#i fear mrs. floods has brought the storm

[oceanwithinsblog]

i'm sorry but WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED IN THE WHONIVERSE ??????

THIS EPISODE WAS E V E R Y T H I N G .

MISTER RTD I AM SO SORRY FOR DOUBTING YOU AND YOUR WRITING SKILLS

[elliebean714]

A/N~ Absolutely you can!! Hope this is up to your expectations!! This takes place before the events of Security Breach, deviated from cannon a little hope thats okay, Gregory is around 8, Ballora is kinda inspired by Scrap Baby and has Mrs. Aftons spirit.

Gregory x Ballora (Platonic)

Fnaf SB x Fnaf SL

Summary~ On a dark night, Gregory has to seek refuge in an abandoned building, with an abandoned animatronic~

Even though Gregory had been alone for a while now, he'd never get used to it. The cold dark lonely nights spent outside had become to much for the child. Especially during the rainy nights where the rain would drench his clothes, sticking the cold wet material to his skin, what little he had would be ruined for days on end. Tonight, there was a storm, forcing Gregory to enter the abandoned warehouse. He was hesitant, of course, he'd heard noises from inside, an odd mechanical sort of crying was often heard. But tonight, Gregory knew, if he didn't get inside, he'd become sick, the rain and cold worsening, he quickly made his way inside.

Inside was completely black, Gregory saw nothing. But he heard something. He quickly tried to find a place to hide, running his hand along the wall and finding an (thankfully) empty dumpster, he jumped in, quickly closing the lid on top of him. "I can hear someone c-c-c-" a mechanical voice cut through the creeping quiet, glitchy but feminine, "-crawliing through my room." As it finished, loud thumbs could be heard on the floor, before a sweet melody began playing, the tumps became quieter but whatever was making them was getting closer. Gregory's heart started beating rapidly as he tried to quiet his breaths, staying as still as possible, as silent as possible.

His efforts proved fruitless as a long, wired arm began slowly lifting the dumpster lid. Gregory screamed as he feared for the worst, "No, no. Don't be afraid, I do not wish you harm." The robot spoke gently, Gregory was still scared however, Ballora couldn't blame him, she'd known what she was, "I promise, I'll keep you safe." She offered him her hands, which, miraculously, where both still attached. He took one of her hands, she was cold, metallic and wiry yet still, Gregory knew she was doing her best to prove she was harmless. "Do you have a name sweetheart?" She asked softly, setting him down on the concrete floor, "Gregory," he replied "My names Gregory." She noded, "My Name is Ballora, what are you doing in here? Don't you have somewhere to go?" He shook his head, the memories of his last few years began flooding his head, tears welled in his eyes he remembered everything he tried to forget. "Oh sweetheart," Ballora heard his sniffles and opened her arms for him, he threw himself onto her, holding on tight "Aw Gregory. It's alright, your okay." She closed her arms around him and began standing "It's drier over here.".

Ballora danced gracefully with Gregory in her arms, he wrapped his legs around her waist, to ensure he remained at her side, and buried his head into her shoulder. She looked down and kissed the top of his head softly, "You're safe Gregory, don't worry.". Once they reached their destination, beside the speaker playing her soft tune, she tried to put him down on the less damp ground but he held on tight, "Don't you wish to rest?" Ballora inquired gently, which only caused him to burry his face deeper into her neck, "Did you just want to cuddle then?" She questioned, receiving a harsh nod from Gregory. Ballora felt an odd connection to the child in her arms, not just protective of the boy, but an odd, motherly, feeling she hadn't felt since her eldest son accidentally killed her youngest, before the darkest of depressions caught her. Before she was brought into her mechanical prison. She felt as though, somehow, fate had given her son back to her, and it would have to pry him from her cold, limp, decommissioned arms before it took him away again.

Hiiiii!!!! This was really fun to write! Thanks for the request! I hope it's what you wanted!!

~Elliebean714

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[sweetestlamb]

Bring Me To Life

Summary: Kang Sujin has never had anyone to turn to, hiding behind a façade her entire life. Someone begins to peek behind the mask. 

Author’s note: My two favorite characters in TB are Seojun and Sujin, both characters who are honestly treated like trash by the writers. I cannot begin to tell how upsetting it was to see Sujin’s character assassination or how painful it is to watch her being physically abused knowing that the writers will not give her therapy or a true happy ending. She’s just here to be beaten and vilified. Seojun, I won’t even rant everyone knows what the problem is (idk who told them we wanted to see Start-Up the high school edition.) So I wrote this after watching the most recent episode and hating most of it for these reasons. I don’t know how far it’ll go or how often I can update, but I need my two babies to have a happy ending preferably together because the visuals are just a dreammmm. 

The rain crashes down loudly from aggrieved storm clouds bellowing above her in the sky, the chilled condensation plastering her thin satin pajamas to her trembling body. She had to get out, the pain in her cheek numbing and electrifying all at once.

How dare she tell him that she didn't want to get married, want to stand on her own two feet without a man giving her value?

His hand had flown across the room before she could sidestep the blow, the fragile glass filled with water in her hand- the very reason she'd left her room in the dead of night- shattering into jagged pieces as it collided with a greater force. Just like her.

She hadn't been trying to eavesdrop but it was hard not to hear him chuckling deeply on the phone, offering up his only child like she was an item on a menu.

"Yes we should set them up. It seems Suho isn't interested and she should marry young, that's when women are worth the most."

Nausea rolled like waves in the pits of her stomach and before she could think logically, her feet were sprinting into the living room, air barely filling her lungs as she stared at the man she'd never once thought of as a father. The last time she'd made the grave mistake of calling him daddy he'd smacked her so hard that was how she lost her first tooth. He'd been father ever since or Mr. Kang. She tried her best to avoid him at all cost, she would never be good enough and it was getting harder to hide the marks he left behind.

It was difficult to remember clearly what occurred seconds after her refusal to marry a man she didn't know left her lips, his fist connected and she was knocked back onto their coffee table the sharp edge cutting at her cheek. As she looked at him, anger painting his face a demonic red, fear crippled her and her hands twitched desperately wanting to wash them raw. Then he grabbed a thick marble ashtray from the table and her instincts took over and she was out the door, running as fast as she could, knowing her life was at stake and she couldn't afford to stop.

When the cloud in her head cleared that was when she found herself at the bus stop.

Judgmental whispers breeze by her ears as people passed by with umbrellas, shocked to see the young girl crying in her pajamas at the stop, but none stopped to offer her help or inquire about her situation, happy just to pass judgement. She ignores them all, panicking racing through her blood until she's unable to breathe, choking on nothing as she twitches in the harsh air. Her throat constricts as she screams at herself, breathe. 

Breathe.

BREATHE! 

But it's useless as her body shuts down, forgetting how to do the basic function, she sways as she starts to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen and with a final wheeze she collapses. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He signs as he weaves past cars moving far too slowly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he marginally misses nipping a car to the left of him, easily dragging his motorcycle away with the fluid movements of his body. He glares up at the sky before cursing, "Fucking weather report didn't say anything about a sudden rainstorm." If he'd known he would have stayed home, always hating the rain. It brought back bad memories.

Halting at a red light, he puts his leg down for balance bouncing slightly in place. Pulling the shield up on his helmet he glances around, recognizing the area easily, before something in his peripheral catches his attention, a lump on the ground. Tilting his head he revs his trusty iron steed to live, riding over to the direction of the mysterious mass on the wet ground. As he gets closer his heart falters, it's too evident now. 

It's a person.

Jumping off his bike and pushing out the kickstand he flings his helmet off, his hair immediately drenched under the downpour as he races over to help. As he nears the figure, it becomes clearer it's a woman wearing what looks like sleep clothes. Momentarily he wonders if this is a crazy person and if he should just mind his business but a frightening image of his little sister unconscious on the ground and no one coming to her aid flashes in his mind.

"I'll just check if she's breathing and call an ambulance. That's all, if she tries to attack me I'll just ride away." He takes a deep breath, collecting his courage before closing the gap between him and the unconscious woman.

Crouching beside her, he reaches out a hand hesitating before sighing and shaking at her cold shoulder. No response. He shakes harder now, watching the motion quake through her entire body, but still she is unresponsive.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Wake up, you're scaring me!" He starts to jiggle her with both hands, before he crawls into her space not caring about his safety any longer, the idea that this unknown woman might be dead is making him nauseous. People are always dying without his permission. It's so frustrating.

"Wake up! Come on!" He shouts at the figure now holding both her shoulders and turning the woman over, lifting her face from its place on the ground, cradling her limp body in his lap. After two more vicious shakes, she starts to cough and groan in his arms. Relief swims through his veins as he watches her come back to life, anxiously watching as her dewy long lashes flutter open and he's caught in a lifeless deep gaze.

"Han Seo-Jun?"

It takes a long pause for him to register that the woman has said his name and then a longer moment to recognize who she is.

"Kang Su-Jin?" He replies in genuine shock, taking in the wom--young girl in his arms. She's shivering so violently that it's becoming difficult to hold onto her, vibrating out of his hold before he grips her tighter, whipping off his jacket without second thought and wrapping it around her. Goosebumps raising on his skin as his body mentally berates his lack of survival skills.

"What are you doing here?" She looks at him bewildered as if the stranger occurrence is his presence and not her own.

He squints his eyes looking back at her, "I could ask you the same thing. I found you unconscious here. I thought you were...." He trails off unable to utter the rest of his sentence.

"You should have left me here. Maybe I would have. If I was that lucky."

"What? Are you crazy, you want to die? Did you do this to yourself, what are you on?!" He roars at her, rage flooding his system as he shouts at the stupid girl, how dare she try to kill herself and leave her body for him to find? He wishes he had taken a different route, that he'd never come across her. He was in no state to comfort someone who was suicidal, still too raw and hurt. What was so hard about living that made people want to do that? Hot tears gather in his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from Sujin, unapologetic as she tumbles to the ground without his support.

She starts at him, stunned before righteous fury twists her features and she roars back at him.

"Who are you to judge me! I didn't ask you to help me, leave me alone!"

He glares back at her ready to yank his jacket away and run away from her but a small movement stops him, as she's screaming at him a small muscle twitches in her cheek bringing his attention to said cheek. It's nearly purple, standing out obscenely on her pale skin and then he notices the split lip and the bruises on her neck and he's so ashamed of himself he could bawl.

He deflates before speaking to her, "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

He doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face but before his questions can even settle between them she's sneering and twisting away from him, throwing his jacket on the ground before making her escape. Unprepared for her sudden departure he reacts too late, before chasing after her. It's easy to close the distance separating them with his long legs and within seconds she's merely inches in front of him, he reaches out a large hand to grab her wrist but hesitates recalling the bruises littering her frame. Instead he races past her, blocking her with his body swerving to the left and then the right when she tries to dodge him. They play this cat and mouse game before she finally gives up, glaring up at him with moist enraged eyes.

"Why do you care? We aren't even friends!"

Her piercing shout rings in his ears as he looks down at her passively. He can't answer that question, doesn't know what brought him to this area so late and not understanding why he was the one to find her in this condition. He doesn't know why he cares. But maybe things could have been different if Se-Yeon had someone to chase him. Maybe he'd still be alive...

So he answers her honestly.

"I don't want anymore people to die."

To his complete shock she starts to cry, tears falling rapidly from her eyes before she crumples to the ground, the rain pounding on her head and he stands still unsure of what to do before he drapes the jacket he'd rescued from the ground over her head, shielding her from most of the thunderous downpour. When she looks up to see the jacket protecting her, he almost falls backwards as her head slams into his chest, her tears simmering hot on his chilled body. It's almost painfully uncomfortable but he doesn't move away. Letting her cry on his chest, his shirt is soaked anyway this makes no difference.

He doesn't know how long they are crouched there on the ground, so dark that the sidewalk is completely devoid of anyone else, it feels like they are the only two people left on Earth.

"If we stay here you're going to get a cold."

He voices his concern but the only reply he receives is a gross sounding sniffle and he grimaces, knowing that his poor shirt is probably damaged beyond repair covered in snot and tears.

Sighing he starts to repeat himself before she whispers, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I can take you home." Her fists tighten in his drenched shirt, he can practically feel the fear wafting off her, he'd assumed the marks on her face were from a possessive unhinged boyfriend but her reaction makes him uneasy. He tries to push those unpleasant thoughts to the corner.

"What about your friends? Why don't you call Su-ah or Ju-Kyung, I’m sure they’ll help you.” 

She stiffens in his arms before shaking her head in decline.

"No. I can't let anyone else see me like this. I don't need them looking at me the way you did, like I'm a sad pitiful puppy. I never want anyone look at me like that again."

He can respect that, he never wants to appear weak in front of others. It was easier to become angry and lash out rather than showing your true heart, nobody could hurt you that way.

"Then what? Where do you want to go?"

"I have nowhere to go. I'll stay here until morning. I'll be fine, you can go."

He looks at her dumbfounded, what kind of man would leave a battered woman alone in the rain? He wasn't raised by animals, damn it.

"Let's go." He makes a point not to touch her, their only point of connection are her hands twisted in his shirt.

"What?"

He bulldozes past her confusion, looking at her with what he hopes are comforting eyes.

"I'm taking you to my house. I can't just leave you here."

"Are you crazy? Don't you live with your mother and sister, what will they say?"

He winces at the logical inquiry, he had already considered that himself, thinking of his mother's subsequent smacks and his sister's teasing once they learned what he'd done but still deciding that he has no other choice. He can't just leave her here.

He shrugs, "That's my problem to worry about. I'm not leaving you here, I'd really like to get out of his rain. Let's go." He repeats himself harder, pleading with her.

She looks away and he's prepared to throw her over his shoulders and face the consequences when he hears her response, "Okay. Let's go."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a quiet ride back, the engine rumbling through the aching bones of her frozen body. Han Seojun. The last person she ever expected to see after being roused from her panic induced collapse. Her arms tighten around his thin waist as he swerves around a car, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance in her body. When her fingers accidentally brush across wet bare skin she quickly moves her hands higher, fighting the embarrassment that washes over her.

If he notices she can't hear his reaction over the roar of the motorcycle.

When they finally pull up to a small apartment, she loosens her hold on him cracking her frozen digits.

"You didn't need to hold that tightly, I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. I ride this everyday you know."

She doesn't reply focusing on getting off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off not graceful but effective, a small proud smile spreads on her face before she gazes back at him.

He stares back before shaking his head, as if lost in a daze before he stomps off for her to follow.

Wordlessly she trails behind him, feeling foolish in her duck pajamas, a gift from Su-ah.

When he pushes his front door open, letting her in first she steps out of her sopping wet house slippers standing awkwardly looking around.

"Stay here. I'll get towels so we don't trail too much water."

She nods at his command, gazing at the floor and seeing how much water is already pooling around her feet.

"Here." He hands her a fluffy pink towel, she raises an eyebrow at the color.

"It's the guest towel. I wouldn't give you my towel."

That makes sense, sharing towels is far too intimate for the relationship they have. That being none. 

She rapidly towels at her hair, before running the towel down her body and wrapping it around her waist.

"You can use the bathroom. It's the second door on the right. I'll bring you dry clothes."

She steps cross the doorway, finally entering his home. Before she turns back to him staring directly into his eyes, "Than.... You didn't have to do this." She loses her confidence but his answering smirk lets her know he understood enough, with that she walks to the bathroom locking herself inside.

The sight of her bruised face in the mirror makes her pause, reaching up to finger at the stark purple mark on her cheek. She's crying before she can control her emotions, tears dripping into the sink as she remembers her night, how close she was to the end despite what she said to Seojun she wanted to live. As her father stood above her ready to snuff her out like a mere nuisance in his life, she realized with a burning passion how desperately she wanted to live.

A soft knock drags her back to reality as she rapidly wipes her tears away.

"I'm leaving clothes by the door. You can come out whenever you're ready. I'm making tea."

When she hears the light steps of his feet moving away from the door she opens the door a crack, picking up the neatly folded pile of clothes. Sending the boy a mental thank you before closing the door quietly.

It's clear that these clothes belong to Seojun, draping off her body, too large for her frame, a black T-shirt with a microphone on the center and sweatpants that cover her feet as well, he'd even remembered to bring her socks. Instantly she feels her body warming as her body temperature returns to normal. 

Folding her wet clothes and splashing water on her face then using the towel to rub it dry, she exits the bathroom walking towards the light she sees assuming that's the kitchen.

"The water's almost done boiling. Sit down."

His deep voice greets her as she follows his orders and takes a seat.

"Are these your clothes?"

"What? Oh yeah they're mine, sorry my sister locked her door. They're very old though, I haven't worn them in years I thought they would fit you better." He eyes her as he says the last sentence, "I guess it didn't make much of a difference I'm just too tall and manly for my own good."

She scoffs at his narcissistic comment rolling her eyes "Tall and manly my foot. You're so skinny I could probably pick you up with one arm."

He immediately turns at her comment, affronted look on his face, "Shut up! It's hard for me to put on weight, I'm not that skinny."

He places his hands on his hips, looking down at himself before puffing his chest out to make himself appear broader, it's so ridiculous that she can't control her reaction.

Sudden uncontrollable laughter.

She laughs breathlessly, folding onto her lap trying to contain her giggles but his scandalized look makes her laugh harder and she has to stuff her face in her elbow to prevent herself from waking his family.

After a few minutes of random spasms of laughter she finally peers back up at him.

He looks just like he did outside when she'd smiled after successively getting off his motorcycle.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I just never see you smile at school."

"Well you never do anything worth smiling about." She quips back, wondering if she'd gone too far but he doesn't reply beyond a slight smile that's gone too fast to even be titled that, he places her steaming cup of tea before her sipping at his own after blowing on it.

They drink in comfortable silence.

She's the first to rapture the silence, "I don't need pity."

"I don't pity yo--"

"But thank you. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for this, thank you."

He stares wordlessly before nodding, a slight blush on his cheeks before he hides his face in the cup of tea. She doesn't bring attention to it.

"You can sleep in my room. It's the door next to the bathroom."

Humming she looks up, fatigue hitting her like a brick at the mention of sleeping.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a perfectly good couch, don't argue you're sleeping in my room. That's final. It's better that my mother doesn't see a strange woman on the couch when she wakes up."

Well, she can't argue with that logic.

"Okay." Drinking the last of the soothing beverage, she stands up walking over to place the cup in the sink.

"Good night." She starts to walk back in the direction of the bathroom, seeing another door next to it. Seojun's room. Twisting the doorknob she pushes it open, before she hears his voice from behind her.

"If you need anything I'm right outside."

Blinking her tears away, she nods without looking back, too vulnerable with his palpable concern.

When she lays her head down on his pillow, his scent fills her senses and she falls into a deep restless slumber feeling safer than she has in long time.

Tomorrow will be horrible.

But tonight, she will allow herself to breath easy knowing that someone is on her side.

[purrincess-chat]

My Chosen’s Keeper CH3 (FINAL)

Here is the last chapter of the petty kwami AU. I have basically this whole week off because of Hurricane Sally, so I decided to go ahead and post the last chapter since I finished it up. I’m so happy you all enjoy this fic, and I hope you like the conclusion!

Read on AO3

Chapter 3

After a week, Lila stopped scheming against Marinette. In fact, she’d stopped doing much of anything. Every so often she’d look over her shoulder as if expecting someone to be following her, and she flinched every time she opened her locker or her bag.

Tikki was satisfied enough with their efforts, though she worried they’d gone too far when Lila spun around on poor Nathaniel walking behind her to his seat. Her goal was to inconvenience Lila, not scare her out of her skin, and now her stomach was churning too much to enjoy her morning macaron. She popped into Adrien’s bag where Plagg was dozing in an empty Camembert carton and shook him awake.

“Plagg, do you think maybe we went too far with all of this?” She asked, but Plagg simply shrugged his shoulders and burped.

“Relax, sugar cube. That girl got what was coming to her.”

“Yeah, but she’s petrified now, and people are starting to notice,” she said with a nervous glance up at the open zipper. “I think we should stop.”

“Fine,” Plagg yawned, and Tikki prodded his side.

“I’m serious, Plagg. No more pranks.”

“Okay,” he said, and she sat back, antenna pressing low against her head.

“Good,” she said with a nod.

As the bell rang, Tikki slipped back into Marinette’s bag before her owner noticed her absence. She tried to push the whole situation from her mind, but when Alya leaned against Marinette’s neighboring locker, her nerves only worsened.

“Lila’s been acting super paranoid today. I wonder what’s bugging her,” Alya whispered, casting a glance at their classmate across the room.

“Nathaniel told me she thinks she’s being haunted,” Marinette said. Even she seemed concerned, and Tikki shrank deeper into her purse.

“I mean, a lot of crazy stuff has been happening to her, so maybe she is,” Alya said with a wince.

“I wouldn’t doubt if she’d made a spirit angry,” Marinette mumbled, and Alya leaned in closer.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel kinda bad for her. I saw her dozing off in class earlier. She must not be sleeping,” Alya said, biting her lip. “Hey, why don’t we all plan a sleepover? Maybe if a group of us supports her then she’ll feel safe enough to sleep.”

“Uhh, yeah, sure,” Marinette said, sounding anything but willing. “You plan it, and I will definitely not think of an excuse not to go.”

“I’ll ask her this afternoon. It’ll be fun.” Alya nudged her with her elbow before they headed to their next class.

To Tikki’s horror, not only did Lila accept the sleepover invitation, but somehow, she managed to convince them to host it at Marinette’s house. Lila had a way of backing people into corners, and Marinette didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Tikki was equally as unenthused. Just what she needed—another reason to get involved.

“Plagg, what am I gonna do?” Tikki asked that afternoon in art class. “I know she’s up to something!”

“Do you want me to leave stinky cheese in her locker again?”

“No!”

“Good because it’s a terrible waste of perfectly good cheese.”

“Plagg! I’m serious. What if Lila does something to my owner tonight?” Tikki said, tugging his arm. “Help me!”

“I thought you wanted to be done with all of this? No more pranks?” Plagg said, and Tikki averted her gaze, antenna lowering.

“I do, but she’s coming into her personal home. What if she finds her diary and learns that she’s Ladybug? Or what if she just so happens to steal her earrings? Or what if-”

“Don’t worry, sugar cube. I’ll help you tonight. Lila won’t get away with anything, okay?” Plagg said, patting her head.

“You mean it?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Plagg asked, and Tikki’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, bad question. I promise I won’t let you down—this time.”

“Thanks, Plagg.”

Later that evening, Tikki chewed her lip as Marinette tidied up for her guests. She’d helped remove any lingering Adrien pictures despite her friends all knowing about her crush, but Marinette was just as wary of having Lila over as Tikki. As a result, she was taking a few extra precautions like hiding her diary and anything else Lila could use against her. It eased some of Tikki’s worry, but not all of it.

“Are you really going to have that girl over?” She asked as Marinette locked her important belongings in her chest.

“I couldn’t exactly say no. Lila is too good at manipulating everyone. If I had said no, she would have made it seem like I hate her,” Marinette said, leaning against her fist.

“But you do hate her.”

“Yeah, but I can’t prove why I hate her to everyone, so I don’t have a choice,” Marinette sighed. “We’ll just have to be extra careful tonight. I doubt Lila will try anything with all of the girls over.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

Thankfully Alya arrived first to help set up because Lila was the first after her. She seemed surprised and slightly annoyed to find Alya there as well, and Tikki’s blood boiled at the sight of her. She popped up to the roof, tapping her paws together as she peered out over the street. The night was calm and quiet—a direct contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Where was Plagg?

“Ya know, you really worry too much.”

She spun around to see him lounging on the chair with a cheese danish from the bakery. Relief flooded her mind, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“Relax, sugar cube. I was doing some important reconnaissance,” he said around a mouthful.

“You mean helping yourself to whatever your greedy stomach wanted?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so selfish!”

“Oh, then I suppose you already know that Lila has a lockpick in her bag?”

“She- you- oh…Well, then we should-”

“Already did. And her toothbrush just for fun,” he snickered, and Tikki lowered onto the chair beside him. “I’m a little insulted that you don’t believe in me.”

“Dinosaurs, Atlantis, the Black Plague…”

Plagg bit off a chunk of his pastry and chewed it grumpily. “We never talk about your mistakes.”

“Thank you, Plagg,” Tikki said, and he blinked, swallowing the rest of the danish whole. “For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me.” He turned his back to her and waved it away, but she could see the smile tugging on his lips. “Now come on. We’ve got work to do.”

The girls were gathered in Marinette’s room when Tikki and Plagg snuck in and took position on Marinette’s bed. Marinette had strategically positioned herself on top of her locked chest, and partnered with Plagg’s disposal of Lila’s lock pick, it eased some of Tikki’s nerves. At least her secrets would be safe, but that didn’t mean Lila didn’t have other tricks up her sleeve.

After a while, they moved downstairs to watch a movie, and Mr. Dupain brought up homemade pizza. Plagg groaned beside her as the girls pulled apart stretchy strips of cheese, and Tikki restrained him from flying down and helping himself.

Halfway through the movie, Lila got up to go to the bathroom, and Tikki followed. Just as she feared, the moment the door closed, Lila set to work silently opening cabinets. Tikki had half a mind to spray her with the sink nozzle again, but after a few minutes of searching, Lila found what she was looking for—a metal nail file. She pulled a bobby pin from her hair and tucked them both into her pocket.

Back out in the main room, she announced that she was going to go upstairs and call her mom who was traveling overseas on some important ambassador thing, and she only had a short window in the evening to talk to her because of timezones or something. It didn’t matter the reason because it was a lie. Marinette’s glare followed her up the stairs with Tikki right behind it.

“Plagg?” She hissed, glancing around for that lazy black cat, but she didn’t have to guess where he was. “I told you not to touch the pizza!”

Plagg clung to the piece he was greedily stuffing in his mouth as Tikki tugged on his tail. “Oh come on! Mr. Dupain makes his own mozzarella. I couldn’t resist!”

“Lila is on the move! She took a nail file from the bathroom, and now she’s upstairs! Come on!”

Plagg caressed his slice of pizza one last time before Tikki dragged him up the stairs. Lila was already kneeling beside the chest, nail file and bobby pin at work.

“Come on, stupid chest. I know Marinette is behind all of the weird stuff happening to me lately,” she grumbled. “I just need something to blackmail her with to make it all stop. Just open!”

“Plagg, what are we gonna do?” Tikki whispered, and Plagg was already surveying the rest of the room.

“Follow my lead,” he said, darting for the nearest mannequin.

Lila nearly had the lock open when a stack of shoeboxes toppled over, and she jumped. Seeing that it was only boxes, she took a deep breath and turned back to her work.

“What?” She gasped when her makeshift lock picks were no where to be found.

“Lila…”

She startled, jumping up and spinning around, but no one was in the room. No one she could see anyway.

“Liiiila…”

“Very funny, Marinette. I know it’s you. It’s been you the whole time. I don’t know how, but you won’t beat me,” she said, but the way her eyes flicked frantically around the room betrayed her true fear.

“Leave her alone…”

The mannequin by the chaise, surged forward, and Lila’s scream filled the house. She scrambled for the trapdoor, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tugged. The girls rushed up the stairs, Marinette at the front. She pushed the trapdoor open easily to find Lila curled into a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

“What are you doing?” Marinette demanded, and Alya crawled up to wrap an arm around Lila’s shoulders.

“The mannequin!” Lila wailed.

“What about it?” Marinette asked.

“It-It talked and moved and-and-” She pointed across the room, but the mannequin had returned to its original place. Even the shoeboxes had righted themselves. “But…”

“Maybe we should all just go to bed,” Alya suggested, and Lila grabbed her shoulders.

“But it did move! I swear I’m not making it up,” she said, gripping her shirt so tightly that Alya swatted her hands away with a hiss.

“I think you’re just tired-”

“Or crazy,” Marinette mumbled, masking it with a cough.

“Sleep deprivation can make you see weird things,” Alya said. “Come on. Let’s get you some sleep.”

As the girls moved downstairs again, Marinette eyed her chest, but her secrets were safe. Tikki still stayed up all night to make sure Lila didn’t try anything again, but their ghost stunt seemed to have scared her off the idea.

When morning light streamed in from the windows, Tikki sat back with a yawn. Curling in next to Plagg snoring loudly on Marinette’s chaise, she slipped off into sleep with the reassurance that Marinette was safe.

***

The Monday after the sleepover, Lila entered the school on a quest for vengeance. Dark bags hung under blood-shot eyes, and her whole demeanor was slightly unhinged as everyone hung out in the courtyard on break. Tikki knew she was going to target Marinette again, so she lingered close by—waiting.

Marinette was sketching on a bench by herself while a maintenance man repainted the railing to her left. When he reached a stopping point, he scooted the ladder next to the bench and took his break, but Marinette never looked up from her drawing.

“Hey, I heard about the sleepover. What happened?” Adrien materialized at Marinette’s side, startling her out of her skin. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Marinette relaxed. “I don’t know. I knew she was up to no good, and while we were all watching a movie, she went up to my room to ‘call her mom’ then she just started screaming and freaking out,” Marinette said, shooting her a glare across the courtyard. “I don’t really know what happened, but she swears my mannequin talked to her.”

“Do you think she’s doing it all for attention?” Adrien asked, but Marinette pursed her lips.

“I don’t think so this time. She seemed really freaked out when we found her. I think she’s actually losing her mind,” Marinette said.

“You don’t think she’s really being haunted, do you?” Adrien’s green eyes clouded with worry.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said with a shrug. “Maybe she is making it all up for attention, or maybe all of her lying is finally catching up to her.”

“Let’s hope this convinces her to start telling the truth whatever it is,” he said. “I’m just glad she didn’t do anything to you. I was worried when I heard she was coming to your house for a sleepover.”

Marinette’s cheeks flushed at that, and she took her eyes off Lila. Adrien was the perfect distraction, but Tikki wasn’t so easily deterred because Lila was watching them too. Their friendly smiles and close proximity drove her over the edge. When she dashed toward them, Tikki braced herself, but Lila wasn’t aiming for the bench.

Tikki glanced up at the paint can resting precariously on the top of the ladder beside them, recognizing the intent in Lila’s eyes.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, flitting up to the bucket.

Lila rocked the ladder, but against the laws of natural physics, the can twirled around and dumped on top of her. The courtyard fell silent as the can clattered to the ground, and Lila wiped green paint from her face.

“That’s it!” She screeched, pointing a finger at Marinette. “This is all your fault!”

“Lila, Marinette didn’t do anything. I was talking to her the whole time,” Adrien said, holding up cautioning hands.

“No! Everything is her fault!” Lila stomped a foot. “I don’t know how you keep doing it, but I know it’s you!”

“Lila, what are you-” Alya started, but Lila lunging at Marinette cut her off. Nino and Ivan caught her, and Adrien took a defensive stance in front of Marinette.

“How did you do it, Marinette?” She growled. “I put those test answers in your schoolbag, but they weren’t there when Mlle. Bustier checked! I planted my necklace in your locker during lunch, but somehow you put it back! How did you do it?”

Marinette and Adrien cupped hands over their mouths as the weight of those words settled among their classmates. Confusion and anger snaked its way onto every face, and more classmates joined Adrien guarding Marinette.

“Wait, you tried to frame Marinette? But why?” Nathaniel asked, and Lila shot him a glare.

“Because I hate her! She’s always getting in my way and ruining my plans. I’d have you all eating out of the palm of my hand if it wasn’t for her!” She said, shoulders heaving. She ripped away from Nino and Ivan and kicked the paint bucket with a shriek.

“Whoa, so all those times Marinette said you were lying…” Nino said, lowering his gaze.

“She was right,” Adrien spoke up, and all eyes turned to him. “Lila is a liar. Nothing she’s ever said is true. She just wanted to use all of you for attention.”

“So, you’ve never met Jagged Stone?” Rose deflated.

“And let me guess. You’re not really bffs with Ladybug,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course I’m not friends with that stupid insect! I hope Hawkmoth takes her Miraculous and rids the world of her stupid face!” Lila shouted.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Damocles demanded as he and Mlle. Bustier approached.

“Karma,” Marinette said with a grunt.

Lila glanced between each face glaring back at her, the rage-induced fog clearing enough for her to see the damage she’d inflicted. Her eyes widened, and her shoulders shrank. For the first time since she’d stepped foot in their school, Lila was exposed. Powerless. Small.

“My office. Now.” Mr. Damocles barked through gritted teeth, and Lila followed behind him quietly. She had nothing left to say. No more lies to tell.

“M, are you okay?” Alya pulled her best friend in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I never believed you.”

“Yeah, we should have known better. You never trip out over anyone unless there’s a reason,” Nino said, ruffling her hair.

“We’re sorry, Marinette.”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette said, cutting everyone off. “Really. I’m not mad at you. Lila manipulated all of you. It’s not your fault she can’t tell the truth.”

“Marinette…” Alya cooed, and all of their classmates huddled around her.

When the bell rang, they all dispersed, heading to their next class, but Marinette excused herself to the bathroom. Tikki slipped back into her purse, relieved that it was finally over and that she hadn’t been caught. Or rather, she thought she hadn’t been caught until Marinette ripped open her purse and dumped her out into her waiting hand.

“I thought kwamis weren’t supposed to meddle,” she said, quirking a brow, and Tikki shrank guiltily.

“I’m sorry, Marinette! I just knew she was up to no good, and I couldn’t let her frame you,” she said, pressing her paws together.

“Putting the test answers back and moving the necklace are like you, but exploding milk cartons and mannequin ghosts?” Marinette cocked a hip. “Plagg, I know you helped too.”

A sinister chortle echoed above them as Plagg floated down beside Tikki. “I couldn’t let sugar cube have all the fun.”

“We’re really sorry,” Tikki said, lowering her head.

She braced for her punishment, but instead, Marinette lifted the two of them to her lips and planted a soft kiss on each of their heads. “Thanks, you two.”

“You mean you’re not mad?”

“Nah, Lila deserved it,” she said with a shrug.

“I’ll accept my reward in the form of one of those tasty cheese danishes your dad makes,” Plagg said, puffing his chest out, and Marinette scratched under his chin with a giggle.

“You can have all the cheese danishes you want,” she said. “It’s nice to know you two have my back.”

“Of course,” Plagg said, draping an arm over Tikki’s shoulders. “If someone wants to mess with the Bug, they’re gonna have to go through us.”

“We’ll always make sure you’re safe,” Tikki added, and Marinette held out a pink with a smile.

“Bien Joué!”

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

‘Major’ Oil Spill Off California Coast Threatens Wetlands and Wildlife (NYT) A pipeline failure off the coast of Orange County, Calif., on Saturday caused at least 126,000 gallons of oil to spill into the Pacific Ocean, creating a 13-square-mile slick that continued to grow on Sunday, officials said. Dead fish and birds washed ashore in some places as cleanup crews raced to try to contain the spill, which created a slick that extended from Huntington Beach to Newport Beach. It was not immediately clear what caused the leak, which officials said occurred three miles off the coast of Newport Beach and involved a pipeline failure. Mayor Kim Carr of Huntington Beach said at a news conference on Sunday afternoon that the spill was “one of the most devastating situations our community has dealt with in decades.”

The Pandora Papers (Foreign Policy) The massive leak of secret financial data has revealed the offshore wealth of some of the world’s most powerful people. The data, dubbed the Pandora Papers by International Consortium of Investigative Journalists—the group that spearheaded the project—shows how far some world leaders, billionaires, and other oligarchs have gone to hide their wealth. Considering the vast wealth of America’s own oligarchs, it’s surprising on first blush to see no U.S. names mentioned. One simple explanation, put forward by the Washington Post, is that U.S. millionaires and billionaires have enough tools available within the U.S. tax code to shield most of their wealth already.

Spain’s foreign tourism soars but well below pre-pandemic level (Reuters) Foreign tourism to Spain rose rapidly in August as looser travel restrictions tempted back summer sunseekers though visitor numbers remained at around half their pre-pandemic levels, official statistics showed on Monday. The number of foreign tourists visiting in August more than doubled from a year ago to 5.19 million but was still barely above half the level seen in 2019, the National Statistics Institute said on Monday.

Farmers among 8 killed as India protest erupts in violence (CNN) At least eight people were killed when violence broke out in India’s Uttar Pradesh state on Sunday after a car linked to a federal minister ran over two farmers taking part in a protest against controversial farm laws. A farmers’ union spokesperson said Sunday the deaths happened after a convoy of vehicles associated with junior home affairs minister Ajay Mishra Teni “ran over several protesters.” Protests in Lakhimpur Kheri began on September 25 after Teni reportedly said “farmers should reform themselves or they will be reformed,” according to CNN affiliate CNN-News18.

India’s Christians living in fear as claims of ‘forced conversions’ swirl (Guardian) It was a stifling July afternoon when the crowd moved into the small district of Lakholi, in the Indian state of Chhattisgarh, and gathered outside the house of Tamesh War Sahu. Sahu, a 55-year-old volunteer with the Home Guard who had begun following Christianity more than five years previously, had never before had issues with his neighbours. But now, more than 100 people had descended from surrounding villages and were shouting Hindu nationalist slogans outside his front door. Sahu’s son Moses, who had come out to investigate the noise, was beaten by the mob, who then charged inside. As the men entered the house, they shouted death threats at Sahu’s wife and began tearing posters bearing Bible quotes down from the walls. Bibles were seized from the shelves and brought outside where they were set alight, doused in water and the ashes thrown in the gutter. “We will teach you a lesson,” some people were heard to shout. “This is what you get for forcing people into Christianity.”      Sahu’s family was not the only one attacked that day. Four other local Christian households were also targeted by mobs, led by the Hindu nationalist vigilante group Bajrang Dal, known for their aggressive and hardline approach to “defending” Hinduism. Since the beginning of the year there have been similar attacks across Chhattisgarh, already the Indian state with the second highest number of incidents against Christians. In some villages, Christian churches have been vandalised, in others pastors have been beaten or abused. Congregations have been broken up by mobs and believers hospitalised with injuries. The police, too, stand accused—of making threats to Christians, hauling them into police stations and carrying out raids on Sunday prayer services. The attacks have coincided with renewed attention on a longstanding claim from rightwing Hindu groups: that a string of forced conversions are taking place in Chhattisgarh. Such claims have been made by senior figures in the ruling Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata party (BJP), which governs India.

Japan’s Parliament elects former diplomat Kishida as new PM (AP) Japan’s parliament on Monday elected Fumio Kishida, a former moderate turned hawk, as prime minister. He’ll face an economy battered by the pandemic, security threats from China and North Korea and leadership of a political party whose popularity is sagging ahead of a fast-approaching crucial national election. He replaces Yoshihide Suga, who resigned after only one year in office as his support plunged over his government’s handling of the pandemic and insistence on holding the Tokyo Olympics as the virus spread.

New Zealand admits it can no longer get rid of coronavirus (AP) New Zealand’s government acknowledged Monday what most other countries did long ago: It can no longer completely get rid of the coronavirus. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern announced a cautious plan to ease lockdown restrictions in Auckland, despite an outbreak there that continues to simmer. Since early in the pandemic, New Zealand had pursued an unusual zero-tolerance approach to the virus through strict lockdowns and aggressive contact tracing. Under Ardern’s plan that starts Tuesday, Aucklanders will be able to meet outdoors with loved ones from one other household, early childhood centers will reopen and people will be able to go to the beach. The dates for a phased reopening of retail stores and later bars and restaurants have yet to be decided.

3,000 Yazidis Are Still Missing. Their Families Know Where Some of Them Are. (NYT) The voice messages sent by Abbas Hussein’s teenage son are heartbreaking in their matter-of-factness. The boy, a member of Iraq’s Yazidi minority who was kidnapped by Islamic State fighters seven years ago, asks about his mother and wonders why his father has not been in touch. In the messages sent last summer to his father, an unemployed laborer, the son says his captor will not let him send any more because his parents have not delivered payments as demanded. “Father, if you don’t have money, that’s OK. Just let me know,” says the teenager, who still has the voice of a child. “I will work and save money and give it to him to let me talk to you.”      Mr. Hussein has known for more than a year that his son and five other relatives are being held in Turkish-controlled northern Syria by a former ISIS fighter who joined the Syrian National Army—a Turkish-backed coalition of armed opposition groups that includes mercenaries and Syrian rebels. He’s one of roughly 3,000 Yazidis still missing after being captured by ISIS during its takeover of parts of Iraq and Syria. While most of the missing are presumed dead, hundreds more are thought to be alive and held captive in Syria or Turkey. In some cases, their families know where they are and have even been in contact with them or their captors. But financial support from governments and private donors, as well as interest from them in finding the missing Yazidis, has dried up.

Taliban-style security welcomed by some, feared by others (AP) It wasn’t 7 a.m. yet and already the line outside the police station’s gates was long, with men bringing their complaints and demands for justice to Afghanistan’s new Taliban rulers. Something new they immediately found: The Taliban fighters who are now the policemen don’t demand bribes like police officers did under the U.S-backed government of the past 20 years. “Before, everyone was stealing our money,” said Hajj Ahmad Khan, who was among those in line at the Kabul District 8 police station on a recent day. “Everywhere in our villages and in government offices, everyone had their hands out,” he said.      Many Afghans fear the harsh ways of the Taliban, their hard-line ideology or their severe restrictions of women’s freedoms. But the movement does bring a reputation for not being corrupt, a stark contrast to the government it ousted, which was notoriously rife with bribery, embezzlement and graft. Even residents who shudder at the potential return of punishments—such as chopping off the hands of thieves—say some security has returned to Kabul since the Taliban swept in on Aug. 15. Under the previous government, gangs of thieves had driven most people off the streets by dark. Several roads between cities are again open and have even been given the green light for travel by some international aid organizations.

Deadly, historic Tropical Cyclone Shaheen departs Oman after devastating flooding (Washington Post) In the course of a single day, an exceptionally rare hurricane-strength storm unloaded up to four years’ worth of rain along Oman’s northern coast, causing deadly flooding. Named Tropical Cyclone Shaheen, the tempest slammed ashore late Sunday, about 50 miles to the west of Muscat, Oman’s capital city. The storm has since departed, but not before leaving 11 dead in Oman, mostly because of flash flooding and landslides. The storm was also blamed for two fatalities in Iran, where the bodies of two fishermen were found.

[that-there-is-a-wierd0]

‘I’m sorry Erie’ (AEwVS one-shot)

[Alice, Erie, Tiara] Major spoilers for the game/ angst/ hurt and no comfort/ mild depictions of violence/ depictions of panic attacks

Hiii. Guess who made another advanced education one shot :). Not that I haven’t got to the history level yet, and this post may be edited for grammar mistakes and inserting additional trigger warnings if need be. Nonetheless, hopefully you enjoy :P

Somewhere in the History level, a water fountain sloshes lazily. The ambient noise of water splashing can be heard from all over the level, creating a soothing and natural lullaby, enjoyed by both staff and students. The sound of papers shifting can also be heard. Smooth thin surfaces lightly scratching against rugged, cold tile. A body shifts, desperate for warmth, barely mumbling about the chill they’ve grown accustomed to.

Sometime around 2:00 AM, Alice Freudenmacher continues to shift uncomfortably on the pathetic pile of papers she calls a bed. She opens her phone, and peers at the time with silent despair. Once in a fetal position, she rolls on her back and opts to stare at the ceiling. She’s already tried playing Tetris for some hours, but she’s grown bored of doing so nearly every night of the week. Turning the screen off, she huffs out of frustration before deciding what she wanted to do with her time. Too mentally exhausted to revise history questions and too frustrated to simply lie on her back, Alice thinks that going for a walk will do her good. Maybe if she spends some energy walking, then she would get tired and finally get some sleep.

Alice hesitantly lifts one leg at about 45 degrees, and let it hang in the air for a minute.

Nothing.

Alice smiled. This must mean that Tiara left a while ago, and she was left alone in the level. Tiara would have forced Alice to stay still, as she is disturbed by major movements. She puts her leg down and uses both to get up from her paper pile, stretching in the process. She’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, so she does not need to do anything else before pocketing her phone and beginning to roam. Alice begins to walk around her level, no longer concerned with the time. Her bare feet make soft taps on the tile, lost to the echo of the empty level. She walks towards a wall and gently places her hand on it, feeling the light and aged wallpaper beneath her palm. Keeping her pace, she continues with her mind on automatic, until the gentle ambience of splashing water can be distantly heard.

With her ears perked, Alice makes her way to the marble water fountain. Alice does not know where it came from, nor how the school would collect the funding for that type of thing, but nonetheless, it’s here. She walks over to the edge of the fountain, barely gazing her reflection in the dark. She briefly captured the neutral frown on her face, her eyes naïve yet darkened with fear. Without much further observation, Alice knows she has changed.

Much has changed since the curse started.

First, it was everyone around her. Since Mr. Cleany was a friendly person, he and she both got along pretty well. But suddenly, he became more involved with cleaning trash than anything else, leaving Alice with few others to talk to. In the math level, she was disgusted with the state of the cafeteria and preferred to stay away. Laura and Viktor won’t talk to her much either, citing that they had ‘more important things to do than talk to a measly human’. In the language level, Marzia would make snide remarks about how Alice was ‘undeserving’, given her small affinity for Erie. Phonty held the same attitude. She chose to ignore their comments, but they did not hurt any less.

She was so grateful to have Erie as a partner.

Erie was strong and was able to defend her from the verbal abuse of the other staff with rebuttals of her own. She had a confident attitude, and rarely backed down from challenges the staff or students presented her with. But she was also sweet and gentle, telling Alice that she is her favorite human, telling Alice that she loves her, that she will do anything for her, living for her.

That Erie would be there for Alice no matter what.

Alice breath lightly caught in her throat. Unwelcome memories start flooding into her mind, and no matter what Alice tries to do, she knows that she will have to relive what happened between her and Erie.

One day, as the curse was re-activated by Angell getting a notebook answer wrong, Tiara took over Alice’s body. Large black tendrils shot out of her body, tearing some new skin and breaking through where scabs had once formed. Alice could do nothing but cry out in distress as Tiara dominated over her once again, her mind fuzzy and numb.

“TIARA!”

Startled, Tiara quickly looks up. Stomping towards her was that robot girlfriend of hers, Erie. Just by the looked of unfettered rage of her screen, Tiara readied to defend herself.

“LET GO OF ALICE! YOU DO NOTHING BUT HURT HER!”

Not as fluent in English as Viktor, Tiara only hisses and growls at Erie, sending the same message. Tiara forced Alice to crouch as she brings up all four of her arms to the air, ready to fight.

If she could, Alice would be shaking from the emotional conflict. She knows that Erie is only trying to protect her, and she knew that what constantly happens to her body was not at all healthy. She’s always miserable cycling between sleep schedules, allergic reactions to spores, eating habits, and having no control over her body. She hates having to feel her wounds constantly reopen over and over again, the blood soaking her back and making her clothes stick. She hated all of it.

But by extension, she knows Tiara was no better fighting off the curse than Viktor. Alice can feel her personal isolation, her persistent longing for Viktor’s company, her lost desperation to save Tarwill World, her misplaced anger. Alice was aware that Tiara had come to a completely new dimension, with nothing to her name, and no one to talk to.

Fear was the emotion that bonded Tiara and Alice.

Without any control, Alice takes a front seat to Tiara lashing out at Erie. She jumps forward with her arms bared. Anticipating the attack, Erie lurches back, making sure not to get slashed by her foe. As Tiara focuses on slashing, Erie continues to sidestep her, noting the pattern of which her arms were being used. Luckily, Tiara’s tendrils were long and not scythe-like, so Erie easily grabs two arms, and seamlessly transitions them into one hand. That leaves the other two. Holding on to a pair, Erie utilizes her height and sweeps Tiara under her feet. Being unable to account for the imbalance due to the body she was in, she falls flat on her back and is pinned down by Erie, her other hands pinned by Erie’s knees.

“I WON’T LEAVE!! NO WANT!!” Tiara cries angrily.

Erie is blank faced. She slowly draws a small red plant from a back pocket and gently brings it to Tiara’s face.

“And I don’t think I gave you an option.”

Alice felt the rising anxiousness that rose within Tiara’s chest, uncomfortable and suffocating. She never felt Tiara being scared before, just angry most of the time. Now, waves of nausea were making their way through Alice’s torso. She had also never seen the crueler side of her girlfriend either. Maybe moody, but never so calm like the brewing clouds of a catastrophic storm.

Erie finally brought the plant in contact with Tiara’s face. All hell broke loose inside of Alice.

Tiara begins to scream at pitches that Alice never previously imagined, one that bring a dull ring to Alice’s ears. Tiara begins to howl from pain and thrashes against Erie’s weight, desperate to be free. Alice feels the panic, fear, sadness, and regret amalgamating in her chest, running through the polymorph’s body. Her vocal cords were suddenly ragged and choked as Tiara continues to struggle. Her skin felt like it was a flaming inferno that slowly melted her flesh.

Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop!

Finally, Tiara’s control seems to be weakening as she surrendered, and Alice seizes the opportunity to regain control of her body, the nuances of physical senses fully returning to her. Alice began coughing due screaming. As she recuperates, she can somewhat process what Erie was saying.

“Alice! Are you ok?” Erie gently asks as she gets off of Alice, tendrils now returning within her body.

“I’m...mostly fine.” She responds as she softly lays a hand on her side, nervously eyeing the wound where Tiara once was. She clears her throat.

“W-What was that plant you produced Erie, if I may ask?”

Erie grinned, a smile that Alice was strangely wary of.

“So, one of the students made it to Viktor’s home. And there are poisonous plants that can deter Tarwills! I told the student to bring one for me, so we can get rid of Tiara!” Erie said with enthusiasm as she looked down at the ivy in her hands. Alice also gazes at the plant, but with horror. Being a history teacher, she was somewhat interested in the history of the Tarwill’s existence. At her pestering, Viktor vaguely stated that their home was invaded by a plant, and said that he wished to speak of it no further.

That plant…it must be the one Viktor mentioned!

Alice spoke without forethought.

“Erie…no…please don’t tell me you hurt Tiara.”

She was met with confusion.

“What do you mean? Do you think it’s fair that she hurts you, but you don’t want to hurt her?” Something was coming, and Alice was scared of what may happen if she pushed this conversation. But, strangely enough, she still wanted to fight on Tiara’s behalf.

“But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I think…I think I understand how she feels!”

Erie, dumbfounded, retorts with anger.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT SHE FEELS. What matters to me is that you are ok. I could care less about Tiara! I’m tired of seeing you miserable all the time because of her.”

Alice felt an inkling of repulsion. Surely Erie was not so…inconsiderate?

“You have a point my love, but I think that does matter! You need to realize that Tiara is hurting too, and she can’t control her actions during the curse!”

“Then why can’t she just leave your body and go find someone else to pester, huh? I should not be arguing with you about this, it’s ridiculous that you offer yourself to someone that always hurts you.”

Both of them knew they were past the point of return.

“That’s not what I’m doing! I’m just trying to help and understand her! She doesn’t have anyone to talk to! She can’t go to Viktor; he only sees her as a threat!”

With Erie’s emotions fully derailed, she screams.

“I NEED SOMEBODY! I NEED YOU, ALICE!”

Both of the jolted from the sudden action. Alice’s passive nature made her and Erie’s relationship practically fight-free. And yet, here they were screaming at each other, casually misunderstanding each other.

Erie is the first to get up. With tears, she refuses to say anything more to Alice. The old conversation topic that always goes in circles was nothing new to either of them. What was new was the fight. Erie simply walks away, not bothering to heal Alice’s wounds. Alice so badly wanted to scream for Erie, to run back and embrace Erie with her arms. She wanted to be forgiven, to forget what happened between them. To tell Erie that she loves her forever and she’s sorry and that she’ll never act that way again. But she can’t, because that would mean ceding her point. And Alice did not want to give up on Tiara.

And just like on that day, Alice can only double over and sob into her palms.

Somewhere, as a hidden spectator watches Alice, they turn with silent and heavy footfalls to one of the level’s many walls. Making sure they are quiet and far away enough from Alice, they carve a message into the wall, big enough to be highly noticeable. They linger at their work for a moment, before gently sinking to the ground as a mask.

“I’M SORRY ERIE”

[superbataddicted]

Writer’s Month 2020 (Day 15)

Day 15 Prompt: Coffee Shop AU

Pairing: Kal-El/Bruce Wayne, Superbat

Warning: Angst with a Hopeful Ending. Definitely very AU.

He had always been known as the Barista and no one knew his actual name, not even he himself.

His quaint little coffee shop, tucked in a nondescript alley, could only be found by a selected group of clientele. For the coffee he served was no ordinary drink. They were speciality blends catered to the dead and dying. It was the one last cup to savour the love they once had before moving on to whichever afterlife that awaited them.

The Barista never tire nor did he needed rest. He was always in his shop, bustling behind a counter that had only seating for one. He never spoke for he always knew the names of his clients when they stepped in. The same goes too for the coffee to be prepared – the Barista knowing exactly the taste his clients were seeking.

However, one morning, a man stepped into his shop and the Barista was stunned to find that he knew nothing. No name came to mind and no hints were given as to the love the taller man had in his life.

This was unprecedented and the Barista frowned in consternation.

Upon laying eyes on the Barista, the man brightened up and he quickened his steps. Hands gripping the edge of the countertop, the man spoke eagerly.

“Some coffee for Bruce Wayne, please.”

Jolting in surprise, a buzzing flicker filled the Barista’s head, just like a TV having poor reception. He shivered at the weird feel of it, unease settling in.

Who was this strange man with a curl of hair against his forehead?

He seemed to know something that the Barista didn’t. And disconcerted by the intensity of the man’s gaze, the Barista shifted a step back.

Just then, information came flooding in and the Barista smiled in relief. Glad to be back in familiar territory – making coffee – the Barista began crafting a unique blend for the man called Bruce Wayne.

First, he added a spoonful of Arabica to bring out the delicate complexity of Mr Wayne’s approach to love. He then mixed in some dark roast for Mr Wayne loved with such strength and spicy heat. As a final touch, the Barista added a pinch of Liberica beans to demonstrate the intensity that Mr Wayne’s brought into his love.

Before long, the deep aroma of coffee filled the air and the Barista forgot about his uneasiness as he worked on crafting the best brew.

Placing the completed drink before the man, the Barista took a step back. There was an upward tilt to his lips for the disturbing man would soon be out of his hair.  

However, unlike those who had come before, the man did not touch the espresso cup. He merely stood there, eyes never leaving the Barista.

The seconds stretched into minutes and the Barista grew impatient. The espresso was losing its temperature and that would not do.

“You should drink it, sir,” the Barista finally spoke, the sound of his own voice startling him. He hadn’t intended to speak but his tongue had slipped, blurting out what was on his mind.

The man shook his head, “I can’t drink what isn’t made for me.”

That had the Barista tilting his head quizzically. His brewing process was never wrong and that cup was exactly tailored to Mr Wayne’s taste.

“There’s no mistake and you’ve made it right,” The man, seeming to know what was on his mind, replied.

“The thing is...I’m not Bruce Wayne. You are.”

The Barista stiffened, feeling as if he had been plunge into a lake in midwinter. He was the Barista and he had no name nor past nor history. So how could that be!

“Can you feel it?” the man continued, eyes taking on a feverish gleam, “The compulsion to drink what has been made in your name?”

And the Barista was suddenly very thirsty for the coffee before him.

“No...”

He denied, face turning pale. He tried to back away but his hand was already moving on its own accord reaching for that porcelain cup.

“No!”

He cried again, heart pounding and ears ringing. He had seen this happen to those who feared to face the love they once had. And try as they might, there was no escaping, him included.

Against his will, his hand lifted the cup to his lips, as steady as a rock despite the panic the Barista was feeling. His lips parted and the cup tilted, and the dark coffee slipped into his mouth and was all swallowed down.

The memories came flooding back, relentless and unstoppable. Bruce cried out, mixed emotions lifting his spirits yet tearing his heart into shreds. There were pain and anger and joy and fear, and he was being swept away, out-of-control.

Then he was being embraced. Bruce clung to that pair of strong arms until the storm within had blown over and he could finally hear the man speaking.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you died. I thought you had left me, had abandoned me.”

Eyes wet, Bruce buried his face in the crook of the man’s neck, breathing deep the familiar scent of his lover.

“Kal, Kal, Kal...” Bruce whispered feverishly, “God, how I missed you, Kal!”

He surged forward, kissing Kal, rough and hungry and desperate. Kal returned the favour with equal fervour, and hands tugged at clothes, slipping beneath to feel bare skin, Then Kal suddenly pulled back and Bruce groaned at the loss of his touch.

“Listen to me!” Kal cupped Bruce’s face, voice urgent, “I don’t have much time and I came here only to tell you...forget me, Bruce. Forget the love we have and move on, Bruce!”

“What!?!” Bruce stared in bewilderment, pain constricting his chest.

How could Kal say this to him! How could Kal after he had waited so long to meet him again!

Wrenching Kal’s hands from him, Bruce turned around, a bitter sour taste in his throat. He felt so stupid, choosing to be the Barista just because he wanted to reunite with his lover one day.

Before he could stalk away, Kal had grabbed him, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“I destroyed a world,” Kal spoke, voice hoarse and despaired, “Without you, I grew hateful and millions died because of me.”

Kal’s eyes widened at the remembered horrors he had unleashed and Bruce’s heart ached at the sight of his tormented lover. Unable to stop himself, he reached a hand out to caress Clark’s cheek.

“What did you do, Kal?”

Returning his focus to Bruce, Kal shook his head, eyes bleak.

“I don’t want you waiting for me anymore. You shouldn’t be here! You did no wrong and you should be alive and well and happy, not in limbo like this!”

Sucking in a deep breath, Kal straightened up, face serious.

“I don’t know how long it will take to repay my sins and I don’t want you waiting anymore. So I say this with all my heart and soul. I want you to move on, Bruce. Forget everything and live happily.”

Letting go of Bruce’s shoulders, Kal made a move to leave but Bruce grasped his hand, refusing to let go.

“What if I don’t want to!” Bruce hissed, face determined, “What if I’m willing to wait!”

“But I don’t...”

“It’s my feelings and I get to decide, not you!”

“Bruce...please!”

Eyes full of love, Bruce cupped Kal’s face, “What’s the point of being alive if you’re not there. What’s the point, if I’m not going to have you anymore.”

And Kal fell silent, torn yet uplifted by Bruce’s words. Guilt-stricken yet grateful, he leaned in and kissed Bruce again.

“Thank you and I love you.”

The Barista blinked, staring in puzzlement at his raised hands which was cupping empty air. A ticklish sensation distracted him and he touched his face, eyes widening in amazement to find tears slipping down his cheeks.

Why in the world was he crying?

He was the Barista, impartial and emotionless. And he couldn’t comprehend why the tears wouldn’t stop, and why he was smiling despite the heavy sadness in his heart.

(Like the tattoo artist/flower shop AU prompt, this one kept growing and throwing so many ideas at me. The gist of it is Bruce and Kal were lovers and Bruce was murdered, his death disguised as a disappearance. But Bruce didn’t want to move on and he decided to wait for Kal.  And Kal, being a kryptonian, didn’t die until many many years later. And you only learn the truth of your whole life upon death - the good, the bad, the ugly.) 

(Day 16 Prompt: History)

[peacefulwriter88]

Shackled

Warnings: NC 18. Blowjobs. Penetration. Language 

A/N: @younghades inspired me for this story and was also kind enough to beta for me along with @geminimoonbeamx - thank you! I really enjoy exploring parts of Steve that the comics do a beautiful job of portraying but the MCU unfortunately never exploited completely + SMUT. I hope you all enjoy!

_____

How dare he. 

How fucking dare he. 

You pause lifting your martini to your lips, the promise of gin just a mouths length away as you look down at the photo. 

It’s Steve and he’s wearing his classic red avengers sweatshirt that reads Captain in the back. Not that you could see it in this photo. No, in this photo all you could see was the beard, that handsome beard of his in a smile and the Australian Shepard dog, Merlin, that you both had adopted a year ago. Underneath the photo he had written in italics

New snuggle bug since the one I would want isn’t home

It was a trick. A distraction to guilt you home. Your earlier conversation, though you knew he understood, must’ve fallen on deaf ears, 

“Why aren’t you home?” he had asked two hours earlier and you had, in your already tipsy state rolled your eyes and sassed back, 

“Why aren’t you home? It's Bre’s birthday. You know that I told her - and you - that I would be out.” 

That had been the end of that. 

You didn’t realize that he was going to surprise you and Merlin tonight. Now, all you could think about was being back home, not in a short, spandex’s black dress that you had worn out but in sweats and a sweatshirt. You were restless from staying in the past week waiting on him - being an avenger didn’t provide the liberty to determine your on schedule. 

So you send him a simple text 

Pick me up in 10?

Not thinking anything of it. Thinking, for sure, that he would ignore it. 

You should know better than to ever underestimate Steve Rogers 

When you and your friends leave the club twenty minutes later, you are all surprised at the blonde blue-eyed Avenger who is watching you deliberately.

He’s leaning on his bike  across the street, ocean eyes watching your every move as you make your way to the street with your friends. Everyone is trying to hail a ride - should they lyft or uber? - but your eyes are stamped to him as he pushes off his bike, makes his way towards your group. 

You were going home by a different means. 

“Ladies, how are you doing tonight?” your friends squeal because it was Steve Rogers and gawd weren’t you lucky to have a man like Steve Rogers in love with you. They say as much and you agree - you were lucky as you lean up to wrap your arms around him, press your lips to his. 

He’s cold and soft in all the ways you expected him to be - you’re sure he was hoping to walk into a house with you in it, making dinner and eagerly waiting for him alongside Merlin- and normally you would be. Normally you lived for those evenings. 

But tonight…...

“I just needed one night out….I’ve been so alone missing you.” you whisper against his soft lips and his hands go to squeeze your ass, kisses you again as he gives a small smile. 

“I know.” 

His voice is dark and guttural, tickles against the beard he’s decided to keep since being out of shadow. 

“Sorry ladies, going to have to steal her.” it's all he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, starts to escort you across the street. 

“Going to have to remind you who you belong to…” he whispers lowly, placing one last kiss on your neck before helping you onto the bike, doing your best not to flash others. 

That was how it began. 

Now you were sitting in your shared apartment, hands crossed neatly over your lap as you sat criss crossed in your bed. Steve was in the chair across from you, slightly slouched, a beer in one hand as he rubbed his beard, flickering from your face to the dark area between your legs that was hidden from him. 

He had lit candles in the room when you had walked in and your nostril was stinging with the smells of sandalwood and teakwood, woodsy dark smells that had caused goosebumps to splay over your body when you realized the kind of night that Steve was hoping to have. 

That you had disrupted. 

“What should I do with you?” he finally asks, placing his beer down on the table and looking at you expectantly. You shrug and he raises an eyebrow - a warning -  and you clear your throat as you say, 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know what?” he repeats, thoughtly warning ringing in your ears and you sit up more straight as you mumble out, 

“I don’t know, sir.” 

Steve tilts his head, watches you for a second more before shaking his head, 

“You really hurt my feelings earlier sugar.” 

Sugar. This was gentle Steve, trying to tame the monster that he tried to keep caged down 90% of the time. The parts of him he didn’t allow anyone else to see - the mistakes, the pain, the regret that he all took out in the darker side of him. 

You didn’t want him to be gentle, not anymore. You liked dominant, choactic Steve Rogers when he showed up. 

“I didn’t mean too, sir, but I just needed to get some fresh air tonight.” 

“Needed to tease all those men.” he bites back, the tinge of jealousy intertwining in his words and you bite back the moan that wants to release as you nod your head slowly.  His voice is coarser as he whispers, 

“Wanted them to forget how you’re chained to me? How you’re mine.” 

Another nod from you, as you say with a low sultry voice, 

“Girl’s like to tease to remember that they’re desirable.” 

It was true. A guy hadn’t looked at you for months. Steve made sure of that. It normally didn’t bother you - it was nice that men understood that you were called for.  Except Steve had been in and out of your life for weeks lately  and that had you insecure. All up in your head. 

He gets up, walks up to you slowly, like a cat circling its prey, 

“Are my reminders not good enough.” his voice is dominant, yes, but with a touch of pain. 

“They’re fine when you’re around. When you’re not then my insecurities start to haunt me.” 

You and Steve make it work - your relationship - because of the honesty you both have built. You wanted him to understand that you weren’t being completely disobedient because of your natural need to be defiant but because you also needed to breathe. 

Loving an Avenger - fallen or not - was just as hard as being an Avenger. 

He knows all of this, could hear it over the phone the past few weeks but didn’t want to bring it up - didn’t want to cause a fight. So he let it linger, let it lay in the air and here you both were. 

Itching to destroy the other. 

You brought out his savage side. He feared it. He loved it. 

He loved you and he wanted you to understand to know. However; you also were being openly defiant and all those weeks of dead bodies - of letting humanity and his team down and the nightmares he kept at night were only binded, begging to be released. 

Only you could free him of it. He exhausted of being Mr. Good Boy. 

“On your knees.” Steve whispers, stopping a few yards in front of the bed. You take your time as you untangle your limbs, begin to crawl towards him. You know that he wants to punish you - wants to embarass you for leaving him out on a limb and you try to fight the moan that wants to escape your lips in anticipation - the flushing of your panties. The shame you carry from being turned on from the thought. 

You make it to him a little slower then he’d prefer - you were in one of those moods it would seem - and so when you're on your knees in front of him, looking at him with your eyes blinking up at him innocently he already knows how he’s going to punish you. 

Love you. 

               Reward you.

                                  Cherish you. 

                                                     Destroy you. 

He takes his time unbuckling his belt, watching you under dark indigo eyes that brew like a storm in the Atlantic, the pop of his buttons a welcomed distraction. You try to focus on the sound of his jeans brushing down his legs, pooling at his feet as he kicks them off, his boxers silent as his erection springs free. 

You groan, drinking in his manhood

You think back to a conversation that you had with your friend Stefanie hours earlier. She had been drunk - she had had a very long work week - and had no filter for her next words, 

“You’re dating a man with super soldier serum? Does that mean he has a super soldier cock?” 

You smirk as you drink in his manhood now. You had told her not to worry about it - it was between you and Steve. Now, you admire what is in front of you. He was lengthy, sure, and girthy in all the right ways - a blonde beaut that his trimmed hairs praised as it stood at attention but you’re not sure if his manhood being glorious was all super serum. 

In your gut you felt this was always Steve, even when he was scrawny and could barely carry himself and didn’t know what to do with the weapon between his legs. 

His stamina; however, you attested that all to the serum. 

“You’re going to be an obedient little girl and let me fuck this mouth however I please. You’re not going to protest and when I think you’re ready you’re going to drink my cum like the good little slut I  know you to be. You got that sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. There he was.

He whispers the demeaning words and they shouldn’t turn you on, they really shouldn’t, but it's all you can do to not bend backwards and cum in your panties. Still doesn’t deny a rush that floods between your legs, getting you wetter, and the smell mingles with the candles that are burning in the room. 

Steve groans, his super senses attaching to the smell as he grabs your head and pushes you towards his center, watches in adoration as your face inhales him, drinks him in. 

Then your mouth takes over. 

Your tongue sucks his tip, flickering over his hole before your jaw goes lax, opens wider for him. You hum content as he pushes himself into you, violating your space, tongue smashed to the basement of your mouth, teeth pulled back as you begin to breathe slowly through your nostrils. 

You loved pleasuring your man, loved to worship him but admittedly, he was a lot to take in. 

Too much it always felt. 

It’s on a particular stroke that his top hits the back of your throat that has you gagging, your hands naturally trying to push him away. 

He tsks, catching your wrists, crossing one over the over as he continued to push himself into you, 

“Nuh uh sweetheart we talked about this. You’re going to let me fuck this wet mouth, going to cum all over that pretty little face of yours.”

You try to focus on his words, on the way he praised you and not on the weight of his penis, the way your eyes tested  uncontrollably as he moved in and out of your mouth. Just when you didn’t think you could bare anymore, when your gagging was taking over the low hums of contentment, you feel Steve’s hip buckle as he pulls out of you. 

“Open wide.” He whispers and you nod, widening your mouth and leaning your head back, lashes kissing your cheeks. 

“Awww fu…..fuck.” Steve whispers hands clutching the strands of your hair as he pumped himself to orgasm. Seconds later you're flooded with him - a twisty tango of salt and something that could only be defined as Steve. You moan, nearly gagging as it floods your mouth, 

                                                   your tongue,

                                                           your nose,

                                                                    your eyes, 

                                                                            your cheeks. 

When he is done he strokes your face, gasping for air as he tsks, 

“Look at how much of a fucking mess you are. All dressed up in my cum.” 

He walks away, leaves you and his presence leaves you cold, wanting you to wash away the leftover gift he has bestowed onto your face. You want to wipe your face, to rid it off the natural mask it has been decorated in  but you're only wearing a dress, the thick spaghetti straps not enough to cleanse yourself of him. 

Seconds later your face is warm. Him, washing it off you tenderly, whispering in your ear all the while, 

“Now show me how much you want to fight for this cock.” 

When you’re able you blink your eyes open, drink in the way his indigo eyes have gone completely dark, the red sweatshirt thrown off of him. Steve was beautiful, anyone wouldn’t deny it. His arms were thick, muscled, scarred from the many battles he’s endured for over 100 years. Every part of him was hard, rugged - scars over skin that healed back perfectly, trying to disguise the damage. Building up the physical walls to his internal pain. 

You loved him so much. 

Your hand dances over his abdomen and he groans, relishing in your touch. In the adoring way your hands splayed over him. 

God he loved you so much. 

“Strip outta that dress. From now on - you  only wear it when I’m around.” he barely lets out and you nod, obediently. 

Demanding. 

Needy. 

He moves back to the lounge chair in your room, takes a seat. You note the blindfold to his side but that's it as your hands move to find your straps shakily, eyes on him. 

You don’t know why you get so nervous stripping in front of him. 

You knew he adored every inch of your body as much as you did his. Every curve, ever scar, every freckle - he had cherished lovingly. He made a point to tell you every second he could and yet in front of him, like this, you still got shy. Afraid you weren’t good enough. 

He hated that he made you insecure when you were the true goddess of his eye. 

The first strap rolls down the softness of your skin, then the second. You slowly pull them down your torso, your breast springing free and his eyes tighten. You see his otherwise flaccid penis begin to harden but that's all the response you get it. You push the dress  down your body, slowly, eyes never leaving his until its on the floor and you’re in nothing but your underwear. 

“Now those.” his voice is dry, gruff and you nod as you bite your lip, begin to push them down as well. 

When you’re done you are in nothing and your hands move to cross in front of your soft belly. 

“No.” he says and you stop, breathing out uncomfortably. This was his punishment, this was how he was going to make you pay for all the sassy comments on the night. 

In nakedness. 

He drinks you, the seal to his erection springing up toward his torso and you try to fight the blush that heats up your face, feels like it takes over your body. 

To be so open with someone so lovely that loved you was cruelty and he knew it. 

“Lay down,” he demands a second later before pausing, “And throw this on.” 

You watch as the blindfold sails in the air and lands in your hands, perfectly like everything he does, and you nod. You take the delicate strings and place it over your eyes until darkness takes over. Then, carefully, you move backwards until the backs of your knees hit your bed. You take your time moving onto your shared  bed, your breath hitching in anticipation. 

“Lay on your stomach sugar.” the voice comes from another place in the room but you obey, curious to see what he has in store for you as you roll onto your stomach, your face falling into the bedsheets. 

It smelled like you - a tad musky from when you got off thinking of Steve the night before  - and him, clean laundry and the spunky musk that had been on you minutes earlier and you wondered how many times he had gotten off waiting for you - wondering where you had gone off too before the natural investigator searched for you. 

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you forget about your current situation, on the verge of falling asleep when you feel heat caress up and down your back. You seethe, your head lifting as Steve whispers, 

“Relax sugar, going to work out those knots before you ride this fucking cock.” 

You’re unsure what he means - he had just poured fucking wax on your back you were sure of it - before his hands are moving up and down your skin. The wax gives way to something smoother, like oil, and before you can protest your body is hostage to Steve’s hands. They work you - up and down - your shoulders, your back, your buttox, all the way down to your legs. When he's done he flips you over but this time you’re ready for the hot wax that falls on your stomach - that he massages off of you and plays with your breast, before his mouth latches onto a nipple, groaning in desire. 

“Missed these fucking tits of yours. Missed this ass and your pussy. Did you miss me sweetheart? Did you miss my cock? I know you did, can smell you on our sheets. Missed me pounding you dumb?” 

All you could do is whine as he whispers into your skin, his tongue flickering over nipples before biting down, right before your left. 

Then he’s moving lower,

                                     lower,

                                              and lower.

Until his mouth hovers over your center. He inhales you, groans, bites his lip before he's pushing himself into you, massaging your breast and you lift your body, grip the sheets as he presses his tongue between your folds, draws a long lick up to your clit. It tickles and burns, his beard brushing against the tender flesh of your thighs and you sigh contently as your hand finds his hair, guiding him through another lick. 

“Oh sweetheart.” he whispers as he pulls away, presses a kiss on your mound before slapping it, causing you to yelp. 

“Later. After you’ve learned your lesson.” 

He pulls away and you’re fully expecting to be greeted with his cock but instead, seconds later you're being lifted in the air, causing you to squeal. He slaps your ass, 

“Control yourself.” he mutters lowly and you clamp your mouth together as he places you on the ground. You hear him move past you, sitting down in what you can only imagine is the lounge chair again before his fingertips are finding your hips. 

“Come ‘er.” he guides you until you’re straddling him, directing your hands onto his shoulders before he possessively  places his hands on your hips. 

“Want you to ride me blind sweetheart. Want you to show me who you belong to, want you to be a blind little slut while you bring yourself to orgasm.” 

You whine - it sounded absolutely delicious what he wanted but you’re unsure about doing it blind. How would you know where he was? 

You try anyways, blindly starting to squat where you think he is. He helps, directing you towards your prize and you both moan happily as you fall on top of him, him sheathing your insides like a key in a lock. Your walls flutter around him naturally, like it was meant to breathe around his manhood and he moans as his face falls into your chest, before muttering, 

“Show me who I belong to.” 

It's awkward at first, you don't deny that. You rock against him uncertainty, your legs not used to this position and slipping against the slick carpet. He helps guide you until a particular thrust captures your g spot and you throw your head back, moaning, your nails biting into the strong muscles of his shoulder. 

You steady yourself on the floor, snapping your hips and imaging how he looked right now. Meanwhile, Steve had found your breast and beyond teasing your nipples he keeps his hands to himself, drinking in the way you take control. His beard tickles your breast as he praises you, his hands finding the straps to your blindfold and pulling it back. 

The contrast hurts your eyes and you blink a few times before you drink in the way his dark eyes watch you and you bite your lip, grind into him deeper. All the while he praises, 

“That's right. Fuck my cock the way a little slut should, fuck me until you come and cant move. Fuck me until I have nothing else to give you.”

It's a stark contrast,  this Steve but you liked it. You liked when he let go and discounted the scars on his chest, the ones that were bruised a blue and purple sore and painful though he’d never let on. He needed to be this man, the one that could get all his disappointment and hurt and pain out in this way - pleasure twisting with pain. 

When his hand moves to your throat at a particular good thrust you know that he’s had a bad mission. 

A few.                    Bad.                        Missions. 

You can barely get words out in the way he dominates you, riding against your strokes and his hand gripping at the delicate skin 

Steve could snap your throat in half, you always think of that as he gives you a gentle squeeze and you rock against him, his shaft hitting against your clit causing you to purr and move your head back. 

He can’t stay in control anymore. 

He keeps one arm around your neck,  your sweet Steve, while the other finds your hips, begins to drive them into you. It's on a particular strong stroke that you feel your body unnerving, no longer to keep pace on your own, 

“Steve….I ….I...” 

“Yeah baby. You gonna cum for me?  

You’re unable to answer. 

All seven trillion nerves in your body bursting into life, giving way to the way your walls flutter around Steve causing him to groan as you fall back on your own. He prolongs it, releases your neck to play with your clit and just when you didn’t think you could feel any more pleasure you’re hit with another orgasm, one that causes you to screech out a noise Steve has never heard before. 

He watches the way your body erupts in goosebumps, before it involuntarily shakes and your milking him without being consciously aware. It drives him over the edge, the leftover cum stain on the side of your mouth, the way your eyes have rolled back and grip for him, the fluttering of your walls around him. He hollers, fills you up with his cum as he pulls you toward him, hips jerking up as you milk him for all that he is worth. 

When it's over you're both looking at each other, a sheen of sweat covering you both before you bend down to kiss him, nose nudging his own as you whisper, 

“I love you.” 

He smiles against your mouth as he whispers back, 

“I love you too. But you’re mine. Don’t forget that.” 

You smile as you kiss him again, nodding. 

“Of course.”  you whisper against his lips, “Just like you belong to me.” 

________

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[fortune-fool02]

A Disturbing Truth

Kakyoin Noriaki x Dio’s daughter reader

Requested by: anonymous

Warnings: bit of angst, fluff

With the dates and ages of the characters for Stardust Crusaders, I had to alter this request slightly in order for it to make sense. I hope this is alright for the person who requested it.

Please enjoy.

An angered yell was made as [Name] charged at the enemy, avoiding the attack with ease and landing a strike of her own; this gave Kakyoin the opening he needed for his Emerald Splash, which shot through the enemy and sealed their victory. 

As the enemy stumbled to the ground, his eyes looked up at [Name]. The coldness piercing through him as she looked down on him like the scum he was, a sharp gasp slipped his lips at the familiar aura that radiated from this [Hair colour] female though, before anything could be done, his life slipped through his fingers and he was left motionless. 

“You okay, [Name]?” Kakyoin asked as he jogged over to her. She nodded, turning her head to the red-haired teen and smiling before they turned and walked away. 

The image of that man’s dying gaze stuck in [Name]’s head like a hot iron. It was not the first time an enemy has looked at her in that way. It wasn’t a look of fear that one had when facing death, it was the look one would have when facing something they feared. Each enemy she killed looked at her as if she was the Devil, ready to drag their souls down to Hell. And that bothered her. Mainly because none of the enemies looked at the other crusaders the same way, only her. 

As she sat at the table, her mind lost in her thoughts, her fingers gentle traces the birthmark on her ear. Three dots, like Orion's Belt. Her mother didn’t have it nor did other members of her mother’s side of the family, it was the only indication she had of her father. Someone she has never known. 

Her mother always told her that her father was someone she didn’t need to know. That, even if she wanted to find him, she never would. It was something she had accepted, and for seventeen years of her life, she has not needed him. Whoever he was.

***

As the group made their way towards Dio’s mansion, they decided it would be best to split up. Jotaro, Kakyoin and [Name] going through the main entrance whilst Mr Joestar, Polnareff, Avdol and Iggy went through the side, a perfect ambush for if things went South -which was very likely. 

Footsteps echoed around the stone room, void of any light and allowing the darkness to dominate. Kakyoin shivered lightly, not from the cold but from the sheer power that lingered in the air. The same power he felt when he first encountered Dio all those weeks ago. The memory still haunted him to this day. [Name] placed her hand on his shoulder, giving him a concerned look, he smiled at her. 

“I’ll be alright.” he told her, taking her hand into his as they continued to delve further into the monster’s lair, prepared for anything he was ready to throw at them. As they reached a fork at the end of the corridor, [Name] felt something brush past her; a gentle voice to her, beckoning her to follow it. And she did. 

Whatever it was that was calling to her, she was helpless to ignore it. The voice seeped into her mind, filling her head like a thick fog and crushing any rational thought, any red flags that told her to stay with her friends. Kakyoin saw this and gave chase after [Name], Jotaro on his heels. 

“[Name], where are you going?” the red-haired teen asked, placing his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. The second his hand touched her shoulder, a wave of soul-crushing energy flooded the room, striking through the trio like a sharpened blade through flesh. He turned sharply, lavender eyes searching the shadows for the source of the power. He knew exactly who it belonged to, and he was ready to stand his ground. 

“Ahh, it appears that I have guests.” That deep, echoing voice bounced around the room as if the shadows themselves were speaking, sounding as if he was everywhere at once. [Name] stood there, [Eye colour] eyes wide with a veil of fear clouding them. The sheer darkness behind this power made her bones cold and her blood flow with ice laced into it. 

But there was something else in that voice. A sense of authority that one would feel from a parent. 

“And quite an interesting one among you.” Even though Kakyoin stood beside her, [Name] felt exposed; any sense of protection was snatched away from her by that voice alone and that scared her. She has not felt this exposed before and her mind was panicking. 

“Why don’t you come out of those shadows and face us,” Kakyoin challenged, “...Dio.” he spat out that name like he had taken a bite of food about to spoil. A dark chuckle echoed around them, 

“As you wish.” Before any of them could react, Kakyoin and Jotaro went flying into the walls, crashing through the stone with pained groans, as if they were nothing but rag-dolls, leaving [Name] to face the towering figure that stood only feet away from her. A lion standing before a small, quaking lamb, looking down at her with a look that made [Name] want to curl up and cower. 

Shadows danced across his body, only allowing glimpses of his lower jaw to be seen; two golden, glowing eyes pierced through the darkness at her, two fireflies in the shadows. A hand rose up, brushing against her skin with an icy touch that, for a moment, [Name] thought she felt frost begin to trail past his fingers. His fingers tucked the hair in front of her ear, revealing the three dots and a smirk lifted his lips. 

“What a surprise. I did not think this was a heredity feature.” [Eye colour] orbs widened at that, looking up at his piercing golden eyes and saw flickers of amusement in them. He brought his other hand up to his own ear, revealing identical dots on his own ear. This man.... the monster they were hunting down who had caused so much suffering for others.... was her father?  

“Have you nothing to say to me... daughter?” 

The two male crusaders’ eyes widened when they heard that. Daughter? [Name] was Dio’s daughter? Did that mean she was their enemy as well? Kakyoin felt his chest tighten, his hand grasping his uniform. His girlfriend was his enemy’s offspring? 

The wall beside [Name] and Dio broke through, sending stones flying and sunlight pouring through the room, forcing Dio to leap away from the blinding light. Mr Joestar, Polnareff, Iggy and Avdol all stood there, ready to fight only to ind the room empty aside from the three crusaders. Dio had vanished in the darkness. 

Mr Joestar and Polnareff helped Kakyoin to his feet just as Jotaro rushed at [Name], Star Platinum materialising beside him and landing a punch on the [Hair colour] woman, sending her crashing into the wall as well. A pained yelp was heard. 

“Jotaro, what the hell are you doing?” Mr Joestar shouted, shocked at his grandson’s sudden attack on their friend. Jotaro glared down at [Name], his eyes cold. 

“Turns out that [Name], here, is the god-damn daughter of Dio.” All eyes shot towards the [Hair colour] female as she propped herself back up, trying to ignore the scorching pain in her back from the impact though that was easier said than done when Jotaro stormed over to her with Star Platinum beside him. 

Out of instinct, her own Stand materialised beside her as she tried to crawl away from him. “I-I didn’t know! I didn’t know Dio’s my father!” Her confession fell on deaf ears as Star Platinum drew his fist back, ready to strike at her again. 

“Jotaro, wait!” Kakyoin’s words halted Jotaro’s action, Star Platinum’s fist hovering dangerously close to [Name]’s face. She shook lightly from the fear coursing through her veins, watching as the Stand drew his fist back again and all eyes shift to Kakyoin, waiting for his explanation of stopping Jotaro.

The red-haired teen approached the stoic male, “I don’t think [Name]’s lying to us. I don’t think she knew.” For some reason, Kakyoin could not believe that [Name] knew that Dio was her father throughout their entire mission; mainly because he could see genuine fear in her eyes when Dio approached her. 

If she knew and was indeed planning to betray them, then why did she look so afraid of Dio? He turned to [Name], crouching down beside her and helping her onto her feet slowly, careful of any injuries Jotaro had likely given her. He was not known for his gentle punches.

[Name] looked up at the crusaders then at Jotaro, a desperate look in her [Eye colour] eyes. He turned away from her, muttering his little phrase. Kakyoin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, giving her a small, reassuring smile. 

[Name] may be Dio’s daughter but she was nothing like her father. Because, unlike him, [Name] had a heart beating in her chest and a soul; that was something Kakyoin believed wholeheartedly and, unless she turns around and kills them herself, he will continue to believe this. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Fourteen

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

*********************************************

When Claire reached the main house, she was shown up to the same rooms that had belonged to Geneva before her marriage. 

Isobel and Lady Dunsany were seated near the bed where Geneva was resting. But Claire’s attention immediately went to her prospective patient. 

There was certainly a disheveled exhaustion about Geneva. The drawn look about her eyes indicated difficulty sleeping or some other strain. Her coloring was off too. She appeared more likely to break out into a cold sweat than a maidenly blush. To Claire’s eyes, the young woman was clearly unwell and not simply tired from an uncomfortable journey over bad roads.

Geneva roused when her mother greeted Claire. Her eyes quickly sought and found Claire’s. Before Geneva could conceal it, Claire thought she saw fear and relief wash over her face. 

“Mama, would you and Isobel leave us?” Geneva requested. “I recall Mrs. Mackenzie is more comfortable performing her examinations in private.” 

“Indeed. And whatever else Mrs. Mackenzie recommends for you, I’m certain that rest will be imperative,” Lady Dunsany conceded. “If you had given us more warning of your visit and had taken your time in your journey, I could have planned something especially appropriate for your first night at home again. However, I suppose a quieter meal for tonight will suit you better under the circumstances. I shall speak with Cook about arranging something for tomorrow evening or later in the week, when you’re feeling more yourself.”

“I won’t be staying more than a day or two, I’m afraid, Mama,” Geneva apologized as she moved to sit up. “Lord Ellesmere was traveling for business and I grew weary of being left behind. But he will return soon and I should be at home when he arrives. I will speak to him, though, about making an extended visit before too long,” she promised with a saccharine smile for her mother. 

Lady Dunsany’s smile in return was indulgent. “Of course, my darling. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow and make a proper event of it when you come for your longer stay. And we will always have your rooms here ready for you.” 

Isobel remained silent as she followed her mother out, casting one last fearful and curious look back at Claire and her sister as she closed the door behind them. 

Geneva sighed deeply but quickly lost the remaining color in her face and darted up for the chamber pot. She made it in time to heave the contents of her stomach into it, then turned to Claire with tears in her eyes. 

“Help me,” she begged. 

Claire rushed to Geneva’s side as she turned back to the porcelain vessel to gag and choke on bile for a moment longer. After fetching Geneva some water to rinse her mouth out, Claire found herself rubbing the young woman’s back while she spat into the basin and breathed through her mouth until the nausea subsided. 

“I suspect I know what’s ailing you,” Claire murmured.

“I’m carrying a child,” Geneva confirmed, her eyes drifting closed as she lifted her head, deliberately swallowed, and then sighed when there was no further urge to vomit. She set the basin aside and drifted back to the bed. “It’s not my husband’s,” she confessed quietly.

Claire frowned at Geneva as she covered the basin with a cloth and brought another glass of water to the bed for Geneva to swallow this time. “You’re certain it isn’t?”

Color came flooding back to Geneva’s face. “Lord Ellesmere and I haven’t… It can’t be his and he’ll know it as soon as he learns about my condition.” 

A chill traveled up Claire’s spine as the implications of Geneva’s declaration registered. 

“Then… you’re asking me to help you get rid of it,” she stated. 

Geneva’s eyes sparked with horror. “No! Absolutely not. If I’m going to bear a child, I’d far rather it be Daniel’s child than my husband’s,” she asserted. “I need your help to get Lord Ellesmere to lay with me so I can convince him the child is his.” She scoffed and shook her head. “Just a few months ago, the last thing I wanted was for that man to lay a hand on me and now, if he doesn’t fulfill his husbandly duties I’ll be ruined.”

“I’m not sure what help I can be with your situation,” Claire admitted, with an internal sigh of relief. “Has he given you any indication why he hasn’t…?” 

“His manhood fails him. He… does things that rouse him… but it hasn’t been enough for him to… complete the deed,” Geneva stumbled awkwardly through her explanation. “If there were something I could give him to help him… maintain himself long enough to… see things through, then when I tell him in a few weeks that I’m with child, he’ll believe it’s his.”

“While I sympathize with your situation, I am not comfortable helping you to drug your husband—”

“It’s not as if he isn’t keen to—” Geneva started, but cut herself off as another wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes and rode it out, then began arguing her position again, more calmly. “I’m not looking to cause him harm. The opposite, in fact,” she said with the enthusiasm of a point that had only just occurred to her. “The truth wouldn’t just damage my reputation. It would devastate Lord Ellesmere. He would be humiliated. But if he were able to father an heir… it would allow him peace and comfort.”

“It is not the deception about your child’s parentage that I object to,” Claire assured Geneva. “And I understand your desire to bear and raise the child of the man you truly love.” She’d been in a similar enough position after Culloden. It had never been a question of trying to trick Frank into believing Brianna was biologically his, but the warring desires for Frank to accept Brianna for her daughter’s sake and to push him away because it should have been Jamie… “I can’t treat someone without their knowledge,” she tried to explain. “Not in this way. If your husband were to come to me seeking treatment for… his condition… I still don’t know that I could help. It’s not an area I’ve had much concern to study.”

“But wise women always know how to handle these matters,” Geneva desperately objected. “You’re supposed to know how to get a child. Wouldn’t that cover that aspect of things as well?”

“I am sorry for your situation,” Claire assured Geneva. “I can help you soothe your morning sickness and I can treat you throughout your pregnancy. If you allow me to examine you regularly, I can make sure everything’s progressing smoothly and let you know how best to take care of yourself and your baby. I am happy to be a midwife to you when the time comes… but I can’t tell you what to do about your husband. I agree that if he can be made to think the child is his, it could be the kindest thing for him as well as for the child. But I don’t know how you might be able to do that.”

Geneva scoffed in frustration, tears springing to her eyes. “So you will not help me. Very well,” she remarked, already recalculating the possibilities in the wake of the blow. “You can go. And you are not to tell anyone—”

“I’ve told you before, what you tell me in confidence while you’re under my care as a patient goes no further than this room. And I meant what I said—if you need me for anything concerning your health or that of your baby, I will tend to you and will do everything I am able in my power as a healer.”

Geneva’s expression softened. “Is there something that will settle my stomach? I… I’m afraid that will give me away.”

Claire nodded and crossed to the desk for paper and a quill to write out some instructions and recipes for Geneva to try.

*********************************************

Claire walked back to the cottage turning over Geneva’s predicament. She pitied the young woman for being trapped in a marriage she didn’t want, so that what should have been a happy occurrence had turned out to be a source of deep distress. Pregnancy was nerve wracking enough in ideal circumstances, but her situation… And to only have had a single night with the man she loved—to have had such a limited experience of the joys and pleasures of sex…

Brianna and Jamie were still busy and away when Claire arrived at their (hopefully) temporary home. And the pity she felt for Geneva broke beneath a wave of jealousy and grief. 

A single night. That was all it had taken for Geneva to fall pregnant—pregnant with a child unsought and undesired, even if conceived in love. While she and Jamie had been hoping and trying for another child for months and had struggled in the early days of their marriage too. 

Jamie kept telling her it would happen when it was meant to happen—and also that he was sure it would happen. 

“We’ve weathered tougher storms than this, Sassenach. The sun appeared again then and it will wi’ this as well. Ye’ll see,” he had assured her as she lay in the warmth of his arms. 

For now, though, Claire allowed herself to indulge and weep as she settled into an empty chair before the cold fireplace. 

[madame-guignol]

“A Chalky Undertaste”

Summary: It’s been a month since newlyweds Inko and Hisashi Midoriya moved into their new apartment in the United States, and everything has been going as splendid as it could be for any young couple living overseas. Hisashi is hard at work, his ambitions for a rewarding promotion high; Inko has begun making friends with some of their rather quirky neighbors; and it won’t be long until their plans to expand their family turns into a reality.

But then one night, during a dinner party with their neighbors, the Midoriyas’ lives take a dark and twisted turn.

Tags/Warning: Rape/Non-Con, Demon Summonings, Drugged Sex, Villain!All Might, Demon!All Might, Dark , Heavily Inspired by “Rosemary’s Baby”

~@~

Inko knew something good must have happened when she came home to find a vase of roses on the dining room table. At first, she blinked at the roses with wide, bemused eyes— then she let out a soft gasp and walked forward. She reached out her hand, her fingers brushing against the petals; they were still soft, still cool, as if freshly watered. Smiling softly, she cradled a blossom in her palm and stared at it.

“Do you like them?” Hisashi spoke from the other end of the dining room, poking his head out to give her a wide smile. He’d clearly been home a while, but was still wearing the crisp suit from his job.

 “They’re beautiful. But dear, what’s the occasion?” Inko asked.

 He shrugged, one side of his mouth quirking upwards to form a dimple. “Just wanted to show my appreciation. I know this move hasn’t been easy for you, and I know I’ve been so focused on work and trying to move up in the job— I haven’t been fair to you.”

 A light flush flooded Inko’s cheeks, her heart pulsing with a burst of affection. She smiled wider. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hisashi. I-I’m fine—”

 “No, no, I insist,” Hisashi said as he walked over, a sturdy sort of resolve in each step. He stood in front of her, smiling softly, his dark eyes soft with a familiar affection that Inko hadn’t seen in more than a while and he lifted his hands up to rest on Inko’s shoulders. “Love, for putting up with me, you deserve the world— and that is why I think it’s time.”

 “T-time…?”

 “Time to do what we’ve wanted since we got married: have a baby.”

 Inko couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, her hands rising to cover her mouth. She was suddenly so full of joy, the sort that fills the chest and makes it so tight it might burst, the sort that brought a sting to the back of her eyes. A baby. God, how long had Inko wanted a baby? She’d become so worried that between Hisashi’s career, the transfer to New York, meeting the Shields— not to mention their other strange neighbors— that it would never happen. That it would be put off forever.

“Tonight?” she asked, couldn’t help but hope.

“Absolutely,” said Hisashi with a broad grin. He squeezed her shoulders in resolve. “We’ll start as soon as we get home from the Shields’ party— David’s mother is turning eighty tonight.”

“Oh, Hisashi!” Inko practically leaped forward into his arms, her face turned so she could nuzzle her cheek against his chest. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

“Me too, baby. Now, let’s get ready for the party.”

~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 Falling, that was the only word she could use for what she was feeling. She felt like she was falling into a deep abyss of the darkest night— but it was such a slow fall, so gentle. It was the sort of falling that made her feel anything but unsafe. She was uncertain how such a fall could be so soothing, but Inko still felt no fear. Her eyelids were heavy, almost stuck together as she fell, but she found herself seeing the blinking of lights in the black, lights that could only be stars. It had been so long since she saw stars—

Hands, there are hands, the clarity shot a crack in her hazed mind. Inko was suddenly aware, if only just enough, to feel hands unzipping her jeans and then dragging them down her legs. The gesture made her squirm, then hum in drowsy bemusement as her legs were left bare and exposed to the cool air.

“—That’s it, just sleep,” a whisper, then a familiar hand gently brushing her cheek. “Sleep, baby...”

With hearing the voice, Inko had the unconscious clarity that she’d fallen on a rather soft cloud. She squirmed against the cloud, her mouth spreading into a sleepy smile before she paused. Where...where am I? How did I…? Inko hummed in thought, trying to gather the vague, blurry memories in her mind.

 (“Oh, oh no, Mrs. Shield,” she was laughing, still energized from dancing and drinking that her mind was already clouding. “I can’t have another drink, that’d be too much—!”

 “Nonsense, honey,” said the old woman, her smile wide and painted with blood red lipstick as she held a glass of vodka blush in her bony hand. “It’s a party, you can have at least one more.”

 “I sh-should really find my husband,” Inko tried to insist.

 “Aw, please. One more, for me? It’s my birthday, after all.”

 “...Oh, why not?” And with a laugh, Inko took the glass and slammed the cocktail down her throat.)

 “...B-but, the party,” she murmured, remembering, even as her eyes stayed closed. “Hisashi, the party…”

 Above her, Hisashi let out a soft shush; his hand moved from stroking her cheek to leaving gentle caresses under her chin. “Don’t worry about that. None of it.”

 Then his hand moved to join his other on Inko’s chest, the fingers slowly undoing the buttons of her blouse. Inko felt her skin meet the cool air as the cloth was parted, felt Hisashi’s knuckles brush against the swell of her breasts as he undid the front clip. The gesture was familiar in its intimacy, but strange. She just couldn’t make her brain connect with how strange it all was.

 Inko’s brow pinched, the intense fatigue keeping her eyes shut. “Are we...Hisashi, are we going to make a baby now?”

 “No, no, darling,” Hisashi said as he moved one arm around Inko’s waist to rest a hand to her back. Then he lifted her up, began gently removing her blouse and her bra. “Just getting you ready for bed.”

 “Okay...okay.” Inko gave a sort of nod, then once again let gravity bring her back into the abyss.

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 Inko blinked and found herself in the park she used to go to whenever she had free time. She was sitting on a bench right next to a friend from university, whose belly was beginning to swell with her and her husband’s first child.  

 “What?” Mitsuki whipped her head around, disbelief lighting up her face. “You’re moving to America? Why?”

 “Hisashi’s job is transferring him there for a couple of years,” Inko said, parroting exactly what Hisashi told her. “It’s a move that will guarantee a promotion and a salary increase.”

 “I mean, I don’t doubt that but— that’s so far away. Are you sure you can handle it? You’ve never been abroad before…”

 “Oh, I’m sure! I want to support Hisashi in whatever career moves he makes. Besides, it can’t be much different from living here.”

 “I suppose so...but still, please be careful over there,” said Mitsuki, her eyes narrow and a deep frown on her face. “America’s pretty big. You never know what sort of people you’ll run into over there.”

 Inko smiled. “Oh, Mitsuki, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen—but if it did, you will definitely be the first person to know.”

 Mitsuki paused to stare at her, and then grinned back. “Good to know!”

 ~

 ~

 ~

 (“Careful, careful,” was hissed. “We don’t want to wake her.”

 “Oh, hush. If she drank the entire glass, then she’s practically dead to the world.”

 “You should still take great care, old woman,” said Hisashi, his voice colder than Inko has ever heard from him. “She’s still my wife.”)

 Inko blinked, then whipped her head behind her to see a vast, blue ocean. “Hisashi…?”

 Just then, a giant hand fell on her shoulder, heavy as steel and tanned like the owner was forged from the sun’s rays. Inko felt her heart leap inside her throat, her eyes shifting to glance at the very unfamiliar hand squeezing around her shoulder. Just as it did, the skies above her began turning dark and the ocean became choppy, an omen of an oncoming storm.

 She could feel him behind her, a huge looming presence that seemed ready to cover her whole body, with a heated gaze burning holes in the back of her neck. Inko was frozen, staring forward with eyes so wide that it hurt, but something inside her (An instinct?) made her refuse to blink, to dare turning around. As the man behind her began to heave deep and steaming breaths, like that of a ravenous dragon, Inko remembered herself and whipped around to glare upward, her mouth opening to—  

 “Inko? Baby, what’s wrong?”

 Inko’s scream froze in her throat as she blinked, seeing who it was. “Hisashi…?”

 Hisashi’s expression was blank before he lit up in a warm smile. “Of course. Who else would I be?”

 And of course, Inko couldn’t answer. She lifted a hand to her shoulder, which she was just realizing was bare and rubbed the skin there. She could still feel the burn of that hand, as if it had left a mark on her, just like. Inko couldn’t complete the thought, her wide eyes staring from the side at her shoulder as sweat rolled down her face. J-j-just like a…?

 (“...And now, dearest, you are mine forever.”)

 But there was nothing on her skin, of course. There had been nothing, no one else, of course there wasn’t. There was just her and Hisashi and—

 “Hey Hisashi, what’s the hold up?” shouted David Shield from the other side of the yacht. He was coming up from the bottom, holding a cooler in his hands and beaming wide. “We’re just about to break out some beers!”

 “Better grab one before Enji does, or there will be none left,” added another neighbor of theirs, Gran Torino, who was grinning while laying back on the chairs by the pool.

 Enji Todoroki paused in play wrestling with his eldest son Touya in the pool and turned to glare. “Hey—!”

 Rei snorted, then burst into a sunny laughter. “ Oh, honey, you’re so funny—”

 (“—this isn’t right,” Rei was whispering in a trembling voice, Inko could hear her even in the dark. “Enji, th-this isn’t...we shouldn’t be here!”

 “Just shut up and do as you’re told,” was the growled reply.)

 “Here, Inko,” Hisashi said. “Mrs. Shield made you one of these— drink.”

 Inko turned to him, then saw he had a flute of vodka blush in his hand. Smiling, she reached out to take it. The glass was so cold in her palm, already sweating from the chill of the mixed drink, but with them all standing under a tropical sun, it was a welcome sensation. Inko tilted the glass to drink, but before her lip could brush against the rim, she suddenly froze.

 (“Inko, dear…? Are you all right?”

 “I-I don’t—there’s something weird about this drink, I realize,” Inko slurred out, her sight going hazy.

 “Oh? And what’s that?”

 “It tastes...funny.”

 “You don’t say...?” drawled Mrs. Shield, her crimson grin growing so wide it nearly split her wrinkly face.)

 “...Honey, what’s wrong? It’s your favorite drink.”

 “I...I don’t know.” Eyes squeezed shut, Inko began grasping her head, feeling suddenly lightheaded—Why did it have to be so blazing today? It isn’t even June yet.— “I just…”

 Just as her eyes fluttered open, every word climbing up Inko’s throat froze in place as she did, her mouth dropping at what she was seeing on her husband’s face.

 Where Hisashi’s plain face stood now rested a bone white mask, its grin wide and ghastly, and the eye sockets only holding darkness. His stance seemed to go slack, as if a marionette in rest before a performance. Even when the head tilted, the motion was too jerky to be natural.

 “What’s wrong?” spoke Hisashi’s voice, but with an odd rumble, as if it was his voice and another’s. Then the masked face leaned forward towards her, making Hisashi’s body hunch. “You look so pale, honey…”

 Inko couldn’t hear him, could hardly hear anything over her pulse ringing through her ears. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck and she took one step back away from him.

 “You should give her this drink, instead,” spoke Mrs. Shield’s voice, lilting in a mockery of her usual tone.

 When Inko tilted her head to look behind Hisashi, she nearly screamed to see that a similar mask was on the old woman’s face— though this one’s grin was too wide, too mean— and a glass in her bony claw of a hand full of something milky, with hints of something green that just smelled. It was enough to make anyone keel over, if not vomit all contents from the stomach. Keeping a hand to her mouth, Inko darted her gaze around and found that she was surrounded. All her neighbors, all the friends she’d made the past month, all of them. They were wearing the same mask. Some of the grins on the masks were different. Some, like Rei, had an inky blackness dripping from the eyes to flood over a broken smile. But that mask...it was the same.

 (“But there are no witches, not really.”)

 Inko whimpered from behind her hand, still backing away. She needed to get off this boat, needed to get back home—

 But before she could even turn, Hisashi grabbed her arm and held tight. Inko didn’t even get the chance to scream for help before Mrs. Shield grabbed her other arm. The masked neighbors watched as Inko was pulled towards the growing crowd of them, their gazes holding an eerie hunger, a greed that made Inko begin sobbing. Would no one help her? Wasn’t there anyone…?

 (Across the world, still pregnant and missing her friend, Mitsuki suddenly felt an itch at the back of her neck while cooking dinner. She slowly lifted a hand to begin scratching—)

 “Please, no…! Let me go!”

 Inko was still sobbing when Hisashi and Mrs. Shield then dropped her right in the middle of the room— Room? I thought this was a boat! — and the masked promptly leaned in to stare down at her. Inko stared up at them, eyes wide and tearful. Before she could scream WHAT DO YOU WANT, they were all upon her, their hands touching her and grasping at legs and arms and everything. They grabbed and took and made it impossible to fight back. Inko screamed at the top of her lungs and twisted her body in their hold, throwing her arms and fists outward— but they were all too strong. Many of them were so old, and yet, they were too strong.

 Finally, they lifted her by the limbs— two grasping either of her wrists, while two others at her ankles, and a few more lifting her up from her back— and began taking her down a dark hallway. Inko screamed again, turning her head back and forth. She caught sight of flickering flames crawling up the walls but not burning them, of images of horned creatures with sharp teeth ripping the world apart to ravage it, of a seven-headed dragon spitting green fire across the world, and of hundreds of people shadowed under dark hoods, watching her with eyes so empty, filled with nothing—

 ~@~

Inko’s eyes fluttered open to a room lit only by candles standing on either side of the room. Very vaguely, she noticed some things about her situation. One: she was currently laying on something soft, covered with a silk that shone like crimson— a huge, King sized bed. Two: she was naked and could not move. Her arms were tightly bound on either side of the bed, the rope rough against her wrists; at the end of the bed, ropes were tightly bound to her ankles and holding her legs spread wide from either bedpost.

 And three: Surrounding her were at least a dozen elderly people—both men and women—many she vaguely recognized from around the building, and some she hadn’t met yet. They were all as naked as the day they were born, even Mrs. Shield— which under normal circumstances, would be comical—but with everyone else’s sagging naked bodies surrounding her in such a shameless display, the scene looked borderline grotesque. They all stared down at her with dark and empty eyes, rapidly whispering an odd mantra in a language unknown to Inko, a deep and dark chanting that slowly began to build and build in volume, filling the air with a haunting melody and a very odd weight in the air, giving off a smell very similar to mold.

 Inko’s eyes tiredly shifted around the room, quickly finding that there weren’t just old people. She could see across the room, almost hidden by the shadows, Rei and Enji Todoroki— and next to them, his eyes hidden by his dark fringe, was Hisashi.

 “...Her eyes are open,” someone spoke suddenly, their old creaky voice stammering through the chanting voices, “I-is she awake…?”

 “Nah, she’s still deep under. That drug hit her like a freshman at a frat party. This will be nothing more than a weird dream to her by tomorrow,” Mrs. Shield spoke up, her blue eyes cold and her smile like a razor. To her side, she ordered, “Are her binds nice and tight?”

 “Yes, mother,” replied David.

 “Good. Then all of you, keep going! It won’t be long now. I’ve got a feeling He’s already caught her scent...”

 What…? What is this? Where am I? Inko could vaguely feel these thoughts brushing her consciousness, her eyes still bleary and lidded with the heavy exhaustion weighing her body down, weighing her brain down, it felt like. She pressed her eyes closed, the skin of her eyelids pinching together. What does she mean by “He”...?

 As she slowly opened her eyes again, her gaze still clouded, Inko lolled her head to again look in the direction her husband was standing next to the Todoroki family. Enji was standing behind Rei, hugging her from behind to keep him close to his torso. His blue eyes nearly glared like flames as they raked along Inko’s body, and slowly, one of his hands dipped between Rei’s legs. Rei did nothing, did not fight against the gesture she hadn’t asked for, did not seem to respond to it at all. Her eyes were deep pools of gray that only held an even deeper sorrow as they eyed Inko, even as Enji’s hand began moving to stroke along the folds of her body. Inko watched, feeling a sickness rise from her stomach.

 And still, Hisashi did not move.

 The chanting went on and on, mounting as the smell of mold became the smell of fire, and then ash— and then, most sickening of all, sulfur. Inko could not see the source, she could only see the ring of naked bodies around her, watching her like she was an experiment, or lower than them as they continued speaking that horrid, horrid language— oh, but she smelled it and if her senses were acting correctly, they’d be coaxing her to vomit by now. Breathing heavily through her nose, Inko turned to stare up at the ceiling, her heart near exploding. This is just a dream. This isn’t real...I’ll wake up soon, came the thought, again from a part of Inko that was awake and didn’t want to be. Inko’s eyes closed again, as she repeated the mantra in her head over and over, Wake up, Inko. Wake up!

 Just then, all voices stopped. From the eye in her mind, the part that remained awake despite everything, Inko could see that all her neighbors were still standing around the mattress she’d been tied to, still naked as the day they were born. But their gazes were suddenly fixed to a presence that seemed to arrive out of nowhere, one that was standing right at the end of the bed, where her legs were. Probably the only one who dared to look at her was, surprisingly, Hisashi. His face was now so blank, his eyes dark as he bore into her— it was like looking at a stranger.

 Inko lolled her head to look forward and froze.

 Big didn’t even begin to describe the man standing in front of her, and enormous didn’t seem to do him justice either. He stood at what must have been seven feet, with shoulders broad and full of muscle. He was the sort of man you would see in comic books, impossibly large, with a long muscled torso pinching slightly at the waist and then spreading with the swell of his buttocks, his thighs. He seemed to be wearing no clothing, just like everyone else. Inko stared at him, this man hidden mostly by the shadows dancing from the firelight, her eyes lazily dragging up his bare form to fix on his face.

 His face, was her thought, cloudy but curious as her eyes squinted. She couldn’t see much of him, as a slash of shadow took great care to hide most of him, but she saw enough to know that he was wearing a helmet with spiky horns on the side, his only revealed features being two piercing lights of blue coming from the holes in his mask, right where his eyes were supposed to be.

 Seeing him and seeing he was only wearing a mask, Inko could feel her stomach dropping to her toes. There’s something, she couldn’t help thinking while taking him in. Something wrong with him...but what?

 He was silent a moment before tilting his head towards David, speaking in a rumble that reminded Inko of thunder. “This is she?”

 “Yes, my Lord.”

 “...And does she know?”

 “No, my Lord,” said David, bowing his head. “We all agreed it’d be best this way, to make it easier on her.”

 “Pity...but I suppose it can’t be helped now.” His eyes glowed with an emotion that made Inko’s stomach turn. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

 (“Hey Hisashi,” she asked once, lifting her eyes from a book about the Satanic Panic in the United States. “Do you believe demons exist?”

 Hisashi nearly barked out a laugh. “Demons? Inko, baby, how’d that even come up?”

 “This book talks about a time in America when all they could be concerned about was the Devil. They wrote books and made movies about being possessed or giving birth to the antichrist— all kinds of things.”

 “Ugh, that’s creepy. How could you stand reading that shit without getting nightmares?”

 “...I don’t know, really.” Inko’s mouth was quirked into a smile as she continued flipping through the pages. “I guess I find America’s obsession with demons fascinating.”)

 The memory was so vague, it was almost a dream now, like everything else. A dream on top of a dream on top of a dream slowly turning into something chilling— on the edge of a nightmare. With bleary eyes, Inko watched the giant man place his huge, tanned hands on top of her thighs. He squeezed the flesh under his palms, much like how one would squeeze a piece of fruit, just to test how ripe it was. He let out a deep hum at the feel of her skin, then seemed to nod in approval as his hands moved to stroke along the swell of her hips, the heat in his palms like heating coals on her skin. Again, he squeezed; and as he found the flesh soft and pliant under his touch, he let out something deep and feral.

 “Lovely,” rumbled the stranger. Then his hands moved up to her breasts and squeezed, his palms pinching the swollen flesh beneath in a way that made Inko squirm. His eyes seemed to glow more, in a blue that seemed unreal. “Very lovely, indeed.”

 “Does she please you, my Lord?” asked Mrs. Shield, her tone low and subservient.

 “Yes, so far. You and your son chose this sacrifice well.”

 “Thank you, sir— but you should really direct your gratitude towards Mr. Midoriya. She’s his wife, after all.”

 “Is that so?” He said, turning to gaze at the only man in the room who dared not look at him. Noting the man’s pallor and how he began trembling, knowing he was being stared at, He said in a playful tone, “Well, I thank you for this bounty, Mr. Midoriya. Your wife is gorgeous.”

 Hisashi said nothing. He didn’t even lift his gaze from the floor.

 Not that anything he’d say would have mattered. It was too late to turn back, to regret desperate decisions made without thinking. And quite honestly, such a man who gave up such a lovely morsel like this woman never deserved her in the first place.

 “Isn’t that right, my dear?” rumbled the dark voice in Inko’s mind as she twisted and arched at the sensuous touches. Feeling a familiar but now shameful simmer in her blood that made every one of her cells cry out at the caresses, the sort she’d only felt with her husband before this strange dream, Inko watched as the man above her squeezed and stroked her breasts— and then, with a scrape of what felt like nails on her skin, his hands dipped back down to rest again on her thighs. His fingers crawled to the inside of her thighs, where her body was beginning to pulse wet heat. Vaguely, she felt his eyes on her, those glowing blue eyes— and she could feel him grinning wide. “Oh, yes. You are already mine, aren’t you?”

 (NO! No, I’m not, was a cry inside the dark depths of her mind— the part of Inko trying to wake up, to get back control of her body, to fight, to cry for help— Hisashi, please, help me…!)

 But even as she glanced over at Hisashi, unconsciously waiting for him to say something, her husband turned completely around so only his naked back was facing her. Inko stared at him, her head spinning.

 She didn’t look away from her husband, couldn’t say anything, even as He finally climbed onto the bed and nestled between her spread legs to mount her. Inko trembled when she felt the most throbbing part of him, hard as steel and larger than she’d ever handled before, stroking along the folds of her body. He dragged the very tip of him upwards to grind against her clit, where the pulsing was worst, and then dragged it down to sink inside her— only to pull out. He repeated this gesture over and over, releasing guttural groans above her as the wetness began to build and build there, as those unreal blue eyes boring down at her, growing more ravenous the more he continued abusing her body.

 Terror filled Inko’s veins like a poison as her cheeks prickled with shame at her body beginning to respond. She lolled her head around, staring again at all of her neighbors and whoever else was in the room, spectating this wicked display. Would no one stop this? Even in her own nightmare..? Nothing makes sense…!

 A tanned hand grasped at her chin, stealing Inko’s breath from her chest. It moved to twist her head back so Inko was again staring upwards, locked under the heated stare of this stranger from the shadows.

 “Relax, my dearest. Don’t look at the peons in this room— there is only you and me. No one else matters,” purred the deep voice that could only belong to Him, Inko was starting to realize. It stroked the deep recesses of her mind, silenced the growing sense of panic and soothed it into a warm haze, like summer. “Just stay still, let yourself enjoy it. After all, this is only a dream, is it not?”

 ...That was true. Inko blinked as a sense of calm came over her. This is a dream, she remembered. Perhaps bordering on a nightmare, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy what she could, yes?

 “Yes, of course.”

 Yes, of course.

 Sighing, as if to breathe all her troubles and worries away, Inko felt herself relax on the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted and a dizzying sort of bliss fill her senses. She arched her neck, shifted to get a bit comfortable. Then she opened her eyes slowly to see Him still looming over her, his shoulders heaving with his heavy and steaming breaths, and a blissful smile broke out along her face. The hand on her chin moved to cradle her face, a calloused thumb stroking her lower jaw and then her bottom lip. Now filled with only the desire her body was craving, Inko tilted her head to close her lips around the digit and sucked in a way that she knew Hisashi really liked whenever they went to bed together. Much like her husband, he responded with a bit of a shudder, his eyes growing darker in his hunger.

 And then, with his thumb still in her sweet little mouth, he finally thrust his whole cock inside her.

 Inko’s reaction was instant, her green eyes going wide and her mouth muffling a moan as her cheeks flooded with color. Her body pulsed at the intrusion, not used to such a size inside her. Inko whimpered around the masked man’s thumb, her eyes sliding closed as he rolled his hips, letting out a very pleased growl. He grinded into her some more, muttering some dark words of pleasure and even praise over her lush body, before pulling out and then shoving back inside—and, placing his huge hands on her hips, he didn’t stop. Inko whimpered again, her whole body trembling as he began to pound inside her without mercy, and she threw her head back against the mattress, her mouth parting to let out the moans she couldn’t hold back anymore.

 Soon, the room was full of nothing but wicked sounds. Of the squeaks of springs in the mattress, of the bed rocking in its frame. Of thick, sun kissed thighs slamming against petite, pale ones. Of soft, dazed moans from a woman whose reason and control was stolen from her, and guttural sounds of pleasure that seemed to come more from a beast than a man. There was no pause, no moment for the stranger to take a breath, or a warning of an orgasm that’d be earlier than hers. In fact, how long they’d been like this meant nothing, because time had become meaningless. Inko had come to forget precisely who she was, that she even had a husband, and how she came to be here in the first place— but again, that didn’t matter.

 After all, this was just a dream.  

 Suddenly, as her dark stranger slammed inside her again, Inko let out a breathless moan that became a near scream as he paused to drag his cock and roll his body to tease at the place inside her that made her toes curl when abused. She twisted against the bed, feeling the tight tension inside her throb, threatening to spill over in that satisfaction she so desperately needed.

 “Please,” she found herself whimpering.

 “Please, what, my dear?”

 “Please. I need to...I’m so close—!”

 The masked man let out a deep laughter, tinged with lust. He looked down at her, his eyes glowing more in that radiant blue that filled Inko both with fear but also an odd sense of awe. “Don’t worry, dearest,” he told her. “I’ll give you precisely what you need.”

 Just then, he dipped a hand between Inko’s legs and stroked his thumb along where her desire was peaking and swollen pink. Inko let out another cry, then a louder one as he continued to ravage her, the sensation of his cock and his hands soon becoming too much and too fast. Inko’s glazed eyes went towards the ceiling, unseeing as her mind was going blank, as she was becoming too lost. Seeing her this way made a wicked gratification curl deeply inside the masked man’s chest and from behind the mask, a long tongue slid across his lips in a growing satisfaction.

 With how sensitive she was, it didn’t take long before Inko began moaning and moaning until those moans became screams as her body exploded to pieces. Staring with wide eyes up at the ceiling, she kept making her sounds until her throat became raw, the waves of her orgasm near flooding around the stranger’s cock.

 Ruthlessly, he loomed over her and fucked her through it, making her fall apart over and over until her poor body was trembling from the aftershocks. He watched Inko’s gorgeous eyes roll back, her mouth parting to only let out broken whimpers and oh, that expression did something terrible to him. Something no human woman had ever done before. He wanted to see that face more often—he would. It was already decided. Everything had already been decided, long ago.

 He dug his fingers into her thighs and hoisted them off the bed, furiously fucking into Inko’s tight little body over and over, feeling that band inside him close to snapping. Inko let out a cry, twisted her sensitive body to get away, but it was useless of course. There would be no escape from this, never. He’d make sure of it.

 “Mmm, yes, my dearest. You are so perfect for me. Look how your beautiful cunt stretches for my cock even now, like you were made just for me, for this,” growled the stranger out loud, but still soft enough to only be between them as he rolled his hips. He leaned down, his Adonis-like body covering Inko so much she nearly disappeared under him and he turned his head to rasp right in her ear, a secret just for them. “In fact, I’m thinking of keeping you once this is all over. What do you say about that?”

 Inko could only moan, her body too weak against the flesh that continued to assault hers, her pussy still in shock from the orgasm. Though he was becoming addicted to such broken cries, the masked man placed his palm against her throat and squeezed, knowing that would get her attention.

 While Inko didn’t react with fear, she stared up at him with wide, clouded eyes. He grinned wide beneath his mask, cruel and hungry and uncaring as he began slamming his body inside her once more, his voice growing darker, yet carrying a sweetness that sounded too enticing to fight against.

 “Be honest, human. You’ve been upset with life for a long time. All your life, you have been beholden to the need of others— your parents,  your friends, and now your selfish husband and these pathetic slaves of mine. You rarely had anyone take into account your desires, your goals. But with me? You would become a Queen. No more lies, no more suspicious neighbors and their strange drinks. No more of you being taken for a fool. When our time comes, the world will bow at our feet and obey our every whim. All will love us and despair.”

 A moment of clarity, at least enough for Inko to question what he was saying. A...a Queen? What do you mean? Her eyes narrowed. Wh-who are you?

 He paused, his head tilting with an air of amusement. Slowly, almost too slowly his hands lifted from her body to pull the leather mask from his head. Inko gasped, her stomach dropping to her toes.

 For all intents and purposes, his face certainly looked human. More than human, really, too gorgeous to be human. With those high cheekbones, that chiseled jaw and that gold blond hair, he looked as powerful as the rest of his body, with a hint of the sort of beauty that would have made any priest cry— except. Except for his eyes, which were holes of blackness except for the pupils, which still glowed blue. And then, of course…

 Horns, Inko realized with wide eyes at the top of his head, where a pair of steaming horns were sticking out and forward, while another pair were hoisted at either side of his head. The horns that she’d thought were part of his mask. She also realized, glancing quickly at him, that there was little else truly human about him at all. The hands that were touching her previously were now covered with coarse red scales all the way up to his elbows, his fingers tipped with razor claws that were dripping little drops of crimson—Blood...my blood? Inko thought, suddenly feeling the sting of scratches left along her skin—and those thighs she’d been admiring were covered with those same scales, which Inko quickly realized had left bruises and scratches along the inside of her thighs. Her eyes followed the path of those scales on his thighs, Inko suddenly filling with a grotesque wonder at how they faded into what resembled human skin at his pelvis, only to spread again along his torso.  

 She stared up, her face blank, her heart trembling as the grin on his face spread wider in his malice, in his wicked desire to ravage her body, perhaps even her soul. She stared, watching him as he began to laugh darkly, steam coming out of his mouth as he pounded into her. Inko knew her body was rocking against the mattress from the force, but she just kept staring with those blank eyes, reality finally catching up with her brain.

 This isn’t a dream, this isn’t a dream, she thought fervently, her mouth trembling. This is really happening...

 Finally, almost too soon, the stranger that came from Below threw his head back with a roar, the tips of his horns bursting to flames. He rocked into her, the scales on his thighs digging into Inko’s skin, making more bruises and scratches. As he rolled his hips in a near fury, he tilted his face to her neck, made sure to have her hear his pleasured growls as he finished, his breath hot against her skin. Inko did not move, did not say anything. She just stared upward with her eyes wide, her mouth trembling as one tear dared to roll down her cheek.

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 ~

 “...Inko? Baby?”

 Inko’s eyes stayed closed, her brow pinching as she moaned in her sleep. From beneath her lids, Hisashi could see her eyes moving back and forth, still deep in whatever dream she was having. He lifted a hand to place on her shoulder, but then paused— and then he put his hand back down on the bed. Insead, he leaned down to whisper with a tender smile.

 “Baby girl, you need to wake up. I have to get ready for work, and you know I can’t function without your coffee…”

 Inko let out a moan, her closed mouth pursing into a pout. Tightening the sheet around her, she turned on her side and murmured sleepily, “Make your own damn coffee.”

 Hisashi stared down at her, then burst out laughing. “You really partied hard last night, huh?”

 She went stiff.

 “...Last night?”

 “During the party, Mrs. Shield’s birthday! You drank so much,” he said. “Then again, I wasn’t a saint myself, Enji brought over this sake that hit me like a truck and David—”

 It was then that Inko’s eyes snapped open, images crashing into her. Mrs. Shield giving her those vodka blushes; that dark room with the scary paintings; and of course, that thing and what it did to her—

 “...Inko?”

 She sat up then, too fast, and groaned when a wave of exhaustion hit her. Grasping her head, Inko stared ahead, blinking rapidly. Had it been a dream after all? But it was...it was so real. She could still remember how immobile she’d been, how that creature had...had moved inside her, how she’d been surrounded by her neighbors and new friends, her own husband— and most of all, she remembered that creature’s eyes as it bore into her. Impossibly blue, impossibly tall, very much like some of the demons her great grandmother used to tell horror stories about.  

 Could it be that it was just a nightmare, after all? Inko stared down at her hands, lost in thought, almost separate from her own body. Then why do I feel…?

 Hisashi let out a sigh. “...Okay, I guess I’ll  buy breakfast today.”

 That brought her out of her thoughts, remembering what duties she owes to her husband. Inko whipped around and said, “No, no, I’ll do it! I just need…”

 “No, it’s fine. I gotta hurry up and leave anyway. Got a call from the office, sounded urgent.”

 “I’m so sorry, dear, I—” Inko paused, her eyes falling to the hand reaching out to Hisashi, right to the dark bruise around her wrist. She lifted her other hand to look at it closely, saw that a similar bruise was mirrored on her wrist. “What…?”

 (“Are her binds nice and tight?”

 “Yes, mother.”)

 And it was then, while her husband was rushing to get dressed for work, that Inko felt the soreness in her inner thighs, the ache around her ankles. She lifted the sheet to examine herself, to see bruises and scratches all over her body. Her eyes went wide, sweat gathering at her forehead.

 “...Honey?”

 “Yes, dear?” said Hisashi, as he was putting on his necktie.

 “Why am I covered in…?” Inko couldn’t even finish. What could she even call these? What was she even implying…?”

 “Oh, yeah, that was me. Sorry, baby, guess I got a little rough last night.”

 She lifted her gaze to stare at Hisashi’s back, her green eyes narrowing at his reflection. “While I was drunk?”

 “Well, I was out of it too,” replied Hisashi without turning to look her in the eye. “And I guess I was just so excited about us trying for a baby that I couldn’t resist. Sorry again about that. I’ll make it up to you tonight, okay.”

 Inko stared.  

 (“...What did you do? What did you let them do to me?” will be asked desperately, months later, when Inko’s belly is swollen, her skin pale, and bags are under her eyes.

 Hisashi will look at her, his dark eyes cold and as sharp as the new suit he’d bought, and his hair nearly all silvery-white. “Whatever I needed to do.”)

 “...I guess it’s fine, since it’s you,” she said eventually, trying not to let the ominous feeling rise from her stomach. “It’s just. I had a weird dream last night that I was- that someone was…”

 “Was what...?”

 Inko paused to think, her eyes falling to the bed. Then she lifted her eyes to grace Hisashi with a smile. “Actually, it doesn’t matter! Sorry to make you worry.”

 “It’s fine, baby. You’re probably still tired from last night.

 “Y-yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

 “You should go back to sleep. Take today to rest and recuperate.”

 “...That’s a good idea, actually,” said Inko, swallowing a yawn. She beamed up at her husband. “I’ll see you when you come home. Be safe, dear.”

 “I will,” said Hisashi as he finished buttoning his suit jacket. He picked up his suitcase and moved to walk out of the bedroom, only to pause. He turned around to look at his wife one more time, just as she was laying back down and turning on her side again to sleep.

 With blank eyes, his gaze fell on her bare shoulder, where a bruise shaped like a huge hand was imprinted on her skin.

[laythornmuse]

Distopia - One Quote, One Shot

Squeaking in 40 minutes before the end of my deadline, if you’re Pacific time ;)   Thank you @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed  My One Quote, One Shot!! Enjoy everyone!!!

Claire slapped the X-Ray onto the viewing screen, the snapping of film against glass sending a ripple of satisfaction through her. Her eyes studied the bilateral image of a skull, her husband’s skull, as her tablet loaded his last MRI report.

The acidic coffee in her mug swarmed her senses as her eyes searched, probed, for an answer. A tangible one. One besides prayer, patience and time. She’d had her fill with patience, and wanted to rage against the invisible bars of her well mannered, and understanding prison.

She’d lost her husband.

***

It had been a quiet Tuesday evening in her surgical suite. A dislocated shoulder and a minor hernia that had her and Joe playing “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” winner chooses last. It was during her surgery that Joe appeared with Dr. Weis, the hospital’s chief surgeon, to relieve her.

She knew to expect the worse and had often seen the worse scream through the trauma unit. But reading the accident report sheet—

- - -Vehicle roll over after head-on collision- - -Driver 1 DUA - - -Driver 2 non responsive- - - severe head trauma - - - 20 minute extradition from vehicle - - -

Claire read the words over and over, but her brain would not comprehend their meaning. She stood outside his trauma suite and saw the team prepping him for surgery, yet she could not reconcile the swollen, ravaged face as the one she’d kissed goodbye earlier that afternoon. He’d teased her when she made dinner reservations to celebrate their 4 month wedding anniversary.

“I dinna think four months is any more symbolic than 4 weeks,” Jamie quipped, “but I’ll eat cake with ye all the same.”

Four hours later, he entered surgery under the care of two men she respected and trusted—she could ask for no better—yet Claire felt desperate and agitated, her hope and faith a mere whisper in her mind.

24 hours after that, her world began to unwind.

***

It seemed he couldn’t avoid a complication. Infection, a punctured lung, burst spleen…

“It will all heal, Claire.”

Joe’s mantra played over and over in her mind. She prayed it, whispered it in the dark corners of the doctor’s lounge where she reviewed his labs and tests.

On paper, Jamie’s body was slowly mending, his vitals showing steady improvement, but Claire was restless as the days passed. And then, finally, his eye lids fluttered, and Claire felt a breath shudder against her ribs in relief. She smacked the call button to the nurses' station before her hands were on him, gently tracing the contours of his cheek.

“Jamie?” She sobbed. His face creased in the effort to flutter his lids again, his mouth pulling into a full Scottish grimace. “Aye,” he rasped. “God, I’m thirsty.”

Tears streamed down Claire’s face as she pushed his curls back from his brow. An impatient Scottish sound emitted from him, and she chuckled as she picked up her own cup of ice chips.

“Here then…small spoonfuls…” a smile broke across her face, as she saw his tongue move distastefully along his lip. With his lips less parched, he turned his eyes to her, his expression soft, confused, and wondrous.

“You were in a car accident, Jamie,” Claire explained. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.” The crease between his brows deepened as she spoke. When she swept her fingers along his jaw, he gasped and Claire jerked her hand away, startled. Claire watched as words crept to the edge of his lips, nearly spilling from his mouth before his teeth stopped them, a storm of emotions crossing his face in silence.

“Do you remember anything about the accident?”

“Just…light. And then pain.” He grimaced again before he pushed her spoon and ice chips away.

“And how’s your pain now?”

“I’ll bide. Can I see my sister and my Da? They must be driving ye—”

“What?” Claire whispered. She cursed her glass face as her lip trembled and Jamie’s expression turned from sleepy to alarmed. “Och, It’s no that I mind ye—”

“Did—” Claire felt her tongue was too large for her mouth as she stared back at him. “Did you just ask for your father, Jamie?”

“I did, and I’d appreciate ye not making me feel odd for it,” Jamie grumbled, his mood quickly becoming more agitated.

Claire’s face crumpled as she processed Jamie’s words, and then his painful cringe. “Ack, my head…”

“Mr. Fraser! I’m so glad to see you awake,” Joe greeted from the door, his face beaming. “It’s been hard to keep Claire away from you.”

A blush crept up Jamie’s cheeks that made Claire’s blood run cold.

“I can tell the lass has been attentive, but…”

“Lass?” Joe deadpanned, his eyes cutting to Claire as realization washed over her.

“Jamie,” Joe asked quietly, approaching the bed now and motioning for Claire to step back. The motion was unnecessary. Claire was already off the bed, holding her arms against her body. “You don’t recognize Claire?”

“Nay, but I fear I should,” Jamie croaked, his body trembling as his eyes locked on Claire. Joe nodded and reached into the hospital nightstand. He held in front of Jamie a simple platinum band and placed it into his good hand.

“Your left hand surprisingly was unharmed. We removed this from you to keep it safe.”

“It’s mine?” Jamie asked softly.

“Yes,” Joe answered. “It’s your wedding band. Claire’s your wife.”

***

Claire ‘s time as a doctor exposed her to many emotional outcries from patients, but she was not prepared for Jamie’s rejection. Upon hearing Joe’s words, Jamie’s eyes locked upon her and immediately began measuring. She felt naked before his gaze as his eyes scanned her from the tips of toes to the ends of her curls, and then…doubt. Doubt was all she could see beaming from his eyes and the weight of it crushed her.

Jamie’s doubt morphed into trembling sobs as Joe gently explained it was actually 2017, not 2015, but that this type of lapse was very common after head trauma. Claire also knew the reassuring language,  but could not focus just then on reassurances. When her phone pinged, she stood up suddenly, drawing both men’s eyes to her.

“Jenny’s in the waiting room. I’ll bring her in.” Claire turned to leave, a murmured “Thank Christ” reaching her ears before she started toward her sister-in-law.

Jenny’s face paled when she saw Claire’s face.

“He’s all right,” Claire reassured, squeezing her hands.

“I’d never know that by the look of ye,” Jenny murmured. “How is he, really?”

“He has some….memory loss,” Claire muttered. “He doesn’t remember me, but…”

“He’s scrambled his heid that bad—”

“Jenny,” Claire whispered. “He’s asking about your father.”

Jenny placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder and grasped it tight, her other hand covering her mouth. “Oh, Claire. Oh, God.”

***

Claire sat on the tile outside her husband’s hospital room. He’d asked to speak with Jenny alone, so here she kept her vigil. She tucked her trembling knees to her forehead and leaned her aching chest against her thighs. It wasn’t fair, she thought. He shouldn’t have to live through this loss twice.

The first time, they lived through the loss of Brian Fraser together. This time, he would face it alone.

A shout shook her and made her teeth chatter. A keening sob sounded next, a rare sound she’d only heard once before, and Claire felt her insides liquify with the pain of it.

Murmurs echoed from the room behind her, Jenny’s soft voice crooning to him in Gaelic.

“I dinna want her!”

Claire froze. As suddenly as her tears had started earlier that afternoon, her eyes cleared as realization flooded her. He didn’t want her.

Claire sniffed and stretched her legs forwards, allowed herself to stretch over her knees. Gently, she gathered her feet beneath her and crossed the hall to the visitor’s bathroom. She splashed the tepid water across her cheeks and over her forehead before she physically shook herself before the bathroom mirror.

“Right,” Claire said to her reflection. “Food and Tea, Fraser. You have a long night ahead of you.”

He didn’t want her.

Claire scoffed to herself, righting her hair and patting her face dry. Of course, he didn’t want her.

He bloody needed her.

***

For two days, Jamie barely spoke to anyone, except the hospital staff and Jenny. Jenny’s visits involved more shouting than talking, so much so patients began closing their doors at 3PM in preparation for the incoming fight. It was impressive, even to Ian.

“This is more than his Da, Claire,” Ian spoke softly, watching Claire as she refilled his hospital water jug.

“I know it,” she replied. “He’s just…lost, I think. And frightened.”

“Jenny brought photos from your wedding today,” Ian said, and they both turned to watch the closed door of his hospital room as if it could explode at any moment.

“Well,” Claire muttered. “Silence is new, at least.”

Jamie had allowed her to be in his room during the day but stubbornly insisted each night he wanted to be alone. Claire, armed with a freshly packed weekend bag of clothes, stubbornly refused to leave the hospital and reminded him each night that she was sleeping across the hall if he changed his mind.

Tonight was no different.

“I dinna know ye, woman, and sitting there staring at me willna change it.”

Jenny had left an hour before, and Jamie had turned away from her when she reappeared in his room. Squaring up her shoulders, she eyed his back and the shivers she still saw under his hospital gown.

“I know that,” She said quietly. “But I won’t leave, Jamie. I—”

“Even if I told ye to leave me?” Jamie huffed. “Even if seeing your face just reminds me of how broken I am? That there is a life I had that’s now lost, along with—” His eyes closed as his body shook. “Did ye even know him?”

Claire watched as Jamie turned onto his back, not looking at her, but not blocking her out either.

“Yes.” Jamie didn’t respond but his head turned towards her, so she continued.

“We spent two weekends a month at Lallybroch. He transplanted a rose bush from your mother’s garden for us to take home.”

“We were living together?” Jamie asked, incredulously.

“If what Jenny said is true I only knew ye about six months…”

“Yes everyone said we rushing, but not Brian,” Claire chuckled. “Brian, however, saw our disastrous flower bed and berated you for not digging it up —”

“—Because we didn’t have a working front door—” Jamie froze and Claire’s face lit up into a knowing smile. “Christ,” Jamie whispered, as his eyes cut to hers. “How…how can I remember that but nothing else, but not…”

Claire let out a laugh, as she brushed a tear from her eye. “I’m a doctor and I can’t explain it.” She wiped at her cheek, but her smile warmed him, even from where he sat.

“Dinna cry,” Jamie murmured, not unkindly. “Christ, I remembered a door, of all things…”

“You remembered an argument,” Claire corrected. “And you’ll keep remembering. Just be patient with it.” Looking down at her hands, braced them together for courage. “Have I earned the right to stay, then?”

“I didna mean to be unkind, Claire,” Jamie muttered. “Aye. I’d like ye to stay.”

Jamie fell silent and turned on his side. Claire pulled a blanket around her shoulders as she sat back in the visitor’s chair.

“Did you like him?” He asked softly, as she dimmed the lights.

“Oh yes,” she answered. “I loved Brian very much.”

***

The next few days showed the typical signs of healing that Claire had learned to expect from her husband: stubborn and vile crankiness. If Claire joyous for her presence finally being accepted, Jamie was showing her the price she’d pay for it.

“Is there nothing in this hospital but weak broth and jello?” Jamie grumbled. “I canna even get full off this piss.”

“You can’t get full because you keep throwing up breakfast,” Claire muttered as her hands opened the seven cracker packets he insisted on for his weak broth.

“Ye try to keep down hospital eggs that are soppier than a bog.”

Claire rolled her eyes but pushed the bowl in front of him. His mood didn’t improve either as the day went on. His bones ached, his skin itched, and he just about bowled over a nurse who insisted he uses the walker to traverse from the bed to the bathroom.

When the sun settled, Claire thought his mood may have improved when he asked her to play cards. Until he asked to play Crazy Eights.

“No.” Claire deadpanned.

“What? Why?”

“Because every time we play Crazy Eights I’m double fisting 40 cards while you have 5,” Claire answered. “How about Rummy?”

“Bah, that’s a terrible—No!” Jamie sat up in bed, trying to make his body as menacing as he could to the nurse walking in with his dinner tray. Broth again, this time with apple sauce.

“Ye can take that brackish water right back to your prison kitchen and get me some proper bread and meat!”Jamie yelled. The nurse, a waif-like creature called Mary, startled at his tone, her jaw flapping as she looked between Jamie and Claire.

“You can leave it, Mary, thank you,” Claire responded.

“Ye will NOT leave it, and I’ll thank ye to no’ contradict me,” Jamie growled at Claire. Claire watched as Mary escaped, closing their hospital room door behind her. Claire grabbed the tray and began opening his crackers. “Jamie, I know it’s been a hard day but—”

As Claire moved the wheeling tray over his lap Jamie forcibly slapped it away, spilling the contents onto Claire and the floor.

“What the hell, Jamie!” Claire hissed, as she pulled hot steaming shirt away from her skin. “You could have burned me!”

“I’m tired of no one considering what I want, damn it! If I’m ever getting out of this hospital I need real food, not this processed bairn food fit for invalids!” Jamie shouted.

“All I’ve done is listen to you, damn it!” Claire yelled back. “Ever since you nearly killed yourself I’ve done nothing but try to keep you alive, despite you screaming at me!”

“I didna ask ye to, did I? I told ye to leave me, no? And I canna see why ye bothered to save my life if it’s only to starve me to death—unless ye enjoy watching it!”

This was altogether too much.

“Bloody ingrate!”

“Shrew!”

“You fucking bastard!!” Claire bellowed at him as she slammed his hospital door behind her.

Claire turned to see the hospital staff, and a stunned Ian and Jenny looking back at her.

“Feeling better, is he?” Jenny asked, a smirk lighting her face.

Claire took a breath. “Why, yes actually. He is.”

***

Later that evening, Claire awoke in the visitor chair when a soft hissing noise penetrated her sleep.

“Claire,” Jamie whispered again. “Are ye awake?”

“I am now…” Claire murmured, blinking several times into the darkness. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

“Nah. Will ye come here?”

Claire stood and wobbled toward his hospital bed, taking a seat on the edge of his mattress. When he moved over to make room for her, she lifted her legs onto the bed and turned on her side to look at him. “Whatisiit,” she murmured into his pillow.

“I dreamt of ye.”

“Oh. What of?”

“Well, to start…” Jamie muttered. “After Jenny and Ian left, I remembered…something. Another time ye called me a…erm, fucking bastard.”

If Claire was grateful for the darkness just then, but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. “Oooh. Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. I believe…if I remember it right, I’d accused ye of flirting with some lad who got handsy with ye…”

“We were at a nightclub for Geillis’s birthday, against our will, mind you,” Claire murmured. “But you were pretty tipsy…”

“As were you, I think…”

“Uh-huh. But you got…angry.” Claire paused. “I think the term you said was ‘rut.’ If I planned to ‘rut’ with the lad, and if so you’d take yourself home.”

“Ah.” To his credit, he bowed his head, quite similarly to how he had two years ago. “So ye put me in my place, then.”

“Too right, I did.”

“But I went after ye?” Jamie whispered back, and Claire gasped as she felt his hand grip hers for the first time in a week.

“You did.”

He nodded, and brought her hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against her palm. “I think I dreamt what came next. My groveling…and my cherishing of ye. I feel like a right ass for making ye call me that again, but…”

“But what?” Claire slid closer so she could feel the heat coming from his chest.

“But, I’d like verra much to kiss you, if you’ll allow it.”

Claire grinned and felt her heart do a summersault.

“I’ll allow it,” she whispered and pressed her lips to his in the dark.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

___________

Chapter 5

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

 Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

 ***

Two days.

 Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.  

 Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams.  And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening.  Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead.  He knows that.  He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter.  Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers.  And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death.  Either way they were never going to let him out again.  Aziraphale was never again going to see him.  

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time.  Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years.  Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies.  Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

 And then he gets angry. 

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before.  A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside.   It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

 It doesn���t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone.  Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done.  It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….  

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them.  And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

 The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies.  And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late.  He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground.  He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.  

 Almost.  Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges.  And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.  

 He clings to that pain.  Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it.  He welcomes it with open arms.

 He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him.  Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow.  Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent.  He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley.  Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him.  Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he.  Well, no more.  

 “Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”  

 And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here.  Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be.  A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.  

He understands it now, he thinks.  Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too.  But he will take that loss willingly.  Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

 He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

 “Goodbye, dear.”

 He stands then.  Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.  

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done.  Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

 He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm.  He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

 ***

 He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator.  It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell.  He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

 “Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive.  “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

 He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path.  They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

 “Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes.  “Are you mad?”

 “I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

 A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

 Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled.  “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him.  But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction.  Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

 “We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

 “What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

 “We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic.  “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

 Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest.  “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

 “To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

 Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

 “I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues.  “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

YEEHAWGUST DAY 15 - QUEEN OF THE RODEO

Characters: Selina “Black” and Clemson Gomez Words: 2,450 Warnings: None, These are my OCs, finally getting some backstory...so it’s long

It was always the same in those final moments before the gate opened, the calm before the storm, the anticipation building between them in the stall. She tightened her grip in the horse’s mane as the gate flew open and the horse rushed out, bucking wildly to throw her from his back. She leaned back to match the buck, her heels digging the spurs into the horse’s shoulders, riding with the buck instead of fighting it. Her hand twisting tighter into the horse’s mane, the other raised high above her head.

The announcer’s voice was barely audible over the crowd. “We can see where Silver Bullet gets its name as he shoots from the stall carrying our only woman rider, Selina Black!”

Selina felt the drop coming, the tension in the bronco’s back building as it lurched forward, kicking its rear legs far into the air. Instinctively she dug her legs into its flanks, her fist pushing back into its neck, the mane still threaded through her fingers. Her elbow buckled as Silver Bullet reared back his head and her eyes widened, fear flooding through her as she lost control for a moment her body rocking forward and her face smashing into the horse’s neck.

The momentum of the horse throwing her head back, her balance lost as she fought the rhythm of the buck. Her fingers tightened on the mane, locking her arm, she squeezed her thighs and tried to match the flow again. 

Selina’s thighs burned as she tried to hold herself in place, she felt herself slipping and her eyes flashed with fear.

Shit.

The horse reared again, heaving heavily, a last ditch effort to throw the woman from his back. This was her chance to regain her balance, she thought. Pushing herself off the bronco’s back, she pressed her knees into Silver Bullet’s flanks with the last of her strength. Selina pushed her fist farther into the air and the crowd erupted with cheers, a smile flashed across her face.

The horse had started to settle, his strength giving way, the jumps and bucks more manageable. She adjusted her position and pulled back on the mane with her hand, working to direct the horse. He jerked his head from her, jumping in desperation, she dug her heels in and pulled the horse’s head back.

“And that’s it folks! Selina has stopped this bullet!” 

The crowd  exploded, cheering loudly. Selina dropped her hand, giving the horse’s neck a gentle pat, whispering a thank you to the nervous animal as she led him around the ring and out of the arena.

A rope slipped around Silver Bullet’s neck as they exited and Selina slid off the horse’s back, the stablehand leading the horse off to the stables. She followed them slowly, the adrenaline wearing off, her pace slowed.

The voice behind her made her jump. “That was a close one, Miss Selina.”  The man held out his canteen to her.

She took the canteen and drank greedily, handing it back to him. “Thanks. Yeah, I was sure I was gonna get thrown.”

“There’s bound to be a first time for everything.”  

She waved him off. “Clem, you know that ain’t true. I’ve been thrown plenty. You competing today?” 

They wandered closer to the barn, finding a spot under a tree, away from the intense heat of the Arizona sun. Clem leaned heavily against the tree and scratched his chin.

“Yeah, I’m in for this new event they have,” He smiled. “They said I’d be perfect for it. Something called steer wrestling.”

“You ain’t serious? Steer wrestling?! Clem, that sounds awful dangerous. How much it payin’?”

“They said they was payin’  ten dollars to anyone willin’ to try. Seventy-five if you do it in the shortest time.” 

“Clem! Please tell me you at least tried to ask for more?” Selina crossed her arms over her chest. Her brow furrowed as he shook his head no. “Clem…”

He smiled awkwardly. “It seemed like a good offer. It’s new, a chance to make a name for myself.” 

Selina shifted her weight, still not impressed. Clem pushed off the tree, his expression sheepish as he held out his arms. She sighed and shook her head, stepping forward he wrapped his arms around her.

“Ten dollars? Who gets that if you get killed?” Selina grumbled into his chest. He squeezed her gently and let his hands slide down her shoulders, pulling her gently back.

“You worry too much, I’ll be fine. I always am!”

“Well, I’m worrying for two of us.” Her eyes softened and she shook off his hands. “Promise me, if you do this again you’ll at least ask for more money.”

Clem gave her a half-smile. “I promise.”

She turned, pausing briefly she looked over her shoulder. “One more thing...you better win.”

Clem laughed. “You know I will Miss Selina.”

                                                          -- ✩ --

She was always looking out for him, he thought. it had been almost eight months since she had shown up in town, a number of wild horses in tow, looking to offload them. He had been working odd jobs around the town for a couple months and seen a number of people blow through, but he couldn’t help but notice her.

She stuck around for nearly a week, had worked out some deal with a rancher to bring in some horses. It was her third night in town, when she worked up the courage to go to the saloon. 

The dark circles under her eyes were off putting, at best she could hope that someone would think she was a lunger. Brushing her hair behind her ear she settled her hat back on her head, she needed to find someone to help her, the rancher had asked her for twenty-five horses, and she had needed the money, so she accepted. But it had been four days and she hadn’t found more than seven horses in the area. 

Selina stepped into the saloon, the bar was lively with music and workers drinking away their day wages. She dropped a coin on the bar, ordering a whiskey, feeling the eyes on her as she threw back the shot.

“Ain’t polite to stare.” She said, glancing over at the young man at the end of the bar. 

His face flushed red and his eyes fell to the bar top. “Sorry, ain’t mean nothing by it.”

 He stood up and moved closer. He was a big kid, she watched him closely. Her hand moving to the sawed off shotgun settled across her lap. His expression changed as he turned his attention to the man next to her.

“Move.” His voice was icy and a chill ran down her spine. 

His presence next to her was intimidating, his size alone would have been enough but gone was the embarrassed young man she had just caught staring, replaced by this capable and intimidating force. 

She pulled back the hammer on the shotgun, her eyes locked on this stranger. The man next to her taking no time to slide down the bar and make room for the stranger. Who quietly leaned over the bar, turning his back to the stranger, the smile reappeared on his face.

“I’m Clemson Gomez.” He held his hand out to her. “I seen you around, you’re the one bringin’ Mr. Forrester some new horses.” 

She looked up at his face, the innocent smile seemed sincere enough, and she cautiously took his hand. “Selina.” 

“Nice to meet you Miss Selina. You gonna be stayin’ in town a while?” Selina’s eyes shifted from his face, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, scanning the room behind him. 

“No offense, but i don’t know you.”

He chuckled and shook his head, as if this was news to him. “Right, yeah. That’s fair.” He held his hands up defensively. “Just seemed like you could use some company, being new and all.”

“I ain’t interested in...company.” She hissed, anger bubbling in her.

He stared at her blankly, seemingly confused by her denial of his offer of friendship. “Oh. No! You see, I just heard you were expectin’ to bring in twenty-five horses, thought you could use a hand.”

Selina’s face scrunched in confusion. “You’re talkin’ about work?” She rubbed her eyes and waved down the bartender, ordering another shot of whiskey. 

“Leave the bottle, Mr. Saddler.” Clem said, leaving a couple coins on the counter. “And another glass, please.” 

The bartender nodded and left the bottle, returning a moment later and placing a fresh shot glass in front of Clem.

“Listen, I ain’t the best at conversation, but you sure as hell look like you could use some help. I seen you around the last couple days, and no offense, it’s just twenty-five horses is a lot of horses, ‘specially for one person.” He poured himself a shot and drained the glass. 

Selina eyed him as he brought the glass back to the counter, picking up the bottle he shook it gently at her. She looked him over. The warmth of his smile was disarming and she nodded slightly, throwing back her own shot, she pushed her glass toward him. 

He filled their glasses and placed the bottle back on the counter, raising his glass to her. She offered him cheers and drained the glass, setting it on the bar.

“So what, you’re just some helpful nobody?” Suspicion peppered her voice. “Who do you work for?”

Clem leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Work for? Whoever pays me, I guess.” 

“They sent mercenaries? I didn’t expect that.” Selina grabbed the bottle and filled her glass again, taking the shot.

“Huh?”

“You ain’t foolin’ me, no one is that helpful.” She slid her hand back onto the stock of the shotgun. “So you best choose your next words real carefully.” She clicked back the hammer on the gun, not trying to be quiet, her eyes locked on Clem.

He sighed, his eyes flicking to her lap, before he met her eyes again. “You in some trouble?” Genuine concern crossed his face and Selina faltered again.

 She couldn’t get a read on him, there was no way that he could be that obtuse. Could he? She lowered the hammer on the shotgun, her eyes still sharp on him. She let his question hang.

He leaned forward, slowly, lowering his voice, he repeated his question. “Miss, you ain’t in some kind of trouble, are you? You need some help?”

She was floored. The man really was honestly just one of those helpful sorts. She couldn’t help herself, she found herself smiling back at this man, the concern on his face deepened with her smile.

“Yeah, I really could use some.” She shook her head, offering him her hand. “You’re an interesting sort, I think we could help each other out.”

Clem paused for a moment, but he had a feeling that she would make his life a lot exciting. He accepted her hand, smile breaking across his face.

“So, about these horses…”

                                                          -- ✩ --

Selina leaned nervously against the wall, her heart in her chest as the gate flew open and the steer rushed out, and she climbed up onto the wall as Clem’s stallion rushed out the gate, giving chase to the steer. She cheered loudly as he quickly caught up to the steer. 

“Git ‘em Clementine!”

He launched himself at the bull, looking to knock the bull of its balance, he forced his shoulder into the steer’s flank, wrapping his arm under its neck he dug his boots into the soft dirt of the arena. The bull pushed on, digging Clem’s boots deeper and deeper into the soft earth. 

He had to get the animal to the ground, he repositioned his hand, grabbing the horn and turning it sharply toward the ground, letting his legs fall out from under him and using his weight to pull the steer’s head to the floor.

The pain surged through him as the hoof made contact with his rib, but he held his grip, twisting harder, pulling the horn closer to the ground. It worked, the bull lost its footing and stumbled to the ground. He pushed himself up and onto the bull’s flank as the other rodeo staff rushed to help restrain it.

He stood up and threw his fist into the air as the crowd roared, the pain seared through his chest as he lifted the fist above his head but the adrenaline kept him from dwelling on it. He moved slowly out of the arena, each step becoming more painful and he could no longer deny that he had probably broken a rib. 

Selina dropped off the wall as Clem made his way out of the arena. He leaned against the wall as she walked up, the exhaustion catching up with him. 

“That was amazing!” She exclaimed. 

He chuckled, her smile was contagious and he found himself smiling through the pain. “Told you I’d be fine.”

“I’m still not happy that you put yourself through that for only a guarantee of ten bucks.” She gently punched his arm. “Sometimes you need to think about if the money is worth it.” 

“That’s why I got you.” 

Selina huffed at him. “You know that charm don’t work on me.” 

“No harm in tryin’.” He shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain. His hand instinctively went to his ribs.

Selina’s brow furrowed and she moved closer, her hand reaching out, stopped gently by Clem’s free hand.

“I’ll be fine, just got kicked, it’s just a little bruise.” 

“Clem…” Selina sighed.

“I ain’t dead.” He offered, casting his eyes down to the ground.

She pulled her hand back from him, easily breaking his gentle grip. She opened her mouth to argue and the announcer cut her off.

“Well, we saw some pretty impressive riders, and we want to thank all our competitors who came out today! Our judges have been calculating the score and we have had some upsets for sure.

Selina looked back toward the arena and then back to Clem and the announcers continued, calling out the various winners from each of the categories. 

“And our newest event, Cattle Wrestling…” They turned their attention to the announcers, ”...and in first place, Clemson Gomez!” 

Clem’s jaw fell slack and Selina’s arms wrapped his neck, pulling him into a hug. “You did it, Clem!” 

“There was definitely an upset today for our bronc riders, folks. Competing for the first time in our arena, our first place rider, who proved to be quite a woman, Selina Black, our true rodeo queen!” 

Clem laughed, standing up, he wrapped his free arm around her, spinning them both around.. “We did it, rodeo queen!” 

[kaz3313]

Crowley is a totally very bad demon who does very demonish things. Like take care of a bunch of orphans

Inspired by one of @rainydaydecaf s text post! I wrote this in a day

Also thank you @thetimtimjr for tagging me in the post that inspired this!

( I have only seen to episode 3 so no spoilers in the tags or replies please! Thank you)

Tw: though this is mostly fluffy comedy stuff there is a sucide attempt (unsuccessfully). Also if anyone needs this tagged as anything feel free to ask as always!

(Please reblog and hope you enjoy 😊)

"Misstah Crowley are we there yet?" One of the children tugs at the demons clothes.

"I already told you; were not going anywhere. Were waiting for the storm to pass," he gently pushes the child away but he comes back to his side.

"When is the storm gonna pass then? Can it be now?"

"I don't know kid, now butt off before you're tossed into the sea," Crowley growls. At first a face of horror passes over the kid but it quickly leaves as another child pipes up.

"He won't throw you overboard, Asher, nothing to worry about," She's older than the other but no more than 14.

"I can-" Crowley begins but stops hearing one of the many infants start crying.It took him two hours to rock them all to sleep. "Oh look what you did. Now they all will wake up,". He is right as babies wake up one after another crying in confusion or empathy, as it is rather hard to tell which is which at such a young age, and Crowley desperately tries to calm down each while simultaneously answering the older children's questions.

"So whose ship is this?" A girl in rags asks, he'll have to have Aziraphale miracle her some better clothes later.

"Noah's Arch," he whispers rocking two wailing infants, twins actually.

"Is he a friend of yours?" A boy who looks as well off as she did pipes up.

"Ehhh, I met him once or twice," the meetings Crowley is referring too is when he passed the man by while tempting other people to acts of evil in his town.

"Is they're another arch?" The girl asks. A group of children has formed around some of them helping with the babies or toddlers but others just to listen to what he has to say. Odd to say the least; Crowly has definitely spoke to groups of people at a time, and many listened with such interest, but not often answer earnest questions. Much less earnest questions he's answering truthfully.

"No, no other arch," the one twin started fussing again. "Shut up," he says to the baby but instead of a harsh tone his voice is sing songish.

"Then where are all the parents at?"

"Alright enough questions, I didn't bring you on here to annoy me," Crowley hisses and more of the little ones wake up crying. Great, more to deal with.

"I'm bored,"

"I'm hungry,"

"Alright! Alright! Go-" He looks around. He could always have them mess with the animals but they could get eaten by a lion as well as get caught by Noah. No, keeping them down here is a necessity but he couldn't constantly entertain them. Then Aziraphale catches his eye. He's in the corner reading various books and scrolls he brought with him on the arch. How he could bring those instead of children Crowley will never understand (and quite frankly even though he wished to confront him about it he also didn't want to hear about the 'ineffable' or have him get fussier than the babies and run away for a century). "You see Aziraphale- Yeah, go bother him. He'll read you stories," Many of the children rushed toward the unsuspecting angel and the ones who remained Crowley could manage.

"Cr-crowley?" It is late at night, despite not needing to sleep both demon and angel are exhausted, and he doesn't expect one of the children to wake so soon. Of course he doesn't really know what to expect with kids.

"Yes," Crowley responds.Being a demon, he can see in the dark and her expression of fear is clear. "What are you doing up? It's bad enough I have to feed those little things every hour do I have to do that with you?" At that she gives a small smile.

"No, nothing like that. I just had a scary dream is all,"

"Ah, those happen," Crowley has put nightmares in many a mind before, mostly to sway them, but never in a child's.

"It was about the arch flooding cause there were too many people. It sunk to the bottom of the sea and the fish ate everyone's bones," she states her eyes wide as she recalls the fake memory.

"Morbid," Crowley replies biting his lip not sure how to comfort the child. "Arch is really sturdy though. The instructions to build this thing came straight from God so if it sinks that's on heavens hands,".

"It sank cause we're not supposed to be on here. We aren't are we?" Her voice cracks and tears start to roll down her cheeks.

"Now don't- come on sit here," he taps the place beside him and she follows his instructions. "Everything is uh, complicated to say the least. Whether you're supposed to be here or not depends on which side your looking on it from. But one thing, and the most important thing, is I wouldn't bring you on here for nothing. Like do you think I want to babysit for who knows how long while the storm of the century is outside if I didn't think it was necessary?"

"N-no, " she gives another shy smile and wipes her tears with the back of her hand. "I guess not,"

"Exactly, your obviously a smart kid. If I wasn't absolutely positive this stupid boat was going to hold I wouldn't have even tried," he says and she wraps her arms around in a hug. He pats her back not sure how else to respond.

"Thank you Mr. Crowley, that'll make my nightmares go away for sure! You're a saint!" She says chipperly and before he can correct her she skips off to bed.

"You're so very evil Crowley. What an evil deed reassuring a child," Azriphale says with a grin of his own.

"And how long have you been here? I thought you were taking to Noah and his "holy" family. Never mind, bug off angel. I'm always evil and saving this brats is against the divine plan so its evil," he reasons and the other just shakes his head reading yet again.

Feeding the kids is Crowley's least favorite parts (he had to do it at least three times! Not even Aziraphale ate that much) of the day. They were all whiny like usual only this time is 10 million times worse since they whined about not having enough food despite Crowley giving them as much as they could possibly need.

"She got more then me!" One kid yells pointing at a teen girl.

"Do you want more?" Crowley asks grabbing a piece of bread to give to him.

"Well, no but it's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair and actually this is a very small part of your life that will be fair so deal with it," Crowley snaps and the kid begins to cry. "Damn- Aziraphale!" He calls but sees the angel with his hands full as well as a toddler climbing him. He wouldn't be able to comfort the kid for a while.

"Kid, kid, listen. This is ridiculous. Just stop crying, you're fine. You're well fed and you aren't hurt and-"  Crowley leans down but the kid continues to wail.

"I need to pee," A little girl says in his ear.

"Good to know," Crowley responds.

"I need to go now!" She yells and Crowley tilts his head away from her.

"Then go; you don't need my expertise you've done it plenty of times before," she whines again, kicks his shin, and walks away.

"Timothy is hungry," a teen hands him a baby while she calms down the still crying child.

"Does, Tim Tim need food? Hmmm, little pile of squishy flesh is hungry," Crowley asks reaching for the bottle of never ending milk. The baby cooks in response then hastily drinks the milk most of it going down his chin. "What a messy Tim Tim," he states as the baby sucks the milk down as if it's the last he'll ever have. He takes out a handkerchief cleaning up the giddy baby. "Out of everyone you've got to be the happiest baby. Did you know that? Did you know that, Tim Tim," At saying this Crowley heard a voice call his name and he looks up. Azriphale just mouths the words 'what a demonic demon Crowley is'.

"I'm the scariest demon in hell," Crowley tells the kids and most of them laugh excitedly.

"R-roar then! If your a demon roar like one!" A kid calls out.

"Roar? I'm a demon not a lion! I don't roar," he states.

"How do we know your a demon then? I think your just a weird kind man!" Another kid states.

"A man couldn't all bring us on an arch with plenty of food and drink. Nobody is that kind" A kid scolds the other  " Mr. Crowley is just an embarrassed angel,"

"I'm not an angel!" But many kids already are murmuring in agreement of the severely misinformed kid. The actual angle in the room gives a small chuckle "I can turn into a snake; the one that tempted Adam and Eve!" Crowley states.

"Do it then! Snake! Snake!" The kids begin chanting the word. Crowley sighs closing his eyes and starts to form into the cold blooded creature.

"H-he a snake!" Most kids laugh in glee only a few run to Azriphale in fear. Crowley can hear a kid concerned that "Mr. Crowley got eaten by a snake". The angel is sure to reassure that Mr. Crowley did not get eaten by a snake instead he can turn into a snake. The younger ones don't exactly understand the concept and are happy to see Crowley in his usual form again.

"Only saving kids and teens huh? What about those who were on the edge of things?" An older teen guy asks while the kids eat there bread and listen to one of the other teen's stories. Besides Azriphale the charismatic storyteller has been the most help especially since in the past she had to take care of ten kids. She definitely is the most experienced.

"Not sure what you mean on the edge," Crowley replies sipping a bit of his wine.

"The day the storm came in, the same day you found me at the market, was my sister's 18 birthday," he states. Crowley doesn't say a word feeling the air thick with tension. "We were twins but my birthday was the next day...she wasn't brought here, was she?"

"...no," The teen, or rather the adult (though he still looked like a boy of maybe 16 at the most) stands up.

"Everyone is gone? My family, friends, mentors? My house, destroyed?" He asks but doesn't expect an answer. Instead he walks away, starting to go up to the deck.

"Aziraphale, one of the humans left," Crowley walks over saying in a hushed voice.

"Left?" Aziraphale questions.

"He went into the storm; seems really upset. Just check on him to make sure he doesn't get caught. I have babies to feed in a little bit so I'm asking you. And… I think you might be able to convince him to come down here," Crowley explains.

"Well alright but you owe me a lunch for this," Crowley rolls his eyes but nods agreeing to the favor.

Azriphale found the man getting pelted by rain while he stood on the edge of the ship. He didn't turn around yet he spoke at hearing the angel's footsteps.

"The world from end to end is empty and void of life. Completely wiped out except for this ship here. This ship that has a family, animals, and then about a hundred stow-away children," He says his voice monotone. Azriphale doesn't explain that many places were spared; it doesn't feel right to correct the distraught human."Do you know how many people were out there? I don't even know. But surely all those people didn't deserve death? They didn't deserve to be pushed into this raging sea and drowned when they're body tires of the condition. If God wants us dead couldn't we just be strikes down by a bolt of lightning? Why make us suffer?"

"The plan of the almighty is ineffable; even to me," Azriphale says then adds "But, against many odds, you're alive! So let's go back inside before your clothes get wetter," the human lets out a sad chuckle.

"And after? Once this passes I have no one. I'm alone in this world...God wants me dead? Was that part of the plan?"

"Well, a little bit but something plans go differently then expected especially with demonic intervention and-" Azriphale stops as he sees the human toss himself forward.

The angel's wings jut out and he swoops down to catch the spiraling human. It's an experience that sadly Azriphale has done many times. In total he's saved 1200 humans in the last century who've tried to end their life. Sometimes by spilling their poisonous drink or whispering encouraging words in their ears but only four in total has he caught. This man will most definitely be his fifth.

He reaches him grabbing on and pulling him upward. A moment later and the human would've plunged head first in the icy sea and if not killed by it  would at the very least got a concussion.

"Now, now, it is not your time," Azriphale has his arms around the other's chest and can feel him shivering from the winds whipping around them. He positions his wings to shield the fragile being from the strongest winds.

"Apparently my time is past due; God wants me dead I'm just giving him his dues," He struggles in Azriphale's grasp but his grip doesn't loosen.

"Don't talk like that, let's dry you off and-"

"My sister would take care of the neighborhood kids. She'd feed them, she  raised me and my brothers since she was ten. She taught us manners and we'd attended church every Sunday. We pray before every meal and even after. She stole from a man richer than a king with manners akin to a pig! That is her only crime and yet she's under many feet of unmerciful water dead to this cruel world! Was that fair? Should she have died, angel?"  He yells out struggling against the other.

The man-no he really is just a boy- kicks with such force that Azriphale is forced to use a miracle. He falls asleep instantly no more shouting or protesting follows. He looks so peaceful sleeping, most humans do, and the angel frowns to himself. He'd awake just as agitated as before, perhaps even more, and could potentially try to commit suicide again.

Azriphale clicks his tongue thinking of a way to stop this humans distress. He said something about a sister did he not well...another miracle is performed; this time erasing all memories of her. It definitely wasn't his best miracle but couldn't be called his worst either.

"I'm so sorry," Azriphale mumbles out but over the roaring sea no one can hear him.

"You have wings? Does Mr. Crowley have some too?" A curious child asks touching Azriphale's feathers. A toddler to his right has decided the feathers are an excellent teething device and is trying to desperately get him off.

"Yes I do," Crowley says picking up the toddler presenting him a finger instead of the feathers he could choke on.

"Can we see?" Another asks walking over to him staring at his shoulders as if she could already see them.

"Maybe," He replies. "If you all are good for dinner and go to bed on time you can see them," Cheers follow Crowley's statement.

 The baby babbles at Crowely and since no one else is around he babbles back at her. She giggles continuing 'talking' to him.

"I hear you; pretty cramped place huh? But right now you have to go to sleep; can you go to sleep?" The baby happily replies with nonsense. She's the last baby awake but it quite a stubborn one.

"Go to sleep, little talker and maybe for once I'll get a break," he sings a tuneless soft lullaby. "And with my break, I'll get to bother, Azriphale! And he'll just read his books, or eat his food, and ignore me, because he is gooooood,".

The baby closes her eyes but Crowley continues his made up song "Go to sleep, little babe, and hope we'll get off this ship that's driving me insane," he finishes with a few la la's and the baby is fast asleep.

"Papa?" A small toddler walks running into Crowley head on. He steps back before falling on his butt "Papa?" He asks again.

"Nope, not a Papa," Crowley says patting the confused child head. "Just a demon doing bad,"

"Papa!" He exclaims and Crowley sighs.

"Nope. Very disappointed you didn't get it the first time,"

"Papa!"

"Now this is a little excessive don't you think? How many times do I need to say no?" Crowley asks putting his hands on his hips. He might as well humor the toddler.

"Pa-pa! Papa! Papa!" He claps his hands.

"Can your Papa turn into a snake?" The boy nods. "Really? I doubt that. Can he strike fear into anything and everything?" Again he nods. "Is your dad a demon? If so I might know him,"

"Papa!" He claps again.

"Is your Papa's name Crowely?"

"Yes!"

"I don't think so," but the child giggles in response.

"What a good parent you make Crowley," Azriphale states grinning (and dare Crowley say the smile is devilish?).

"Papa!" The toddler exclaims to Azriphale and he goes bright red.

"It seems the little one doesn't have a big vocabulary,"

"So that's what it is angel?" Crowley gives his own grin. He nods in response.

Six days pass before the rain stops and the sun comes out; and just as Azriphale says a rainbow appears promising to never flood the world again.

Crowley can be thankful for that. He isn't sure he can take care of hundreds of kids again. Though with all the hugs they give him he can't complain too much.

[darks-ink]

Absurdism Chapter 6

Big fighting scene! Wowie. Spectra is always a fun villain.

Rating: Teen/K+ (a lil swearing, because teenagers, man) Warnings: - Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Halfa Jazz AU, Jazz makes friends

[AO3] [FFN] [more Absurdism on Tumblr] First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

Chapter 6: My Sister’s Keeper

The new counselor stood outside her office, grinning brightly at the waiting students. Jazz watched her, eyes narrowed, cold air pouring from her lungs.

Something about this new counselor was off. She knew it in her gut, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t figure out what, exactly, was wrong. Penelope was oddly cheery, yes, and seemed to take the news of ghosts very well. But that couldn’t be why Jazz had such a bad feeling about her, could it?

“Who’s she?” Sidney’s disembodied voice asked, quietly. Quiet enough for bystanders to miss. He hadn’t startled her—her ghost sense had warned her beforehand, as usual.

“Penelope Spectra,” she explained to him, equally soft. “She’s the new counselor.”

“Huh.” Cold fingers wisped over her shoulders, like the ghost was shifting to peek over her shoulders. Like he wanted her protection against Penelope. “She… looks familiar.”

“She does?” That was odd. Penelope couldn’t possible be from Sidney’s time—there was no way she was that old. And he didn’t leave the school, so where else could he have seen her? “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive.” He paused for a brief moment, and the two of them watched as the counselor entered her office again, tailing a student. “I just… can’t remember from where.”

“It’s odd either way.” Jazz shifted her backpack onto her shoulders properly, dislodging Sidney’s barely-there touch. “Something weird is going on, and I don’t like it.”

Sidney clicked his tongue, then poked her, gently. “Maybe you should ask Phantom? If your worlds are so similar, surely he’ll know who she is?”

“Yeah, I think I will.” It wasn’t one of their training days, but he wouldn’t be that hard to find. Probably. “I’ll go do that. Thanks for the idea, Sidney.”

“Yeah, no prob.” He patted her on the shoulder, encouragingly. “I don’t trust her either. She’s… dangerous, I think.”

Jazz nodded in his direction. He felt it, too. It was all the proof she needed, really.

She raced home, speeding up the stairs and into her room in record time. Phantom, lying on her bed in his human form, startled visibly.

“Jazz?” he asked, lowering his voice—in case anyone else was around, probably. “What’s wrong? Why are you in such a rush?”

“There’s a new counselor,” she started explaining, hurriedly. “There’s something suspicious about her, I think. Do you know anything about Penelope Spectra?”

Phantom froze. His shoulders drew up, tense.

Then, suddenly, he swore. Loudly.

She started, backing up a step. Or two. Phantom didn’t seem to notice, anyway, caught up in his anger.

“God dammit,” he growled, under his breath. “How could I forget? This is right about the same time as when she came to Casper High in my timeline. Fuck!”

“So she’s bad?” Jazz guessed, feebly. She’d already suspected that Penelope was bad news, but what could’ve driven Phantom to react so explosively? Not even Vlad had brought out such a bad reaction.

Phantom snarled, heaving for breath. His fingers were buried deep in his hair, disappearing in the black locks. His eyes shone bright and green, unnatural and off in his human face.

“The worst,” he finally managed, voice low and grim. “She’s a ghost, feeding on people’s negative emotions. Their fear, especially. She’s a walking nightmare—finds your deepest fears and digs into them. All your worries, your insecurities, your doubts. She weaponizes them, turns your mind against you.”

He scoffed. “And her touch worsens it, as well. She’ll dig her claws into you, and down the depressive spiral you go.”

“Oh…” That was… a lot worse than she’d expected. Why hadn’t Jazz— oh. She’d thought that it was Sidney who kept setting off her ghost sense, but it must’ve been Penelope. Spectra? “We need to stop her, then!”

“We can’t fight her.” He lunged over to her, grabbing her by the shoulder. Shook her a little. “Seriously, Jazz, listen to me. We can’t fight her head-on.”

“So then what?” She swatted his hand off of her shoulder. “You want me to ignore her presence in the school? Let her leech off of everyone else’s fear, worries, doubts?”

Phantom shot her an offended look. The green leeched out of his eyes, returning them to their original blue. “Of course not! Of course we’ll take her out, Jazz, but we can’t fight her.”

“Well, how did you take her out, then?”

“I—” He sighed, then sat down on her bed again. “I didn’t. Not really. I tried to, but she pinned me down. Got her claws in me, and I couldn’t throw her off again. She sapped all my strength away, all my confidence. She would’ve killed me, Jazz.”

“What… what happened?” How was he still here, then? He must’ve won somehow, right? They just had to do that!

The look he threw at her was sad. Sad, and reminiscent. “Jazz saved me. She stormed in with the Fenton Ghost Peeler. Took down Spectra in one hit. With her claws off of me, I got enough sense in me to use the Thermos and catch her.”

“Alright, well— We’ll just have to skip some of that!” They couldn’t use the Peeler—it didn’t work for half-ghosts, and she didn’t trust her parents not to go for them instead of Spectra. But that was fine! “We can’t fight Spectra, sure, but we don’t have to! I can go through the teachers to get her fired, and then— then— um…”

“And then we’ll ambush her,” Phantom finished, his eyes flashing green for just a brief moment. Like courage had flooded back into him. “She won’t be expecting us, not so quickly. We’ll ambush her with Thermoses, catch her before she can attack anyone.”

“Yeah!” She nodded. “We’ll take her out, just like that!”

---

“Mr. Lancer,” Jazz started, softening her posture as much as she could. She needed him to listen to her pleas. “Could I talk to you about the new school counselor?”

“Of course.” He frowned a little, a crease in his brow. “What is wrong, Miss Fenton?”

“I…” She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. Her entire plan with Phantom hinged on her managing this. She couldn’t be too direct, but not too gentle, either. “I don’t think she’s very good at her job.”

“Oh?” The crease in Lancer’s brow deepened. “I assure you, Jazz, she has very good credentials. Lots of praise for her work.”

Yeah, praise no doubt acquired by overshadowing her superiors. The advantages of being a ghost, huh?

“Yes, well— I don’t know, Mr. Lancer. It just seems to me that things aren’t getting better.” She turned her gaze downwards. “Is it really necessary to have her around?”

Lancer sighed, deep and heavy. He looked a little pained, and Jazz felt sorry for doing this to him, but… it was necessary. For the greater good.

If he knew what Spectra was, what she did, he would’ve agreed.

“Things have been hard for a lot of people in this city recently, as I’m sure you know,” Lancer started explaining. “Your parents are no doubt excited about the… the ghosts, but they are among the few. And with the violence, the fact that these ghosts are attacking people in the city…”

“Not all of them,” Jazz interrupted, automatically. She heard it so much at home. How Specter and Phantom were just like all the other ghosts, fighting over territory or whatever. The leading theory changed almost daily, but one thing remained the same; her parents always thought she was as malevolent as every other ghost.

“No, not every ghost,” Lancer agreed lightly, to Jazz’ surprise. He ignored her wide-eyed look. “But enough ghosts are. Even if those other two fight the others off, that’s still worrying to people. Death has always been a scary thing. To know that the dead remain, might come back as ghosts…”

She could imagine. Despite her parents, she’d always been hesitant to believe that ghosts were real. That the dead could come back in the form of malevolence given a physical form.

“I understand,” she told Lancer. “But I don’t think Spectra is the right person for this. Since she started here I’ve seen more and more people getting upset, and hurt.”

Lancer’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot be suggesting that our new counselor is making people feel worse, Jasmine. Of course the number of people upset by what is happening is increasing; more and more we become aware of the ghosts haunting the city.”

“Yes, I get that. But none of the people she has talked to have gotten better.” Jazz carded a hand through her hair, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn’t get too upset. Couldn’t flash her eyes. If she did, there was no way of recovering this conversation, or the plan as a whole. “In fact, every single person she’s met with seemed to have gotten worse. They walk out of her room completely miserable. Surely that can’t be right?”

“No, I would imagine not,” Lancer admitted, slowly, clearly reluctant. “But I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary—no one has.”

She opened her mouth, but Lancer held up a silencing hand and continued. “Although I suppose something might’ve been missed. There has been a lot going on, recently, with the ghost attacks, and the preparations for those. I will keep a closer eye on Penelope, and on the students she attends to. Okay?”

“Yeah.” She grinned, hesitantly. “Thank you, Mr. Lancer.”

“Of course. It’s my job as vice principal to make sure any concerns are dealt with.” He softened visibly, smiling back. “Anything else?”

“No, I’m good.” She grabbed her backpack. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Lancer!”

---

Cold burst from Jazz’ core, and she paused in the hallway. Ran a quick calculation in her head; where in the school was she, and what were the chances that this was Sidney?

Low, she decided, and turned around to look for the spectral intruder.

Mr. Lancer stood next to Spectra, talking in front of her office. Her assistant—apparently ghostly counselors had those—stood next to her, an unhappy expression on his face.

Wait. Was she getting fired?

Yeah, it definitely seemed that way. Well, shoot. She needed to get out there with Phantom and a Thermos immediately.

She rushed off, speeding towards an abandoned part of the school without seeming suspicious. Cold wisped from her mouth again on the way, and, hoping, she asked, “Sidney?”

“You’re in a rush,” he replied, and she thanked her lucky stars that it was him. “What’s going on, Jazz?”

“Spectra’s getting fired,” she said, as rushed as she was feeling. “I need you to find Phantom and tell him.”

“Yessir.” The cold feeling left almost as soon as he’d said it, and Jazz continued on. She just hoped they were quick enough. Surely Spectra would hold off for longer? She wasn’t much of a fighter, was she?

Jazz ducked into an abandoned bathroom, pulling on her core the moment the door closed. Hurry hurry hurry.

Light flashed and she went from walking to flying in one smooth step, phasing through the walls. Belatedly she turned herself invisible as well, racing back towards the front of the school.

No Spectra, and no assistant. Where could they have gone? She went further up, hoping to spot the two, dropping her invisibility along the way.

Her ghost sense went off again, and she jerked. Sidney became visible, Phantom right on his tail.

“Oh,” she said, extinguishing the ecto-blast she didn’t even realize she had formed. “Thanks for getting him, Sidney.”

“Yeah, no prob.” He nodded to her. “I’m leaving. Good luck with the counselor, Jazz.”

He flew off before she could reply. In his wake, Phantom started peering around.

“I don’t know where she went,” Jazz admitted. “I had to go pretty far away to find a quiet spot to transform. Now what?”

“I’m… not sure.” Tension was clearly visible in Phantom’s shoulders, the tight coiling of his muscles. “We need to find her before she—”

A scream.

Both she and Phantom whirled towards the sound. Without discussion they both knew what to do, speeding towards it.

The street was filled with panicking people, screaming and shouting and— and all kinds of chaos. A bright green ghost bounced around, keeping the crowd from escaping. It was almost like a fluid, how easily it changed shapes. From a shapeless blob to a wolf to a ninja and then back again.

And, above it all, the ghost in charge. Entirely black, appearance flickering unsteadily like flames, bar her terrifyingly sharp talon-like fingers. Her eyes were the only points of color; bright red like embers, and completely empty.

Spectra, and her assistant, Bertrand.

“Fuck, we’re too late,” Phantom swore, dropping to a roof nearby. Neither of the ghosts had seen them yet. “There’s no way we can get them in a Thermos now; the fear of those people is making Spectra too powerful.”

“So now what?” Jazz hissed back, hunkering down as well. “I thought we stood no chance in a direct fight?”

“Well, we have no other choice.” His bright green eyes darted to her, then to Spectra, and then down to Bertrand. “We need to free the civilians, but if we focus exclusively on them, Spectra will slaughter us. I’ll distract her, you get Bertrand.”

“What? Phantom, I thought she was—”

“Dangerous? Yeah, but I’ll stand a better chance than you.” He grabbed her shoulder, shooting her something that was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. “Get Bertrand, and then we’ll get Spectra together. It’ll be okay—I’ve fought her before.”

“And lost,” she said, but he’d already turned around and, in that moment, kicked off from the roof.

God, was her actual brother as bull-headed as this version, or was that a half-ghost thing?

No point in fighting it, now. The only thing she could was take out Bertrand as quickly as she could.

She dove off of the roof, towards the crowd that Bertrand was circling. Above her, she heard Phantom yell out.

“Hey, Spectra! Thought you were more of the prying type? What happened, huh?”

Bertrand paused where he was circling, looking up towards Phantom. Jazz risked a glance as well; Phantom had paused near Spectra, but out of her reach.

The other ghost scoffed, cocking her head at Phantom. “Shows what you know, hmm? What is the point of spending such efforts acquiring bits of negative emotions when I can just knock them free in one go!”

Jazz twisted in her dive, angling herself slightly. Bertrand was still staring up. Just a little more…

She hit the ghost with an enormous impact. Wrapped her arms around his waist—or what passed for his waist—and physically dragged him away from the crowd. They screamed and yelled as she sped past, but she ignored it.

Bertrand growled, becoming almost liquid-like in her arms. Slipped out like it was nothing. He landed back on the ground, shifting into a wolf-like appearance. Bared his teeth at her.

Jazz landed as well, boots noiselessly touching down. Golden ecto-blasts formed in her hands with a mere thought.

“Oh, look at the little ghost girl,” the wolf taunted, through its sharp teeth. “Do you really think you stand a chance?”

She stamped down on the self-doubt. Don’t listen to him. Don’t worry about it. Just do your best.

The first ecto-blast went flying, but Bertrand dodged easily.

“What’s this?” he continued to jeer, landing easily. “Can’t find your words? Do you know, deep inside, that you really can’t win?”

“Got better things to do than listen to your idiocy,” she snarled back, firing two more blasts. Bertrand’s form loosened like slime, easily twisting around the two blasts.

“Is that so?” His voice was as slimy as his body, his words as sharp as his teeth. “Like attend to your floundering grades? Or perhaps engage with all those friends of yours? Ah, or were you planning to spend more time with your oh-so lovely parents?”

She growled, firing two more blasts. This time, however, she sped in after them.

Bertrand dodged the two orbs of golden energy, twisting to smirk in her direction. In the direction where she’d been.

Jazz crashed into him at full speed, released another ecto-blast directly against his center. It exploded, the blast of energy knocking them apart again.

They both rolled over the street, and Jazz groaned. Alright, maybe that didn’t quite work out as planned. She pushed herself up on her hands, glancing over to Bertrand.

Gone.

Uh oh.

The green wolf crashed into her with force, straight towards one of the buildings lining the street. He’d probably planned to pin her against the wall, but she turned herself intangible—and him as well.

A bounce over the hard tiled floor. She tried to continue the momentum in a roll, but Bertrand pinned her down, paws on her wrists.

“You think you’re such a hero, don’t you?” he jeered, sharp teeth inches from her face. His breath stunk of ectoplasm; copper and citrus. “Such a mature little girl, saving the town all on her own?”

She kneed him right in the leg. Bertrand sunk down, and she pushed him off the rest of the way. Rolled up into a crouch.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m alone,” she snapped back, reaching for her Thermos while Bertrand was down. “The two of you aren’t the only partnered ghosts in this city.”

Bertrand shifted back into his base form, lunging for her with arms outreached. This time she was ready for him, however.

The Thermos whirled to life, its blue vortex catching one of Bertrand’s arms.

“No!” he yelled, twisting around himself like he was trying to wrench himself free. “You— You two stand no chance against her!”

Jazz opened her mouth to snark back, but realized, too late—

It was a distraction.

The ecto-blast, as green as Phantom’s, hit her right in the chest.

She crashed back against the wall. Her head cracked against the hard surface, and her vision blackened briefly. Pain wracked through her, sharp and piercing.

Her core thumped in her chest. She could taste the ectoplasm in the air decreasing. Bertrand might’ve landed a last hit, but he hadn’t gotten away.

Her core thumped again.

Jazz jerked where she sat, opened her eyes—when had she closed them? Her hands clawed towards her chest, to the steady thumping.

She caught sight of her clothes—the long black sleeves, bare hands, blue jeans. The tension leeched out again, a brief sigh of relief.

The thumping wasn’t her core at all. It was just her heart. Its pounding echoed in her head, a dull thrum.

No time to rest, though. She had taken out Bertrand, but Phantom was gonna need all the help he could get to take down Spectra. She could deal with the headache—and the other pains—later.

Light flashed as she shifted back to Specter, the blinding light briefly aggravating her headache. The Thermos laid still in the center of the room, and she dragged herself back over to it. Swept it off the ground easily, capped it, put it back on her belt.

“And now for the really bad one,” she said. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to, but she had no choice. She had to. It was her responsibility. Phantom was relying on her. Amity was relying on her.

A door creaked, and Jazz startled out of her thoughts.

Danny stood in the opening, blue eyes large, sweat beading over his skin. Was this her actual brother? He hadn’t seen, had he?

“Specter!” he shouted when his eyes landed on her. “You need to get out there! The other ghost, he needs you!”

That was a yes on the brother thing, and a no on having seen her shift. Good.

Wait.

“Shit,” she swore, pushing off the ground. What they really needed was… “We need more firepower!”

She phased through the wall, back into the open air. The street had been abandoned, all civilians having fled when she had drawn Bertrand away. Spectra had pinned Phantom against a building, green energy coiling around them. She couldn’t tell whose it was.

A blast of golden energy knocked Spectra off of Phantom as Jazz sped in closer. “Get away from him!”

“What’s this?” Deep black shifted like flame, the pits of red turning back to Jazz. Spectra grinned at her, and Jazz could feel the shivers crawl down her spine. “Come to offer yourself up as well, little girl? Thought you could succeed where he can’t?”

“We’re a team,” she growled back, pouring as much energy into her fists as she could. “I don’t need to be better than him at all.”

“Oh, please,” Spectra chattered, a tone like laughter in her voice. “Like either of you really—”

A green explosion knocked her out of the air entirely. Spectra crashed down on the street, leaving Phantom hovering in her place.

“She really doesn’t know when to stop talking,” he growled, the last traces of ectoplasm misting away from his hand. His eyes flicked away from their opponent and to Jazz, briefly. “Are you okay?”

Not really. Her head was killing her. She hadn’t felt such pain since the accident.

“I will be,” she said instead of expressing any of that. “I got Bertrand in the Thermos. We just need to deal with her.”

“Yeah, easier said than done.” Phantom’s eyes had locked onto Spectra again, and Jazz followed his sight. She was rising off of the ground already, and her glow remained strong and steady.

“Keep your distance,” Phantom continued, not looking away. “We’ll have to keep circling, make sure she can’t get her claws into either of us. Rely on your ecto-blasts.”

“Gotcha.” She nodded, pulling her legs together in a spectral tail. Coiled herself up for the dive.

Phantom nodded as well. Dove. She followed a step behind him.

When he split to Spectra’s left, she went right. Discharged her first blast simultaneously with Phantom’s.

But Spectra dodged as easily as Bertrand had, lunging towards Jazz. Had identified her as the weaker point, too.

Jazz managed to twist her tail out of Spectra’s clawing reach, but she’d lost all momentum in the process. Phantom blasted Spectra away again, but they had lost the circling already.

“Fuck,” she heard him swear distantly. She was focused on her own core, on the rapidly depleting energy it contained.

She shot an ecto-blast of her own, but Spectra swatted it away like it was nothing.

“Oh boy,” Jazz mumbled, backing away again. Spectra chased her, pursuing at the same speed as she had.

Another blast of energy—blue?—swung past her, hitting Spectra in the chest. The ghost crashed back to the ground, large crystals spiking from the impact site.

Phantom came up next to Jazz, his presence more comforting than she’d thought it would be. He continued to launch the blue blasts at Spectra. Every blast spread more ice onto the ghost, freezing her back to the ground every time she broke loose.

“I can’t keep this up forever,” Phantom informed her, voice strained. “This isn’t weakening her. I have something that’ll weaken her enough for the Thermos, but it’ll cost me everything I’ve got.”

They were out in the open. Anybody could be watching. Hell, she knew for a fact that her actual brother was nearby.

“You can’t,” she told Phantom, heart clenching. Her core spluttered. She didn’t have enough energy to weaken Spectra. Could barely cling to ghost form. “Phantom, you can’t.”

A sharp crack. Jazz’ eyes snapped back to Spectra. Phantom had paused just too long between blasts. She was loose once more.

“Fuck,” he swore again, passionately and so tired. “Time for round three.”

She pulled herself back into a fighting position. Energy wisped through her fists. They just had to— to last a little longer. Outlast Spectra.

The ghost in question snarled. Coiled like a snake. Shot towards them, claws outreached.

A blast of green whizzed between them, and Spectra screeched to a halt. Jazz felt her heart stop in her chest.

On the ground, cloaked in heavy metal armor, stood Danny Fenton.

“Oh, thank the lord,” Phantom breathed next to her. Why was he so excited to see—

oh.

That armor her brother was wearing was the Fenton Ghost Peeler. The weapon that Phantom’s sister had used to take out Spectra the first time.

“Let’s go distract her, make sure he can land a hit,” Phantom told her. Before she could reply, he dove, fast as lightning.

Energy rushed through her core, like hope given shape.

Final stretch, she thought to herself. Then she dove as well, legs merging back into a spectral tail.

She swept past Spectra, low to the ground. Glanced just on the edge of her reach. Before Spectra could lunge, however, Jazz darted away again.

On the other side, Phantom flung himself high. Fired off an ecto-blast against Spectra’s back, not enough power to knock her away, but strong enough to draw her attention.

With the ghost distracted, Jazz shot past again. Darted right over Spectra’s flaring hair.

Before Spectra could dig her talons into Jazz, Phantom dove low. Froze her twisting tail back to the street.

They both split away from their opponent, almost in perfect sync.

Danny took the opportunity for what it was. The Peeler’s shot whistled through the air and hit Spectra straight in the chest.

She screeched, high and piercing like a banshee’s call. Her outer layer literally peeled away, the black opening up to her human form. Then that split apart, leaving a slightly older version of Spectra’s human form.

As Jazz watched, several more layers peeled away from Spectra’s body until, finally, just a shriveled old woman was left. She jerked around, but couldn’t break free of Phantom’s ice anymore.

“No!” she screamed, clawing at her face. “No! My beautiful youth!”

“Yeah, you know what? I’ve heard enough from you already.” Phantom uncapped his Thermos.

Spectra was dragged in without a struggle, and finally, finally, the fight was done.

Jazz sighed, feeling the full force of her exhaustion and pain come back. She was gonna sleep for a week to get over this again, jeez. But first…

She cocked her head towards Danny, and Phantom nodded. They both lowered themselves back to the one human left on the street.

“Thank you,” Jazz told him, watching as the armor slid back into the Ghost Peeler. “For your help just now. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Danny shrugged, easily, casually. Like he hadn’t just gone against years of their parents’ lessons about ghosts to help them. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Specter,” Phantom said, a tone of urgency in his voice. “We’d better get going.”

Her core twitched, drawing on the last vestiges of power.

“Right. Let’s.” She nodded towards Danny again, trying to wordlessly convey her gratitude. He grinned back, like he understood, somehow.

The two of them fled. They didn’t go very far—Jazz crash-landed on a nearby roof when her core gave out. Phantom shifted back too, the bags under his eyes far more pronounced than she’d ever seen them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, crouching next to her. “That was a pretty rough fight.”

“Our first big one, wasn’t it?” She let herself slump down, her head resting against Phantom’s shoulder. “Bertrand got me a few times—I hit my head pretty hard. But I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his cool fingers carefully combing through her hair. Looking for injuries, probably. “You’re allowed to not be, you know?”

“I’ll be fine, Danny.” She rested her head on his shoulder. His hand paused, then shifted, slid to rest on her arm. “I’m fine, and the city’s fine, and we’re both okay. Everything went alright.”

He laughed, weakly. “Well, I hope you’re ready for what’s next. Now we’re really in for it.”

“Oh?” She considered lifting her head again, but it was heavy with exhaustion. No looking at Phantom’s expression, then.

“Now Amity really knows who we are,” he explained. “About our team.”

“Oh,” she said again. “That’s fine. We are a team.”

“Right.” He swallowed so heavily she could feel him move. “Of course.”