#he can’t scream cause his lungs are punctured from the suit

[chloesimaginationthings]

He has no mouth but he must scream in FNAF..

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[blitzturtles]

Title: Can't Fix Everything

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable (Future Fic)

Pairing(s): JotaHan

Summary: Jotaro frowns when he rings the doorbell and no one answers. It’s not as though he’s unexpected. He and Rohan had discussed this beforehand, but he knows that it’s entirely possible that Rohan got too caught up in his work. That he’s got his eyes glued to the pages with such a hyperfixation that he hadn’t even heard the doorbell going off.

Notes: When I went to write the ‘Flail Chest’ piece, I couldn’t make up my mind if I wanted it to be with Jotaro or Josuke, so here’s the Jotaro version (if it can be called that. Same injury, very different story.) Ngl, kind of frustrated with the end, but I've been sitting on this for a few weeks now.

[Copy and pasted from the Josuke version: Unimportant bit of trivia: the first rib fixation for adolescent flail chest wasn’t actually done until ~2006, but this is fic, so fuck it.

Flail chest: When a section of the chest wall becomes detached due to the ribs being broken in two or more places. The treatment for this can be a wait and see method (with pain management and physical therapy), but there’s also rib fixation, which is a surgical procedure that can help dramatically reduce short and long-term complications.

The rib injury is canon; the extent of it in this fic, not so much.]

-

Jotaro frowns when he rings the doorbell and no one answers. It’s not as though he’s unexpected. He and Rohan had discussed this beforehand, but he knows that it’s entirely possible that Rohan got too caught up in his work. That he’s got his eyes glued to the pages with such a hyperfixation that he hadn’t even heard the doorbell going off. At least, that’s what Jotaro tells himself. How he tries to rationalize the lack of response.

Unfortunately, too many years on this earth-- facing some of the worst creatures to have ever disgraced her surface-- means that Jotaro has a good idea when he’s being pointlessly paranoid and when his ‘gut feeling’ is something to be taken seriously, and he’s feeling the latter right about now.

Star breaks the door’s lock with a particularly nasty twist of the knob. It’s nothing Jotaro can’t fix with a quick trip to the hardware store later, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“Rohan?” He calls into the seemingly empty house. The majority of the lights are off, and there’s no movement. No sound, and it’s far too early for Rohan to consider bed, which means he’s either closed in his studio or gone.

Jotaro makes a beeline for the familiar door that leads to Rohan’s sanctuary. It’s possible Rohan went out on a whim. Impulse control isn’t exactly his strong suit, especially when it might be something related to his manga, but it’s smarter to check the one place Rohan haunts most in life before bothering with anywhere else.

The door is unlocked, which doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though it doesn’t stop Jotaro’s heart from hammering away in his chest. There’s a flash of red across his vision, like a filter of blood, but he shakes it off in favor of taking in the room. He can’t let his past trauma affect him now.

Or maybe he can, because there Rohan is. On the floor, huddled partway beneath his desk. There’s a low whine that accompanies the screwed up features, and it’s all Jotaro needs to know that Rohan is in pain. A significant amount of it.

“Fuck,” Jotaro grinds out. He makes his way to Rohan quickly. Star Platinum itches to freeze time. A natural reaction to walking into an obviously bad situation with little information to work with, but Jotaro won’t waste the opportunity. They might only have one shot to work with, and he can’t waste it before he even knows what he’s walked into.

Carefully, he crouches in front of Rohan, His eyes don’t quite fixate on the mangaka. Instead, he’s too busy taking in their surroundings, searching for a threat.

Rohan startles and yelps. “What the fuck?” He grinds out after the initial shock washes over both of them.

“I could ask you the same thing. What happened?” Jotaro demands. His gaze shifts to Rohan. It’s a raking thing. Slow and deliberate as he searches for any sign of injury. There’s no blood that he can see. No limbs twisted horrifically out of place, and no holes punched where they don’t belong. Jotaro doesn’t allow himself to relax. There’s obviously something wrong; he just hasn’t figured it out yet.

���Ribs,” Rohan breathes out after a moment of hesitation. The mere effort of talking leaves him struggling for air.

Jotaro’s frown deepens, and he tunes out the rest of the world to focus on Rohan.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Rohan.”

“Go away.”

“Kishibe,” Jotaro grinds out. He doesn’t have time to put up with Rohan being a toddler when he could have a punctured lung.

“Fine,” Rohan concedes, though doesn’t move.

Jotaro sighs and carefully maneuvers Rohan onto his side. He uses Star’s hands as a cushion between Rohan’s body and the floor. A gentle effort to avoid making the situation worse, and, for once, Jotaro is incredibly thankful for Rohan’s penchant for crop tops. It’s a convenience-- rather than a nuisance and a distraction-- in a time like this.

Slowly, Jotaro pushes the fabric out of the way, and he sucks in a sharp breath out of sympathy the moment he gets an eyeful of the bruising that’s blossomed across Rohan’s side.

“That Stand got you right in that old wound of your’s, huh?” Jotaro asks. He barely resists the urge to reach out and touch the scars hidden underneath the black and blue mess. He’s known about their existence for a while, though Rohan rarely lets him lay eyes on them for more than a few seconds at a time.

There’s three scars in total, and each one runs the length of a rib, starting at Rohan’s sternum and wrapping around midway to his spine. A childhood injury from a freak accident that still causes unnecessary pain.

(”Why not just let Josuke heal you?” Jotaro remembers asking the first time he caught a glimpse of the scars.

“Josuke can’t fix everything,” Rohan had answered, short and irritable.)

Jotaro wonders if Rohan would allow Josuke to help now. If only to take the edge off, but Jotaro will worry about calling his nephew later. For now, he’s more concerned with getting Rohan off the floor and checked over properly. Jotaro hadn’t seen Rohan take a hit, which means that he has no idea how hard it had been or what kind of damage they might be dealing with. There could be internal bleeding, a collapsed lung, or god knows what else. The bruising is extensive enough, and Rohan’s breathing is ragged. Too shallow and a touch uneven.

“What gave you that idea?” Rohan snarls at him, breaking Jotaro out of his thoughts. He forgot how ill-tempered the mangaka is when he’s hurting.

“Good grief,” Jotaro mutters, though he takes it as a positive sign that Rohan’s got enough fight in him to make this as difficult as possible.

As carefully as possible, he scoops Rohan up into his arms. It isn’t easy, given the location of the wound, but he only makes Rohan whimper rather than scream. That has to count for something.

The path to the bedroom is blessedly short, considering the size of Rohan’s house. Jotaro gently deposits the mangaka on his oversized bed and heads for the en suite bathroom to retrieve the bottle of prescription painkillers that he knows Rohan underutilizes whenever possible (Rohan doesn’t like what they do to his head, and Jotaro can’t say that he blames him). It takes some rummaging, but he manages to find the pills and a cup to pour some water into.

“Here,” Jotaro says once he returns to the bedroom. To his surprise, Rohan takes both the cup and the proffered pills without complaint. He swallows the painkillers dry and chases them down with the water before falling back against the pillows with a quiet groan.

Jotaro takes that as his permission to resume his earlier inspection. Once again, he rolls the edge of the crop top up and tries not to grimace at the sight that greets him. It’s definitely no better than before, not that he had expected it to be. There’s more bruising than not on the scarred side, and some of it has branched across, spreading to the other side. Despite how horrific it looks, Rohan’s breathing is mostly even. It’s obvious that he’s in pain and holding back, but the lung seems to be inflating properly, which is… something. Far from great, but definitely better than the alternative.

Slowly, Jotaro palpates the area. All while ignoring the squirming and gasped breaths that he gets from Rohan. At some point, Rohan has enough, and he tries to swat Jotaro away, but he pulls back before Rohan can reach him.

“I don’t think you’re bleeding internally,” Jotaro announces with a barely level tone. Relief edges his words despite his attempt to keep his tone even. He tries not to think of what could have happened if Rohan had been left alone, bleeding internally, and without any way to call for help. Jotaro chastises himself for not noticing the hit or its aftermath. How could he have missed something so obvious? He can’t imagine that Rohan had been able to fully hide it.

“Fantastic,” Rohan grits out with a roll of his eyes. The way he relaxes into the mattress gives him away, though. He’d been scared.

“I’m going to go get some ice for that. Do you need anything else?”

“No,” Rohan says too quickly. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t speak up again. Jotaro takes that as his sign to go ahead, and he wanders downstairs and toward the kitchen.

The pantries are unsurprisingly bare, though Jotaro manages to find a baggie to put a decent amount of ice into. He grabs the hand towel off the counter to wrap the makeshift pack in and heads back upstairs, where he finds Rohan exactly where he left him. He hasn’t moved so much as an inch. It’s one more sign of the agony he must be in.

“Do you want me to call Josuke?” Jotaro asks, already knowing the answer. He passes Rohan the ice pack, figuring it will be better if Rohan places it himself. The cold is already going to make him tense up, and he doesn’t need the added pain.

“No.”

“He doesn’t have to see.”

“No.”

Jotaro gives a half shrug, “If you insist.”

“I do,” Rohan sniffs, snooty and irritated until he places the wrapped ice against his skin. He hisses and jolts away from it, but it only takes a moment before he relaxes and presses the pack that much closer. “Stop being a mother and lie down. ‘m not going anywhere anytime soon.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance, but Jotaro takes it that way anyways.

“I could call the Foundation.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rohan shoots back like Jotaro’s words had been a threat. They hadn’t. It’s an offer to have a specialist come to Rohan rather than to force Rohan to the hospital, but it doesn’t surprise Jotaro that he took it to be something else entirely.

“You’re wheezing,” Jotaro points out with the same frown he’s been wearing since he found Rohan on the floor.

“I’m fine. Get in this bed or get out.”

Jotaro can’t help thinking the words might hold more weight if Rohan weren’t practically wheezing them, but he decides to let the subject drop for now. There’s no apparent sign of an emergency. Yet. He’s not sure he can relax enough to get comfortable, but he does toe off his shoes. He rolls onto his side after another moment of contemplation. At least this position allows for him to keep an eye on Rohan without jostling him too much.

Rohan rolls his eyes, but he settles against the mattress with a half-shrug. A ‘suit yourself’ sort of gesture that’s far milder than the rest of his responses have been. His eyes slide shut and he keeps his hand firmly pressed to the ice he’s still holding to his side. His hold is still too tight, and his posture is too stiff. Jotaro wishes he could do more, but he knows how chronic pain goes. There’s really nothing more either of them can do now other than sit and wait for the medication to kick in. Rohan won’t see Josuke, and he’d probably bite Jotaro if the older man tried to take him to the hospital. Waiting is their only option, and time moves at an impossibly slow pace.

Nearly thirty minutes go by in complete silence. Rohan keeps his eyes stubbornly screwed shut, and Jotaro watches him unashamedly. The moment he thinks Rohan is getting worse, he’s dragging both of them to the nearest hospital, repercussions be damned.

Likewise, he keeps having to remind himself to take a breath. Rohan is alive and-- well, mostly-- breathing, granted it looks strained and painful, but it’s better than the alternative. Better than the rattle that Jotaro’s heard too many times before, and there’s no needless gasping. Only the occasional, low whine that manages to slip its way past Rohan’s thin-pressed lips.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Rohan’s body begins to relax. His limbs go slack against the mattress, and his core sinks downwards. He’s no longer holding stiff as a board, and the difference is nearly palpable. Jotaro can see the moment exhaustion takes its hold over pain, and Rohan begins to slip under the blanket that is sleep.

Jotaro takes the risk of removing Rohan’s headband then. His fingers card through the mess of hair left behind. Rohan leans into the touch like it’s the best thing he’s felt in awhile, and it probably is, given what his body’s just gone through. Jotaro won’t deny him that bit of relief, so he continues to pet through Rohan’s hair until there are soft snores escaping the mangaka. Even then, he doesn’t stop. The last thing he wants is to accidentally wake Rohan up.

Eventually being curled on his side and having nowhere to go takes its toll. Jotaro’s eyelids grow heavier the longer he stays put, and he doesn’t bother to fight the sleep that settles in his limbs first and comes for his mind second.

[ilovefandoms102]

Part 8

Summary: The Pogues take JJ to the hospital. Afterword, JJ isn’t taking things all that serious. 

Taglist:

@ma10427 @lasnaro @certainstatesmantoadartisan @iamaunicorn4704 @riverdaleserpent04 @justcallmesams @sspidermanss @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @hurricane-abigail @poguesnobx

Edited by author

 Part 7 Part 9 

Note: Things get a little steamy towards the end so if you’re under 18 close your eyes!

=====================================

It felt like the world was crashing down on top of me. JJ was barely breathing, I was hysterically crying, and the others were still fighting with the Kooks. Kie coming to console me, Sarah screaming at her brother, my brother getting in Topper’s face, and Pope eyeing Kelce. I looked at Rafe with pure hatred, and the son of a bitch smirked at me.

Suddenly I was standing in front of Rafe, pushing Sarah out of the way. I didn’t even remember getting up. And I smacked him in the face so hard he fell to the ground. I used that to my advantage and kicked him in the side, his goons trying to come at me, but my brother and Pope kept them away from me. 

“You-asshole-fuck-you” I said, kicking him again and again after every word.

He tried to grab at my leg, but I stepped on his hand hard. He screamed, pleading me to stop. 

“Oh, you want me to stop Rafe?” I asked sarcastically. He whimpered on the ground and I smiled menacingly.

“That’s enough” Sarah said, trying to put a hand on my shoulder. I knocked her away from me, glaring holes into her. 

“Fuck off Sarah go back to daddy if you can’t handle the fight,” I spat at her. I turned back to Rafe and kicked him hard in the face, blood gushing out of his nose.

“Sis, come on please, we have to get JJ to the hospital.” JB pleaded, pulling on my arm.

John B and Pope managed to get JJ into the van, his head laying on my lap. Kie and Pope riding in the back with me while my brother drove with Sarah in the passenger seat. I started to become hysterical again when JJ’s breathing became more erratic. He started wheezing, taking more shallow breaths.

“Birdie please hurry! H-he’s barely breathing!” I sobbed, my body shaking so hard it was making JJ’s head move with me. 

“Pleas JJ, don’t leave me, please baby, please. We have to have our happy ending.” I cried, Kie and Pope stared at me, not knowing what to do to console me. 

We finally pulled up to the ER, all of us piling out with Pope, John B, and I carrying a very unconscious JJ. The nurses rushed at us taking JJ on a gurney, and instructing us to stay put in the waiting room. I couldn’t sit still...I paced back and forth in the waiting room. My brother tried to get me to sit down and relax, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit idly while my JJ was in there. God knows what all those Kooks probably broke. His poor face mangled and his erratic breathing definitely meant a broken rib at least.

Kie and Pope’s parents came and made them go home. So left in the waiting room was my brother, Sarah, and I.

“He’s going to be fine,” John B said, coming to hug me. I broke down in my brother’s arms. He shushed me and rubbed my back, trying to calm me down.

“You didn't hear how he was breathing Birdie, I can’t lose him” I sobbed into his shoulder.

“We have all been in plenty of fights-” JB started.

“John B there were three of them punching and kicking him at the same time! All I could do was fucking sit there and watch! He got hurt because I was too weak fighting back!” I screamed, my brother hugged me tighter to him. 

“I told him people like us don’t get happy endings..I said that to him right before the Kooks came. I said that fucked up shit right to his face JB.” I sobbed, my voice croaking from the amount of screaming that I’ve done in the past few hours.

“JJ Maybank?” a voice asked.

We turned and saw a doctor standing by the door, and rushed over immediately. 

“He’s very lucky, he has a broken rib that almost punctured his lungs. We had to operate to move that part of his rib back down. I’d like for him to stay the night so we can observe him. He can go home tomorrow after we take another x-ray to make sure his rib hasn’t moved. You all may see him now.” the doctor said, leading us to his room.

We walked into his room and it took everything in me to not start crying again. His face was pretty much bandaged everywhere, hooked up to machines, and oxygen tubes in his nose. I walked over to the side of his bed that didn’t have all the machines, and pulled up a chair next to him. 

“Hi honey bear,” I whispered squeezing his hand a little. 

“I’m going to take Sarah home, call me when he’s being released and I’ll pick you up ok?” John B said, I nodded at him looking back at JJ.

I was in and out of sleep the whole night. I got paranoid anytime a machine beeped or a nurse came in to check his vitals. I tried to talk to him some, not knowing if he could hear me or not.

“I’m so sorry JJ, I feel like this is all my fault. From the Kooks and what we were arguing about beforehand. I hate myself for what I said and making you think for even a second you aren’t anything less than perfect for me. You have a heart of gold JJ Maybank. A heart of gold that’s mine and I fucked up. I said some really fucked up shit to you. I wish more than anything I could take it back.” I started, crying again putting my head down by his hand.

I felt something brush against my hair, I looked up and JJ was looking back at me. He was trying to lift his hand to my cheek, so I helped him the rest of the way. I held his hand there, tears still flowing down my face.

“None of this is-your fault-baby.” JJ rasped.

I got him a cup of water and held the straw for him. Now fully aware of himself, JJ cupped my face in his hands and pulled me down for a kiss. I pulled away, not wanting to hurt him, causing JJ to pout at me. I let out a watery laugh and gave in to his kiss. 

“I know you did everything you could to help me.There was nothing anyone in that situation could have done better, you-” he said.

“I could have fought harder J, I-” I said firmly.

“You did everything you could baby, get this in your head now. Nothing was your fault. What happened to us is all on the Kooks, and they will pay for what they did.” JJ said, holding my face close to his.

=====================================

I helped JJ inside the chateau, laying him on my bed. I made sure he was properly elevated and had plenty of blankets.

“So all I have to do is get a broken rib to be treated like a king?” JJ teased.

“If you weren’t hurt Maybank, I’d hit you” I said, smiling at him.

“Does this mean I get to have a celebratory kegger for my gracious return?” he asked, smiling back at me.

“You are confined to that bed sir until I see fit” I said, raising a brow at him.

“I’m fine baby, I broke my rib not my whole body..my dad’s done worse to me,” he said nonchalantly.

“JJ stop it” I said, not wanting to hear about his dad beating him. I started to leave the room when his hand shot out grabbing mine.

“No baby, please stay I’m sorry” JJ said, grunting at his movements.

I laid in bed with him until we both fell asleep. Waking up to the front door shutting. My brother came in my room, seeing both of us were up.

“I say we have a kegger in honor of you J” John B said.

“Absolutely not!” I said.

“Hell yeah that’s my boy!” JJ said, getting up to hug my brother. 

“This is definitely not a good idea..” I said.

“I’ve already got it filled and ready to go” my brother smirked. I glared at him, this was not something to celebrate.

“You do realize you could have fucking died right JJ?” I asked starting to become angrier by the second. “The doctor said your rib was so fucked it almost punctured your lung. How is going and getting black out drunk evenly remotely smart? Go on, I’ll wait.” I said leaning against my desk. 

Both boys stared at me, my brother looking extremely uncomfortable with the situation, and JJ looking at my brother for help.

“Sweetheart-” JJ started.

“I don’t agree with this at all. I just spent the last 24 hours worried as fuck if you were even going to make it out of that operating room JJ. I’m not going to watch you hurt yourself more. You know what? I can’t be here right now. I’m leaving, to where, I don’t know. I can’t stand to look at either of you right now.” I stomped out of my room. I grabbed my bag and the keys to the van. They can find their own fucking ride since they want to do dumb shit. And my luck would have it that Sarah fucking Cameron was sitting on my porch.

“Hey,” she said. I looked at her confused. “Um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I-” she started. 

“I can’t do this right now Sarah, I’m not in the head space to have a civil conversation right now. Can we talk later?” I wanted to give her a chance after she stood up to her brother for us. 

“Uh yeah, sure” she said.

The screen door slammed shut behind me, I heard someone following me and I turned to see JJ stalking up to me. 

“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want to talk to you? I feel like I made that pretty clear Maybank.” I said still making my way towards the van.

“And when do I ever listen to you sweets?” JJ asked. I could feel even with my back turned to him that he was smiling at me. I rolled my eyes getting into the van with JJ following suit. 

I drove with no destination in mind, but somehow ended up at the beach. Something about the ocean has always calmed me. The waves crashing on the shore lull me into a calm state. If I could, I’d build a house right by the ocean. Feeling the sand between my toes, and the smell of ocean water being a constant every moment.  I got out of the van grabbing my beach bag, surf board, and stuffing some of JJ’s things into my bag. JJ grabbed his board and we made our way down to the ocean. 

I laid out an old bed sheet, using some of our things to keep it in place since it was a little windy. I shed my clothes leaving me in my bathing suit, I could feel JJ watching me. I made a little show of it to get back at him.

“You aren’t playing fair baby,” JJ said I could feel his gaze burning into every inch of my body.

“I’m not doing anything honey bear,” I said bending down to take my shorts off. 

In the next instance JJ grabbed my jaw right above my neck and yanked me to him. I smirked at him knowing I got to him.

“You better quit the bullshit baby, or all these people will see you with a tan hide when I’m done with you.” JJ said through gritted teeth. 

I pushed him away and made a show of picking up my surf board and ran out to the ocean before JJ could catch me. I plunged myself into the first wave I hit coming up and paddling out to where the bigger waves would be. I sat up on my board looking out at the ocean wishing I could stay like this forever. I felt a splash next to me and saw JJ coming up next to me. I saw the bruises on his body and it broke my heart. The pain this boy has been through from his dad, and now from me, it tore me apart. I felt like those marks on him were my fault. I looked away from him.

“Baby-” JJ started. I ignored him and went after the upcoming wave. It was a big one, and I was a little nervous going to it. “Baby, please be careful!” JJ yelled. Knowing I’m not a fan of the bigger waves, but I was acting on impulse. 

I started off on a good note, gliding back and forth. Then my foot slipped and I went sailing. I crashed into the ocean rolling deeper into the blue abyss. I felt arms come up under my armpits, pulling me to the surface. I came up coughing due to the water surging up my nose. Still being caught in the wave, I felt myself being pulled further out to not be right in the crash zone. 

“You scared the shit out of me!” JJ yelled pushing his hair back out of his face. 

“You act like that was my first wipe out J” I rolled my eyes at him, swimming to grab my board.

“Can we please talk about this babe, stop running from me!” JJ pulled himself back on his board following me back to the shore.

“I don’t know what else there is to talk about JJ! I told you how I felt about this fucking thing and I know you are still going to do it because you’re a fucking idiot!” I yelled throwing my board down by our stuff. 

“You are making a bigger deal of this than it actually is sweets.” JJ said.

“What because I care about you? JJ I watched them beat you to a pulp! I-” I started.

“I KNOW I WAS FUCKING THERE I FELT THAT SHIT DAMMIT!” JJ screamed at me, my eyes widening. “I..I thought I was going to die last night. I could feel my breathing becoming harder and harder. I am not going to live life in constant fear anymore. This is the only life we have, and I want to have fun.” JJ said staring into my eyes.

I looked down at my feet, not being able to handle his intense gaze.

“Alright J, let’s party” I said smiling at him.

JJ picked me up, spinning me around in his arms. I giggled at him holding his face in my hands. He put me down, his arms still around me. He smiled, putting his hands on my cheeks leaning down to kiss me. I kissed him back, throwing my arms around him. He touched his tongue to mine, and I moaned in response. His hands roamed around my back just as mine did his. I grasped at his sides as his hand came closer to my breast just resting on the side of it. He rubbed his thumb over my nipple through my bathing suit, I gasped into his mouth loving the feeling. He suddenly pulled away and I pouted at him. He smirked at me leaning down towards me again.

“Later, I promise” he whispered against my lips. I leaned towards his ear brushing my lips against it.

“You better hold yourself to that Maybank” I whispered into his ear nibbling on it. He grunted, squeezing my hips.

=====================================

Hope you guys liked this!

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 9

A fire burned through Seina's chest as the bullet pierced straight through her body. Her opponent continued to fire, sending more shots through her chest. Every breath was agony, barely able to breathe. She pulled out her pendant, hoping she wasn't too late.

Through blood-soaked lips, Seina croaked out her transformation chant. "Change... Change...," she gasped through punctured lungs, "Magical... Love Dress... Up..." Light engulfed her, changing her into her magical girl form. Much to Seina's relief, the pain vanished, though it left her a little tired.

"What?" The vampire thug, Jentin, gaped in surprise. "You're alive? But she shot you through the heart, twice! How are you still standing?!"

"She's a magical girl, obviously," Takako said, bored. "It takes more than that to kill one of us."

"But, I." Panic filled Jentin's features for a moment before turning  back to confidence. "Nevermind. We still have a magic girl on our side! We'll just cut her to pieces."

"Maeko is a magical girl?" Aiko asked, surprised. "What's going on?"

From the shadows, a female vampire appeared, wearing a smug expression on her face. Something about the woman was vaguely familiar. "That's right, Seina. We have duped you. We sent her to train with you in order to learn your every weakness." She gave a cruel laugh. "Don't you remember? Love, friendship and affection are weaknesses. Your naivete will be your death, Seina!"

Seina's face twisted into a scowl. How had she allowed Takako to foolishly trick her? As usual, the vampires corrupted everything good in the world to hurt her. Just like her parents.

"Kick her butt, Seina!" Colten said, fuming. "I know magical girls are evil, but betraying you like that is a low even for her kind!!"

Takako snorted. "I'll do whatever it takes to beat you. You are my hated enemy, after all."

"You!" Being told that Takako hated her hurt more than Seina had expected. She'd really believed they'd been friends. Unexpectedly, it brought tears to her eyes. She rubbed them away and directed her anger towards the girl that had fooled her. Seina would enjoy punching her stupid face in.

"Understand this, Seina, it's my job to dispatch rogue magical girls, and that's what I'm going to do." Takako pointed her pistols towards Seina's heart. "I'm not playing around this time. Let me show you what I've learned since our last battle."

"Yes! Kill her!" The female vampire said. "Today, you pay for every humiliation you made me suffer through!"

Seina blinked. "Sorry?" Did she know this woman? Before she could inquire any further, Takako unleashed her bullets onto Seina. Like last time, the shots flew wide. Had the girl not learned anything from their last encounter? Her body jerked as something started pressing on her with crushing force, and Seina found herself unable to move.

"Each of those bullets creates a gravitational force with the strength of a black hole," Takako said, smirking. "That should make this easy."

"Shinobu, now!" The vampire woman said, and a middle-aged man appeared from the manga shop. Much to Siena's surprise, the shop vanished to reveal an empty building. He extended a hand, and Seina gasped as blackness engulfed her vision.

"Where am I? What's going on?" With some effort, Seina moved her head around, trying to understand what was happening. She froze as a strange gurgling sound echoed in the distance, sending a chill down her spine. Her heart almost beat out of her chest as a strange white figure with pale skin and stringy black hair wrapped around her body, screaming as centipedes emerged from their mouth, crawling all over her.

---

"We did it!" An almost hysterical laugh escaped Lilha's lips. "We did it!"

They watched as Seina stood petrified, twisting and turning, eyes widened in fear. Sweat dripped down Shinobu's head as he forced Seina to see her worst fears realized. With her gravity bullets in place Takako doubted her rival could escape easily. Still, they couldn't waste his opportunity. It couldn't hold Seina forever. Trapped or not, she was a formidable opponent. She'd break the illusion eventually.

"Seina!" Colten tried flying to his partner's aid, but Aiko stopped the fairy before he could attempt anything foolish. A scowl appeared on Mr. Kiyojiro as he watched, helpless to do anything to rescue his charge.

"Easy. Let's finish this. Let me show you my power." Jentin hefted his axe, a wide smirk on his face. His muscles bulged grotesquely, growing in bulk and volume.

"Yeah, get her boss!" Jentin's buddies said, cheering him on.

 "My power allows me to increase my natural strength a billion times! You don't have your speed to save you now!" The vampiric brute swung his enormous axe towards Seina's exposed neck. Its head, unsurprisingly, snapped off, not even leaving a scratch on the magical girl's neck.

Takako rolled her eyes. "A billion times zero is still zero." Why did they need these jokers again?

"Eh?" Seina blinked, confused. She took a step forward and collapsed over as Kiyojiro inflicted even worse fears upon her mind.

"You idiot!" A vein appeared on Lilha's forehead. "You almost broke the spell!"

"Sorry." The big vampire wilted under his queen's glare.

"Takako, finish her quickly." Lilha said. "I don't want her escaping. You, hold the girl's friends hostage. If she escapes, I want some insurance."

Takako's eyes widened as Jentin appeared behind Aiko and grabbed her arm hard, making the tiny girl howl in pain.

"Oops, did I break your arm?" Jentin gave a cruel laugh. "Too bad."

"Aiko!" Colten said, trying to pull the brute away. The vampire only gave a contemptuous snort and slapped him away. Mr. Kiyojiro ran to the fairy's side, glaring at the perpetrator. He cursed, helpless to do anything.

"What are you doing?" Takako seethed beyond furious. "This wasn't the plan. Leave her alone." The brute stepped away, giving his queen a nervous glance.

"Why do you care?" Lilha asked. "Besides, it's necessary if we are to kill Seina. Don't get soft on me. Do your duty as a magical girl."

Takako hesitated, looking towards Aiko as she gritted her teeth against the pain. What was she doing? Lilha was right. She was a magical girl. The life of a measly mortal girl shouldn't matter a toss to her.

"Yeah, do your duty!" Jentin said, taking pleasure as he squeezed Aiko's arm tighter, causing more screams of pain.

It'd be so easy to pull her pistols and blast Seina with them, but Takako found her limbs powerless to move. She watched as her rival squirmed in fear and pain, an ugly pit forming in her stomach. Takako had wanted to defeat Seina the entire time she'd known the girl. Why did it feel so ugly and horrible now?

"Takako, please," Aiko said through clenched teeth. "Don't do this."

"Seina, please! Wake up!" Tears were in Colten's eyes. Mr. Kiyojiro looked at Seina with an intense fearful worry. Takako knew if Seina died, it would break the rough man's heart.

"Do it," Lilha said, impatiently. "Kill her already."

After a moment's further hesitation, Takako made a decision. "I will." She summoned her white pistol and pointed towards her target and fired. Seina's body collapsed to the ground as Takako released the gravity holding her.

The magical girl blinked for several moments and looked at her hands, momentarily confused. "Huh, what happened?"

"What?" Shinobu touched his chest and blinked as he saw blood on his hand.

"I'm reuniting you with your son," Takako said. "I can't bring the dead back to life, sorry." Shinobu released a strangled croak, but it sounded relieved, almost happy. The vampire collapsed, dead.

"What are you doing?" Lilha asked, both fearful and outraged.

"Winning my way." Takako pointed her black pistol and blew Jentin's head off. The giant collapsed, and Aiko pulled herself away from his grip.

"Are you okay?!" Colten said, flying towards the girl, grasping her in a tight hug.

"I'm fine." Tears were in Aiko's eyes.

"Healing shot." Takako fired a bullet into the girl's chest, repairing her broken arm. Aiko gave her healed arm an experimental swing and gave Takako a grateful nod. Seina watched this entire exchange, completely confused.

"This isn't over, Seina," Takako said. "I still intend to defeat you. But, I'm winning through my own strength."

"You traitor! I won't forget this!" Lilha spat and ran off into a nearby alley. Her useless goons followed suit, also promising vengeance.

Seina continued to study Takako, still confused. "So, you're not working with the vampires any more?"

"No." Takako put her hands on her hips. "I fight dirty, but not that dirty. I have standards for my evilness. Stop wasting my time and fight me already. I'm eager to show you what I've learned since we started training together."

Seina nodded. "Okay. I don't understand you at all, but I'm relieved you saved Aiko. Thank you."

"Whatever." Takako rolled her eyes, but a slight smile appeared on her lips.

Seina summoned her staff. "Let's do this."

With blinding speed, Seina rushed towards her. But Takako was ready, shooting gravity bullets in front of her. Her opponent darted away, but still got caught in the edge of their pull, grinding her almost to a halt.

"You're strong, but can you take this?" Takako fired her next barrage of bullets. They flew past Seina's head. Aiming with two guns proved more difficult than it looked, so Takako chose a different strategy. The bullets exploded, shooting an array of magical beams that fired in random directions.

Seina broke past the gravity well and weaved around the beams, but they proved too numerous to dodge all of them, she flinched as one slashed across her chest. Takako continued her barrage, leaping high into the air and firing down towards her opponent. Beams rained down upon Seina from the exploding bullets while she summoned more gravity wells to impede her opponent's movement. Seina's body moved in slow motion as a black hole bullet struck her in the chest, leaving her exposed.

Takako continued to fire into Seina's chest, her bullets unaffected by the intense gravity. Her opponent staggered as the bullets struck her, yet Seina proved resilient. Making her shots immune to gravity made them less powerful and effective, but they were doing damage.

She's so tough. A flicker of doubt struck the back of Takako's mind. She could do this forever, but Seina refused to surrender.

Through sheer brute force, her opponent started to break past the gravity restraining her. She used her staff to deflect the bullets and lasers shooting towards her. In one final push, Seina had broken free of the gravity well. While Takako was quick, she needed to switch between summoning gravity wells and attacking, leaving gaps in her attack. Sweat glistened down Seina's head as she reentered normal space.

Takako cursed, keeping her distance. If Seina entered close quarters, Takako knew she was in trouble. Seina ducked and weaved as countless beams shot around her, focusing on confronting Takako head-on. In a blink, she was beside her opponent, staff raised to strike. With a flick of her hand, Takako aimed her black pistol towards her own chest and fired  just as Seina's staff impacted on her chest. A grunt of pain escaped Takako's lips, but she remained on her feet.

"You can make your body tougher, too?" Seina's eyes widened in amazement.

Through clenched teeth, Takako grinned. "There's nothing my bullets can't do." She fired on herself again, giving herself a blinding increase in speed, moving faster than even Seina could see. Her white pistol fired upon Seana, striking her against the chest, staggering her. With her full power, Takako's bullets could actually injure her opponent. Blood trickled down Seina's lips, but she rubbed it away with the back of her hand.

Despite her opponent running circles around her, Seina smiled. "You've really gotten much stronger. Your abilities are amazing, Takako."

Takako beamed, placing her white pistol against her shoulder. "As I said, I'm unbeatable. How about you surrender already?"

"Not a chance." Seina's smile disappeared, subtle anger blazing in her eyes. "Too much is at stake. I can't allow your ilk to harm my world and the people I care about."

"Even though you saved Aiko, I'm still not going to forgive you, Takako," Seina said. "How many people have suffered because of your cowardice? You might not hurt people personally, but you've allowed monsters to thrive. Countless people have gotten hurt because of you!"

Cowardice? The hand holding her white pistol shook. Was she a coward?

No, I can't be a coward. Magical girls are beyond morality. Yet, Seina's accusatory eyes burned into her, making her hesitate. This slip-up allowed her opponent to close the distance. Despite hitting herself with another defense bullet, Takako felt her ribs shatter as Seina punched her with full force. She tried fighting Seina off, but the girl's superior fighting skills made shaking her off almost impossible.

"Ouch." Aiko flinched as Seina delivered another punishing blow to Takako's chest.

"Go, kick her butt!" Colten said, cheering her partner on.

Mr. Kiyojiro shook his head, disappointed. "That's what she gets for ignoring the basics of defense. I warned her." During the exchange, her friends had moved to a safe distance, not wanting to get caught up in the fighting.

"No, I can't lose yet. Healing Shot." Takako said, blood staining her mouth.

Energy revitalized her as she restored her power with a shot from her black gun. Another shot quickened her speed, firing hundreds of point-blank shots into Seina's chest. She smirked as it was Seina's turn to stagger. A punch flew past her head as Takako dodged away, moving to a safe distance. Seina grimaced as she moved, moving with some sluggishness, helping Takako's escape.

"Ouch." Seina rubbed at her wounded chest.

Takako took pleasure in causing her rival serious injury. Yet, it wasn't enough. Seina had a great deal of fight still in her. She could hurt Seina, but not without great personal risk. She needed to get close to cause any real damage. No matter, Takako had a plan for that, shooting herself with another speed boost.

Seina's movements slowed to a grind as Takako summoned more gravity wells with her white pistol that engulfed half of her rival's body. Her black pistol pumped shot after shot into her while Takako circled around her. While not hitting vital areas, the shots caused Seina a great deal of pain. With some effort, Seina slipped out of the gravity well. But Takako disappeared before she could retaliate with her own attack.

"That's just cheap!" Colten said, fuming.

"Anything to win." Takako's lips quirked into a smirk. "You're just a brute, after all. Without your mighty strength, you're nothing but a target." That was what Seina deserved for fighting a more experienced magical girl. Instead of moving to attack, her rival stood still, eyes closed.

What is she plotting? Never mind. I've proven this fight is over with. After shooting herself with another speed boost, Takako went on the offensive. She purposely made her movements confusing, ruining any chance of predicting where she might be.

Now! Takako summoned another gravity well, and Seina didn't even attempt to dodge. Her rival was making this too easy, and Takako pointed her black pistol towards Seina's exposed chest. She gasped when she realized Seina had her staff in her other hand. Pain exploded, and Takako staggered as Seina struck her across the head. Takako had been in mid-movement, leaving her unable to dodge. She crumbled to the ground, dazed.

Too late, Takako realized what Seina had done. The girl had moved at the last moment, positioning herself so her head and staff missed the gravity well, leaving her in a better position to strike back. Incredible. Takako hadn't even seen her move. She laid on the ground, helpless. Without a shot to strengthen herself, Takako's body couldn't withstand the blow. She tried lifting her black pistol to heal herself, but Seina only kicked it away.

"No!" While Takako could just re-summon her weapon, Seina wouldn't give her a chance. She was dead, looking up at Seina with fearful eyes.

"You have some nice tricks, Takako," Seina said, eyes cold. "But that's all you have, tricks."

"What now?" Aiko asked, eying her friend with worry.

"We need to kill her." Mr. Kiyojiro said. "She'll only become a danger again."

"It's the only way," Colten said, nodding his agreement.

No! Despite the disorientation, Takako tried squirming away. Anything to save herself. A boot from Mr. Kiyojiro stopped her, pinning her in place.

"Please." Tears flowed down Takako's eyes, terrified out of her mind. Worse, Takako saw  contempt in Seina's eyes. Her rival was considering the possibility of ending her right here.

"No! We are not doing that!" With surprising force, Aiko pushed Mr. Kiyojiro off her. The bodyguard stumbled, surprised by the girl's tenacity.

"Aiko?" Seina's eyes widened in surprise.

"Leave her alone!" Aiko used her body to protect Takako.

What? Takako couldn't believe her eyes. Aiko was defending her.

"But…" Whatever the bodyguard was going to say, Aiko interrupted him.

"No! What are we, vampires? Takako doesn't deserve being shot down like a dog. She saved me, remember?"

"But, she'll only try and kill me again. She's still evil, even if she saved you." Seina paused for a moment and shook her head. "No, you're right. I'm being stupid." Much to Takako's shock, Seina placed her black pistol back into her hand.

"Healing shot." In an instant, Takako regained her health, glaring at her savior. "Don't think this changes anything between us!"

"But, thank you, Aiko." Takako said, turning her attention towards Aiko and giving her a warm smile. "You saved me."

"Takako, you're my friend," Aiko replied. "I don't want anything happening to you. We had fun together, didn't we? There's no need for us to be enemies."

Takako gave a derisive snort. "Shows what you know!" Though a small smile formed on her lips, eternally grateful the girl had saved her.

Though not pleased, Mr. Kiyojiro didn't argue. "For your sake, don't show your face around here again."

"No, she should." Aiko glared at the bodyguard. "We still haven't finished that movie we watched the other day. I just found another copy of it." She gave Seina a nasty look, daring the magical girl to contradict her.

"I suppose." Seina rubbed the back of her neck.

"Good! That's settled." Aiko said, her voice smug.

What the heck is going on? Was she meant to be friends with Seina now? The whole situation left her very confused. As per her habit, Takako fell back into the familiar.

"Don't think we're friends, Seina," Takako said. "I'm still going to beat you. Next time won't be so easy!"

"What a handful of a girl." Mr. Kiyojiro said, scowling.

Before anyone could say anything else, Takako used her black pistol to teleport herself far away from the scene, thankfully alone again.

---

A rat scurried across the street as Ume walked around an ally. People dressed in almost rags huddled around a fire near a bombed-out building. The country had recently been at war with a neighboring one. While victorious, the cost had been high. Suitable living spaces were sparse.

Despite this, the citizens made the best of their situation. They laughed around a cooking pot and poured out stew for anyone hungry. It was the best they could afford. Children ran around in the streets, playing a game only they understood. It brought a smile to Ume's lips. It quickly shifted to a frown when a group of soldiers walked by. The mood in the camp immediately shifted. Mothers grabbed their children and hid them from sight. The men went on high alert, watching the approaching soldiers with wary eyes.

The soldiers smirked, enjoying the instant fear their presence caused. One brutish-looking man stepped up, a club in his hand. The man thought he might have some fun with these helpless civilians. He thought wrong.

 Ume stepped out from her hiding place and the brute froze in terror. His fellows quickly abandoned him, fleeing for their lives. The people, however, watched her in awe.

"P-please... I..." The soldier trembled as she approached, trying to come up with some excuse for his actions. It didn't matter. The man was already dead. Seconds later, the brute's eyes widened, gripped by a terrible pain in his chest. Moments later, he collapsed, no longer breathing. Ume had never tolerated bullies.

While shocked at the soldier's sudden death, the townsfolk gave her a grateful nod and smiled at her. They knew what her coming meant.

"Oh god, it's her!" A man said. He pointed a gun towards Ume's face, knowing full well how useless such a gesture was. Other soldiers moved to surround her, trying to stop her from reaching her target.

"Move," Ume said. This one word promised death if they dared defy her.

The men continued to point their weapons towards her, but one man lost courage, tossing aside their weapon, fleeing at full speed. Soon, the others followed suit, allowing her to enter the mansion unimpeded.

Inside was a sickening display of trappings of wealth. Priceless pieces of art lined the walls, several resorted to their former glory. The sight of such pointless opulence twisted Ume's stomach. The more wealth she saw on display, the angrier she became.

After taking another staircase, she reached a set of double doors. She sensed her target was behind them and pushed them open. The men inside froze as she entered. Sitting on a throne was a round-faced man in his late fifties. He watched in abject horror as she approached. Around him stood several other important men. It seems Ume had caught them in a meeting.

The men guarding their leader were more loyal, shooting their sidearms at Ume's head. Another tried escorting their leader out while the guards kept her distracted. It was useless, however. Ume appeared in front of the fleeing men, stopping them cold. The president trembled in fear, realizing escape was impossible.

While pulling his leader away, the bodyguard withdrew a sidearm, firing into Ume's face. The gun clicked empty after the man had unloaded the entire clip into her. The bullets hadn't even scratched her. Desperate, the bodyguard withdrew a knife and charged. It was his duty to protect his president, and he'd die before failing that mission. Despite herself, Ume felt pity for such misplaced loyalty and only threw the man aside with one arm. The impact left the bodyguard dazed, but still alive.

"Please! I'll do anything! Please don't kill me!" The president trembled in fear, voice desperate.

"I gave you one order, and you failed." Ume's tone was icy and unrelenting. With a hand, she gestured to the fine furnishing. "While you live in sickening wealth, your people starve and live in burnt out buildings. Every day they fear for their lives. A single out-of-place word might get them killed. Anyone that dares even question your word disappears, never to be seen again. I've seen and heard everything."

"I freed your people from those monsters so you could create a better future. Instead, you became no better than your predecessors. Worse even. You squandered the opportunity I gave you."

Somehow, the president regained his courage. "How dare you! You have no right to tell me how to rule my country! You're a stranger to this world. You can't tell us how to live our lives."

"Silence." The rebuke made the president flinch, and Ume continued. "I wasn't asking for a paradise free of suffering. Just a society where the average person could live in contentment and happiness. A world where no one lives in fear! It is my duty as a magical girl to protect the common folk and stop suffering."

Ume extended a hand, summoning her weapon. It was a pen sized wand made of a pink chrome-like metal. On its tip was a heart-shaped jewel that sparkled under the light of the chandelier above them. "And now, your rule is finished."

"What?" The president made a strangled cry after seeing what the magical girl gripped in her hand. It was a heart. Ume released it and it plopped to the ground, staining the rich carpet in blood. A strangled cry croaked from the president's lips, and he grasped at his chest. The man collapsed dead moments later. The entire room froze in stunned silence.

Gingerly, Ume withdrew a handkerchief and whipped her hand clean. After examining her handiwork, satisfied she'd cleaned all the blood, she pointed a finger towards a younger man, the one who'd been the vice president.

"You. You're the leader of this country now." Ume said, a warning in her voice. "Learn from your predecessor's mistake. When I return next year, this country better be in a happier state. Or else, you're next."

"Yes, I understand." The new president croaked these words, terrified out of his mind.

"Good, don't disappoint me." With a flick of her hand, she vanished from the office.

"Do you think it'll work out?" Her fairy partner, Hope, said. "The replacement seems hardly better. It isn't like he'd done anything to make things better for his people either."

"I know, but order needs to be established right away," Ume replied. "I'd rather not have the country fall into civil war." From her experience, civil wars were messy and hard to clean up. "Either he learns his lesson, or I kill him, too. Eventually, I will find someone who can do the job."

Hope nodded. "Another world freed from suffering!"

"For their sake, I hope so," Ume replied and pulled out a box of pocky sticks. It was chocolate, her favorite, and she bit into it. "Any news to report?"

Hope nodded, giving a cunning look. Her fairy partner had secret contacts by home, allowing them an advantage in undermining the Devil Princesses' plans. "Yes, Emiyo has left Starlight Dream and is currently in Sector 8. It seems your efforts haven't gone unnoticed."

"Perfect." She chomped down on another pocky stick. "I figured I would lure a lieutenant out eventually." Though, Emiyo was a different caliber of magical girl compared to the chaff she employed.

"According to my source, Universe number 108 in sector 8 has had an unusual drop in suffering. A magical girl named Takako left to investigate, but never returned." Hope said. "They suspect you're involved. That's one reason Emiyo left home."

"Really? It wasn't me." This caught Ume's interest and she paused eating her snack. Few forces in the multiverse were powerful enough to kill a magical girl. A potential ally? She'd accept anyone if they helped her rid the cosmos of the Devil Princesses.

"108 is where she's going after checking up with the remaining magical girls of Sector 8," Hope said.

"Excellent." Ume finished her snack and got to her feet. "We can set a trap there. Emiyo won't be an easy foe, but she'll die like all the rest." She pulled out a picture and placed a hand against it. It showed a younger version of her laughing with another girl with blond hair and bright green eyes making a peace sign. A silly frame of stars and hearts surrounded it. Terrible memories followed, and a nasty smile grew on Ume's face. She'd take a special pleasure in killing the lieutenant. She'd been involved in Hinata's death.

"Let's go." Ume returned the photo to her pocket. Hope waved her paw and summoned a portal away from this grim place. She looked forward to visiting universe 108 and meeting someone capable of killing a magical girl. After many lonely days fighting by herself, the possibility of gaining a new ally and friend was a welcome one.

[myarmsaretoolong]

Breathe in. Breathe Out.

@whumptober2020​ Prompt #13: Breathe in. Breathe Out | AltPrompt 1: Punctured

Word Count: 1185

Warnings: Medical Procedures

Synopsis: Peter gets injured while out on patrol, Tony races to reach him before time runs out.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

“Hang in there, kid. I’m almost there.” Tony shot through the sky, full power in the thrusters, in the direction of Queens. Each broken breath Peter sucked in only added to the fear that had firmly settled in his stomach. “Take deep breaths.”

“H-Hurts,” Peter choked out. According to Friday, he was on the outskirts of the city, alone. Scared.

“I know. You’re doing a great job, Pete.” Tony had to force a calmness to his voice, for Peter’s sake, when in reality he wanted to scream and hunt down the scumbag who did this.

“Hu-rry.”

Tony landed on the grass beside Peter and dematerialised his suit. “I’m here. I’m here.” He ran over to where Peter sat, shoulders heaving as he struggled to get enough oxygen, and crouched down beside him. “Cho’s on the way in the Quinjet, two minutes. You just gotta breathe for me.”

Peter nodded far too quickly, his eyes wide and fearful. He tapped his fingers lightly against the right side of his chest. “Hurts,” he repeated. “K-Kicked me. Got a-way”

Tony fought back tears; he had to stay strong for Peter. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll find whoever did this later, okay?” Peter nodded again. Tony helped Peter adjust so he was sitting more upright, slightly improving his breathing, though not by much. He ran a hand through the kid’s hair and whispered calmingly as a coughing fit took over his body.

After it had passed, Peter’s skin was pale and lips beginning to tinge blue. Only the left side of his chest was expanding with each broken breath. Tony’s fingers moved their way to his wrist, a new onslaught of tears threatened to overwhelm him as he felt Peter’s erratic heartbeat.

“It’s okay,” Tony muttered, Peter’s head resting against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

“Tired,” Peter gasped. “Can’t-”

“Yes, you can. Just a few seconds longer, then Cho can help you.” 

Peter nodded, far weaker than before.

The rumble of the Quinjet’s engine filled their ears. Within a few seconds, it had landed, and Doctor Cho and her team piled out, Clint glancing over from the cockpit. She and Tony helped Peter to his feet, then onto a stretcher before wheeling him onboard the jet.

“Barton, quick as you can,” Tony called, not taking his eyes from Peter as Doctor Cho and her team worked. He nodded, and they took to the air.

“Portable X-Ray.” Doctor Cho held out a hand, and one of the nurses placed a small scanner in it, balancing the screen which accompanied it on the edge of Peter’s bed. Another nurse cut away Peter’s suit from his chest so Doctor Cho would work. Peter’s eyes grew wider than before, and he weakly tried to stop her.

“Hey, hey,” Tony whispered, gently taking Peter’s hand with his own, the other rubbing his cheek. “I can fix that right up. It’s nothing, kid. It’s okay.” Peter looked up and met Tony’s eyes, exhaustion so evident it was impossible to miss. Tony bent down and kissed his forehead, Peter’s eyes fluttered closed. “Pete?” He asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. “Kid, come on.”

Doctor Cho watched the exchange grimly. “It’s probably for the best. This is going to hurt, and we don’t have anaesthetic strong enough for his metabolism onboard.”

“How bad is it?” Tony asked, still squeezing Peter’s limp hand.

Doctor Cho angled the X-Ray screen so Tony could see it, not that he knew what exactly he was looking at. “Blunt force trauma to the chest caused a broken rib which punctured his lung.” She ran through his injures promptly as she moved across the jet, collecting various pieces of equipment. “I need to put in a chest tube to release the air and reinflate his lung.”

She returned to Peter’s side, a scalpel and long plastic tube in her gloved hands, and prepared him for the procedure by rubbing a cotton bud coated in iodine against the side of his chest.

Tony glanced over to the cockpit, the Avengers Facility was visible, but still some way off. They had to do this in the air. “Steady as you can, Clint,” he bleakly. They couldn’t afford to run into a patch of turbulence.

“Copy that.”

“Tony, I’m going to need you to hold him still if he wakes up,” Doctor Cho said, looking Tony in the eye. “Can you do that?”

Tony swallowed heavily and nodded.

“Good.” She picked up the scalpel. Tony moved round to stand at the end of the stretcher, his hands on Peter’s shoulders, both to hold him steady and to hide the way they trembled. Doctor Cho pressed the scalpel against Peter’s skin and made a small incision, one of the nurses on standby to clean up the trickle of blood as she inserted the tube. She stepped back.

They all watched the rise and fall of Peter’s chest, slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to level out. Doctor Cho smiled, “We’ll have to leave the chest tube in place until his lung has reinflated fully.”

Tony breathed a sigh of relief and bent down, his chin practically resting on the stretcher beside Peter’s ear. “You hear that, kid? You’re gonna be just fine.”

* * *

Peter came around slowly, safely in a bed in the Avengers Facility’s medical bay. Immediately, he tried to sit up, which Tony put a swift stop to, and instead raised the head of his bed and propped him up carefully on a stack of pillows.

“Here.” Tony grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and handed it to Peter. He sipped gratefully before handing it back. “How you feeling?”

“Groggy, and my chest still hurts, though not as much as before.”

Tony brushed his hand through Peter’s hair and smiled. “That’s good. Had me worried for a minute back there.”

Peter leaned into the touch. “Sorry, Mister Stark.”

“Don’t. There’s nothing to apologise for, not to me, at least. May’s on her way here, she might be a little mad that you were patrolling after curfew.”

Sighing, Peter leaned his head back against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling. “That’s not one I’m looking forward to explaining. You don’t want to jump in there for me, huh?”

Tony chuckled and shook his head. “What, and face the wrath of May? No siree, she’s terrifying when she’s angry.”

At that exact moment, May burst in the medical bay doors and ran to Peter’s side. She kissed his forehead and ran her thumb against his cheek. “Hey, sweetie.” She glanced up at Tony, who gave a reassuring nod, and turned back to Peter. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” Peter put on his best smile, “Love you, May.”

“Nice try, but you’re not getting out of this.”

Tony jumped to his feet, quickly backing towards the door. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “I should go and let the others know Pete’s doing okay.” May nodded, Peter shook his head, begging with his eyes for Tony to stay. “See you later, kid.” He ran from the room as fast as possible.

[heartbreak-of-a-marauder]

Rogue (3)

Title: The Impossible Girl

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Words: 3306

Note: It’s been a long old while but I’ve finally finished my dissertation! University is officially over for me!! It took me a while to work on this part I’m still not super happy with it, I hope you like it. Taglist is open, previous parts are linked below. Let me know what you think!

y/n = you name y/h/c = your hair colour y/f/n = your first name y/l/n = your last name

<- 3 ->

~*~*~*~*~

Age 18

The frigid night air steals the breath from your lungs before you can inhale, wispy white puffs of smoke form as you release another lungful. An invisible band seemingly tightens around your chest making you breathe shallower. Your feet hammer furiously against the mist-covered ground not feeling the stones or twigs that puncture and tear at your skin. The muscles in your legs are beginning to burn, begging for a reprieve; instead, you push harder. A shiver passes over you causing the hairs on the back of your neck to raise, the compulsion of self-preservation increases tenfold.

The thin night shift you wear billows behind you, it provides no protection from the icy temperatures. Your y/h/c hair swishes from side to side past your shoulders, smaller strands that had escaped your plait sneak round to whip at your skin or stick to your face. Roughly, you push the strands away knotting them in the process. You didn’t have time for this. Tears begin to form as you continue to run, blinking you force them out leaving wet trails down your cheeks, yet still, you don’t stop.   

Something was out there in the dark, lurking in the mist. You could feel it following you. The adrenaline of the flight reflex descends on every other thought in your brain. ‘Nothing else matters’ it seems to say. What it is, where you were, how you got here. None of it mattered anymore, you simply had to keep going. 

But what?

You register a burst of pain in your toes just as the world flips on its side. You crash forward, your knee makes painful contact with the ground first as layers of skin rip against the abrasive stone. Your hands, arms and elbows follow suit when you try to catch yourself. Despite your attempts your head makes contact too, the darkness around you explodes with spots of flashing light as your brain rattles inside your skull.

‘Keep going’ drifts around you, carried along with the delicate curls of mist. 

The palms of your hands sting as you push yourself back up onto your feet. Your knee aches in protest at the movement, the skin already beginning to tighten and swell. ‘Go’ a voice from inside commands. You step forward with your injured leg but pain shoots up your leg as your knee gives way. You pant trying to catch your breath, summoning the courage to get up and try again. For some reason you had to, every impulse seemed to be overpowered by the need to keep running.  

Warm. 

That’s what it felt like. 

You risk a look down at the toes on your right foot. A darkness deeper than the night sky had attached itself to you, it was small and unmoving but you could feel its warmth and the way it pulsed. Your hand trembles as you reach out to brush it away. The heat intensifies as soon as your fingers make contact, the blob seems to surge to life crawling up your foot; engulfing you in darkness. You swipe frantically at it trying to get it off, you fingernails scrape your skin but still, it grows. 

“Help! Someone Help!” You call into the surrounding quiet.

Panicked whimpers escape you as the darkness ascends your body, the pulsing sensation became more of a throb with every inch it climbed yet still you couldn’t get it off. The darkness was unaffected by your attempts of prising it off, when it rose above your hip you resort to more abrasive methods using the skirt of your shift you rub furiously at your skin.

“Please!” You scream, a strangled sob catches in your throat when it starts on your arms. 

“y/n?” a distorted voice drifts from somewhere but you don’t dare look away from the darkness.

You wipe down your arms trying to push the darkness back, trying to slow it down, but the darkness holds no consideration for your feelings. Your breathing comes in short, sharp pants as it reaches your shoulders. Dizziness, heat and the throbbing of power consumed you while tears fall freely from your eyes.

“Mother! Loki! Allfather! Someone help me please!” you call desperately, when it disappears out of sight.

“y/n!” the voice calls again, it sounds closer, more familiar now but you can't concentrate enough to place it.

“No, no, no, no-“ you mutter feeling the heat begin to lick your skin as it weaves its way through your roots.

“Mother!” a final scream rips through you, hurting your throat. “Save me! Save-“ 

“y/n!” You are jolted awake, your eyes frantically scan your candlelit bed-chamber expecting to see the same eery gloom of the dream. Your eyes finally land on your mother, her features morphed in concern as she grips onto your shoulders. 

You waste no time latching onto her in a vice-like hold, burying your face in her chest you breathe in your mother's familiar smell. It keeps you grounded, reminding you it was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt you, you were safe. Your mother cradles you in return. Peeking your head over your mother's shoulder you wrinkle your nose at the sickly sweet tang in the air, it was stronger again tonight. Your eyes adjust to the dim glow allowing you to see scorch marks and cracks that marred your -. Every day it got worse, spreading further, doing more and you didn’t know what was causing it. 

It had all started a few days after your sixteenth birthday. At first, you would just be running endlessly through the gloom, knowing something was stalking you in the mist. It would leave you drenched in a cold sweat, your y/h/c would be tangled and stuck to your neck and forehead. The clothes would stick to your body, the bedsheets wrapped around you, trapping you. When you removed your clothes and cleaned yourself off you would catch the sickly sweet scent for just a second. 

By seventeen the nightmares became more frequent, but they had begun to change, you knew what had been chasing you, what had struck so much fear into your heart. As your seventeenth year went on the darkness was starting to win, you had stopped being able to outrun it, and with each dream, it consumed more and more of you. You would wake up terrified, squinting into the darkness, paranoid the horror of the dream had followed you. Eventually, you would manage to go back to sleep. Though it was never peaceful. 

You wouldn’t notice the damage until the morning when the sun had risen, casting beams of light through the gap in your curtains. Your bleary eyes would look around the room, the world coming into focus as you rub the last remnants of sleep away. Your eyes widen as you scan the walls of your bedroom, the pictures, the diagrams, the paintings, the edges of every image of childhood memory was singed. Panicked, you tore them all down, stashed them away from sight. 

Buried. 

Never to be seen again. 

You would shiver to wonder what you’re mother would do should she ever find them. It only got worse from there. The destruction became more noticeable, more widespread. Your mother was beginning to notice things going missing, trinkets, ornaments. At times you were afraid to close your eyes, you knew what came with the dark. You would force yourself to stay awake, teetering on the edge of oblivion until exhaustion took over. You began to dread sleep. The destruction was undeniable, you were no longer able to hide it, so you did the only thing you could think to do. Lock it away.

Your mother disapproved greatly of your secrecy but soon gave up trying to convince you otherwise. She accepted it as a phase of your youth hoping you would grow out of it. She would always mutter on about how she was once a young girl going through womanly changes. While it was true, it wasn’t the only thing. The world around you was changing too. During your classroom conversations, your mother had sometimes mentioned that Asgard was being rocked by some unexplained phenomena. The quaking that had once been unnoticeable shudders lasting for less than a second was now more pronounced. 

The Allfather had apparently tasked a team of senior advisers to survey all of Asgard to find the source. They were to search high and low; never to stop until the source was found and dealt with. As of yet, that had come up empty-handed. 

_ _ _ _ _ _

The recipe for ‘Draught of Sleep’ had become a staple in your knowledge as you grew up. While you felt bad for every time you used it on your mother – praying to whoever may listen for forgiveness – it became a welcomed method of escaping the monotony of your routine in isolation. On a few occasions, you had run into Prince Loki, or rather he had stumbled across you. 

He never seemed to change. The tall, raven-haired prince was as handsome as ever, the last time the two of you had met he had outgrown his boyish charm. It had been replaced by something more manly. No doubt a result of the adventures he had been on with his brother Thor and the Warriors Three. However, there were some things about Loki that would never change like the way his eyes glinted with mischief or the way the corners of his mouth would quirk upwards when he grinned. You were always grateful for his friendship but you envied him in a way, the same was a caged bird envied those who were free to soar in the skies.

You sat in a secluded garden, enjoying the late autumn sunshine. It was ideal for you as it was just a stone's throw away from your chambers and hidden well enough that no one would stumble on it by accident. Loki had shown it to you in the spring while he had been bragging about knowing lots of little secrets about Asgard. 

The rays of the sun were comforting against your skin, making you feel warm. You scrunch your brow slightly concentrating even more on the sentence you had already read five times previously but it was no us the words weren’t making much sense. You sigh, rubbing the back of your hand against your forehead. After last nights nightmare, you had been too afraid to go back to sleep and exhaustion was setting in. blinking once more you attempt the sentence again, this time feeling your heavy eyelids begin to lull closed. Shifting your position on the stone bench you try to wake yourself up a little more, you didn’t want to fall asleep. You couldn’t fight it anymore.

‘Five minutes won’t be long enough for a nightmare’ you think hopefully as you let your eyes slide closed. 

It doesn’t toy with you this time. The chase is shorter, it already knows how terrified you are part of you wonders if it enjoys how frightened you are. When it does catch you, it wastes no time in beginning its journey up your body. In every other nightmare you had had, its ascent was slow and deliberate. This time you barely had enough time to comprehend that it had attached itself to you before it started moving. 

You could hear a distant rumble echoing through the bleak mist, but it was overpowered by your screams and pleas for help. Why weren't you waking up? Every other time you had managed to wake up before it had consumed you completely. This time you didn’t, the dream would not surrender you so easily. 

“y/n!” a voice shouts, it is muffled but you can hear the panicked edge.

You could feel the earth rattle beneath you like a rag of angry horses were stampeding. In an instant, it grows to something deeper, more ferocious. What had started as a rumble now roared all around you. You hear your name echo around you once more but it is smothered by the noise. 

“y/n!” Your eyes fly open to making contact with a set of familiar green. His hands ghost over your body, his eyes follow the movement scanning you. Your eyes focus on his hand as it wraps around your wrist with ease, you frown slightly noticing the coating of grey dust on the sleeve of his normally pristine tunic.  

“Loki? What- I don’t... what is happening?” Your body moves on autopilot as Loki pulls you with him, your mind still a few steps behind you. Somewhere around you, you hear the sound of pebbles skipping over the stone and another person's heart-wrenching cries.

“It was another earthquake, it brought down part of the east wing, I thought, I-” Loki jerks you towards him, before wrapping his arms tightly around you. The dust on his clothes makes your nose itch.

“The east wing?” you ask pushing out of his hold. The east wing housed your chambers. Now you were truly awake. 

“Was anyone hurt? Was my mother, where- mother, I-is she alright?” you stumble over your words, your mind working faster than you can speak.

 Loki’s fingers tighten on the fabric of your dress he can still reach, it keeps you close. He doesn’t answer your question. His normally bright features morph into a look of sadness giving you an answer. 

“It's alright, I’ve got you,” Loki soothes pulling you back for another hug. “I will keep you safe,”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You didn’t remember much of what happened next. If someone were to ask you how you had gotten into one of the royal chambers you wouldn’t have been able to tell them. Royal handmaids worked quietly and quickly to clean the dust from your skin and rubble from your hair. None of them spoke to you. None of them looked you in the eye as they gently dabbed away the tears that leaked from your eyes. When they had finished their work, healers escorted you to their work station. They did not speak either. You stared up at the ceiling as they worked, talking in hushed whispers to one another. You didn’t understand what they were looking for, as far as you knew you had not been injured during the quake. 

You did not find solace in the quiet if anything it created a vast breeding ground for feelings of guilt and self-loathing. Why did you have to be so selfish? Why did you need to give your mother the ‘Draught of Sleep’ today of all days? Would it have changed things? - would she still be here?

That last thought stuck with you, you let it burrow deep in your heart; scarring it. A constant reminder that your only family in life was gone. 

Lost if grief, you didn’t hear the clinking movement of Asgards soldiers. One of them bent over you, his mouth moved but the words sounded like and meant nothing to you. Another seized your arm and pulled you from the examining table. They held a tight formation as they led through the castle, you could only see flashes of your surroundings when their shoulders jostled apart. The once brilliant glittering gold of the palace had dimmed somehow. Sorrow had settled everywhere. 

You were presented to the Allfather in the throne room. The show of power had seemed excessive, was this how the King normally expressed his sympathies? Gathering your thoughts together you raise your gaze to Odin. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you meet his stoic, stormy eyes. It didn’t take a genius to work out that something was wrong. You notice a small group of men gathered on either side of the dais, perhaps they were his team of advisers. 

Hands clasped. Worried expressions. 

Good.

Their king was displeased with them, they had failed to find the cause of the earthquakes at the expense of Asgardian lives. They should fear his ire. 

“You are positive?” Odin looks to a man on his left, the rotund old man with rosy cheeks simply nodded in affirmation. “Very well,” Odin replies gravely.

“y/f/n y/l/n, do you know why you have been summoned here today?” The Allfather leans forward on his knees, sounding more like a disappointed parent than a king.

Your y/h/c hair sways past your shoulders as you shake your head in response. 

“An independent investigation conducted into the recent geological phenomena plaguing Asgard has found you, and you alone responsible,”

Your eyes bulge in disbelief, you attempt to step closer to the Allfather but the guards flanking your sides grip your shoulders, stopping you.

“Me?” you breathe incredulously. “How could I, w-why would I? My mother is dead and I am the accused?!” the guards now hold you by your arms too, keeping you in place.

“For this crime, you are charged with reckless endangerment to life and accidental manslaughter,” he motions to a nervous-looking gentleman on his right who brings forth two golden bands sitting on a red velvet cloth. 

“No!” you argue desperately. “It was not me! I swear on my ancestors, Allfather, please! I was not responsible for this,” you rush, voice rising with every syllable. Your eyes follow the bracelets as they get closer. 

“Enough!” Odin bellows, silencing your ranting. “It has been decided to protect the good people of Asgard, you shall be bound forevermore by the bracelets of Sindri,”

The guards flanking you push down on your shoulders when you don’t submit one of them bumps the back of your knee forcing you into a kneeling position. You thrash against them as they hold you still, allowing the sweaty advisor to deposit the bracelets onto your wrists. Still fighting, you watch as the bracelets glow in an ancient language before shrinking down to fit snugly against your skin. The metal that looked hot enough to burn when it glowed is as cold as ice. 

“You cannot do this to me Allfather! I did nothing wrong!” Your head whips towards the Allfather again. The bracelets glow once more and you notice Odin’s frown deepen. 

“y/f/n y/l/n, through the uncontrolled forces you possess you have opened this peaceful realm and the innocent lives that reside in it, to horror and death.” Frantically you shake your head, the bracelets on your wrists glow brighter.

“You have betrayed those you love, and those who loved you. I have taken from you your power, in the name of my father, and his before,” A mystical wind rushes past you, making you squint to keep your eyes fixed on Odin, as you do colours that remind you of the Bifrost begin to dance behind him, they pick up in speed swirling faster; it's difficult to keep your eyes open.

“I, Odin Allfather, cast you out,” 

An unseen force hits you squarely in the chest forcing you backwards, you brace yourself for the impact against the floor, it never comes. Instead, you keep falling, you scream and wonder if anyone will hear you. The feeling of weightlessness making you feel nauseous. Cracking open an eye your senses are assaulted by the bright colours of the Bifrost's transportation. 

Just as you feel like you’re going to fall forever, your back collides with solid ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. Rolling to your side you cough and gasp for breath. Your fingers dig into damp soil, an earthy smell invades your nose. Your vision still swims around you, black begins to rim your sight. You head feels like it weighs a ton as you raise it to look out across the expanse of green. 

Where had he sent you?

The distant sound of water sloshing was the last thing you remembered before you succumbed to darkness.

TAGLIST: @hellethil  @icunee @bloatedandlonly @khadineberry @abrunettefangirlnerd @whothehellsbucky @dark-night-sky-99 @nonsensicalobsessions  @batsdothings @crazymclazy @shesakillerkween @nxts-xsf @alwaysincaffeinatedstate   

[hoodoo12]

Beetlejuice Squared 2:  You Asked for It (2/3)

Let’s just jump in, shall we? With the quick reminder that part(s) 3 are your personal choice. And still thanks beyond words for @beejiesbitch for helping out and encouraging me and suggesting things that made me cringe. Part 1

@beetlebitchywitch @beetlejuicebeadoll @sapphic-florals @turtlepated @realmonsterboyhours @monsterlovinghours @witchyrem-ains @beebeyjuice @imma-fucking-nerd @iambuggy

NSFW

It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs. 

Instantly panic hit you, flooding you with a rush of adrenaline in preparation for fight or flight. Nipping closely on its heels was rage; you’d kicked him out, and he just had the audacity to saunter back in like the two of you hadn’t had a screaming match the last time he was here?! Then the thought that the Beetlejuice laying beside you was going to think this was a set up, that you’d asked him here and fucked him knowing that the original Beetlejuice was going to show up in some shitty plan to make him jealous ambushed you too, bringing up the rear of this train wreck. You looked over at Beetlejuice on the bed with you, hoping you could convince him this was a complete surprise to you too. You needn’t have worried. If his knee-jerk reaction was to think you’d organized this, the expression of abject fear on your face convinced him otherwise. Reading your terror at the situation unfolding made a snarl curl his lip and he pushed himself up off the mattress to go confront his counterpart. He wasn’t quick enough, though. The other Beetlejuice, the one you’d told to never come back, walked through your bedroom door. Whatever he was expecting to find, it wasn’t you sprawled out on the bed, your only clothing a black garter belt and stockings, looking thoroughly fucked, and a taller, naked version of himself getting to his feet.

“What in the fuck?!” he exploded. 

His hair, which had been a neutral green, erupted into red. His scruff and eyebrows did too, as did his eyes. You’d never seen him so enraged. 

Automatically you pushed yourself backwards, further up the mattress, away from him.

“You’re fucking behind my back?!” he bellowed. “With this guy?!”

Beetlejuice, who’d conjured himself back into trousers while you had been focused on the demon-shaped personification of rage that had entered your bedroom, stepped forward with anger etched in his face as well and red streaks beginning to show in his hair. But your fear fled in the face of Beetlejuice throwing the exact same complaint you’d had about him back at you. You started to get up, even as the Beetlejuice who’d just been beside you ordered, “Back off, asshole--”

Beetlejuice bristled at that and stepped up against his taller counterpart. “Fuck you--you pathetic, second rate knockoff--” Never mind their exchange of words; you were still fixated on the fact that the original Beetlejuice used the same argument you’d originally accused him of. “How dare you!” you shrieked. “You’re the one who fucked anything that looked in your general direction! You couldn’t keep your dick in your pants--you never tried to keep your dick in your pants--” “Shut up. Adults are talking,” he replied almost casually to you, flicking his fingers in your direction.

Immediately you found yourself pinned spread-eagle on your back, held by invisible hands. You struggled against them while the animosity passing between the two demons became palatable.

“You lost a good thing, asshole--” “You’d’ve done the same thing, dick! Just because you don’t get called as often, don’t pretend you wouldn’t have grabbed at every bit of pussy or cock that you were offered! Fucking hypocrite, you’d have begged for scraps--” “You cheated on me you fucker!” you yelled as you continued struggling against the restraints. “I never cheated on you, I told you to get the fuck out of my life! We were done!”

The taller of the two, the Beetlejuice you’d just laid, glanced over at you, a look of slight puzzlement on his face, and the Beetlejuice you’d tried to end things with took advantage of his distraction. He reached forward and grabbed a handful of flesh, the other’s pectoral muscle, and clenched his fist. The yowl would have been enough for you to realize that fingers had punctured skin; the immediate blood that erupted from the site told you that it was nails sharpened into talons that did it.

Beetlejuice continued to cry out, but the noise was quickly becoming less surprised pain and more rage. He grabbed the arm and wrist of the one causing the injury, but went to his knees. 

“You didn’t say his name?!” the smooth voice of the Beetlejuice you’d spent the evening with admonished harshly in your ear. “You told him to get out, but you didn’t say his name!” You’d have slapped yourself in the face if you could have moved. You were so stupid! You hadn’t banished him, you’d been so upset you didn’t think of it! He’d left, and hadn’t shown up for weeks, so it was out of your mind! So now all you had to do was say it! You took a breath--

--a final invisible hand slapped over your mouth, before you could get an actual word out, pinching your skin so tightly it hurt and almost covering your nose as well. You struggled now to take a full breath. Unfortunately, Beetlejuice knew the tricks of throwing a voice and wasn’t risking you saying his name and banishing him for real.

“Told you to shut up, baby,” he told you in a sweet tone, with a wink.

Under the heavy hand, you shrieked again, using your throat.

Distraction seemed to be a good tool to use, because while his attention was making sure you couldn’t speak, Beetlejuice from the floor lashed out and knocked his counterpart backwards. It dislodged the grip on him, making blood flow more freely down his chest, but that was ignored. The two grappled for a moment, but from the floor he had a disadvantage and Beetlejuice who was standing managed to twist a hand into the other’s hair, yanking his head back.

A flash of pink rippled through the shorter of the two’s blood red hair, a sign of his enjoyment, and he didn’t hesitate to punch Beetlejuice solidly once, twice, three times in the face. Blood spurted from the mess of a crushed nose, and Beetlejuice’s head lolled a little from the punishment. His hands released the hold they’d taken on his twin and fell limp to his sides. His body followed suit, and for a moment, it looked like the only thing holding him up was the fist still in his hair.  He was released and dropped to the floor dismissively, and the Beetlejuice you’d wanted out of your life crawled up the bed, between your legs. You tried to arch away from him, but your stocking-clad thighs were grabbed. Casually he wiped his knuckles on them, leaving bloody marks.

“You look good, baby,” he cooed. “Wish you’d worn something like this for me.”

You strained so hard against the restraints your limbs hurt. He chuckled, still slinking up on all fours. “I can’t say I’m super fond of smelling that fucker’s come in you, though--”

He never dropped his eyes from your enraged gaze, but did lower his head and snaked his tongue through your pussy. You bucked again, hating that it felt good, hating that he knew just how to lick you to make you moan and writhe in pleasure. He ducked down further and put his whole mouth on you, sucking lightly. 

You couldn’t help but go lax for a moment, your body betraying you under his mouth.

“Asshole,” Beetlejuice snarled, his smoother voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, and much more similar to the one with his face in your pussy.

You lifted your head; he was still smeared with blood but you couldn’t see the broken nose or split lips that had been so evident before. His teeth were still coated red, however, as he pulled his lips back like a predator.

The Beetlejuice between your legs took one more second to lick you again, then he was yanked harshly off you by his jacket. As he was swung around to face his counterpart, he spit the wet and come he’d sucked out of your pussy into the other’s face. 

That escalated it all.

The anger that both had been exhibiting before ratcheted up to a level that made the very air feel electrified. It was two forces of nature colliding, two storms of equal strength battering each other in the confines of your bedroom, while you were trapped, helpless, on a mattress.

You could only see flashes of the two of them; your mere mortal lightbulbs couldn’t handle the surge of power and they flickered, dimming and growing brighter randomly. You half wondered if, while seeing the nightmare visions of the two demons clashing in front of you, your own vision would do the same. 

Beetlejuice, still only clad in trousers, must have thought along the same lines. “Close your eyes, babydoll,” he said in your ear. His voice, still smoother, was in stark contrast to the horror of shadowy tentacles that seemed to erupt around him.

“Keep your eyes open, baby!” the other ordered, in your other ear, and a new hand gripped your forehead. Instinctually you knew it’d force your eyelids open if need be. “I want you to watch me fucking destroy him.”

Torn between the two, you continued to buck against your invisible restraints. Your throat felt raw. Tears leaked out of your eyes. Your nose started running. You hated all of this.

With the exception of those words to you, the Beetlejuices focused solely on each other. No more human words came from them; in their place were hisses and guttural sounds of some demonic language that put pressure in your ears like you were too far underwater. It was seductive, however, and part of you thought that if you strained, if you concentrated, you could learn to understand it. A more rational part of your brain, the one more concerned with survival, warned you away, it wasn’t truly for human ears. The tentacles you’d first glimpsed were more solid when the light was low; when it flared it just looked like two dead guys beating the shit out of each other.

The taller of the two, the one you’d invited here tonight, had a slight advantage of less clothing to grab, but it also left his skin exposed to the other’s talons. He was a mess of gouges and lacerations, bleeding freely. His wounds knitted closed freakishly quickly, a nightmare in itself, but with so many he couldn’t concentrate on healing while still fighting.

Beetlejuice in his suit, who you didn’t banish properly, had some protection, but it gave his doppelganger something to grip with more force and land more punishing blows: a knee to the face, making the same gush of blood as you’d witnessed before; a twist of an arm into a inhuman position against the joint. His elbow snapped and Beetlejuice shrieked.

You’d have curled into a fetal position to protect yourself in fear if you’d been capable. As it were, you continued to watch in horror. 

Beetlejuice struggled back and away, breaking the grip of his twin, cradling his crooked arm. Shirtless Beetlejuice stepped between him and you, hunched and watching him warily. Because of his stance, you didn’t see the repair Beetlejuice did to his arm, but heard the wet cracking and hiss of pain. You were able to see him shake his arm out to the side, no worse for wear, apparently. 

He sidled to one side. Beetlejuice moved with him, keeping himself bodily between the two of you. The shorter one cocked his head enough to see over his shoulder and caught your eyes. “You sure are something, baby. You’ve got this prick of a duplicate snared--you sure you’re not some succubus, trapping saps by their dicks?”

You glared as best you could at him, although it was from no position of power. 

“None of this had to happen, baby,” he continued, like this was a perfectly reasonable conversation during a perfectly reasonable situation. “This is all your fault. You said you were angry I was summoned by other people and I fucked them, but you refused the final step that would’ve set me free!”

Your glare became laser-sharp in intensity. Yes, you refused to fucking marry him. But he probably would’ve continued to fuck anything that moved even if you’d done that for him!

He must have read your mind, because he laughed. Laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed amicably.

If you’d have had the strength, you’d have gotten off the mattress and probably hit him yourself. As it was, you’d at least provided enough distraction--what a tool to use!-- that the taller Beetlejuice eased close enough to him to rush him, grab him by the waist, and slam him into the wall with a resounding crack that shook the house. 

The infernal language returned as they screamed at each other. You winced. The lights waned, and waxed, and waned again, giving you strobe light effects of their true demonic forms, or the body horror they could twist themselves into: undulating tentacles; needle teeth in countless maws; some arms all grey and depraved, with fingernails rotting off its hand; all awash in the blood from injuries too horrific for any non-dead being to survive.

They were so evenly matched it seemed like this was going to be an eternal war. Each attack was countered, and both were wounded and bloody. Whatever they were saying to each other occasionally devolved into wordless growls and spits. You couldn’t stop sobbing, which made you feel like you were drowning. Although your anger was still burning, your strength against the spectral restraints was ebbing. You sagged and closed your eyes, unable to watch the carnage any longer. 

Then, out of nowhere, there was a beat of silence. It’d been so loud in your bedroom the hush made you wonder if you’d suddenly gone deaf. You picked your head up as best you could to see what was happening. Beetlejuice had his counterpart in a hold that was inhumanly possible and inhumanely done: the umbral tentacles had solidified and impaled the other through his chest, then wrapped snugly around his torso, arms and legs so that he had no leverage to fight it. Two hands held his head in a crushing grip, while a third was on his throat, clutching so tightly the sharpened nails on the fingertips were buried in the meat of his neck. 

Trussed and beaten, he was no longer pale; Beetlejuice had been painted in red ink with a heavy brush. He wasn’t pinned to the floor, either, the tentacles kept him suspended above it but his own weight pulled him downward against them, causing more grievous wounds. Thick, dark blood had splattered your floor, and continued to drip from him. You had no idea if a ghost or a demon could die from exsanguination, but he looked close to unconsciousness. 

The Beetlejuice holding him didn’t let that happen, however. He leaned down and whispered something you couldn’t hear into his twin’s ear, then kissed his slack mouth. It was the final show of dominance; the loser didn't have the strength or fortitude to pull away or even bite. As he pulled away again, you saw the victor’s tongue lap along the inside of the other’s hard palate before he stood up completely.

Still holding his victim, Beetlejuice turned his gaze on you.

“Say his name,” he ordered. 

tbc . . .

[imaginesmai]

Steve Rogers-Be Okay

Plot: HYDRA takes Steve. When you get back to him, he’s not the sweet boyfriend you know.

Warnings: angst. Like, really, really angsty. With happy ending, or maybe not?

“Please” you begged, grunting as the shield hit the side of your face and threw your backwards. You winced at the white-hot burning sensation that then spread across the entire half of your face, cringing when you felt blood fill your mouth.

Steve was quiet in front of you, and continued his advance towards your battered body. You tried to put your hand up and shield yourself from his attack, but he gripped it and slammed your wrist on the ground, the weight of his knee falling onto you. Your scream was so loud that  barely perceived the sickening crush of your wrist.

Rushed breaths were leaving your lips as you pushed him away, and you hugged your wrist in your chest. You sent him flying backwards, blue energy emerging out of your good hand and putting some distance between you and your boyfriend. Or what was left of him.

“Please, baby, please” you begged, tears streaming down your face. You kept him down for a few seconds, his pained grunts hurting you more than your wrist. “I-It’s me, Y/N. Don’t do this, Steve. Please.”

Not more than two hours ago, there was a happy smile on your face. A hopeful one. You had found your boyfriend after being taken from you for two weeks. HYDRA had kept him with other prisoners in a secret basement in Siberia. You had been able to rescue every last of them, and you were determinated to save your brain-washed boyfriend too. You felt coldness spreading through you like a disease, making your shiver. It had nothing to do with the cold in Siberia.

Steve’s pupils were as dark as the night sky, the blue nearly non-existent. There was a glow in them that sent chills down your spine, your common sense begging you to do something, anything. But that wasn’t any soldier that you had to defeat, that was the love of your life. The strength in your hand disappeared and Steve was set free. He growled and looked back at you, with those lifeless eyes that would haunt you forever.

You clutched your wrist harder and forced back the tears of fear and pain that pricked at your eyes.

“Steve, this is not you.”

“Shut up” you froze, insides turning to ice. Used to his sweet voice in the mornings, cute kisses on your forehead, his cold voice seemed something straight out of a horror film, deep and distorted. Full of hate.

You felt sick, adrenaline rushing as your mind went into panic mode. As Steve rose up from his position in the ground, you tried to call out for someone. Sam, Natasha, Tony, anyone. Because you knew it wouldn’t come out good. The communication with the team must had fallen down, and they were all still inside that basement. There was no way they would hear you, so you tried other ways.

“You’ve gotta-“

The shield cut you off, hitting your middle with full force and making you choke on your breath. He ran towards you, and you managed to dodge his punch by only inches. For almost five minutes, you battle it out, consisting of mostly you trying to avoid Steve’s hits and not hurt him too bad. Blasts of blue energy tried to keep him tied down, and you found it was harder than what you thought. Steve became more and more frustrated each time you blocked one of his punches, so he decided to use his gun.

He shot two times, one flying past you and the other hitting you on your side. You fell on your knees, clutching your side and gasping for air. Steve stopped too, looking down at you with a small smirk.

“Please, you’re stronger than this” you tried once more, backing up until you met the wall. “I-I can help you, Steve, I can-“

“Shut up!” he bellowed.

Before either of you could blink, another bullet left the gun and tore through your ankle, where seconds ago was your body sitting on the ground. A pained scream left your lips, and your vision became blurry with tears. They leaked from your eyes, as you continued to whimper. You looked up and saw him enraged, but confused. Stories about how he fought Bucky until he was almost on the brink of death came back to your mind; how he managed to pull him out of their control before it was too late.

You opened your mouth again, but he moved faster and had you by your hair in the air, faces inches away from each other. He had his lips pressed in a tight line, his jaw clenched, and you found yourself wanting to hug him. So you did.

Ignoring the multiple injuries your body was managing, your moved your arms to his shoulders and, slowly, hid your face in his neck. His grip on your hair didn’t flatter and you got a constant pain on the back of your head. Steve tensed under you, feeling your tears wet his neck and your whimpers shake your body. He begged to himself to wake up, to wrap his hands around you and cradle until you had forgiven him for the pain he had caused you.

But HYDRA was right, and you were wrong.

His eyes, that had been wide and were starting to regain its blue colour, came back to hard and stone. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair moved as fast as the sound, and a knife appeared on between his fingers. You were pushed into him as your arms fell from around his shoulders, the knife plunged through your right shoulder.

You couldn’t tell if you screamed first or pushed him away, because the pain was so overwhelming that you blacked out for a second. Your powers created a protective cover for you, pushing Steve a few meters away.

Quickly and desperately, your hand came up and tried to rip it out, to do anything to alleviate the harrowing affliction. The feeling of the metal sliding out was almost as horrible as getting stabbed again, and you sobbed in pain. Clutching your bleeding shoulder, your rolled over onto your chest.

The blue cloud that had been covering your body disappeared while you tried to crawl away, and you were hit with Steve’s shield once again. You felt weightless, flying towards the edge of the building and hearing his steps reaching you. The world danced across your eyes, blood pooling in your mouth and making it hard to breath.

Through your intercom, you heard Tony calling your name; the communication was back and they were out of danger. Steve’s boot came into contact with the bullet wound on your side, and you screamed. Loud.

“Why can’t you just shut up?!” he screamed, his eyes full of rage and confusion. “Shut up! Shut up!”

Steve pressed harder with each word, and a string of pleas left your lips. You were running short of air, and the pain was so bad that you were staring to lose focus in your surrounds.

“I love you” you whispered, and you spat blood on the ground.

Steve screamed in rage, and kicked you one last time, making your body roll on your back and fall through the side of the building.

Through his whipped-brain state, he heard you screaming. He heard each and every hit you took in your fall, your body twisting in ways that shouldn’t be twisted. He heard Tony flying past him and felt Sam’s hands on him, restraining him on the ground thought he knew he wouldn’t be moving any time soon. Also, he saw. Steve Rogers was aware of the way your body landed on the abandoned minivan in the middle of the streets, small and white snowflakes decorating your sprawled hair. He saw how the air left your lungs before your eyes rolled back, one bloodied hand hanging from the vehicle.

Tony landed besides you, his mask lifting and his iron suit detaching from his body. It was still standing, on guard, while its owner ran towards the van screaming your name. He managed to pull you down, not damaging your bruised and broken body anymore.

“Friday, get the jet over here” he chocked out, his own eyes tearing. He watched your stilled chest and the blood leaking out of your wounds. “Make a full scan and send it to Cho, tell her to be ready on the tower.”

“Yes, boss” the mechanic voice answered.

Sam’s face appeared in Steve vision, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He saw his mouth moving, yet he couldn’t hear what he was saying. After shaking him a few times and looking to the ground, Steve understood he was going to get him to down. He gripped the captain’s armpits and lowered him until he was in front of you.

Without wanting to, Steve fell to his knees and touched your cheek, aware of the wary looks on his friends’ faces. They didn’t trust him yet; and he didn’t trust himself either. Bruises. Blood. Bent wrist. Arm. Leg. Pierced ankle.

He heard what Friday was telling Tony through his intercom, even if he wasn’t supposed to. Steve barely registered Natasha touching him shoulder. She covered her mouth with her other hand, cursing when she saw you.

“I did this”

Beside the loud noise of the helicarrier coming down, that was the last thing Steve remembered before blacking out.

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

For five hours, the avengers waited while you were in surgery, the doctors fixing what the could and assessing any further damage they may not have caught on the scans. In total, you had five fractures bones in your hand, three bruised ribs, one cracked and two broken, one of which had punctured your right lung. That was because of the fall, which also caused your tibia and humerus to break.

Cho told Tony that the knife might had caused important damage on your shoulder, and she had to take some scans to see so. When she had said that might had problems with the mobility, Steve had broken down into sobs and Sam had to take him away, giving him some sedatives. He didn’t have to hear about the bullet going through your ankle or getting stuck on your side.

By the third hour, Steve could go back to the med bay, his eyes red and his face stone cold, guilt eating him alive. No one could stay still, the possibility of losing an important member of the team too terrifying. Tony tried to talk to Steve, making him see that it wasn’t his fault; that he had been whipped. But the only thing Steve could think about was if the last words he had told you were shut up.

Two more hours passed until doctor Cho appeared through the doors, bloody hands and tired eyes. She waited until everyone was around her, and then started talking.

“She’ll be okay” she said, and there was a collective sigh of relief. Not from Steve, who frowned.

“Will? Then she isn’t okay now?”

“We, uh, had to pump her with enough drugs to make an elephant sleep for a week. Her powers have caused some complications, since they didn’t let us… work on her” Helen looked to the floor, avoiding Steve’s hurt eyes. “She will be sore for months, and probably won’t leave the bed for two or three weeks.”

“That’s what you call being okay?” Steve asked, raising his voice.

“Hey, Cap” Tony raised his hand, making him shut up. “She has done everything in her power, alright?”

“Yeah, sorry” Steve nodded, bringing his hand up to his face, scratching an invisible itch. “And, um, her lung?”

“There was blood on her lungs” she explained. “We drained everything and patched her ribs up, but we’ll have to keep an eye on her, for infections or anything related.

“A-and her ankle?”

“The bullet went straight. Thankfully soft tissue took the damage, but the lateral malleolus got nicked. Nothing we can’t fix.”

“What about-“

“Captain Rogers” Helen interrupted him, giving him a pointed look. “Anything life-threatening has been treated. She will wake up soon, if she’s not already. You can go and see her. One by one, please.”

A chorus of thank you and kind words for the doctor filled the room, but the only thing Steve managed to do was to sit back on his chair, and hide his face on his hands. You could had been dead, and it would be all on him. All because he had been weak, and had hurt you nearly beyond point of repair.

Everyone decided that Steve had to see you first, and between Tony and Sam dragged him to your door. He was totally against the idea of seeing you, but one look from his teammates, his family, made him realise that he had to look past his guilt and see that you probably needed him. As much as he had needed Bucky.

Tony’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he found himself looking at your room’s door.

“I know you feel guilty” he said, his voice soft. “But… don’t let her see that. Just, be there for her. She needs you.”

“Thanks Tony” Steve gave him a small, sad smile.

The door opened and a nurse stopped outside, looking at them with a blank expression. After asking who was going to enter, she told Steve that he had only twenty minutes, something about not suffocating you. When he finally stepped inside, his heart fell to his feet.

You were hooked up to so many wires it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Your broken leg was kept elevated, and your arm hanging, making way for the ventilator that snaked down your throat. It made him nauseous, and he was tempted to go back. Bandages covered your whole body, and two IV bags hung above your head. He closed his eyes harshly, too ashamed to look at you. That was, until he heard his name being called.

“Steve”

It was broken. Steve Rogers was used to your cheerful voice, that managed to make him smile in the worst times. That greeted him in the morning and dulled him into sleep. Your voice was one of his many favourite parts of you, and hearing it so weak and small made tears pool in his eyes.

“C’mere” you mumbled, your eyes half closed.

He reluctantly made his way to you. His hands were on his lap, shaking anxiously, and his body was far from calm. Your right eye, the one that you could open, focused on his anguished face, and you gifted him with a kind smile. Hesitantly, he brought his hand up to brush over the purple circle in your cheek, one of the many that created an horrible painting in your body. He chocked down a sob when your scrunched your brows, and he put his hand back.

“I’m sorry” he said, trying to lift the weight in his chest. He was desperate to tell you so much more, but his lips were sealed with guilt.

“I know” you whispered. With almost an indiscernible movement, you patted the bed besides you and motioned Steve to sit with you.

His own body was sore after the beatings he had taken when he was in HYDRA’s grip. He could feel some ribs broken, and he was sure he would pass out if it wasn’t for you. And for the need of seeing you alive, erasing the image of you laying down in the floor. Not moving. Pushing his pain aside, he sat slowly and turned his face to look at you.

“I’m okay”

“I’m sorry”

“Steve, I’m okay” you repeated, and Steve was finally able to break into a smile. “I’m going to be okay. Just don’t leave me.”

You were going to be okay, he told himself as he kissed your bruised lips, finally the cloud of guilt dissipating. You were going to be okay, he told himself as he listened to the nurse giving you some instructions. He was going to be okay.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[musicofglassandwords]

The Past: Part One

we are now beginning a series about five hundred years before the time The Vanished Kingdom actually takes place, where the guardians are still the same age they look.

we’re going to go on the journey with them as they discover their powers and learn to work together, because contrary to popular belief, they didn’t always get along :P

Also, these snippets are totally not going to be in chronological order, so please keep that in mind.

For this particular one, the guardians came into being during a time when the skylals were the cause of a war between Valon Taivas and several other countries, which led to a lot of animosity between the skylals and their people. 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“A wedding?” Sahrina asked, stepping into Ella’s room, “What was Violet thinking?” 

The blond girl looked up from her bureau, quickly knotting the sash around her soft white dress, and picking up a brush. 

“I’m not sure,” Ella frowned, her expression a perfect mirror of the annoyance and confusion in Rina’s tone, “Violet said that they asked us to preside there, right? And then Prince says we have to go, because since they’re inviting the whole city and it will encourage support between the skylals and the Sources.”

“Who’s getting married anyway?” Rina jumped as the sound of Valera’s high voice came from the inside of Ella’s closet.  

“Two of the skylals, Henna and Taik,” Ella said, picking up the invitation on her desk and handing it to Rina.

“The thing is that we have support, it’s the other skylals who need to face it up,” Valera said stepping out of the closet in nothing but her underclothes.  

"We have to leave soon, hurry up, Val,” Ella said, “Are you ready, Sahr?” 

The seven of them had been together for about a year and a half now, and Ella had grown far more comfortable with them. She was grateful to Violet to not keeping her away form her family and the ability to live a normal life, but even so. Being a guardian was far more difficult than she had originally thought.  

“I am,” Rina spun around, dark green skirts shading down to black at the hem, “Do you need help with your hair?” 

“Please,” Ella sat down on her bed, and Rina started to braid half of her blond hair into a crown. “What are you wearing, Val?”  

“This, probably,” she held out an elegant amber gown, “Can I borrow your heels, Ell?”

“Go ahead,” she nodded peaceably, as Val slipped the dress on and started to violently brush her hair. “Are the boys almost done?” 

“I saw Violet scolding them in the hallway a minute ago,” Rina said, her mouth screwed up as she tried to smooth down Ella’s hair, “So probably?” 

“I heard Prince scolding Seth about not bringing weapons,” Valera added, “I have a feeling that he’s not going to listen though.”

“Finished.” Rina gave the braid a little pat, and smoothing her own hair as the girls made their way down the rickety stairs to the living room where Violet was shouting at Seth. 

“Someone tell Seth that he can’t bring weapons to the wedding,” she said turning to the girls, tripping and almost knocking the small table in the living room over. Her deep purple outfit had skirts that were slightly too long for her small frame. 

“You look very nice, Vi,” Ella said cheerfully, glancing warily at Seth who was glaring at Violet, a dagger in his left hand. Violet sent the other girls to fetch Prince, while trying to snatch the dagger out of Seth’s grip. 

“It’s better to be prepared,” he argued, easily dodging her lunges.  

“You have your spirit weapon,” she scolded, “that’s plenty.” 

Ella shook her head, and grinned at Kyran who was lounging on the sofa across the room, his suit already rumpled, half of the buttons fastened in the wrong holes.  

“You look pretty, Ella,” he said simply, sitting up, “Also, when are we supposed to leave, because at the rate things are going, we’re going to be hours late?” 

“Soon,” she patted his head, “You look very handsome except you also look like a mess.” 

“Hey, I tried,” he said indignantly, “I’ve never had an opportunity to wear these kind of clothes before.” 

Ella considered his outfit for a moment, remembering how she had seen her mother help her father suit up when he had to go meet with the merchants.  

“Here, stand up,” she said, and when he rose obediently, she started to put his buttons back into heir appropriate holes. After tucking in his collar and straightening his sleeves, she stared at his hair very pointedly.  

“Fine, I’ll get a brush,” he said, disappearing in a puff of smoke just as the rest of the guardians came down.  

Seth immediately burst into laughter, pointing at Prince, who glared icily back at him. His crisp dark suit was punctured with smoking, ragged holes exposing his white undershirt. 

“Why are you laughing?” Rina asked confusedly, while Violet took this opportunity to snatch the knife away.  

“He looks ridiculous!” Seth choked, falling back onto the floor, as an amber-haired boy inched his way out from the crowded entry way to stand next to Ella. She grinned up at Nato, who was neat and impeccable as usual. “He looks like thrown into the fire!”

“No,” Valera said in a matter of fact tone, “He accidentally exploded something in his room.”

“Not again!” Violet wailed, rushing to his side, and investigating the ruins of his clothing. “How many times have we talked about this!

“It’s not a big deal,” Prince said, pushing away his sister, and snapping his fingers, restoring his suit in a ripple of pale purple light.  

“Are we finally ready to go?” Ella asked, as Kyran reappeared his hair properly brushed. 

“Give us another few hours,” Valera rolled her eyes, “We might be almost pulled together by then.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The wedding venue was in shades of spring, swathes of fine Duya silk that must have been traded for before the Age of Apathy shimmered in the air. The bride and groom stood in the front of the venue as Violet marched the guardians to their seats.

 Marriages in Valon Taivas usually took place on bridges, as a sign of bloodlines joining together by the bond of marriage, and the guests were always seated on both sides. The vows began, and Ella watched, enraptured. 

She loved weddings. 

A few minutes later out of the corner of her eye, she saw Seth’s head lolling to the side with his eyes closed, and Kyran punching him in the arm. Seth’s jolted awake, his eyes flashing and he sighed loudly as if annoyed that the ceremony wasn’t yet over. 

“Do you believe in the hope of a better future for us and our kin?” The bride and groom were currently asking the traditional set of questions that were supposed to be spoken between them before they were officially married.

“Yes,” Henna smiled radiantly, and Rina passed Valera a handkerchief, as the petite red-head was weeping openly.  

“Do you–“ Henna was cut off as a Source ran up the bridge, which was considered sacred ground during a wedding. Her eyes were red, but her mouth was tight and drawn, and she was holding a slender sword.  

It gleamed in the sun, deadly and intent on its target. 

The Source said nothing as she lunged towards the skylals, the metal cutting deep into Taika’s long cape. Henna pulled Taika to her side, her eyes shining with a brilliant light, as she summoned her power, but before anything could happen, the Source cried out, buckling down. 

A dagger protruded from the arm of the Source, and a second one followed sinking deep into her leg. Dark crimson carved its way down the Source’s pale arm, and she sobbed out loud, still scrambling towards the skylals, her sword dangling limply in her free hand. 

Screaming began, and Rina rose, shaking a little, especially when she saw her parents in the audience. Violet nodded at the slender girl, and Rina took a deep breath, her eyes glowing. 

She pressed a finger to her lips, and green light emanated from her, calming the audience slightly, their words quieter and less harsh.

But Seth was undeterred. 

“DID YOU SEE THAT?” he hollered, and in the crowd, Ella could see his aunt standing stiffly, while his older cousins buried their faces in their hands from embarrassment.  “THAT PEFECT SHOT!” 

“SETH!” Violet yanked him down, “How could you do that? I told you not to bring weapons.” 

“Well, I didn’t care,” he sneered, pumping his fist, right before Kyran punched him in the lower neck. he dropped to the ground like a stone, his eyes rolling back in his head.  

“You are welcome,” Kyran said sitting back down, and smoothing down his hair. “Rina, care to go help them out?” 

“I’ll go too,” Ella said, her heart aching for the poor bride and groom.  Kyran snagged the edges of both their sleeves and the disappeared and reappeared on the bridge, where the families of both were already gathered, picking u the Source, who alternately snarled, sobbed, and screamed at the skylals. 

“Shh,” Rina said gently, pressing a hand to her temple, and the young woman stilled, and Kyran set to work removing Seth’s daggers from her body, as Rina healed the gaping wounds.  

“I’m sorry,” Ella turned to the skylals, “You ought to continue with the ceremony. We can take care of this.” 

Henna and Taik just looked at her, and nodded, shaking the slightest bit. Kyran disappeared along with Rina with the body, and Ella ushered everyone back to their seats.  But there was still one more disturbance to take care of.

 Seth’s Aunt Tarla had marched over to them and was shaking him and screaming at him.

Seth was still unconscious.  

“How could you do that and make such a scene!” she bellowed at him, yanking at him cruelly, “You are disgracing this House, your parents would be terribly ashamed.” 

Seth’s parents had died three years ago, and his aunt had overtaken the legacy of the House of Arenciel instead of Seth himself, deeming him too young to take up the duties as the head. So Seth had run away, relying on his unwieldy powers to help him survive.

“You’re going to give him severe brain damage,” Ella turned gratefully, to find her mother standing there, gently pulling Seth away from his aunt. 

 “Asta,” Ella said with relief, giving her a quick hug, “Where’s Ba?”  

“Trying to keep Sahrina’s parents calm.” She took Taka’s arm, and escorted her back to her seat, after giving Ella a kiss. 

“Please continue,” Violet said loudly, glaring around the venue, “Right now!”

A half hours later, the ceremony had concluded, and Prince was sending of streaks of brilliant purple light into the air as the newlyweds kissed and descended down the bridge.

Prince ushered them towards the courtyard where the food and dancing were to begin. The Source had been detained and Violet was currently talking to her, but she’d instructed the guardians to enjoy themselves for the rest for the night. 

The sky was darkening to a sunset of gold, rose and blood-red, a gorgeous sky for a gorgeous night. 

Slipping between the crowds of silken skirts, Ella searched for the rest of the guardians who had mysteriously disappeared. Stopping by a long table of food to take a glass of star cider, she felt someone yank on the edge of her skirt.

Laughing silently as she looked around to make sure no one was watching, she slipped underneath the table cloth to find the six other guardians grinning mischievously at her. An orb of orange light lit up their faces alone with what looked like an entire table’s worth of food.

“Good wedding,” Seth said approvingly, his mouth full.

“For you maybe,” Kyran said, his head almost completely bowed over as he tried not to hit his head on the table, “How do always keep weapons on you?”

Seth looked at Kyran solemnly and handed him a fruit tart as Nato and Valera bickered over the charka, flaky honey-drizzled pastry. 

Rina was already nearly asleep, her head on Prince’s shoulder, her lips stained with the bright red of raspberry pudding. Looking up, Prince caught her eye, his eyes haunting in the light, and his mouth quirked up in half a smile. 

It’s going to be a long life, Ella thought to herself, but with the others, perhaps it won’t be as bad as I think. 

I already love them all. 

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Tagging: @lmorasey, @nomadian-novelist, @onthewingsofwords, @feathered-quill, @stories-by-rie @sunlight-and-starskies, @coffeeandcommas @notquitenovelist @whatwasmyprevioususername​ @writingqueensworld  @feathered-inkling @extraisthmus @drowsy-quill @fictional-semantics @dowings @half-explored @writinginrosecoloredglasses @andiwriteunderthemoon @whimsicallytwisted @saxoniowrites @wordsofpaintandsmoke @peggydreadful @a-taleteller @blackcat1400 @cilly-musouka

[theotherbloodfart]

Token Part 2

This is part 2 to the request made by @craftygoateeprincess

WARNING: VIOLENCE

27 years later

Ellie clutches the small wooden box tightly. She hasn’t opened it in years. Only opens it when she’s very stressed or needs to remind herself that magic is real. That miracles are possible. And things have been going well enough. But ever since she’d returned to her childhood town, Derry Maine, she’d felt the old stress returning.

The town itself is in turmoil. Children had started going missing in the past few months. Just like they had when she’d been small. It was all so like it had been. But her case had been different. She’d been saved.

She opens the box and gazes at it’s contents. A shriveled, desiccated piece of rubber. An old deflated balloon. Papery and nearly faded to pink from it’s old rich color of vibrant red.

Ellie can remember the one who'd given this balloon to her. Her guardian angel, tho he’d claimed he wasn’t. “Angel of the sewers.” He’d said. She smiles as she gently closes the box, and slides it into the pocket of an errant shirt in her closet. To keep it hidden. To keep it safe. Then she turns to gaze at herself in the full length mirror upon the inside of the closet door. Studies herself before heading out.

Derry is hosting a large carnival and she is looking forward to it. It’ll be nice distraction from her hectic life. She chooses to ride a bike and, as she pedals, she can’t help but think about why she is here. She would have never wanted to return to this place yet, that childhood memory of being saved by……. Whoever Pennywise is……… holds her here.

The carnival is a grand time. She wins a stuffed clown. Carries it with her as she munches on a corndog and enjoys the sights. She is completely unaware of the violence being enacted on a young man not far away. Has no idea what she’s heading into as she leaves the carnival and heads down a dark street, pushing her bike along, the clown plush tucked into the basket of her bike, enjoying the night air. Doesn’t realize she’s on an intercepting course with the aggressors of this brutal act.

She hears them before she sees them. Once brutal beasts, now reduced to frightened children, they are running, shoving each other out of the way. Not far from splitting up to hide from their own implication. It is dark, and they are moving so fast, she has no time to react before the largest of them, a run down brutish male, knocks flat into her, causing her to flail the ground, the bike clattering atop her as he falls atop the bike. His weight causes the cold steel of the bike frame to bite into her flesh. The clown plush sails away and lands softly in the gutter. The other aggressors, not seeing their comrade fall, continue off.

“Get…… OFF…….. of me.” She gasps, pushing and clawing at him.

“HEY! FUCK YOU! YOU WERE IN MY WAY!” Her vision shatters into bright stars as his fist connects with her temple.

……………………………………………..

It moans with pleasure as It slurps the blood from It’s fingertips. As always, the salty sweet of human terror leaves It sated. Not fully satisfied. Never fully satisfied. But it dulls the aching hunger for some time.

Turning It’s slender hands, It uses the cleaner portions of It’s silken gloves to slowly wipe the gore from It’s lips and cheeks. Crouching there, near the sewer pipe, cleaning It’s face with It’s hands, the glowing orbs of It’s eyes flashing about and occasionally disappearing as It’s eyes close, It looks feral and cat like. It doesn’t need to do this, could easily will Itself clean, but It relishes in the wildness of this action. Of both dirtying and cleaning Itself. Enjoys the mockery of the actions of living things that this represents.

It crouches lower, leaning It’s weight onto It’s finger tips upon the ground, tilting It’s head, then becomes motionless. It’s pupils wander in opposite directions. The yellow light from a nearby street light reflects off of a thin line of saliva running from It’s drooping lower lip. It is listening.

It can hear a struggle, smell animal like fear. An inhuman fanged smile splits It’s face.

…………………………………………………

Ellie is still conscious, but almost wishes she isn’t. She registers the tickling warm sensation of liquid running from her nose. Blood. The vision of the male above her swims. The blurry figure pulls back his elbow, as if he intends to punch her again. She struggles to lift her face, her vision clearing, yet the weight of both man and bike crush the air from her lungs.

And suddenly, the weight is gone. The bike is still there, but the man is no longer upon it. His face is also no longer in her vision. She struggles up to support herself on one elbow.

When she sees where he’s gone, her entire body reacts. Freezes. Her eyes widen. Her mouth dries. It’s him! Her sewer angel!

The clown seems bigger than she remembers. And dirtier. The ruff around his neck is blood stained, as is the front of his suit and the orange poofs are sodden and limp from it. His chin and cheeks also have several obvious smears of blood upon them as well.

He’s holding the male by his neck by one hand, his glove appearing brown from dried blood. His fingers grasp so tightly that she can see the male’s flesh puckering around his fingers. He’s flailing and kicking, clawing uselessly at the silver clad arm. His actions make the strings of tiny bells here shimmer and tinkle. His face is turning purple, his tongue lolls out of his slack mouth. The whites of his eyes are visible as he gazes upon his aggressor in utter terror.

“Hello Webby.” The voice is just as she remembers as well, only he isn’t talking in the same sing song way. He’s gleefully snarling his words. Hungry.

“Whatcha runnin from?” The clown purses his lips playfully, his brows raising. He looks like an inquisitive painted child for the barest of moments before speaking again. “You afraid of a lil gay boy, Webby?” The clown makes a loud wet kissie face at the male before he throws his head back to roar laughter at the night sky.

Webby, or so Ellie now believes the male is called, chokes out, and reaches out a desperate hand to try to strike the face of the clown, but his arm doesn’t reach. The clown now stares at him mildly, before opening his mouth. Wide, wider. Webby makes bubbling noises, trying to scream, as the clown’s teeth lengthen and sharpen. His gums push past his lips, more teeth blossoming from the red flesh with wet popping sounds. He leans forward with comical slowness. He looks as if he’s about to bite directly onto the face of the man.

Ellie is in awe of him. He appears as some alien bipedal lion. She should be afraid. She SHOULD be. But she’s not. This Webby had HURT her. Had intended to hurt her even more. Yet here was her friend, rescuing her again. He was a lot dirtier and far more fearsome than she remembered. Vicious and terrifying and brutal. He is beautiful.

“Pennywise.” This is barely more than a whisper. She hasn’t even realized that she’s murmured it. But the clown freezes, his mouth splayed wide around Webby's face, a few of the longer teeth already puncturing his skin.

He slowly pulls his face away from the man’s, his gaping maw slowly retracting, before slinging it around to finally look at her. His lips are set in an irritated sneer, the rows of scalpel teeth still quite visible, his buck teeth apparent in the display, though longer and sharper. The dried blood on his chin is wet again from the deluge of saliva, which drizzles down onto his stained neck ruff. His eyes are a bloody red that she’s never seen before, and they glow like dirty neon.

Webby is still flailing miserably, still moving the clown’s bells in a desperate rhythm. Yet Pennywise doesn’t seem the least bit taxed from holding him suspended in one hand.

“You know ole Pennywise?” The tone of his voice is wicked and raspy and dark. His irises twitch and one drifts back to gaze at Webby as the other remains focused on Ellie. His nostrils flare and his head jerks. His mouth hangs slack and he’s making animal snuffing noises as he takes in her scent on the light breeze. Reads her thoughts.

Then his lips spread again, revealing impossible rows of teeth as he grins at her.

“Elliiiiiieeeeee.” It’s a low, drawn out hiss. Without moving the rest of his body, the clown tosses Webby carelessly away, both eyes now focused on her own eyes.

Webby splutters and struggles to stand.

“Better leave that light on in the hallway, Webby.” The clown’s eyes remain fixed on Ellie as he speaks. “I most certainly WILL be in your linen closet next time.” A low hiccuping growl leaks from his mouth. The most evil and quiet laughter ever imaginable. Webby’s face recoils in horror as he turns and runs soundlessly away.

Ellie is now completely alone with Pennywise for the first time in 27 years.

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 link (HERE)

Chapter 14: I Can't Say That I'm Sorry…

BANG.

Trini stumbles over her own two feet, trying to get some-- if not any-- sort of stability. But it’s no use. She face plants against the familiar beige shag carpeting with a mind-numbing thud.

“Fuck,” Trini groans. She rolls over onto her back and takes a moment to collect herself. The world spins out of control. Trini shuts her eyes hard and tries to remain as still as humanly possible. Anything to prevent the oncoming wave of nausea.

Teleportation.

God, how she’s forgotten what a bitch it can be.

Convenient as hell, but the freakin’ side effects…

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Trini senses the sudden presence of Kim, Jason, and Billy all materializing in various places around her. A chorus of groans and curses fill the room as they too are hit dead on with the notorious teleportation hangover.

“Jesus,” Jason mutters. “That felt way worse than before.”

“I think something might be messing with the--”

“Max!” Kim’s panicked-stricken shouts slice through Billy’s words like a white-hot knife, immediately setting Trini’s hairs on end. Her eyes pop back open and for the first time, gets a good look at the tattered remains of what used to be Mamaji and Bapu’s living room.

A sea of shattered glass and splintered wood blanket almost every inch of space, with the occasional pieces of larger broken furniture strewn throughout. It’s wrecked beyond recognition.

Trini’s gut starts to churn with sickening deja vu sensation. It’s all a little too eerie for her liking. Flashes of long forgotten memories pop, like flashbulbs in the forefront of Trini’s mind. She’s seen this scene before. Years ago. When a possessed Green Ranger up and kidnapped the person that mattered most to Trini.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Max! Baby!” Kim cries out again choking back a hint of a sob.

“Tommi? Zack?” Billy chimes in. His voice echoes throughout the house but only the sounds of the storm pounding away respond.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This isn’t good. Why isn’t anyone responding?

Please someone-- anyone-- respond.

“Wait. Stop. Whatever did this might still be in the house,” Jason says in a whisper, slowly rising to his feet with a sudden heightened sense of alarm. He reaches out to touch Kim’s arm, but before he can make contact, she wrenches it away.

“Kim--” But Kim doesn’t wait for Trini to finish her sentence. She takes off at an accelerated rate towards the stair and disappears out of sight.

“Fuck! Kimberly wait,” Jason races after Kim, leaving Trini and Billy no choice but to follow suit.

Trini body screams out in agony as she flies up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Every single cut. Every scrape. They all ignite at once as if the invisible band-aids from their Ranger healing powers have been ripped right off.

Weak.

She feels weak.

Weaker than ever before.

Something’s wrong.

No. Scratch that. It’s beyond wrong. They passed wrong hours ago.

She can’t afford to be weak. Not now.

“Max!!!” Kim’s desperate screams for her son snap Trini out of her thoughts and straight back into the sheer horror of the present moment. She hits the top step of the stairs with an extra painful thud and then stops to look back at Billy.

“Go check the master bedroom,” Trini tells Billy and then heads straight to join Jason and Kim in her bedroom.

Just like the living room, Trini’s bedroom is nothing more than a massive tangled mess of broken debris. Her eyes lock in on the crater-sized holes that pepper the walls and she can’t help but reach up and trace the faint scars along her neck. The first of far too many souvenirs from similar type encounters.

Jason, Kim, and Trini stare at the carnage before them for a moment or two, paralyzed by the endless possibilities of what took place inside these walls, then suddenly--

A groan.

It's faint, but it's there. Originating from the very depths of a small mountain of debris.

“Max!” Kim starts to blindly dig, paying little to no regard to how the broken shards of glass slice through her skin as she does.

Wordlessly, Trini and Jason join in, clearing pieces of debris at a breakneck speed. The moans grow louder and more profound as they make their way through the pile clearly signifying that it isn't Max. Kim’s face falls with disappointment.

“Zack?!” Trini shouts. “Zack. Hang in there. We’re coming!”

Zack lets out another groan in response prompting them to move at an even more rapid rate.

“Here. Help me lift this,” Jason says as he grabs hold of the mangled remains of Trini’s wooden headboard. These words strike a chord with Trini.

Jason can’t lift it by himself.

She isn’t the only one who’s feeling off.

But why?

What the fuck is happening?

“Got it.” Trini takes hold, but Kim remains frozen in place, eyes combing the rest of the room for a sign-- any sign-- of Max.

“On three. 1… 2… 3…” Both Jason and Trini let out matching grunts as they lift up the headboard, revealing a bloody and battered Zack beneath it. One of his eyes is swollen shut from extreme bruising and thin red lines trail out of his nostrils. It’s bad but yet he still manages to flash a goofy grin at the sight of them.

“Hey… You cut your hair,” Zack says as he looks up at Trini and then falls into a slight coughing fit. He struggles for a moment to catch his breath as his lungs adjust to the fresh air.

Trini lets out a wet bark of a laugh and shakes her head in relief.  

“Zack…” Jason goes to help him, but Zack raises his hand signaling to stop.

“I’m okay. Just needed a second,” Zack responds and then slowly pushes himself up, shaking off the rest of the debris as he does. He’s covered head to toe in an array of angry red gashes as if someone-- or something-- more than went to town on his body.

Shit.

She hasn’t seen Zack this bad in years…

Maybe not ever.

If he looks like this, then what about Tommi and Max?  

“What happened? Where’s Max?” Kim starts in, unable to hide the panic in her voice. Trini’s eyes shoot over towards the raven-haired girl as the pang of pure guilt cuts deeper. She wants so desperately to reach out and comfort her. To tell her that everything will be alright. That they will find Max safe and alive and somehow return the world back to its regular order.

But Trini holds back. She knows better. Kim hasn’t said a single word to her-- let alone looked her in the eyes-- since the moment she revealed that she knew where the Epithymía stone was.

“Dunno. One minute Mad Max was kicking our asses at Monopoly and then the next… The next we were under attack. I can’t remember much. Just all the windows shattering and the house filling with this sick looking yellow fog. We couldn’t see shit… I told Tommi to take Max and run. Figured she was the better one to protect him. Me being one arm down and all… And then… Then I dunno. It’s all fuzzy. Like someone scrambled my memories or something,” Zack says as a look of confusion slowly takes over his face.

“Fuck,” Trini exhales.

“Where’s Tommi?” Kim asks Zack.

“I… I don’t know…” Zack looks around the room, still battling against a haze of confusion. But this isn’t the answer Kim’s looking for. She moves closer to Zack, eyes narrowing with a fierce determination that is more than unnerving.

“Think, Zack. What direction did she and Max go in? Towards the basement? The kitchen? The garage?”

“I… I…” Zack fumbles over his words as his mentally grasps at straws.

“Kim…” Jason steps in between Zack and Kim, creating a human barrier. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find them.”

“You don’t know that!” Kim fires back.

“You’re right. I don’t, but this isn’t the time for us to--”

“Guys!!!” Billy’s voice slashes through the tension of the room, instantly causing all heads to turn towards the doorway. “Come quick! It’s Tommi!”

And that’s all any of them need to hear. Trini, Zack, Kim, and Jason take off out of the bedroom and race down the stairs towards the sound of Billy’s voice.

“Billy! Where are you?” Jason yells back as they make their way back into the living room and pause for a moment.

“In the basement. Hurry!”

“Hang on. We’re coming!” Jason leads the way as the four of them fly down the rickety wooden steps and descend upon the basement.

Unlike the rest of the house, the basement is untouched with no single piece of debris to be found anywhere. Everything looks exactly the way it did when they last left except for--  

Tommi.

She lays virtually lifeless in the dead center of the concrete floor, surrounded by a pool of her own blood with Billy in the process of checking her vitals.

Trini stares at the sight before her, unable to breathe. It’s as if an invisible force has sucker-punched her straight in the chest, knocking out her ability to inhale even the slightest breath of air.  

No.

NO.

NO.

Not Tommi.

She can’t be…

NO.

She can’t…

“Tommi!” Zack yells lunging towards them but is held back by Jason.

“Zack…”

“Let me go!”

“No,” Jason tightens his grip on his friend, momentarily ignoring his array of injuries. “Billy?”

“I was in the process of searching and found her laying here. Her pulse is faint, and breaths on the right side sound shallow. Think it might be punctured lung. Maybe from a broken rib, but I can’t tell. Not without the vitals scanner,” Billy rattles off, never once taking his attention off of Tommi.

“Where’s Max?... Max!” Kim starts to frantically scourge the basement, checking every possible hiding spot as if Max will magically appear if she just searches hard enough.

“Kim…” Jason says with a hint of a quiver to his voice, fighting to keep his emotions in check. “He’s not here.”

“You don’t know that!” Kim whips back around to face Jason again, now in full-blown mama bear mode.

“Kim, if he were here, he’d answer us.”

“Why isn’t she awake? She should’ve woken up by now. Right?” Zack asks, eyes fixated on Tommi and Tommi alone. He watches helplessly as Billy continues to assess Tommi’s wounds, growing more and more anxious by the second.

“Her coin,” Jason responds.

Billy instantly stops what he is doing and checks Tommi’s pockets. But there’s nothing… Nothing at all.

No coin.

Trini’s eyes grow wide with a sickening horror as Billy looks back at them empty-handed. “It’s not here.”

Fuck.

Where’s her coin?

The Green Power Coin.

It can’t be missing.

“What?” Zack blurts out in disbelief. “Where is it?”

“Oh god… It’s got the coin,” Kim quietly states. All color drains from her face as the horrific realization fully sinks in.

“What’re you talking about? Who’s got the coin?” Zack’s eyes dart wildly between the group, searching for answers. But there are none to be found.

“Billy, check again.” Jason vigorously rubbing the back of his neck now unable to hold back his emotions.

“But baby…”

“Check again.”

Billy moves to search Tommi again when suddenly her body starts to convulse, locked in the throes of a full-blown seizure. “No… No… No…”

“Do something!” Zack screams as tears freely flow down his face.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I… I can’t… I don’t have anything here…” Billy stutters in response. He rolls Tommi to her side and trying to prevent any further self-inflicted damage. It’s feeble at best, but there’s nothing else Billy can do.

“We need to get her to the ship,” Jason says, matching Zack’s tears with fresh ones of his own.

“She doesn’t have her coin. The teleporter won’t work without one. We’ve tried. Remember what happened to Mr. Floppy? It needs our coins to activate the sequence.”

“We still have our coins. What if one of us teleports with her? That could work, right?”

“Wait. What happened to Mr. Floppy?” Kim asks with concern.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Billy continues to brace Tommi’s body as it uncontrollably bucks against him.“I… I guess, but… But there’s a chance that--”

“I’ll do it,” Zack interrupts Billy.

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “You’re in no shape to. I’ll do it.”

“Fuck you, Scott. She’s my fiancé. I’m doing it.”

“What the fuck happened to Mr. Floppy??” Kim forcefully asks again, desperate for an answer.

“He didn’t make it,” Jason responds.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“What’d you mean he didn’t make it?”

“Uh, guys…” Billy shouts, grabbing everyone’s attention. “She… She… She stopped breathing.”

FUCK!

And with those words, Trini suddenly unfreezes. She races over towards Billy and Tommi, and then, with a hard shove, pushes Billy out of the way.

“Trini! No!” Kim screams out, but it’s too late. There’s no other choice. Not for Trini.

“I’m sorry,” Trini whispers under her breath. She wraps her arms around Tommi’s body and without another moment’s hesitation, activates the button on her teleporter wristband.

[breaking-shadows]

Breaking Shadows

Chapter 1

Deceit did not sit well with me. Sneaking out and lying were not the sort of things I did, and yet tonight I had done both. I took a swig from the bottle in my hand, grimacing at the bitter taste. The glass knocked against my teeth.

    “God, Riley, you’re quiet. You’re here now, you might as well enjoy it.” Kat knelt on the blanket beside me.

    As soon as she sat down, I could smell it; the stench of stale smoke burning my nostrils. “Please tell me you haven’t been smoking,” I coughed, waving a hand in front of my face to waft the fumes away.

    “Of course I haven’t.” she said before diving into her bag to retrieve a shocking pink aerosol can. She sprayed it all over herself with a few squirts into the air for good measure. “Simon insists he won’t stop though, so until Channing Tatum becomes free it looks like I’m sticking with him. Anyway, back to you, what’s up?”

    I balanced the almost full bottle in the grass, the contents settling uneasily in my stomach.

“I’m just on edge, you know what my grandmother gets like. She hates me being out past dark. She’ll kill me if she finds out.” It wasn’t a lie. My grandmother worried over the slightest thing.

    “You’re seventeen, but if you’re that worried, we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t find out. Where’s Will?”

    I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him for a while. The last time I did, he was fighting his way to the front of the crowd.” With a short bow of my head I nodded towards the fifty-deep crowd who were dancing and swaying in ways that didn’t suit the heavy metal band rocking it out on the stage.

    Kat had spent weeks begging me to break my grandmother’s strict rules and sneak out to the clandestine festival. Now sat here with my ears ringing because of the constant din, I wished I hadn’t bothered. My boyfriend Will had barely looked at me, never mind spent any time with me. Smoke cloaked around seeping into my pores, so it could invade my lungs, choking them. Makeshift firepits sprang up everywhere in the clearing in the middle of Derwent Woods.

    “Do you want to go find him?” Kat tilted her head and fluttered her fake eyelashes.

    I’d known her long enough to know she wasn’t asking and before I knew it, Kat had pulled me to my feet. “Come on, let’s see if we can get Will to put a smile on your face. If anyone can, I’m sure it’s him.”

    We delved deeper through the crowd; it wasn’t easy to navigate the twisting bodies and flailing arms, some of which smacked me straight in the face. The stench was almost unbearable, cheap perfume, the musty smell of beer all mixed in with sweat and smoke.

    “I can’t see them, can you?”

    “They’ve got to be here somewhere,” said Kat. She craned her neck to scan the crowd. “Tell you what, if you go to the right, I’ll go this way and we’ll send the other one a text if we find them. OK? Great.”

    “Kat wait!” But the mass of bodies had already swallowed my friend, bottles of alcohol raised in the air, the crowd singing as loud as their voices would let them.

    Fighting my way in the direction Kat had told me to go, I was confronted by one unfamiliar face after another. They swam before my eyes and merged into one continuous blur.  

    Heat rose in my face and I could feel sweat coating my forehead, droplets running down the length of my neck. I tugged at the stiff collar of my denim jacket but the more I did, the more it closed around my throat like a vice.

    More limbs struck.

    I fought for oxygen.

    My hand raced around my neck in a frantic motion to reassure me nothing was actually choking me. The contents of the dancing bottles dripped down onto my hair and skin. I’d stink of the stuff.

    Making my way to the back of the crowd, pushing through people as though they were water and I was desperate for the shore, I broke out into the open. I inhaled as much fresh air as I could, letting the space tackle and subdue the panic rising within me. The constant sound of the band roaring on was the only reminder of where I was, the only thing preventing me from falling to my knees and making a spectacle of myself before most of the year twelves and thirteens.

    But I wasn’t alone.

    There, standing right in the middle of the clearing, isolated, was a figure. A man, shoulders wide and broad. He was staring, gaze steady and unmoving, his lips slightly parted. Shock registered on his face and a darkness bloomed in his widening eyes. They burned with an intensity so bright that the night sky with all its stars and wonders paled in comparison.

    Those eyes unnerved me, but I couldn’t look away.

    My eyes moved to the untamed tangle of black hair hanging loose just above his shoulders.

His leather jacket looked worn and battered and his skin-tight dark jeans silhouetted his strong legs against the light of the moon. In that moment, I believed I had never seen anything more beautiful. Electricity pulsed in my veins.

    Turning to the crowd, I expected to see the focus of his attention but only found a wall of human backs. When I sought him again, he had gone, vanished into the night air as though he had never been there at all. There was a niggling in my stomach which I did my best to ignore.

    A hand clamped down on my shoulder and I spun blood throbbing.

    “Where have you been?”

    I took hold of Kat’s rolled-up sleeves. “Did you see him? Tell me you saw him.”

    “What are you talking about? Who?”

    “The man! He was there!” I pointed to the clearing, metres away where I swore he had stood. “Right there, leather jacket, tall, great-looking. As in exquisitely good-looking.”

    But Kat shook her head. “Nope, but if you see him again make sure you give me a shout because he sounds lovely. Come on, I’ve found the boys.” Grabbing hold of my wrist, Kat pulled me through the thronging crowd where I couldn’t help but examine every face, looking for the one that had set my nerve-endings on fire.

    Glancing back, my eyes met with the dancing flames of the firepits, the darkness behind the tress that framed the clearing and the empty void where Riley now doubted she had seen him at all.

    When we reached Will and Simon, we found that the boys had worked their way right to the front. The lyrics were flying from their mouths, out of tune and delivered between swigs of the beer Kat had made me try earlier. As soon as Will locked eyes with me, he stumbled towards me with a widening grin on his handsome face. I felt a pang in my stomach when I remembered what I’d thought about the man in the clearing.

    “Where have you been?” he croaked. His voice broke under the strain of singing misheard lyrics at the top of his voice. His hands were all over my back, moving lower and lower. He leaned in ready to place a kiss on my lips. Reaching back, I stopped his hands from travelling further but welcomed the intimate kiss I’d waited all night for.

    He tasted of that wretched alcohol but despite the horrible taste, my heart leapt. Reaching up, I ran my hand through his short, dirty-blond hair.

    “We need more time together,” he said, lips pressed against my ear. “Alone.”

    I tensed. I knew the meaning behind those words but instead of showing how I really felt, I plastered a smile on my face. After all, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Having pined for him for the last four years with not one sign I was even on his radar, I was determined to make the most of being his.

   Screams pierced the deafening music and my happy bubble exploded.

    “What was that?” I asked but Will had already let me go.

    Panic rolled through the gathered crowd like a violent wave upon the sea. Frantic bodies were running in all directions. I stood still long enough to feel the loss of Will’s body heat and watch him leave me to join the dispersing group.

    “Will?”

    The music cut off followed by a large crash as the musicians abandoned their instruments hastily.

    “Will? Kat?” My friends had gone and left me alone. Pinpointing a few escaping bodies, I ran to them. The screaming was terrible. It seemed to drill into ever pore, puncturing my skin until I couldn’t think straight.

    I fell to the ground.

    There was no pain at first but as I lifted my hands up from the grassy field, thick blood trickled from a jagged wound across my palm. Looking down, I saw the fragmented remains of a glass bottle hidden in the grass, coated in my blood.

    There was more than I expected, and it wasn’t stopping. I noticed the dark droplets, black in the moonlight, ran down the long blades. Hitting the ground, they sizzled, steal rose high and the world began to spin. Idly, I considered how lucky I was to already be on my knees, otherwise, I would have fallen again.

    Out of the darkness created by the canopy of trees from the surrounding wood, shadows emerged. There were one or two at first and then more came. They moved forward in quick, sharp jerks barely touching the ground with their stick-like limbs. The only creatures I had ever seen scurry like that were spiders.

    My own breathing drummed in my ears as all sound from the rest of the world died; blood thumped drowning out everything else. As they neared, I noted the dull white of their skin as it stretched over thin, sharp bones like a translucent film. Two pointed pincers bulged out of the side of their head and around the front of their faces whilst fire danced in their almond-shaped feline eyes. Their features were small and neat giving them an almost feminine element.

    I was the only one left in the clearing now. Bloody typical considering I was the most reluctant to be there out of everyone. Only me and a dozen of these things. Pushing myself up, I grimaced at the pain in my hand. After steadying my feet, I took calculated steps backwards, taking care not to trip over the abandoned debris strewn over the grass. With every step, the creatures seemed to quicken theirs, needles stabbing material.

  “Are you going to make a half-arsed attempt to get away or just let them capture and kill you?”

    The voice was rich and deep in an accent I couldn’t place. Silken almost and seemed to cause an eruption of sparks inside me. A body towered over me and grabbed my wrist. I turned to look upon the face of the man from the clearing. It was no longer unreadable with his creased brow and lips set into a firm line.

    My heart faltered. Shit.

    “Come on,” he hissed, pulling me with him. We ran as fast as we could across the grass back towards the stage. Being much shorter than he was, I struggled to keep up with his longer strides. He moved with grace across the ground whilst I spent most of my energy just trying to stay upright.

    He glanced over his shoulder. “They’re gaining on us. Hurry!” He increased his speed pulling me along with him, the grip on my wrist so tight it burned.

    Each penetrating stab reverberated across the ground and the nearer they got, the more I could hear a strange high-pitched screech. He pulled me to the side of the now abandoned stage to where a silver and black motorcycle leaned to one side, propped up by a short leg.

    “Hop on,” he said, as he leapt on himself. With a kick of his boot, the leg flicked up, and the engine roared into life. He looked at me once more. “Hurry, what are you waiting for?”

    “There’s isn’t a helmet.” I hesitated.

    His eyes widened, amusement flickering in them. “Seriously? We are getting chased by demons who I know want to kill us and you’re worried about where the helmet is?”

    Demons. He said the word demons. Double shit.

    “Good point,” I hitched up my long skirt and threw my leg over the other side of the motorbike. At first, I didn’t know where to place my hands and settled for the thin strip of leather between us.

    “Here,” he reached round, grabbed both of my hands and pulled them around his waist. My chest crashed into his back and even through the layers of our clothes I could feel the strength of it. I already knew I was blushing.

    “I need you to hold on,” he shouted over the noise of the engine.

    Brushing the contours of the muscles on his taut stomach brought heat to my cheeks, burning. Thankfully, he couldn’t see my face.

    Together, we sped away and the creatures gave chase.  The man drove straight into the forest and Riley wondered if he hoped the trees would act as an obstacle and slow them down.

    Derwent Forest itself, was thick and known for the dense canopy overhead that blocked most sunrays from breaking through. As it was night, everywhere around us was black except for the metre in front which the bike’s headlamp illuminated.

    “What did you say those things were?” I shouted in his ear.

    “Demons,” he shouted back. “Arachna more specifically, half human and half spider. All of them are female.”

    “But they can’t be, they just can’t.”

    “Female or demons? Hang on!” he steered left, avoiding a thick row of tree trunks. He showed great driving ability as he weaved in and out of the trunks, navigating root laden and bush covered paths as though he had driven this way a thousand times.

    When I dared to look behind us, my loose hair lashed my face like gilt-coloured whips. My faux daisy headband had stayed in place, which was a good thing because if it flew off I’d make him go back for it. Demons be damned.

    “They’re getting closer!”

    “They can’t move that quick! These are new ones emerging from the undergrowth.”

    My head snapped back to him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

    “None of this is about making you feel better,” he called back, swerving again.

    We hit an emerging root. My hands wrapped around him tighter to stop myself from falling off but he jumped the bike and landed us back on the ground on the other side.

    “You OK back there?”

    “Yes,” I replied as the wind rushed and whistled by my ear.

    A volcano of dirt and greenery erupted in front of us. The man jammed the brakes on and skidded, landing at an angle as two white pincers grappled out of the ground. He seemed to think for a moment before he flew off in the direction we were facing.

    “Not much further now,” he called back to me.

    “What do you mean?” The motorbike hurtled at such a speed now I was forced to gasp for breath and found it difficult to speak.

     “You’ll see.”

    In the distance, I could see the darkness of the forest fading until a dark navy blue took over and then lighter still as we neared the edge of the forest.

    I knew the creatures were still coming, I could hear the clicking sound they made with their mouths and the repetitive thuds as they stabbed the ground. I felt easier now knowing we would soon be out of the forest but there was a twist in my gut that had nothing to do with the vicious looking monsters but more with a pissed off grandmother. There was not one occasion I hadn’t adhered to my grandmother’s many strict rules but in one night I had broken at least three of them. I was out after my eight o’clock curfew; I had spoken to a stranger, and I was on a bike without appropriate headwear. Demon creatures or not, I was in for it.

    We broke through the boundary of the forest and entered the village. When he slowed down, I realised we were right outside Valestone’s Norman church, the closed lichgate ahead.

    The man spun the bike, so we landed parallel to the forest with the church behind us. He twisted the key, and the noise died.

    “What are you doing? They will get us here.” When I spoke, it felt like I was underwater. My words appeared muffled, my ears blocked.

    The creatures still approached.

    My head felt light and sweat coated my palms as the translucent skin of the demons came into view, shining like pearls in the moonlight.

    He ignored me, eyes fixed dead ahead. I wasn’t even sure he was still breathing.

    “Rude,” but I only dared mutter the word under my breath.  

    One creature placed a pincer across the boundary of the forest, marked by a row of uniform trees. As soon as they did, electric flashes like lightning, surged up the offending limb until it covered the whole demon. It sizzled and crackled before its body went limp and slumped to the ground, lifeless. Two other demons scurried up to the dead body, trying to nudge it alive but when it didn’t move, they retreated in a hurry taking the whole horde with them.

    “The village is protected. They can’t come here.”

    “Why is that?”

    “You need to go home. Now.”

    I dismounted and stood by the side, arms folded across my chest in annoyance. “That’s it? No explanation? Oh hello, demons exist, you have a nice night now. Goodbye! That’s all I get?”

    “What more do you want? I’ve just saved your life, that’s enough for today.” His eyes, I still couldn’t see what colour, glittered in the moonlight. “You need to go home.”

    I opened my mouth to say something when I realised I didn’t know what to say. What more did I want? “Right. Well, yes, I should go home then. Nice bike, by the way.”

    He rubbed the back of his neck whilst staring at the motorcycle. “Yeah, it’s not mine. Some idiot left it back at the festival with the keys still in the ignition. An idiot I am very grateful to. I’m just going to leave this here.” He dismounted and offered a sly smile. “Are you going to be OK?”

    “Ah well, that all depends on whether my grandmother is awake, which considering that female spider demons have just attacked our neighbouring town, I’m guessing she will know something about it by now. Everyone tells my gran everything.” I studied the gash across my palm, flecks of dried blood formed a boundary around the open wound.

    “Are you hurt?”

    I snatched my hand away, hiding it by my side. “Just a little scratch.”

    He nodded. Staring. God those eyes. A shiver teased my spine. I found that I could not look at them long before a feeling that brought colouring shame to my cheeks took over. “Thank you for what you did,” I offered.

    “Don’t mention it,” he said throwing the words away as though they were rubbish. “Everyone else had the sense to leave.”

    I let the last comment deflect off me. “Well, thanks anyway,” I forced myself away from him, hurrying towards home. It took the control of every muscle and every bone in my body not to look back.

Chapter 2

[imagine-loki]

The Shadow Of Your Heart

TITLE: The Shadow Of Your Heart

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 (of 10)

AUTHOR: FadingCoast

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are Sigyn who saves Loki from torture.

RATING: Mature.

NOTES/WARNINGS: Sexual innuendos (no explicit sex) / blood / violence / torture.

Loki and Sigyn have known eachother since childhood. Tired of waiting, she gets engaged to another man, but Loki won’t accept it, and tricks Sigyn into marrying him instead. Will they get through married life, children and Ragnarok (sort of)?

Chapter warnings: Mentions of blood and torture, again. I should mention that english isn’t my first language, and I often struggle with synonyms and rephrasing ideas. Writing this chapter was hard because of that: my head was sure of what I wanted to portray, but words failed me a few times. So, I apologize if, at times, it is a little redundant.

Recommended song: Heavy In Your Arms - Florence and the Machine.

Also on Ao3

.-

Ch. 7: Are you strong enough to stand protecting both your heart and mine?

Breathe.

Inhale– A wave of pain stopped his chest from moving.

He had to be reminded on how to get air inside his lungs. It hurt. The peeled skin left his flesh exposed, with each intake his burns ripped open all over again. Blood trickled down his shoulders and his chest, his lower back punctured of the rocks underneath. His hair was sticking to his forehead, matted with blood and sweat.

Breathe.

He tried again, this time slower. The pain was a little more bearable, but it still made his muscles scream in agony. He pulled at the chains in his wrists, the metal digging into his forearms served as a distraction from the pain in his torso. He gulped the air down greedily, keeping it in his lungs for as long as he could before breathing out slowly.

Loki kept his eyes shut, it made no difference in the pitch black cave. He braced himself, now that he was awake, he would feel every bit of the dripping poison in his bare body. Every spell he had tried to use to block it had been useless: the venom would find a way.

It would burn his skin, it would expose his flesh, it would make him bleed, it would make him scream until his throat was sore, it would leave smoking traces and an acrid smell of burnt meat. The next drops would melt into his muscles, turning them into a gelatinous gunk, until it would reach the bone. His shoulder blades had already suffered, he had spent the last of his energy trying to heal the wound and cover the exposed bone. That’s when he had passed out.

“Loki?”

He heard a small whisper in the back of his head. Sigyn, he thought. He had been so drained of his magic, that he had stopped trying to reach for her.

“Loki, please…”

He heard again and blinked his eyes open. A faint light was flooding the cave and he gasped, surprised. He regretted it immediately, as the wounds in his chest reopened.

“Shit.” Loki was screaming now, but it was short lived. Soon, a cool sensation against his flesh soothed the pain a bit. And he realized.

“The Hel are you doing here? How did you find me?” He said hoarsely, staring at his wife. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yet here I am.” Sigyn said with a quivering voice. “As how I found you, remember we’re bound together. There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”

Loki took in the picture in front of him: Sigyn’s skin was gastly white, her eyes bloodshot and swollen, with purple rings around them, her hair was a braided mess. Her robe was torn and dirty, with stains that he recognized as dry blood. Her trousers were ripped, showing several skid marks on her knee and leg. Her hands had been burnt, and they were shaking as they tended to his wounds. Suddenly, breathing became a lot easier.

“Here.” Sigyn said, offering Loki some water. After a couple of gulps, he felt better. “Not too much, I don’t want you throwing up on top of everything.” Loki just stared at her as she cleaned his face of the blood and the dirt before allowing him to drink a bit more.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Loki said softly. Sigyn cupped his face as gently as she could and kissed his chapped lips. Somehow, he managed to smile.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” Sigyn said, pressing her forehead on his.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been falling in and out of consciousness.” Loki shuffled uncomfortably, but in his position, there was only so much he could do. “How did you make the poison stop? I tried everything.”

“I didn’t make it stop.” Sigyn pointed to a circular bowl floating several inches above his head. “It will take a while to be full, but I do need you to get better before it does. I cannot drain it with magic.”

Loki nodded in understanding. “The handcuffs?”

“Sealed with a spell. In fact, those things are restraining your magic, not the poison.” As she spoke, Sigyn fed Loki small bits of fruit and chocolate.

Loki took a deep breath. It still hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like he was being skinned alive. Sigyn put her hand in the middle of his chest, making it glow gold. Loki could feel the soft tingle of magic surging through him. At first he resisted, as he didn’t want to wear her out, but she insisted. He managed to heal his wrists at last.

“Why doesn’t this work on the other wounds?”

“That’s snake venom. Skadi provided the snake. It must be cleansed before you can heal those wounds. Unfortunately, I can’t do it here. It requires a lot more than the satchel of herbs I managed to steal.” Sigyn helped Loki to get more comfortable against the rocks, using her cape.

“What now?” Loki said in a low voice.

“Now we try and figure something out, I guess.” Sigyn sat down between Loki’s legs, trying to clean his wounds as gently as she could. “You will get out of here, I promise.”

The bowl above them started shaking slightly. Sigyn looked at it and stood up in a rush. With one wordless look, Loki knew what was coming. He tried to brace himself, but sheer fear was breaking all his will.

Sigyn held the bowl. “Are you ready?”

Loki just nodded, pressing his teeth together and taking a deep breath. When Sigyn removed the bowl, it took a few seconds for the venom to drip onto Loki. He did a tremendous effort not to scream, but it was useless. His skin was still swollen and his muscles were still sore, this new wave of torture was way more than he could endure. Howling, he pulled at the shackles with such force that the whole cavern shook.

Sigyn tried to walk with the bowl full of venom as fast as she could to the back of the cave, trying her best to block Loki out, but some of the pain slipped right through. She could feel the burns in his back and the metal in his wrists. When the cavern shook, she stumbled a bit, causing the poison to slosh on her fingers. She nearly dropped the basin, but at least she was far enough so she could empty it.

She ran back, using her magic to put it again above Loki and stop the venom.

His skin was smoking and he was breathing heavily. Ignoring the pain on her hands, Sigyn hurried to clean Loki’s reopened wounds. The soothing magic allowed Loki to breathe normally again.

“Thanks.” He rasped. Sigyn resumed her position in between his legs, allowing him to drink a bit. “Your hands–”

“They will be fine.” She said, soaking her hands in the cold water. The burns closed half way through, but at least they didn’t hurt anymore. Then, she went back to cleaning Loki’s chest.

He stared at her, noticing the way she was clenching her jaw. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t do that.” She said, still concentrated in her work. “Don’t even try, cause no matter what you say, I am not abandoning you.”

Loki saw the tears welling up in her eyes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

“Told you not to do that.” Her voice broke. “I’ve lost everything in the past few weeks, I’m not about to lose you too.” Tears were falling down her face when she looked at him. Loki opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “And stop apologizing.”

.-

A loud crashing sound stirred Loki from his unconsciousness. In came the pain, and he screamed. Sigyn rushed back to his side and started fumbling with the satchel of herbs. In the brief pause the venom gave him, Loki noticed Sigyn’s hands were severely burnt. He puffed, trying not to scream again.

“The bowl broke, the poison wore it down and it started slipping through the cracks.” She explained briefly, holding a cup to Loki’s mouth with shaking hands.

He clenched his jaw. “What-?” Sigyn took advantage of the yell he gave to force half the liquid into his mouth. Loki felt the effect like boulder to the head. “You’re trying to numb me out.”

“Please, Loki, just drink.” Sigyn urged him and he complied begrudgingly, until he had drunk it all.

“You’re up to something.” Loki said, trying to fight the spell and the infusion. “What are you going to do?” He said groggily.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” Sigyn whispered before kissing him.

.-

Sneaking through the palace was never hard.

Sneaking to Odin and Frigga’s room, well, that was something new to her.

Sigyn thought about barging through the windows and demand they released Loki, it would suit her anger, but it could end up with her in the dungeons if someone saw her.

Instead, she managed to avoid the guards right to their chambers door and waited until the King and Queen were alone.

“Your majesties.” Sigyn said, breaking the heavy silence in the room. She had been in those chambers before, while the twins were being tutored by Frigga. Everything seemed exactly the same, as if the events that destroyed her family meant absolutely nothing to them.

“Sigyn.” Frigga gasped, startled. Odin came from the adjacent room and stared at her. “Where are you? Are you well?” The queen added: she had noticed it was just an illusion.

“Define well.” Sigyn said with disgust. “I am back in Asgard, I’ve come to bargain for my husband’s life.”

“I might take you more seriously if you chose to come yourself.” Odin crossed his arms on his chest.

“So you can have me flogged and thrown in the dungeons?” Sigyn smirked. “Hel, no.”

“We won’t do any of it.” Frigga stated, giving Odin a hard look. He just nodded and sat down.

Sigyn’s projection dissolved at the same time the real Sigyn opened the door. Frigga ran to her and hugged her to her chest, apologizing over and over again.

“I have been so worried! I had nightmares thinking you could’ve been killed trying to find Loki–”

“I did find him.” Sigyn said, completely unmoved by Frigga’s words and actions. A few apologies wouldn’t do, not after everything they had gone through.

“How?” Odin enquired, but Sigyn didn’t answer.

Frigga took Sigyn’s hands, and recognized the wounds. “That’s snake poison.” She muttered. Holding Sigyn’s wrist, she mouthed a short spell, the bright golden thread that bound Loki and Sigyn flickered against the burnt skin.

“How? When? How did you convince him?” Frigga said, absolutely confused.

Sigyn rolled her eyes. “It was his idea, and we got bound right after we got married.” She said, snatching her hand back from the queen’s grasp. “But of course that’s how low you’d think of him. He’s not even your son, is he?”

Odin shifted uncomfortably on his chair, while Frigga just retreated. “What makes you say that?”

Sigyn displayed her glowing wrist. “We’re bound. I can feel the glamouring spell inside of him.”

“Does he know?” Frigga muttered, while tears filled her eyes.

“No… I just noticed cause he’s been nearly depleted of his magic.”

“And we’ll all keep it that way.” Odin said menacingly.

“So many things are clear right now. Why you have always favored Thor, why you didn’t do anything when Nanna killed our sons, why you chose to punish him like this… Is he even an asgardian?”

“No, he’s not.” To Sigyn’s surprise, this time Frigga was the one talking.

“Silence, woman!” Odin warned, but Frigga chose to ignore him.

“For the Norns’ sake, Odin! We chose to adopt him after you found him in Jötunheim! We chose to raise him, and for what?” Frigga said, her voice was quivering, but she would not falter in front of the king this time. “To give him a life? A family? To be one of us for as long as you deemed necessary and then take it all away?”

“Jötunheim? He’s a frost giant?” Sigyn asked.

“Yes.” Frigga said, while still staring at the king. “Bring my son back home.”

“He’s not your son!”

“I choose for him to be my son, then!”

Odin mulled over what Frigga said, but Sigyn knew he wouldn’t give in so easily. “His punishment isn’t over yet. He still broke the ancient laws, he took justice into his own hands and murdered an innocent life that cannot be replaced.”

“If it’s a life you want, then take mine and end our misery.” Sigyn said.

Both king and queen looked at her. “Are you offering your life to save his?”

“If that is punishment enough for you, then yes.” She stood very still, her whole body was shaking, but she wouldn’t let them see.

“You’d still give your life for him, after knowing his true heritage? Why?”

Sigyn stared at Odin in disbelief, how could she start to explain what Odin was too small and simpleminded to see?

“Because I love him.” It was a really simple answer. “Because both of us are stuck in this half life. Loki in that cave, me a prisoner on this rock. I gave up my only chance of helping him by coming back here. If my life is going to give him his life back, then I’ll do it.”

“Let us assume that I consent to your request. Your terms?” Odin said.

“As I said, give Loki his life back. At least one of us will have a second chance.”

.-

Finally the imagine is in the story! Feedback is always appreciated as we’re nearing the end of this fic.

[autumnhobbit]

Dying without company

“You know,” Jason croaks hoarsely, his throat tight with pain and his chest burning from the effort of speaking, “in our line of work, no one expects to live forever.” He pauses to gulp for air that burns as it goes down, and he clenches his eyes shut at the pain the effort causes him–and at how his headache is being exacerbated by Bruce banging against the bars of the cage they’re locked in, roaring threats at their captors. He doesn’t seem to be hearing anything Jason’s saying–he just keeps slamming his hands against the metal frame surrounding them. Jason’s not even sure if he’s speaking English. His posture is wound tight, and anyone even half-sane who saw him this way would turn and run the other direction as quickly as possible.

Jason’s never been sane, though. Plus, there is the small matter of the shrapnel embedded in his chest and stomach–and, more pressingly, the holes the shrapnel left. He’s been trying to put pressure on them since a few minutes after he got them–the first few heartbeats after the rocket launcher fired were nothing but white noise and terror and painpainpain–but his hands are shaking and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good. There’s slippery, sticky blood all over his hands, drenching his uniform, and the few times he’s chanced glancing down at his body he’s only been able to scan the shredded skin, flapping muscle, and the slight darker color of an organ before he’s looked away. He licks his lips, swallows blood and grimaces. But he clears his throat slightly and goes on. “And look, I know I’ve never been a safety-first kinda guy–” A spasm in his stomach makes him clench his eyes shut, keen deep in his throat. “–but I kinda…” he pants, breathless, gives a half-hysterical laugh through his teeth. “…I thought I’d at least make it to thirty.”

It occurs to him, after a long moment of just trying to catch his breath after speaking, that it’s quiet. He chances a glance at Bruce, and blinks when he sees the man just standing there. He’s still clasping the bars, shoulders hunched and so tight Jason can practically feel the rage wafting off him.

Though on second thought, maybe it’s not rage. There’s blood welling up in Jason’s throat, and he can’t stifle a whimper at the sensation. He gags, and then goes into a coughing fit that has him lurching up off the floor slightly, his whole body burning from the inside out and blood everywhere and—

“Shhh.” Something strokes his hair, comforting and gentle. “Breathe, Jay.” There’s another hand on his back, holding him up and rubbing smooth circles. The voice is tense but soothing and reassuring, and Jason finds his gasps growing slower, easier–though he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. His vision comes back slowly, colors bursting into his view in painful light. Bruce’s face, cowl still firmly in place, is above him, the man’s jaw tense in worry. He gently eases Jason’s head down into his lap, cups his face with a gloved hand and carefully wipes the blood from his cheek, his mouth. Jason sighs, leans into the touch and closes his eyes, and Bruce’s hand freezes on his cheek.

“You’re not going to miss out on thirty,” Bruce says, and Jason almost smiles, because Bruce’s voice is as firm as ever and the guy has a desperate need to deny reality.

“I…” he gulps. “I missed you, you know.”

Bruce stiffens further, if that’s even possible.

“Even when I was so angry, even when I hated you, I missed you so, so much, a-and it hurt so damn bad–”

“Jay.” Bruce sounds desperate.

“I just.” Jason’s eyes are burning viciously, almost as badly as his lungs, and he sobs once, the sound choked and odd-sounding from lack of air. “I just want you to know that I did hate you…but I still loved you, too. I…I still…”

“Oh, Jason,” Bruce says, fast and hoarse. His hand slides carefully but fiercely into Jason’s hair, pushing the tangled curls back behind his ear. “I love you too. You know that.”

Jason swallows blood. He does know, and he can hear the pain in Bruce’s tone that reveals how much his doubt hurts, but he can’t help it. He’s always been a cynical son of a bitch. Dying hadn’t changed that before, and it wouldn’t again.

He’s really starting to not feel good. Well, he’s been feeling pretty awful for a good long while now, but now he feels really bad. The pain in his torso—and especially in his stomach—feels deep-seated and intense and pulsing. It throbs in time with his faltering heartbeat, and he feels dizzy and lightheaded, like he’s going to fall over even though he’s lying still. Like he’s going to float up out of his head at any second. Though that might partly be because of the heat—he’s sticky and sweaty and yeah it makes sense that he would be feverish. Puncture wounds and intestines didn’t go well together. He’s probably screwed even if the others get here. Which they probably won’t. He wishes he could accept that fact with a little less desperation. He really doesn’t want to die without getting to say goodbye…and maybe even having them just be there, where he could see them. He imagines it must be awful to watch someone you love die right in front of you, but he reserves the right to think that dying alone is worse. He’d never been so utterly petrified in his life as when he’d died. As utterly weak. All he could do was lay there and cry as he slowly suffocated and wished that Bruce was there.

Bruce is here, now—and probably getting more than a little panicked that he’s spaced out, if the faint pressure on Jason’s face is anything to go by. And Jason’s grateful, he really is. But sue him if he wants the others, too. Even if he hates seeing Dick cry. It always makes him want to cry, too. He doesn’t know if Tim would cry. Maybe. Damian, who the hell knows. Cass would be upset. He thinks maybe she would be the worst.

He faintly feels like he’s being manhandled, and at first he thinks this is it; not in small part because he feels like he’s moving far more than he would be in reality from just being rolled over and tugged upwards. But then his chest hits Bruce’s and the breath leaves him from the pain. Huh. He wasn’t sure he was actually breathing. He supposes that’s a good sign.

“—You can’t do this again, Jason,” Bruce’s voice fades back in as the ringing in Jason’s ears eases off a bit. He rocks back a bit, dragging Jason along. Jason can feel Bruce’s arms around him, supporting him with a tension he knows all too well. “I don’t…” Bruce’s voice breaks, and Jason winces at the first of his hitched sobs. “I just got you back. I don’t want to say goodbye again.” I didn’t want to the first time, Jason hears. “I don’t want you to go.”

Jason takes that in, limp in Bruce’s lap, stuck staring at the collar of Bruce’s suit from where he’s lying, cheek is pressed against Bruce’s collarbone, held there by his dad’s gloved hand cupping his face. Bruce does know that changing position would only help if his lungs were full of blood, not his stomach, right? Jason doesn’t particularly want to go now, either, but…. “Y-You do know that isn’t,” he has to stop to gulp for air, half-laughing a bit at himself and the awkwardness of this situation, “exactly up to me, right, Dad?”

Bruce buries his face in the top of Jason’s head as a response, and Jason just lies there and breathes, listening to Bruce’s shuddering breaths as his tears wet Jason’s hair.

Jason winces. He can’t really move—no strength to—and he can barely feel his face, let alone his limbs. His whole body feels oddly numb…except for his stomach, of course, which is still throbbing with burning pain. He swallows. “…Dad?” He whispers.

Bruce freezes, and only a split-second later Jason’s eased down a bit, his head against Bruce’s forearm so that Bruce can look at him. Jason’s heart seizes a bit; Bruce’s face is streaked with tears. He wets his lips. Bruce probably won’t take this well, either. “Promise me you’ll cremate me. A-As soon as I’m dead. Promise me you won’t bring me back.”

Bruce’s whole body shudders faintly. “What….what are you talking about–”

“You can’t,” Jason wheezes, starting to cry. He doesn’t know why the thought suddenly occurred to him, but now it’s all he can think about, a pressing, real fear that’s a vice around his failing heart. He can’t do it. He can’t be pulled away from his dad’s arms to drift off into emptiness again, only to wake up screaming as his body is torn apart to put it back together. He can’t have his mind like that again. He can’t do it. He just can’t. “I don’t want to do it again, B, please. Promise me you won’t try to get me back, please, please just let–” he chokes on blood and snot. His stomach is probably in shreds now, based off how it feels, and more tears spill out at the thought of it. “Just let me go.”

A gloved hand on his cheek. “Shhh, Jason, calm down, please hold still–”

“Promise, B!”

Bruce hefts him back up again, and Jason feels a big hand cradling the back of his head. “I–” Bruce swallows, crying too. “I p-promise, Jason. I–I won’t.”

Bruce is crying too hard to speak, and so’s Jason, but he still tries to flop his numb arm up towards Bruce. Bruce catches it, pulls Jason’s hand in against his chestplate, to his heart.

Bruce lifts his head, and Jason thinks he hears something. Maybe the dull boom of an explosion. The others, maybe. Hopefully.

“Please,” Bruce whispers, into Jason’s ear. “Please wait.”

It kind of seems like Bruce said that uncertain of whether Jason could still actually hear him or not. It’s okay. He heard it. And he’ll try. It didn’t make a difference last time. But he’ll still do it. Bruce orders most of the time, and Jason still tried to obey, when it made sense. When Bruce asks…Jason tries.

(Ao3 link here.) [For @camsthisky's content war.]

[icewraiths]

Encounter

(I can’t believe I’m posting my trash writing here, but oh well.

I feel I should cite @rsenak and @that-sso-raven because the concept of kelpies and fae horses in Jorvik is what inspired me to write this. c’:

Also, as a disclaimer, I haven’t read The Scorpio Races, so my version of the kelpies depicted here are based on more traditional folklore where they use trickery or deceit to lure in prey. This is a multiple-part fic taking place in some weird AU where Ren never got her JW starter, and I’ll eventually post the rest of it later. >.> Anyways, commence the garbage.)

The isle of Jorvik was often a place of myth and mystery, but Renata was usually able to dismiss most tales as gossip or fabrication. Recently, however, she'd been hearing troubling stories of horses, riders, hikers, and pets going missing near a lake in the foothills. More curiously, the visions gifted to her by the Moon seemed hazy when she tried to scry for answers or leads on the missing. She was normally able to divine truth and meaning from said scrying, and the results were, more often than not, boringly mundane. The fact that she couldn't make anything of these claims at all, one way or another, was enough to pique her interest. 

Perhaps it had been stupid of her to investigate this matter on her own--on the other hand, she'd believed that her gifts of the Moon left her better equipped to deal with this than most.

Once reaching the mountains, she stopped the transit at a local stable, and rented out one of their most expensive horses. The gelding was tall, dark bay, and overall well-mannered. He was of Standardbred descent, sound of bone and well suited to covering long distances. The stable hands lent her a set of tack for him for an added fee. Renata thanked them, tipped them for their help, and then ignored their attempts at conversation as she fastened her gear to the saddlebags. She made a point not to tell anyone where she intended to go.

It was midmorning by the time she brought the bay out to the mounting block. She swung aboard, setting off at a working trot down the cobblestone road. 

About four hours later, she reached the trailhead leading down to the lake. Ren turned her horse off the road, weaving him between the trees and onto the soft dirt of the riding trail. She let him walk on a long rein, and his head bobbed in time with his stride as they moved further away from the roads.

A heavy fog set in as they neared the water's edge; it was early afternoon, and the way along the road had been breezy, partly sunny, and pleasant. Perhaps it was just the proximity to the water, but Ren swore she could feel the sleeves of her jacket dampening with the sudden chill. She could just see the ripples of the lake in the space between the trees and undergrowth; as they continued, the trail opened up along the banks. If not for the obscuring haze, this particular stretch would have otherwise made for a fun place to gallop along the waterbank.

The girl was about to cue her mount up into an easy canter along the banks when something on the shore ahead caught her eye. 

It was a large figure, undoubtedly equine, washed up and lying prone while partially submerged. 

Ren felt her stomach churn--she brought the bay to a halt and sat completely still for a moment to see if the downed horse would move to roll, or stand. 

It didn't. 

She clucked her mount forward, gathering the reins and keeping him at a collected walk. As she neared, it became more and more obvious that the horse on the shore was dead. Ren supposed it was likely one of the victims of whatever had been causing rumors of people and animals going missing. She stopped her own horse again, looking around and noting that it was strange that no carrion birds were on the scene to scavenge a meal. 

Renata breathed deeply, steadying herself, and nudged her mount forward again tentatively. The bay had long since picked up on her unease, and shuffled about underneath himself. He refused to move ahead another step. 

Realizing this, Ren dismounted in a huff. She shivered--the cloying mist enshrouding the water banks made her skin feel clammy. 

Water droplets clung to the bay's whiskers. Ren didn't want to leave him, but she also felt compelled to investigate the corpse of the poor creature more closely. She looped her mount's reins about his neck a few times so he wouldn't tangle his legs if he bolted. The horse was purportedly trained enough to ground tie, and Ren hoped that said training was thorough. She patted the horse, talking calmly and encouraging him to stay put, and then turned to face away from the trail. 

Waves from the murky lakewater lolled at the dead horse's side, causing the cadaver to sway sickeningly with the movements. The fog was dense, but as Renata stepped slowly nearer, she saw that in life, the animal had been a beautiful pale gray. Its hide was now tinged an oddly pearlescent blue-green, likely from algae. Its sides were swollen with bloat--its legs were locked outwards in rigor mortis. 

Ren stopped in her tracks. Given the symptoms of the deceased animal, it had to have been dead for at least a day. Yet, even with the added moisture and humidity, there didn't seem to be any smell of rot or decay lingering in the air. She gave pause to wonder if that was why there weren't any scavengers, insect swarms, or carrion birds present.

A vision flashed behind her eyes--Renata watched herself approach the drowned gray, searching for clues or identifying features. She crouched over it, making as if to brush the clotted mane away from its face, and then it moved. It was impossibly fast; its legs kicked into motion and it thrashed to its feet. Its sides quickly flattened from the feigned bloat, and it lunged, opening its maw to puncture finger-length canines into the young woman's shoulder. It dragged her into the muck of the lakebed before she could fight, or scream. Her bay took off back down the road, galloping until he would eventually appear riderless, lame, and drenched in lather back at his home stable.

The vision faded away. Ren stepped back, cautious and shaken.

This wasn't simply a corpse left behind by the source of the disappearances--this was the source itself.  

Brook horse, Renata thought to herself. This was something fae, unnatural. Possibly a kelpie, and a hungry one, at that.

It was a clever beast, using the guise of a corpse to lure in scavenging animals or curious passerby like herself. That explained the lack of carrion birds--they'd likely been eaten already, and the remaining survivors had since become savvy. She retreated back to the bay quickly, rummaging in her packs for the lunch she'd brought for herself. Her horse snorted and flinched as she unwrapped it with haste. It was just a bit of bread and cheese, an apple, and a halved turkey sandwich. Ren offered the apple to the Standardbred, holding it patiently as he chomped through it in spite of his bit. 

She left the bay to crunch on the remainder of the apple as she slowly approached the kelpie with the rest of her lunch. Fae and like beings were supposedly appeased by baked goods--Ren wondered if her bread and sandwich would suffice for the time being.

It was a paltry offering, and possibly insulting, but it would have to do until she could come back to feed the creature something more sustainable. 

Renata stopped a fair distance away from the prone equine. She spoke softly to it, and then tossed her food towards it. The sandwich landed closest to the kelpie, hitting the fine gravel not a pace away from its head.

Nothing happened. Ren held stock still, afraid to move and risk agitating the beast. The mist itself seemed to still, hanging forebodingly over the surface of the lake. The girl was about to cut her losses and make back towards her mount, hoping she could hop aboard and flee before the kelpie decided to ditch its disguise and run her down.

The gray exhaled with a loud snort, flattening its sides back to normal and relaxing its legs from their locked pseudo-rigor. The sound made Ren jump, but she held her ground. She wasn't sure if it was fear or bravery that kept her footing in place. At this point, it didn't matter--the kelpie would be able to outrun her at this distance anyway.

Rolling upright, the brook horse side-eyed Renata through its tangled mane. Its eyes were clouded and milky looking, and its glare was intelligent and cutting. 

"That's all the food I have on me right now. If you let me go, I will bring you back something more tomorrow. You have my word." Ren tried justifying herself, hoping the kelpie would understand her.

It seemed to comprehend her meaning, somehow. The gray dipped its head in somewhat of a nod, and then snatched the sandwich off the bank with slight disdain. Shambling to its feet, the kelpie shook out its mane, sending water droplets scattering and eerily dissipating the surrounding fog. It devoured the bread and cheese immediately after. 

Ren merely watched the creature, silvery and ethereal now that it wasn't feigning being a corpse, and felt humbling awe for the first time since discovering her gift of visions.

Once it finished eating the meager food offering, the kelpie stared level into Renata's eyes and whinnied. The sound was shrill, melodious, and uncanny, like some otherwordly approximation of a woman singing. 

The hairs on Ren's neck bristled. Before she could say anything in response, the kelpie turned, whirling on its haunches and bounding back into the waters of the lake until its ears disappeared beneath the surface.

The water stilled, and it was gone.

The girl looked back at her mount; the bay was jigging in place, neck arched and plainly upset. She made her way back over to him, patting him and straightening out his reins. She praised him, grateful that instinct hadn't gotten the better of him. He could have fled, abandoning her to the kelpie, but he had stayed put. The stable hands had been right when they'd said he ground tied well.

"Come on, you've been a good boy," Renata said, turning the left stirrup outwards and hopping up into the saddle. "Let's head back to your stable. I hope you guys have a butcher in town; we'll need a good cut of meat if we want to pacify our new friend, here."

The bay immediately turned back up the trail, clearly wanting to put distance between himself and the water. Ren gave him rein, letting him trot back to the main road. Many questions turned themselves over in her mind, and she found herself bizarrely eager to return to the banks of the lake with a proper meal for the kelpie by tomorrow.

(Part 2 is here.)