, ‘for sure is.’ His fingers grazed at your skin, brushing over your throat hastily. ‘I could have you hung, you know. Or at least take off a few fingers.’

‘I doubt it considering you need me in one piece if you want my father’s money.’

‘Did you know there are hundreds of other man out there who’d pay double for a pretty face like yours?’ He waited for a crack to reveal the fear on your face and didn’t say anything until it showed. ‘Not to mention, I would not be risking arrest with them. Luckily, I am a man of my word. So, to your daddy you shall return.’ He reached for your shirt collar again, flattening it out carefully with a smile that could make you forget any of the horrific things he had just spoken of. ‘As I was saying, darling… I have a feeling you’d rather not end up like the other dirty thieves, so be a doll and prove to me that there was a use in letting you out of your cell after all.’

There it was. The reason for all of this. This was your punishment. Or some kind of redemption. He caught you going through his belonging, and now you had to pay for it— and pay with performing something you already felt to be impossible.

With him standing in front of you, hand still on your shoulder, you looked him directly in the eye. ‘How long do I have?’

The captain puckered his lips in thought and looked out the window. ‘As long as you can make use of the stars. Then I would really like to get back on course.’

Until sunrise, however long that could be. You had a few hours to find your current location and a path back to where you were headed.

‘What if I can’t do it?’ you pushed the question out of your tightening throat, scared of what the answer might be.

‘That is no mindset for you, princess.’ He brushed some hair out of your face. ‘You’re too smart for that. Now go on; no need to waste even more time.’ And with that, he set you on your way. Or, more accurately, he let go of you and made his way to the bed on the opposite side of the room. In the meantime, you felt like your feet were nailed to the ground, unsure of what to do next, scared of taking the wrong steps. All you could do was look around as if the answers were hidden in the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you could feel your heart getting stuck in your throat, panic setting in. To give up had never been a feasible option for you before, and it still pained you to think of doing it, but the words were ready to leave your mouth. You win. Your lips parted, and your vocal cords croaked when you noticed something.

The letters were partly worn from contact but still reflected in the light. Either way, it wasn’t so much the letters that spoke to you, as you could not clearly read it from a distance, but the symbol above it. A golden star set on top of a leather book spine, winking at you in the fire.

Now with much more confidence, you took the needed strides towards the bookcase. It was pitch black leather, wrapped in a string to keep the delicate pages together. The book was situated on a lower shelf, pressed between other volumes, making it hard to remove.

‘Need help with that, princess?’ Munson sounded from behind you.

Instead of responding, you pulled at the book again, and this time, it fell out from the shelf with a stir as a pile of books near it moved about. Still giving no reaction to the words spoken, you got up and moved to the desk, unwrapping the tie from around the covers and letting it fall open in front of you. The pages were nearly pristine, the ink dark, as if it had never seen the light of day. This ink depicted excellent illustrations of creatures and men.

Despite being ignored by you, for once, the captain kept his distance and let you work while you searched for the correct pages. You could tell from notes that this was definitely the book you needed, as it told you everything you had to know, but the writing was small and not always legible. The pages were thin but rough to the touch. The writing was small, fitting as much information as the writer could cram between the covers. Most of it felt familiar, bringing you back to tales you had heard from your father or the governess. But navigating oneself with the stars' help required much knowledge and skill you still needed to possess.

You tried to focus on it as much as you could, and yet, despite the silence and the space between you, you couldn’t stop glancing his way. The captain lay on the bed, his head toward the door, facing you. Each time your eyes met, you pulled yourself away from it, returning to the words and drawings on the pages, but you could constantly feel his gaze on you. It was unnerving. It was as if he was standing right there in front of you.

‘I promise you, I will be more effective if I do not have to endure your constant breathing down my neck.’ Maybe it was your surprisingly peaceful few hours in solitude on board, the tankard of ale streaming through your blood, or even the overall situation placing the captain in a new light, but you felt bold. ‘So, will you please stop staring.’ You looked up, not even surprised to see him still looking directly at you.

‘What would you rather have me do, darling?’ he asked, almost affectionately… though that could not possibly be what it was.

‘For you to leave, and do not call me darling,’ you dared to express.

‘You want me to leave my own quarters?’ He raised a brow in humour.

‘Yes, that is exactly what I want,’ you explained.

‘Ah, well,’ he threw his hands up, rolling his eyes, ‘if it is exactly what the lady wants, that leaves me with very few options, doesn’t it?’ You watched him walk towards the door, perplexed at the ease with which he moved, …just to swerve around and lean against the door. ‘Oh, no, I suppose it doesn’t.’ He shrugged.

You did your best not to pay attention to whatever the captain was doing—which, in that instance, seemed to be humming some song. You did not recognise it, nor did you have a need to learn it. Especially since, at this moment, any sound from him boomed in your ears like a canon.

‘Must you be doing that? I am trying to concentrate for your own ship’s sake, if you do not recall.’

‘Apologies.’ He stopped, but the energy transferred into his legs, which shook his whole body with them, only softening the sound slightly, but the creaking of the wooden panels underneath him wasn’t much better. You couldn’t do this any longer.

The only thing on your mind was frustration as you slammed the book shut, picked it up and walked towards the door. The captain took one smooth step to the side and, when you pulled at the door handle, had expected it to remain in its bolts, but it opened so quickly that your slight pull was enough to throw you sideways. The night darkness welcomed you together with the cold sea air and confusion.

‘How long has this been open?’ You did not want to look at him and did not need to. You could tell what kind of smile he wore and how he must have enjoyed this moment as he answered.

‘Ever since I came back, princess.’ You could have left any time. You just took a deep breath and counted to three before turning his way and calmly saying something you had thought ever since your eyes fell upon him.

Well, at least better late than never. You stepped out onto the quarter deck without closing the door behind you. A man was half-asleep at the wheel, his entire body leaning on it. Luckily, someone had blocked it, avoiding the ship sailing in circles.

Besides the sleeping helmsman, no one else seemed to be above deck, most likely in their beds as deep night had arrived. There were no lights besides the fire lit in the captain’s office, so you let the darkness take you as you walked down the stairs…. But midway, as the light from the captain’s cabin remained in the distance, you realised your mistake.

‘For Heaven’s sake,’ you muttered under your breath and turned back around, climbing the steps, ignoring the burning hatred you felt in your body. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, you trotted your way back in. While your steps felt heavy, protesting your return into the room mentally, it was strange to walk so freely without all the layers your dress consisted of. With only a shirt over your upper body, you could feel each punch of the air on you, but in a strange sense, you welcomed it.

But stepping back inside, you felt your body heat up again, mainly from embarrassment rather than the soft fire lighting up the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you were passing the threshold again. You had not expected, nor wanted, to have returned so soon. If luck was ever in your favour, you would never see the interior in your life again, but, unfortunately, there was no escaping from this room for you, as you seemed to be coming back no matter what.

‘Back so soon, princess?’ In the short time of your absence, Munson had returned to the bed and tilted his head at your entrance, grinning, ‘You must have missed me more than I thought.’

You scoffed, ‘for your information,’ and grabbed a lantern on a dressing table closest to the door… which was still too many steps inside for your liking, ‘I am simply gathering some light. It is too dark outside, I cannot read what's on the pages.’

‘Ah. Is that all then?’ he asked, returning his head onto his pillow, closing his eyes as if he was ready for sleep, ignoring his clothes and the stoic position in which he lay. But as you moved around the cabin, he had opened one eye to look your way. ‘I’d suggest you take a jacket, princess. It can be quite cold out there.’

‘You could have made a fine gentleman, Munson.’ You held your head high, not looking at him. ‘It is a shame you let yourself deteriorate at sea like your ship.’

‘That actually almost hurt me, darling. I’m impressed.’ He chuckled, eyes already closed again. With nothing else to say, you passed the large wardrobe and walked straight out of the room. Once again, you walked down the stairs, celebrated when your feet touched the last step and walked onto the ship's centre. Along with the crashing of the waves, you could hear each of your footsteps.

Something must have been in your favour, for the sky was without a cloud and in the darkness of the ship, you could see millions of stars twinkling. The moon was still but a sliver. It brought a similar-looking smile to your face.

You searched for the page you had deemed the most useful beginning and spread the book in your arm. Now, with the book open in your arm, with the flames lighting the pages from above, you gazed up at the stars. After a short moment, this position would not be possible to uphold. The two objects you held were too strong to keep up in the air. Remaining as calm as possible, ultimately pressing the captain out of your mind, you reread the pages.

To navigate through the stars, one must first find Polaris—the brightest star in the sky, right at the end of the Ursa Minor. The sky was clear, handing you the constellations on an onyx platter. The silver balls of fire were peppered around like crystals, gleaming and shimmering, but without a doubt, there was one that shined just a little bit brighter, calling to you with the direction of True North.

You had heard men talk of these methods at home and aboard the Red Tail, and they had always sounded relatively simple. If anything, you considered their constant complaints simply a part of manhood. Now that you were straining out your neck to look around at all the corners of the galaxy, you still did not think it to be much more complicated and so knew that the captain could not have felt any other way.

You had figured out his plan to punish you, and now the rationale behind this specific task came to you. It would not have been unexpected if he tasked you with this hassling job simply because he was too much of a sloth to do so himself. There was still a dim light in the office quarters, so you assumed he had not gone to sleep yet… or perhaps fallen asleep with all the candles still flickering. For a moment, your mind wandered to where the candles tipped over, caught some of the wood around, and never stopped burning.

Just for a moment, until your lantern started to feel hot against you as you held it too close. It felt so heavy. You had to set it on the ground, then sat down beside it with the book in your lap.

Some time passed, but who knew how long precisely you had been sitting out there. Your knees had started to hurt, as well as your spine, but giving up was not an option. The ship swayed back and forth against the waves, blurring your view, only making things more complicated. The wind kept lashing out, but you persisted, trying to calculate the ship's position, flipping back through the book to the pages on which a map had been etched out. You would do this if it was the last thing you did.

‘I will be done by sunrise, ’ you shouted as you heard footsteps behind you. The jingle of chains could have only been one person. You wiped some hair away that the wind blew in your face as you felt the captain’s presence behind you—like a deathly spectre hovering over you. ‘I– I promise.’ You said so more to yourself. Because while you had to prove yourself to him to live, you needed to prove to yourself that you could do this. You would persist and manage to find a way back home.

The captain said nothing; he did not linger around, watching you. The only thing he did, was throw down a large coat onto the ground, which fell onto the floorboards next to you with a thud. You blinked slowly, then turned around to him, but he was already returning to the cabin.

‘It will all be pointless if you freeze to death.’ And with that, he took his last steps and shut the door behind him. The light in his room immediately blackened, obscured by the stained glass in the small door window.

You looked down at the jacket. Like all those the captain wore, it was black but heavily layered. Decorated in what seemed like hand-stitched gold but not in any fashionable manner. The stitching was uneven and needed a clear pattern. The sleeves were falling apart but tied together with what once must have been a silver necklace. Several of them, even. You glanced once more in the direction of the captain’s cabin before putting the coat on. It swallowed you up but immediately brought over a sense of comfortable heat over your body. The soft material protected you against the wind. Now not feeling like your bones were becoming icicles, you began to feel some pleasure in the whole thing. As you kept working, you slowly forgot why you sat in the middle of the ship and let yourself be emersed by the stars. Being out there on your own was actually freeing in a strange sense. The darkness locked you out of your extended surroundings, placing you virtually anywhere.

Well, not anywhere. The constellations held the password to where you found yourself, and you would decrypt it anytime now.

But first, you needed to stretch your legs. The cracking of your joints was enough of a sign that you had sat on that floor long enough. With the lantern in hand, you walked in circles around the ship. The light swung in motion to your steps, in motion to the waves. When you looked out at the sea, you were greeted with two moons. One hung still in the sky while her sister swam in the waters. Mirrored images of each other, smiling and frowning in both directions, but never in reach. Conflicted, perhaps or maybe they simply managed to show you bits of yourself there?

You wanted to say something to them as you stood there, but no words felt right. So, peaceful silence it was. However, the longer you stood there, the more of an effect you thought from the hours you spent on the deck. And there was still so much you had to do. But you could do it.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you leaned against the railing, placing the lantern beside you. The yawn pushed passed your lips without a choice but plenty of resistance. If you stayed there, you would probably fall asleep soon, which is ineffective. So, you grabbed the light, and with your free hand deep in your pocket to keep warm, you returned to your star gazing spot. But not one step in your brisk walk back, you halted. A feeling of something cold and hard against your hand occupied your entire mind there and then. When you pulled it out, you were unsure what it was, but the mechanism must have worn out through the years because it fell open in your hand, revealing a rose. Its arrow pointing right at you.

A compass.

Your head immediately shot toward the captain’s cabin, but the lights had gone out, and there was nothing more to make out of the darkness. Your eyes shut into narrow slits. He had brought you his own jacket and must have known what was in it.

The question now was, why? Why did he give it to you? Was he trying to help you by giving you this tool? Did he think you needed help to get anywhere? Well, you certainly did not. Especially when it could be a trap. The device could very well be defective and put you on the wrong trail, and then, if you were to give the captain the wrong directions, you knew he would not waste a second by punishing you. And this time, correctly.

Still, according to your calculations, North was meant to be behind you, so in that, the compass was correct, but you did not want to risk anything. An instinct told you to throw the thing away, right over the railing into the sea. Let it sink and make the captain watch. Just like you had to watch, your own ship disappear into the waters. It would have been a small taste of revenge, but it was a start.

The idea faded as soon as you shut the compass. You looked at the engraving on it—a detailed depiction of a bird–which kind, you could not quite tell. Perhaps a hawk… could it be… no, you doubted it was a Redtail. It could not be. The simple idea of that brought chills down your spine. How could Munson possess such an item; engraved with your town’s crest?

And it was old. As you had noticed, the clip keeping the two halves together was tethering on falling apart from frequent use, and the window of the rose was cracked. The metal of the shell had finger marks faded into it from the usual position it was held in by hands much larger than yours.

Not wanting to see it again, you pushed the compass deep down the pocket you had found it in. Determined to have the images erased from your mind by the rest of your task and the time pressure put on it, you retrieved your book.

It was harder done than said.

As you stood there, book and fire in hand, spinning around to position the stars as you pleased, the tiny silver lights blurred in your eyes. But you were so close, you could not stop now, not when you were so close. Ignoring the burn of the compass at your thigh as your mind whirred with solutions. With North decided for, and with the latitude… no longitude— and if the charts were pointed this way— then, God, you could not keep this book up anymore. Your arm screamed from the weight of the pages.

Back on the ground, you resumed your final observations. Flipping between the map and the charts, exchanging glances with the book and stars. Yes, if that was North, then… then… you checked the map once more, locating your home definitively.

You did it. You actually did it. It could have been minutes, maybe hours; you could not tell with certainty how much time you had spent on the task, but as you shut the book, so did your body. You fell back onto the deck with a tired smile. It could have been the fatigue, but the stars shone slightly brighter for you, gleaming with pride.

They also became blurrier. Your eyes turned heavy. But you kept staring up with a smile. At least, you do not remember ever stopping. Even if it is possible you fell asleep at some point, you could not tell at what point exactly. All you knew was that you dreamt. And for once, your mind was free of nightmares. As much as your world was free of them, at least. But it had to be a dream.

How else would he appear out of the shadows? Why else did you see him looking down at you; impossible to tell for how long. His features free of anger, mischief or bad intentions, unnatural. He stood there at the balustrade next to the helm. It was impossible to tell how long he had stood there in the dark.

And his walk. It was utterly silent, free of chains or heavy steps. That could have been only your brain letting you rest. His touch was feather soft as he picked you up in his arms.

You shouldn’t have stayed out here this long. He sighed in disappointment, but not in you.

You told me to— you mumbled.

I know. The floor became unstable. You were floating in the air, rising up. Only his hold there to keep you grounded. The one time you should have been stubborn and not listen. Why did you not just go to bed?

I want to go home, Eddie. Why else would you say this if it was not a dream? You could never imagine yourself opening up to him this way. Let him carry you like that. And if you had, it would never feel this good or safe to be held by him.

I know. He repeated himself. There was a shift. No longer in his arms, you were floating on a cloud, but his voice echoed around you. I’m sorry.

None of this could have been real. These could not be the words of captain Munson. But they still stayed with you as your dreams ventured on into other stories. All just as pleasant, the nightmares of all the nights before merely bad memories, never to be repeated again.

I did it, you said quickly before he disappeared, to be replaced by your new figment. North East. Go Northeast.

Here is your final reason. The proof you had dreamt it all. A silent moment, full of hesitation. Then, a fluttering touch of lips on your forehead and a hand brushing your cheek gently. If this had been real life, you would have turned away and let yourself burn in anger, but instead, your lips formed into a smile, and for the first time in forever, you felt at peace.

And just like that, like in any other dream, he was gone while your mind brought you to other fantastical places and told you stories you would not remember. It was a night of wondrous bliss, of rest. Filled with dreams as the stars watched over you.

Only at daybreak did it all change. When the morning sun glowed golden through the large window. Only at that moment you began thinking that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong. Perhaps not all of it had been a dream, for when you woke up, you were not on the ship's deck nor down in your cell. When you woke up, you did so in a bed.

The captain’s bed, of all places.

Chapter 5

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her-satanic-wiles · 4 months ago

Text

Dawn Chorus - VI

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.2k.

Reading Time: 25 min.

Warnings: body horror, falling from heights, graphic depictions of thanatophobia, graphic (yet brief) descent into madness, graphic injuries, mentions of death, mentions of conversion therapy, mentions of experimentation on living things, mentions of femicide, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of stoning, mild sexism, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, slut shaming

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics @howlingco @sirianisrock

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“It burned down!?”

Your lamenting voice howled through the eaves of the Cardinal’s room, laced with so much shock, you had to place the pages on the floor and stare at the Cardinal. He was sat at his desk, typing on his computer (a device he taught you about after your trip to the library, but he never let you touch). He was in his pajamas and robe again, hair freshly tousled from a day of sleep, and face entirely free of make up, stubble present on his chin where he hadn’t shaved and felt no inclination to. The Cardinal laughed - laughed at your sorrow upon learning the Library of Alexandria had been destroyed in the early 1st Century after the birth of Yeshua.

You saw the Cardinal’s shoulders shake as he cackled at your misfortune, turning to look at you with mirth in his eyes. The tragedy was far enough away from him that it didn’t bother him, but to you it was devastating.

“How could thou laugh in such a moment?” You asked, much more stressed than before.

“Now, now, Angel,” the Cardinal said, his tone still lighthearted but showing a sense of underlying warning, “you forget yourself.”

You sighed and pouted, looking down at the floor. “It doth grieve me sorely. Who would commit such a deed?”

“Christians.”

Your stomach dropped and you looked back up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded, “Christians. Well, there’s no proof but, Christianity was rising at the time, and they’d gone on a warpath, so to speak. And while there’s no proof they did it, doesn’t mean they didn’t do it. Christianity has done a lot to the human race since you left, and they’ve caused a lot of hurt and destruction, and now the people in the highest positions of power are using Christianity and Catholicism as a way to control the masses and exert their power, even today.

“They were particularly rowdy in the 4th and 5th Centuries, though,” he continued, “when the religion became more popular and spread amongst the people. Thousands of people died, mostly women, because the ‘pagan’ lives they lived were sinful and they needed to be stopped. A woman couldn’t be in control of her own body, feel her own sexuality. She must be oppressed.”

“Hypatia.” You muttered.

You remembered hearing about her death what felt like a short time ago, but according to the Cardinal, it happened over 1,000 years ago. Hypatia was the smartest woman of her time - a genius among men. It was sold to you in Heaven that a rogue group of His children stoned her to death for conspiracies against the Almighty, but you never learned the specifics. After all the questioning you’d done thus far, it dawned on you in that moment that maybe her death was unjustified just as your exile was from Heaven.

The Cardinal spoke again, “Jezebel, Venus, even Mary Magdalene.”

Your mouth widened. “Not Mary.”

“Yes, Mary. They look at her like a common whore, and not the wife of Jesus. They don’t revere her as she deserves.”

“This is not what the Almighty had ordained.”

The Cardinal shrugged. “Well, it’s what happened. That Bible you took from the library is riddled with vile hatred and disgust. Leviticus 18:22: ‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’”

You furrowed your brow. “That seems amiss. The Almighty would never have decreed such a judgment.”

It was true, he never explicitly said anything of the sort. You knew firsthand that even Yeshua dabbled in… well… love in all its forms. Everyone knew, but no one talked about it. You found it difficult to believe that the Almighty would condemn his own son to Hell, just because he loved everyone equally.

“It was changed, do you know what from?” The Cardinal asked.

You shook your head.

“‘Man shall not lie with young boys as he does with women.’ It’s pretty interesting that Leviticus was changed like that when the clergy of the Church were starting to get reported on their inappropriate behaviour with children.”

A flash of recognition appeared in your eyes, and the Cardinal caught it.

“You know about that?” He had his full attention on you now, and you could feel the tension bubbling under the surface.

You swallowed, “I did so. And I did question the archangels. And now I am present in this place.” Answering honestly was the only way you felt like he wouldn’t hurt you. His gaze was steely and harsh, but softened a little when he heard your words.

“They kicked you out for it?”

You nodded. “It was the third occasion I dared to query the Almighty. They intended to cast me into the Abyss, hence I fled and stumbled into thy garden. And then thou…” you trailed off and caught the guilt that flooded the Cardinal’s face. You cleared your throat, “Thou didst subject me to all manner of torment, and at times I found myself yearning for the Abyss.”

“You never told me about this.” He said, quietly.

“Thou never inquired - thou was consumed with querying me regarding His designs and how to govern me. And, truth be told, I know not why I am disclosing this to thee now.”

“Well,” he sighed and stood, “you’re not out of the woods yet. So don’t go feeling comfortable.” And with that, he walked away.

There was a sadness to his voice that hadn’t been there before, and you found yourself wondering why it was there in the first place. Your stomach dropped at the realisation, though, that whatever torment you’d faced before, you’d face again. Would it be at the Cardinal’s hand? Would he be the one to administer the blows despite the kindness he’d shown you since he crossed that boundary? Or was it the Sister who wanted so desperately to hurt you? You couldn’t fathom that the Cardinal still hadn’t told her about his discovery. You knew that he’d even hidden the book from her, but you couldn’t understand why.

Your conversation with the Cardinal had left you feeling less than resolved about your position with the Almighty, and worse, with His children. Until now, you were sure His children were innocents in comparison to the clergymen who’d abused their station, but there was something gnawing away at you now that told you the rest of His children sounded just as bad as the ones in charge of His words. But, you didn’t know who could be trusted.

The Cardinal had stolen you, hurt you in unimaginable ways, imprisoned you inhumanely, drained you of your blood to the brink of death for his own enjoyment and consummation, and followed Lucifer, echoing his calls for the dark and becoming a mirror of Lucifer’s hatred for the Almighty. Perhaps he was mistaken? Lead astray by an evildoer with an ulterior motive. Perhaps he could be redeemed, and cured of his vampyrism? But why were you concerned with his soul when he’d done so much to you? His kindness wasn’t without reason - a person couldn’t change that quickly with no reason to. And you were sure he wasn’t trying to better himself on your account. And after Thomas…

But what if he was telling the truth? What if the Lord’s children were simply acting on the Creator’s wishes, doing what they’d been bidden just as you had? As though they weren’t in control of themselves just as you weren’t.

The scariest part was that you were beginning to see things from Lucifer’s perspective. You were starting to understand why he did what he did, falling so far from grace and establishing his own rules within the mortal realm, gaining more and more followers than he ever had just by merely existing. Thomas had told you the Satanic Church hadn’t needed to advertise in the same way the Catholics and Christians did - they just simply existed, and did so peacefully. It was the Christians who did all the advertising for them, and pushing their own people into Lucifer’s arms, and now you knew it was all the oppression they faced.

Those who followed in Yeshua’s footsteps, who loved unconditionally, as humans were programmed to do, were shunned from society, turned out onto the streets by their own families, subjected to torture to ‘cure’ them from a condition that never ailed them in the first place. And, in more extreme cases, they were imprisoned and executed for their ‘crimes’ and ‘indecency’, despite the fact that the son of the Lord they followed was hailed, praised and revered for the love he showed his brothers - and the people who surrounded him.

It was this revelation that helped you see the irony: the Satanists were more closely following the teachings of Yeshua than the Catholics and Christians were, who were the ones that held him in the highest regard. It was this revelation that made you see that if Yeshua were alive today, he’d have been killed or thrown out before he reached his thirtieth year; and it terrified you.

You sighed, your mind ached with the thoughts that were swirling around inside it. Your stomach churned with the notion that God’s creations were straying more and more into the path of evil than of righteousness, despite their hard work to get into the Kingdom of Heaven after they died. You felt woozy and weak, as though you were plagued with a sickness that incapacitated you. This existential spiral you found yourself falling into began because you learned your favourite library had burned to the ground, and perhaps at the hands of early Christians, and the Cardinal hadn’t even bothered to tell you why. You lay down on the floor, your wings cocooning you like they had when you were trapped in the cage, and curled in on yourself, trying to bring yourself a semblence of comfort despite your mind creating turmoil inside itself, the disappointment and shame eating away at you until you wondered if anything was left.

You slept; you didn’t know how long for, only that daylight was pouring into the room underneath the thick curtains when you woke, and you felt so, so cold. You stood and stretched, feeling a little off-kilter as you reached your full height. You stretched your wings out, too, trying desperately to shake the ache out of the muscles. They felt heavier than normal today. Angel wings were heavy given their size, practically spanning the entire length of your body and even dragging a little on the floor.

You wandered into the Cardinal’s room, silently staring at him as he slept; tucked up in his bed and barely visible beneath the sheets. You didn’t know why you came in, but you were there now. Your eyes roamed over the room and landed on the curtains. You could do it… you could open them and send him back down to his creator where he belonged. You could bathe the room in sunlight and watch him burn to death.

You didn’t think, you just walked over to the curtains and placed both of your hands on the fabric as it met in the middle. You looked over at him, his wrinkled face pressed up against the pillowcase as he slept peacefully, unaware that he was in mortal danger from his pet who’d finally worked herself up to bite back. You lifted the corner, and a trickle of sunlight poured into the room.

Do it.

Your arms froze.

Why are you hesitating? Do it!

It didn’t matter how much you tried to pull the curtains back and flood the room with the warmth of the sun, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to move at all, let alone even push the curtains back in their place.

“My Lord,” you said under your breath, “grant me Thy strength, that I may vanquish the wicked, cast him back into Hell where he rightfully belongs. Permit me to undertake this task for Thee, to repent, to atone for my transgressions, and to welcome me into Thy grace, where my true calling lies.”

You longed to feel His light envelop you and give you the strength to complete the task at hand, but it didn’t matter how much you prayed, how much of your energy you devoted to Him, He never answered your call. The part of you that still believed in His worthiness told yourself that this was your true punishment: to live with the monster who treated you like an animal despite the kindness that lay beneath the surface, the monster who hurt and betrayed you as if his life depended on it with no concept of your own thoughts, feelings and emotions until he took it a step too far out of his own comfort zone. A monster who did it once, and would willingly do it all again if his previous comment was to be taken seriously.

You’re not out of the woods yet. So don’t go feeling comfortable.

Those words echoed in your mind like the haunting melodies of the church hymns you’d sang to yourself while you were alone in the Cardinal’s apartments, sending shivers up and down your spine and instilling a low-lying sense of fear within your gut. You could end it all now, you should end it all now. You were born a killing machine for the Lord, so this was nothing new. And yet, the hesitation and the lack of movement felt too much to bear in your clouded mind, and before you knew it, you took a step back, letting go of the thick curtains and staring at your hands in disbelief.

The old you wouldn’t have hesitated. The old you would have sent him to the very pits of Hell and told yourself that justice was served. But how could there be justice when the judge ignored the case, and left the prosecution and defendant to rot in the courthouse together until a solution was reached outside of the law? The old you would have acted on her feelings, but the old you died when she fell from Heaven, and was kidnapped by a crazy vampyre with an angel blood addiction.

When the Cardinal woke, he found you sat in the armchair in front of your cage, eyes wide and distant. The chair had been turned to face the cage that held your halo in it, and your eyes were fixed on the part of your body that you’d not touched since your escape. You didn’t move, nor blink, nor acknowledge him when he spoke to you. You just stared with a vacant expression at the one part of you that you could see but not touch. No poking, prodding, or waving his hand in front of your eyes could get you to look at him, or snap out of your trance.

He stood back and thought for a moment, his own inner turmoil eating away at him. Though, you’d never see it. The half of him that listened to the Sister told him to just leave you be, that it didn’t matter if you were broken because maybe you’d be more useful. But he’d grown soft in the time he’d spent with you, and for some reason, it pained him to see you like this.

He stormed through his room, pulling open his bedside drawer and moving stacks of papers out of the way to get to Lorenzo Giovanni’s book, knowing that there would be something in there to explain what this was. He opened the spine and flicked through the pages, skim-reading bulks of text to try and find the information he needed. With each page he turned, and with each passage that he waded through, he began to lose his patience. How could something so crucial take so long to find? Surely it would have its own dedicated chapter?

Eventually, he found what he was looking for:

‘Angels who have been deprived of their halos for extended durations enter a frenzied state in a final endeavour to safeguard their lives. An angel bereft of their halo, with every passing moment, diminishes in their Holy Light. They need not eat nor drink like mere mortals, rather, Holy Light is what sustains an angel’s vitality and vigour. Although an angel may endure without their halo, they must replenish their Light regularly to prevent wasting away and perishing.

‘However, an angel possessing their halo is robust and can only be subdued by metal forged in the fires of Hell. The chamber in which I studied this was imbued with such material, from the nails in the floor to the very structure of the room. Yet, even as I restored the angel’s halo, I persisted in keeping them restrained, as a precaution to safeguard my life and my research. It effectively subdued the angel, allowing me to remove the halo once their Light had been replenished. Take heed, denizens of the nocturnal realm. My infernal assistant met his demise when he gazed into the angel’s eyes, for the brilliance of the Holy Light proved overpowering for one of such lowly station.’

The Cardinal thought back to that time when you’d asked him for your halo, and how he’d denied your request. At the time, he assumed that you were just hoping to get your halo back and make a run for it - he didn’t realise that you were losing your strength. He’d read this book a while ago, but hardly any of the information retained in his brain because… why would it? He never thought he’d meet an angel let alone capture one. Yet there you were, going manic in his chair because you were, in essence, on your last legs.

He grabbed some Hellfire chains and tied you to the chair as best as he could, trying to make absolutely sure that you weren’t going to escape, or worse, kill him. When he was prepared, he unlocked the cage that your halo sat in, noticing the light had dwindled significantly in comparison to when he first saw it all those nights ago, and once his gloves were securely in place, he carefully took it in his hands and brought it over to you. He didn’t know what to do because Giovanni didn’t say in his book… conveniently. So instead he just placed your halo on your head and took many steps back and hid behind his open door. He wasn’t a low-level Hell dweller by any stretch of the imagination, but he was sensitive to light, and wasn’t willing to risk death.

Nothing happened.

He peered round the wood to look at you and was about to leave his hiding spot when suddenly the room filled with a great, white light, so bright it had him hide behind the door immediately. Everything he owned was bathed within your holy light, so much so it felt like his eyes were an over-exposed camera taking outdoor shots. He could barely make out the grain details on the door in front of him, and it was only a few centimetres away from his nose.

He wasn’t sure if it was actual pain, or just his imagination playing tricks on him, but he could swear he felt his skin prickle at the brightness, a light burn as if he’d been stung by oil when cooking. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to avoid his retinas burning out of his eye sockets, not that he knew that would happen, but, for the first time in a very long time, he was scared. It wasn’t so much death that scared him, he’d died before. He remembered the way his body went numb as the vampyric venom engulfed his cells and shut every single unnecessary one down; the way his body convulsed as his blood heated and his stomach withered and blackened; the ache in his bones as his body weight drastically fluctuated from dead muscle to resuscitated, all within the hour.

He remembered how he watched the same thing happen to his mother.

No, it wasn’t death itself he was afraid of, more like the method in which he met his permanent end. He knew how dangerous angels could be to creatures of the night such as himself, how a single tear could burn through his skin like holy water did. Not to mention the weakness to light, holy light included. You were a killing machine, despite your protests, and there were a number of ways you could ensure his death, effortlessly in some cases. You terrified him, yet thrilled him. Like a charmer playing with a poisonous snake, like adrenaline junkies jumping from planes.

You were too weak when you first met to be considered a true threat - but now your Holy Light had returned… now you were a potential threat.

Everything felt different when you opened your eyes, blinking the light out of them. Your body was mended, bones strong and muscles sharp and ready to move at a moment’s notice. Your mind was clear… well, clearer than it had been. You felt whole, complete, normal.

You surveyed the room with newfound clarity, your vision unobstructed by the haze of weakness that had clouded your senses before. When you listened, you could hear things happening from kilometres away, you could hear the wind rustling through the trees outside as though you were standing directly beneath them. You could smell the food cooking in the kitchens below, despite them being nowhere near your room. You could even smell the honey that was created in the hives outside. The familiar tinkling of your halo distracted you, and you almost panicked when you looked to the cage to find your halo was missing, only to realise it was currently on your head.

You tried to fight against the chains, but the Hellfire burned with each movement, you had to stop.

The Cardinal cowered behind the door, his fear palpable in the air. It amused you, the contrast between his bravado and vulnerability now laid bare. You could smell him, taste the fear that bubbled up in his chest, hear his heart rhythmically pumping as the sweat began to form on his brow. It wasn’t until the entirety of your holy light had dissipated, you finally saw him poke his head around the edge of the door. His eyes were trained on your halo, and kept flickering between it and other parts of your body, wary of looking you in your eyes. This time, you weren’t stupid. This time you knew why he dodged your eyes, and knew it would be that way for a while until he felt safe enough to challenge you again. You felt powerful, yet you were entirely unable to do anything about it.

The Cardinal walked over to you and immediately removed your halo from your head, practically throwing it back into the cage. Not a single word was uttered and it didn’t need to be - but when the door to your own cage opened, you knew you would be in there for some time.

Days passed, and the Cardinal didn’t return home for the majority of them. Again, you didn’t know where he was, just that he was avoiding you for fear of his own life. The notion that he was scared sat well with you, to the point where you were almost content being caged.

Almost.

The amount of time you’d spent out of it, free and happy had allowed you to taste somewhat what you used to have. The anger that bubbled inside of you was terrifying, even for you. Each passing second simply added to your frustration, and your imprisonment served as a continual reminder of your powerlessness. You yearned to be free of the cage that held you, to unleash the full might of your divine strength on those who had harmed you. But try as you may, the Hellfire-forged bars remained solid, their scorching heat acting as a harsh barrier to any attempts at escape.

Despite your rage and fury, a spark of resolution flickered within you. You refused to give in to despair and accept your fate as imposed by others. No, you promised to recapture your independence, to break free from the chains that held you back and establish a new way ahead. And, while the Cardinal may have believed he ruled over or underestimated you, he would soon realise his grievous mistake. For you were more than simply an angel; you were a force to be reckoned with, a being of unrivalled strength and resilience. Especially now that you had your strength back.

As the Cardinal eventually entered the room, his demeanour revealed a sense of sheepishness that contrasted sharply with his normal confidence. His eyes darted anxiously about the room, avoiding direct contact with yours, as if he was afraid of what he may discover. Despite his best efforts to appear collected, he radiated an unmistakable air of unease.

You looked at him with a mixture of wonder and caution, unsure what to make of his unexpected return. You’d had plenty of time to stew in your wrath and resentment during your seclusion, and now that you were back in the Cardinal’s company, you were conflicted between a desire for vengeance and a cautious hope for peace.

The Cardinal cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he approached your cage. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, betraying the inner turmoil that churned beneath his composed exterior. It was clear that he had something to say, yet finding the right words seemed to elude him.

After a moment of tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “You can come out now.”

With a grateful nod, you acknowledged his gesture and took a step forward, loving the sudden freedom that engulfed you like a warm embrace. The air seemed crisper outside your prison, and you spread your wings, savouring the rush of freedom that ran through your veins.

As you stepped out of the cage, the weight of confinement lifted off your shoulders, you couldn’t help but notice the Cardinal’s refusal to meet your eyes. His avoidance of eye contact communicated volumes, exposing a vulnerability rarely seen in the powerful person before you. “Will thou not cast thine eyes upon me?”

He looked at you, if only briefly, before looking away again. “Sister Imperator wants to try the second ritual this week during the full moon.” He told you.

But as you returned your attention to the Cardinal, you couldn’t ignore the tension that hovered in the air between you. His comments concerning (who you assumed to be) the Sister’s plans for the next ceremony just added to the severity of the situation, reminding you of the dangerous balance that existed within the Satanic Church.

“I understand,” you said evenly, your tone laced with resignation. Despite your unwillingness to embrace the truth of your situation, you understood Sister Imperator’s intentions were not to be underestimated. The notion of another ceremony made you nervous, but you knew you had no choice but to comply with her requests. “Dost thou not desire it to come to pass?”

“I’ll need some more of your blood before the second ritual,” he said, closing the cage behind you and making a move, “but now that you’re fully healed, we have time.”

“What doth the second rite entail?”

He didn’t answer, another question he chose to dodge.

You sighed, “Would thou permit me to partake in at least one flight until then?”

“One. Tomorrow. But you take a few ghouls up with you to make sure you don’t escape.”

You nodded, reluctantly accepting the Cardinal’s requirements. Despite the constraints imposed on you, the idea of a single flight provided a ray of hope amid the oppressive confines of your imprisonment.

As the Cardinal exited the room, leaving you alone once more, you couldn’t help but feel a sensation of unease creeping along the borders of your consciousness. His elusive comments and hidden plans further added to your suspicions, leading you to wonder about the true nature of the second ceremony and your part in carrying it out.

In reality, you knew what the second ritual entailed, but you wanted him to tell you. It was the ritual of temptation. They would orchestrate scenarios designed to appeal to your desires and weaknesses, tempting you to stray from the path of righteousness. Through manipulation and deceit, they would slowly lead you down a darker path, enticing you with promises of power and gratification. But there was a part of you that wondered what they’d use to tempt you so much as to complete their goal. You didn’t want anything enough to be tempted. Except… your freedom.

Would they really gamble the possibility of letting you go free in order to get what they wanted? Quite possibly.

The next day arrived. The thought of flying dangled before you like a tantalising treasure, and you eagerly awaited the set hour, your excitement growing with each passing moment. When the time came, the Cardinal returned to his chambers with a retinue of ghouls waiting to accompany you on your little excursion.

You followed the Cardinal outside, the cold breeze caressing your feathers and rousing your soul’s need for freedom. A wave of unease passed over you as you readied yourself to take off and saw the Cardinal fastening another chain around your wrists. The weight of the metal seemed like an anchor, straining at your spirits and serving as a sharp reminder of the restrictions that still held you back, even in the middle of your newfound happiness.

“This is an extra precaution,” the Cardinal told you, “just in case.”

You scoffed, offended. “Thinkest thou I would soar without my halo?”

“This was the only way I could get Imperator to agree,” the Cardinal responded, his voice much more curt and annoyed, “take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” You huffed.

With a deep breath, you unfurled your wings and launched yourself into the air, relishing the sensation of weightlessness as you soared through the sky. For a blissful moment, you allowed yourself to forget the constraints of your captivity, losing yourself in the exhilarating freedom of flight. The world below stretched out before you, a vast tapestry of earth and sky unfolding in all directions. You barely noticed the two ghouls that flew alongside you, their enlarged bat wings flapping quickly to keep up with you.

With each tremendous beat of your wings, you felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, propelling you higher and higher into the limitless expanse of the sky. The weight of your worldly concerns vanished as you soared through the air, supported by the gentle currents that took you upward.

As you ascended, the earth below seemed to fade away, its wide expanse unfolding beneath you like a sprawling canvas painted in green and gold. The distant horizon beckoned with the promise of adventure, while the vast expanse of sky stretched out in front of you like a limitless playground, asking you to explore every corner.

As you danced among the clouds, you felt a sense of lightness flood over you, as if the essence of your being had been liberated from its earthly confines. Each inhalation filled your lungs with the crisp, clean air of the sky, giving you a renewed sense of vitality and purpose.

The landscape took on a dreamy character, your senses heightened by the pure exhilaration of freedom. The wind whispered sweet nothings in your ears as it danced through your feathers, while the sun showered your skin in golden light, filling you with warmth and contentment.

Beside you, the two ghouls flew with effortless grace, their bat-like wings beating in perfect harmony with your own. Together, you formed a symphony of motion, a testament to the boundless beauty and majesty of the natural world.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to forget the trials and tribulations that awaited you on the ground below, losing yourself in the timeless ecstasy of flight. In that moment, you were truly free, unbound by the constraints of your captivity, and liberated by the boundless expanse of the sky.

As you basked in the joy of flying, you couldn’t help but notice a slight but unsettling tremor in your wings. At first, you ignored it as a passing sensation, a blip in your otherwise immaculate performance. However, as you continued to soar into the sky, your shaking became more severe, causing your wings to waver and stutter with greater frequency.

It had been so long since you last flew, so long since you properly used your wings. And like most things in the human body, you either use it or lose it. You’d never gone this long without taking flight, didn’t know that your wings would become unused to the constant flapping and carrying your weight. You tried to push passed the feeling, tried to force your wings to get used to it.

However, with each wavering flutter of your wings, a flood of fear clutched your heart, threatening to shatter the illusion of freedom that had surrounded you. You battled to stay aloft, fighting the inevitable pull of gravity that threatened to bring you back down to earth.

For a little while, doubt entered your head, clouding your thoughts with uncertainty. Had you been too acclimated to the constraints of your imprisonment, too dependent on the security of solid earth beneath your feet? Was it only a matter of time before your feeble wings regained their power and resilience?

As you reluctantly chose to descend, a gnawing sense of unease gnawed at the borders of your awareness. Despite your best efforts to ignore your mounting anxiety, a foreboding sensation of dread hung over you like a suffocating blanket.

The trembling in your wings were more noticeable with each passing instant, sending waves of panic through your veins. You could feel the muscles in your wings spasm and cramp, a stinging pain piercing your body with each faltering beat.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled to keep control, but it was a losing battle against the never-ending barrage of pain and tiredness. Tears of frustration clouded your eyes as you tried to maintain your altitude, turning your once elegant flight into a sloppy, unpredictable plummet.

In a heartbreaking moment of terror, you stretched out to the nearest ghoul, your shaking hand urgently searching for help. Despite your best efforts, your fingers fell short, gripping only empty air as you plunged to the ground below.

Time appeared to slow to a halt as you hurtled towards the ground, the wind blowing passed your ears in a deafening roar. In that quick instant, you felt tremendous sadness mixed with the sharp sting of failure, your mind casting back to the last time you fell so far, your body on fire and screaming as you were cast out of Heaven. You were reminded of the mob that chased you, the pain that covered you as you made contact with the ground, and the horrors that followed. You could feel your chest and throat vibrating - you must have been screaming, though you couldn’t hear that. Just the wind.

You crashed with the hard dirt with a terrible thud, sending a searing shock of pain through your body. The blow took the breath out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for oxygen as darkness threatened to devour you.

Through the veil of pain and disorientation, you could just hear the ghouls’ frantic yells as they hurried to your side, their voices reverberating in the back of your mind. But it was too late: the damage had been done, and you were left to face the brutal truth of your unsuccessful flight.

As the ghouls swiftly removed your damaged body from the ground, their hands soft yet forceful, you could feel the scorching heat of your tears scalding your cheeks, a bitter memory of the misery that had consumed your body. Each movement sent a spike of anguish through your limbs, an unrelenting assault that threatened to overpower your senses.

Your cries rang through the air, creating a terrible melody of anguish and sorrow that broke the silence of the surrounding environment. Sweat beaded your forehead along with tears, a sign of the severe mental and physical anguish you were going through.

In the chaos of the moment, none noticed as the tear landed upon the exposed skin of one of the ghouls, a faint sizzle accompanied by a sharp hiss of pain.

The ghoul recoiled in agony, clutching at the burned patch of skin where your tear had made contact. The area reddened and blistered almost instantly, the intense heat searing through flesh and leaving behind a trail of charred tissue. With a guttural cry, the injured ghoul let go of you and stumbled backward, his features contorted in pain beneath his mask as he struggled to compose himself.

The other ghouls looked at their injured friend with concern, their gaze bouncing between him and you as they tried to process what had just happened. The air became tight, filled with unsaid questions and anxiety as they exchanged uneasy glances, yet they still continued to drag you inside, this time making sure their skin was hidden beneath their clothes.

In the faint light of the Cardinal’s apartments, you lay on the cold stone floor, your body tortured with pain as your limbs gradually healed. Each passing instant felt like an eternity as you waited for the agony to end, a silent plea for relief that went unanswered.

And you were overcome with a sense of dread that covered you like a heavy blanket as you lay there in the strange silence of the chamber. The events of the day weighed heavily on your soul, putting a cloud of doubt over your future and forcing you to confront the brutal reality of your own weakness.

Prev./Next

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darlingsfandom · 2 months ago

Text

You Go Down Like Holy Mary ♥️

Pairing: Sub Azirphale x fem dom reader x Dom Crowley !

TW: p in v, use of “good boy”, car sex, slightly religious themes, panty play, swearing and not proofread.

Inspired by and slightly based upon “Mary on A Cross” by Ghost!

if you don’t like it, don’t read it!

“Oh my!” Fell from Azirphales soft lips as he stood frozen in the semi crowded room. Crowley stood next to him with a shit eating grin on his face while leaning against the angels shoulder. “Are you sure she’s here!! This place is just…”

“A pool of sin?” Crowley hissed pulling the angels arm across the room until they were front and center sitting to get the best view possible. The two of them sat waiting , Azirphale sat nervously because how could you be in a place like this ? This is not where an innocent little girl like you should be at. Crowley on the other hand knew exactly what you were doing. He had caught you the other night but you never knew. You were two different people in one. A sweet innocent one in the day and at night ? You had a little demon on your shoulder controlling you and your luxury lifestyle.

The two of them always spoiled you with love , care, gifts and pleasure. Each of them had their own way with you one on one at times. Other times the three of you became one and sometimes you sat back watched them devour each other. It was perfect harmony.

Crowley wiped his hand on his pants before he grabbed Azirphales knee and squeezed making the Angel jump.

“Oh come on Angel, it’s not like you haven’t seen a peep show before, remember back in 1941? The magic show…”

“That was different! Our girl wasn’t apart of it!”

“She wasn’t even born yet!” Crowley pinched his nose before he kissed the angel on his cheek.

Before either of them could get a word in, the room went dark , the crowd hushed and the music started. You stepped out on the stage with a long black cloak that covered your heels that clicked along the stage. Your lips were a sparkly shade of red that glistened when the light hit them just right. Both Crowley and Azriphale leaned forward as you came closer dropping the black fabric along the way to reveal the white lingerie with the rhinestone studded crosses where your tits are.

Azriphale felt the wind get knocked out of him. He couldn’t believe his eyes! You! You were the one on stage swinging your hips in such a seductive way.

“You go down just like holy Mary…” you dropped down onto your knees and crawled towards the two of them. It wasn’t hard to spot your angel and demon , they stuck out pretty easily. It gave you goosebumps to see them but made your thighs clench together the closer you got to them. Crowley stuck out his tongue at you and hissed making you blow him a kiss. He tilted his head as you blew a kiss to Azriphale who was still in shock but the growing excitement in his pants wasn’t hard to miss either.

You sat on your knees on the edge looking at them directly as you mouthed along with the song pointing at them curling your finger ever so slowly. “If you choose to run away with me I will tickle you internally and I see nothing wrong with that.”

Crowley lowered his sunglasses to look at you with those striking yellow eyes that made you weak. You lifted your head and pulled yourself back on to your feet before walking back to the pole in the middle of the stag and threw your legs around it tightly and swung yourself a little bit around it before sliding all the way back down. Azriphale stood up quickly and went to run for you but Crowley pulled him back down by his arm.

“She’s working, this is what she does! A little teasing never hurt anyone.” Crowley looked at the angel with the same eyes he just used on you and the two sat back down to watch you finish your set.

Once the lights went out you were quickly running back stage only to bump into Crowley, curse his demon powers.

“Sweet sweet girl, putting on quite the show aren’t you?” His hands rested on your hips while Azriphale stood behind him with blown eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Your hand ran up Crowley chest making him grip on your hips. You let out a little groan before pulling him in for a kiss by his jacket. The two of you shared a deep kiss before a small throat clearing sound caught your attention.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, sweet angel.” You reached Azripahle and crashed your lips into his. His hands rested over Crowleys on your hips.

The Angel slowly pulled away from you.

“Bentley, now.” Crowley grabbed both of your hands. Yours in his right and Azriphale in his left as you charged out the back door with the two of you.

“Crowley are you sure we’re all going to fit?” You spoke up making him glare at you.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

All three of you sat in the back seat not speaking a word for a minute.

“So… care to explain how and why your job is whatever I just watched ?!” Azripahle crossed his arms trying to be tough but it made you giggle.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it Angel… your mouth can say one thing …” your hand slid up his thigh. “But your body doesn’t lie.” Your hand reached the middle of his pants and gently squeezed the boner that was aching. A small moan left his lips. “Good boy.” You ran the tip of your tongue against the shell of his ear while keeping your hand between his legs. Azripahle couldn’t deny that was captivated and wanted to be your good boy.

“Why don’t you take care of the Angel tonight darling?” Crowley squeezed your ass cheek as he helped you climb onto Azripahles lap. “I think our good boy needs it.” He licked his lips watching you undo the buttons on the angles jacket.

“Please… I’ll be your good boy.” Azriphale panted as he felt you slowly grinding your hips against his.

“You’re always my good boy.” Your finger tips dragged down his jaw line before gripping it tightly so you could pull him closer and press your lips into his. A whine escaped his throat. “Now do what I say and I’ll let you cum tonight.” Your teeth bit down on his bottom lip making him let out a small yelp.

Crowley sat next to the two of you watching with lustful eyes. His own hand massaged his bulge in his leather pants. He watched how your lips left red lipstick stains on the angels throat down his chest and even on his white jacket! The two of you always placed nice together but watching you play both sweet and sour made Crowley beyond amazed because you really looked like you were from heaven but the acts you committed were devilish as sin.

“Oh my goodness.” Azriphale moaned out as you moved yourself against his bulge. You lifted your hips just enough to undo his pants and pulled out his cock.

“Oh sweet thing, you’re already leaking! Did you miss me that much? It’s only been two days since we made love!” You ran your hand over his cheek before he nodded. A smile appeared on your lips. Your free hand pulled your panties to the side making you shiver.

Crowley licked his lips when your scent filled the car. His hand reached over and ripped the fabric off with his sharp nails. A gasp left your lips watching him wrap the fabric in his hand.

Azriphale started thrusting his hips upwards wanting to put his cock inside of you. You gripped his throat making him freeze. “Eager little boy you are…” you sank down on his cock matching his facial expressions as you made it all the way down. “Fuck! Angel! So good!” You mumbled feeling his dick stretch you out. Azripahle whimpered below you holding your hips as you held onto his shoulders. You rolled your eyes back as you started bouncing up and down his cock moaning his name while he whimpered out your name.

The demon sat next to the two of you touching knees with the angel. His eyes focused on how you were riding the angel with your mouth hanging open letting all your pretty noises leave. Crowley had pulled out his dick and wrapped your wet panties around it to pump his dick. He couldn’t believe how well you were riding Azriphale even though he’s seen it so many times before. An angel fucking another angel ? How delightfully sinful!

“It feels so good!.” Azriphale was in heaven with how your pussy was nice, warm and wet around his hard cock. Your hands cupped his face while you picked up the speed of your hips and rode him harder. “Good boy! Such a good boy letting me fuck you’d like this.” You panted while looking in his eyes. Being your good boy made Azripahle weak in the knees because the way you said it was just delightful. “My good boy yes!” You pushed his head down so his face buried between your tits that we’re still covered by the corset. He was in heaven for sure! Your tits were always so warm and soft.

“My angels playing so nice together.” Crowley reached over and ran his fingers through Azriphales hair as he kissed your boobs. You watched this moment and it made you warm inside. It was hard to believe that the two creatures loved you as much as you loved them but it was true. “Look so good together.” Crowley praised as he fisted his cock faster.

“So warm.” Azripahle breathed out lifting his head from your tits and seen that look on your eyes. “You’re so close aren’t you?” He asked as he grabbed your hips and took over.

“Uh huh! OH FUCK!” You cried out as he reassured you on his cock and fucked hard into you making your hands drag along the fogged up window.

“That’s it Angel! Fuck her hard! Good boy.” Crowley praised the Angel as he felt his own orgasm building. Crowley watched how Azriphale squeezed you hard , pulled you chest to chest and fucked you so hard you could hear the wet sounds of your pussy squelching a mile away ! This was Crowleys heaven if there was such thing!

“Don’t stop please ! Such a good boy yes yes yes !” You were panting like a bitch in heat while looking down into Azriphales eyes. He couldn’t hold back anymore and came with a loud cry and tilt of the head going back. His orgasm had him shaking below you as he filled you up nice and deep.

A loud whine escaped you as your own orgasm hit. Your pussy clenched him hard making him quiver. “FUCK ! My sweet boy!” You pressed your lips messily against his to help you calm down from the high. A few second later the sound coming out of Crowley pulled the two of you out of it to look at the demon as his cum dribble out and all over your panties. Crowley shot his hips up spreading the cum all over the fabric before collapsing and raising his eyebrow. You tilted your head sideways before Crowley took the panties and shoved them into your mouth cum side first.

“Now that, that is a Holy Mary.” He hissed before laughing and petting your head. “You two stay back here and I’ll get us home in one piece.” Crowley kissed the angles forehead and then yours before making his way to the front. “And when we get home young lady… you had your fun but now it’s time for punishment since you decided to be bad and not tell us about this little Holy act as you claim it to be. No bad deed goes unpunished my dear and I’ll be damn sure about that!” Crowley looked back over his shoulder to see you curled up in Azripahle arms as the angel stroked your hair. It truly was a holy sight.

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