#i rather take the risk of whatever the hell satan was gonna do

[gifti3]

Hilda is so brave and so cringe.

[ghostiiiee]

Just Like Me

To read at my Ao3 CLICK HERE This is the first chapter. sorry is its a little rough. :sweatdrop:

Almost forgot! Tw: i will be going heavy on quirkless discrimination and mental health issues. Theres not much in the first chapter but i do want to touch on it at some point.

School was never something he looked forward to. After all, what was there to look forward to? He was used to getting bullied, made fun of for being different, called names, shoved around. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Many years ago, maybe he would have been the normal one? 

Then again, what even was normal?

It used to be normal to go to school- learn history, math, science and whatever language the school taught. 

It used to be normal to not have any powers, after all -  superheroes were a dream. Stories people made up to tell themselves. Heroes existed, yes, but they never had powers. Heroes were just people, average people. 

Again, there's another word that's changed. Average. 

Normal. Average. 

Two hundred years ago, it was normal for the average person to look human.

Two hundred years ago, it was normal  for the average person to have no powers.

Two hundred years ago, it was normal for superheroes to only be a thing of stories.

That was two hundred years ago. Not now.

Now it's weird to not have powers.

Now you get bullied for being regular. Quirkless.

One of 20%. 

Mathematically, he thought it was stupid that so many people get treated so differently. He did remember Mr. Lancer telling him of people getting treated for less. Mr. Lancer told him two hundred years ago, 10% of the population was seen as satanic because of what hand they used to write with. A similar estimated percent was discriminated against because of who they loved, or what they identified as. 

“Sadly, Mr. Fenton, the human race has a history of not tolerating those who they see as a minority.”

“I remember that from history Mr. Lancer.” Danny sighed, leaning his head on his hand. His eyes stared out the window, looking at the stormy weather. “I remember you talking about how things used to be.”

The teacher pursed his lips, staying quiet and looking at him with concern.

Lancer had asked Danny to stay after class to speak to him. He never did like how Daniel’s peers would gang up on him after school ended. The best he could usually do was this. Casper’s principal was... far too likely to be accepting of anything the more wealthy students’ parents had to say.

“Is that why you’ve been spacing out all day then, Danny?” 

It was asked gently. Danny’s eyes glanced over to the balding teacher before darting back to the window. He hummed for a moment. “...Kinda. I got a lot on my mind.”

“Penny for your thoughts then?” Lancer pulled his chair next to his desk.

It was quiet for a few minutes, the sound of rain gently pattering against the classroom windows filled the room while Danny collected his thoughts. Blue eyes watched raindrops roll down the glass.

“I don’t get it, Mr. Lancer.” His voice was quiet as the floodgates opened. “Everyone in my family has quirks. Dad is strong. My mom can copy anyone’s fighting styles just by watching. Jazz can look at someone and-.... well you know.” He sank down into his chair. “Aunty A, even has a quirk. I've never seen her miss a shot. And then there's me. Daniel James Fenton. The first quirkless person in our family in a long time. Don’t get me wrong either, it doesn’t bother me too much.” Liar. “It’s just... it feels like the cherry on top of everything else.

“My parents got an invitation to teach some classes at UA in Japan. In Japan, I've never lived anywhere but here. Amity Park. It’s not like they can leave me here. PLUS, Jazz has always wanted to go there for the General studies.”

“I understand your concern, Danny. But I’ve seen your work,” There was slight amusement in Mr. Lancers voice. “Aren’t you good at building things? I know I’ve caught you tinkering with something more than once in class.”

Danny’s face flushed red. “...My parent’s usually make those. They’re old models of support gear they have made. I was seeing if I could get a glitch out.”

“And?”

“...I keep shocking myself.” He mumbled. “It hurts like hell.”

“While I can’t say I’m happy that you are getting injured. As long as you are safe, I'm glad.” Mr. Lancer offered a smile to the teen. “As for the other predicament, you are always open to contact me if you need me after you move.”

“Thank you Mr. Lancer.”

~~~~~~~

Danny was thankful that they moved over the summer and not in the middle of the year. School was already hectic enough as was. Moving in the middle of the year was not something he ever wanted to do, let alone moving across the globe in the middle of the year.

He kept to himself for the first few weeks. He liked to walk around, exploring the new area. It felt different than Amity park. More crowded. He noted early on there was definitely more hero around too. It didn’t bother him too much.

That's a lie.

More heroes means more villains.

He didn’t like villains.

He also didn’t like being a hostage.

Lucky him!

He was held hostage by a villain not even before the end of the second week. Not that this was a first time experience for him, having been a favorite target back in Amity Park. He knew all the heroes back home personally because of it. People just loved to take quirkless people hostage. One would think, with the target that seems to hang over his head, that Daniel James Fenton wouldn’t take such risks as walking around alone at night. One would think that if he did, it would be out of necessity, and he would at least have something on him to defend himself.

...yeah no that's not the case. Why in the world would that be the case?

Danny was shoved onto the ground, air leaving his lungs as he hit. He gasped for air, trying to look at who was targeting him now. He couldn’t really tell much about the person, ratty clothes and a hoodie pulled up to cover their face. Nothing could be seen under the hood, it was just shadow, pure, black shadow.

“What’s a runt like you doing out right now?” The villain crouched next to Danny. Chuckling when he tried to scoot away. They put a foot on one of Danny’s wrists, “Ah-ah. Now that’s rude. I’m talking to you punk.”

Danny didn’t respond, wincing at the pressure on his arm. 

“It’s rather rude to ignore your elders.” The villain put more pressure, adjusting so they were crouched like a vulture next to prey.

“F-fuck you. I’ve seen worse.” He growled

The regret in saying that was nearly instant. In the blink of an eye, the ground next to his head - that was solid concrete what the hell- was shattered. The villain was making an inhuman noise, a low gutteral sound coming from them. “You haven’t seen my worst. I wasn’t gonna do much to ya, but I’m starting to change my mind kid.”

He knew he should do anything else - he was already on a thin line - but fuck it. He had a free hand anyways. He grabbed something from his pocket and slammed it against the villain. “As I said before. Fuck. You.” He pressed the button on the side.

The machine sparked to life. Quite literally. Danny still didn’t know what it was supposed to do, but he could make it shock things. Like a weird taser. Unlucky for Danny he was literally pinned to the ground beneath the villain getting tased. And as everyone knows. Humans are conductive. Very conductive. 

Strangely the villain didn't even flinch. The growl getting louder as they grabbed the device from their shoulder and crushed it with their hand. Danny started shaking. Okay so that was a horrible idea. 

The shadows of the alley gathered around the villain. Climbing up their clothing and slowly slithering along their arm. They held Danny down, forming chains around him. In the villain’s hand, a knife, absorbing all light, The villian made the move to attack, and Danny closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to come.

It never did.

It lessened. 

Weight lifted from him, a weight he hadn’t realized was there besides his arm. Tentatively he opened his eyes. 

The villain was on the ground a few meters away from him, knocked out and tied up to a fire exit- similar to how Batman would leave criminals for the cops. Danny blinked. He hadn’t heard anything. So what in the world happened? And how could that have happened so fast? 

Standing up, he looked around for a sign of anyone being there to help him.

Oddly enough. It seemed no one had caused the villain to go down, at least not that Danny could see. Blue eyes scanned the area for a moment, looking for anything that wasn’t there before. Nothing popped out. Nothing was out of place. It looked like no one had been there.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The air condensed, forming mist as it left his mouth and floated away. It was like when he first stepped outside in the winter. Which was strange- it was the middle of summer. A small frown formed on his face. The nights here weren’t that cold normally. 

He brushed it off, ignoring the goosebumps running along his skin as the air chilled. Perhaps whoever knocked the villain out had a rather cold quirk, he mused to himself. Heroes normally make themselves known at this point, checking to see if he was okay. 

He had an inkling it wasn’t a hero. At least not a licensed one. Not that he minded. He didn’t care who it was really. They saved his life… he was grateful for that.

Danny looked up to the clear sky, moonlight peaking over the buildings enough to illuminate the alley where the street lights glowed. He smiled up to the stars. “Thank you.” He said softly. “I wasn’t paying attention tonight.”

He left the alley, starting his way back home. He never caught sight of the figure watching him.

[hazbincalifornia]

Midnight Snack

Chapter 25: Blitzo gets peckish.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and implied animal death. Also stuffing if that needs a tag I guess, and BABY VIOLENCE. (Violence committed by a baby, not against a baby.)

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

Blitzo’s stomach gurgled, and his arms tightened around the pillow that he was hugging to his chest. A fussy, hungry stomach wouldn’t have necessarily been a problem, except for the fact that it had been doing it for the past hour, and he was just about ready to tear it right out of his skin and rip it in half. Acid sloshed around audibly in his empty gut- or maybe the freeloader wanted more room and was just squashing the organ down so much that it had resorted to griping as loudly as it could. Relatable fuckin’ content right there.

Dinner had been two burgers and fries smothered in hot sauce and mayo from the grease trap down the road, which was more than enough to coast through until breakfast. Besides, he’d be damned if the kid was going to make him deal with the grocery store any more than he had to in this condition. No, he was staying right where he was, especially considering he’d been denied any sleep last night. One day low on sleep was manageable with reduced caffeine, two would suck satan’s left tit.

“C’mon, that was enough and you know it, I don’t want you ruining my figure any more than you already have,” he grumbled as the muscles clenched around his stomach, wringing it out like a sponge and drawing a pitiful whine out of his throat. “I’m not gonna just- give in and give you whatever you want, daddy’s gotta do him sometimes and I’m not letting you empty out the fridge. I ate enough, siphon blood outta my system like a normal leech does. I’ve got plenty of that.”

The reply was another gurgling groan and a hard clench as Blitzo’s empty stomach demanded sustenance, this time loud enough to make his middle vibrate even through the pounds of baby. He stuffed the pillow over his mouth, drool leaking down the case and over his chin as he forced out a scream.

He had to take a few seconds to pant before setting a hand on the side of his stomach, fingers drumming. “This is a battle of wills, and I am not letting you win. Your baby-daddy already started all this shit, so I’m just going to treat you the same as him- by ignoring you as long as feasibly possible until you decide to pop up and make everything difficult. Sound good? Yeah, sounds perfect.” There was a nudge from inside and Blitzo nodded in satisfaction at the apparent agreement, settling back down on the bed. He’d gone to sleep hungry plenty of times before, the baby gut notwithstanding, he just had to muscle through this for the next few-

There was no time to muffle the next scream as a sudden pinching pain went from ‘noticeable’ to ‘holy shit who’s tearing up my guts with a chainsaw?’, and there was a thud and a shuffling of feet before Loona started pounding on the door.

“You having a heart attack in there or something?”

Blitzo clutched at his stomach, wheezing as he was clawed apart from the inside out. “N-no!”

“Look, if you die, I’m on the hook for the rent.” Still, there was a semi-worried vibrato to her voice, and he swallowed down the coppery taste flooding up with the saliva to his mouth.

“I’m- fINE-!” His voice pitched up at another pinch-turned-horrorshow and his claws dug all the way through the pillow, stuffing spilling out like viscera.

“What the fuck are you doing in there?” The doorknob jiggled. Where was a portable x-ray when you needed one? Or ultrasound, or whatever the fuck you used to look at a baby that was trying to kill him before it even got out yet. What kind of horrible mouth or claws must it have- oh, fucking hell, Stolas had said something about his kid having a razor-sharp beak from birth, hadn’t he?

“Okay, I’m coming in.” Loona eased the door open, already in her pajamas and clutching a package of opened peanut butter crackers tightly enough that crumbs were sticking to her fingers. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit, so good-” Sharp inhale for breath, let it out- “-To know that I’m all on the same page.”

She dropped down on the bed with a metallic creak. “What’d the kid do now?”

“It feels like they’re biting me again, but w-worse- fuck!” Another nip, this one dragging a line on the inside of the womb like they were drift racing in there. Wait, dragging? He swallowed down more coppery bile. “Okay, fine, fine, sheesh, I’ll fuckin’ eat something, happy you little shithead?”

Loona raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”

Blitzo shoved himself up off the bed to wobbly knees. “Junior’s gotten real bold, and instead of just sucking up the meat I’m eating for them like a good little lump, they decided to put me on the menu- ow, fuck, I’m going, keep your baby-tits on!”

“Babies don’t have tits, Blitzo.”

“They do if I say they do, sweetie.” Blitzo ruffled Loona’s fur between her ears as he waddled across the room, pausing next to the TV to take a breath.

Loona raised an eyebrow. “Do you need me to bring you something? I don’t want you passing out in the middle of the apartment and tripping over you tomorrow morning.”  In response, Blitzo just waved a dismissive hand.

“I can handle walking across two rooms, Loonie.” The active chewing had paused for the moment, but whatever they’d shredded in there was still shredded, and he’d rather not make it any worse- he had work tomorrow, dammit.

The fridge bathed him in a sickly, hospital-like glow as he tugged it open, and drool immediately started leaking from his mouth as the smells of half-forgotten, time-ripened leftovers hit him. A small mouse with four red eyes leaped up from the floor when he opened the door, burrowing into a box of takeout on the bottom shelf that Loona must have gotten when he’d been at Stolas’s place. His tongue snapped out automatically, snatching its furry body up and slurping up the tail between his lips before swallowing, and it took a second for his brain to load enough to register- after it slid down his throat.

Holy shit, did he just…? It squirmed a little as it descended, little hairs stuck in his teeth, and his fingers tightened on the side of his stomach before he reached for the box it had been after to wash out the aftertaste.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, although he did retain enough sense of mind to avoid the six-pack of cheap beer in the back that still had four cans on it. Better to not risk puking all of this up or ruining the kid any more than they already were. Carbs, meat, a few wilted veggies that Moxxie had pawned off on him, sweet, sour, cold chili and whole untoasted bagels- it didn’t really matter what it was as long as it was at least mostly edible (he was pretty sure he swallowed a wrapper at some point), he just needed it inside of him now. Smothering everything in hot sauce and salsa and mustard made it more palatable anyway, especially the ice cream. The kid didn’t start taking chunks out of him again, at least, so he must have been doing something right. More and more of the white fridge walls became visible as the floor around him littered with containers, and his stomach grew tighter before he finally slumped back against the nearby counter with a groan. His legs sprawled out on the cool tile, both hands now stained with a mixture of about five kinds of leftovers, and he cradled his stomach after muffling a burp.

“Are you happy now, you needy little shit?”

Blitzo didn’t really expect a reply and almost didn’t hear it over the churning gurgles of digestion, but a soft ‘eee’ of a hoot, more a whisper-screech than anything, murmured from his midsection. He stared down at it, the warmth of his full stomach counteracted by ice dripping down his back.

“Oh, of course you sound just like him.” His claws dragged along the sensitive, itchy-while-stretched skin before the protection spell sprung up and pushed the fingers away. It only let him touch his own stupid body when he laid his palm flat. “Sure, it’s cute now when it's all little and squeaky, but you’d better not be as entitled as he is, alright? Or as you are now, since I’ve gotta do everything for you until you’re born. Considering you just settled right down in there without even asking in the first place, I doubt it. Rude.”

There were no more noises other than his stomach grumbling about going from empty to full so quickly, and he stayed slumped against the cabinet for long enough to let some of it digest. He must have been more tired than he thought, because he swore that he already looked bigger than he’d been when he’d finished binging. Maybe it started swelling in a bad reaction from whatever fucked-up food cocktail he'd accidentally made.

When he didn’t feel quite so much like a boulder had gotten stuffed inside his guts, it took three tries to haul his ass off the tile and drag himself back to bed, huffing like a cop running for the last doughnut in the process.

The ice had crept from his spine to the rest of his bones and muscles as he tugged the blanket tight around himself, but at least the churning food kept his stomach warm, and he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

[belpheroo]

Title: Untitled Genre: Hurt/Comfort, short bit of fluff. Pairing: Mammon x MC Summary: In which Mammon gets in trouble, Lucifer makes a half-hearted declaration Mammon then takes way too seriously and MC is there to make it better. Notes: I just like taking an insecure Mammon and showering him with affirmations until he cries. - MC Includes some of my headcanons about pact bonds aka emotional walkie talkie and pact marks appearing in the same spot on both MC and the bros. There is a passing reference to my other fic Between the Flash and the Thunder in this one, but you don’t need to read it to know what is going on.

In Mammon’s defense, he had done nothing that he hadn’t done before, so why Lucifer was so angry over some missing dusty old statue was truly a mystery. Lucifer turned a blind eye so often to his petty thefts and insurmountable debts to highly shrewd yet beautiful witches, but for some reason today was different.

He could practically feel the heat radiating off Lucifer’s body, a faint scent of sulfur warning that he could, at any moment, transform. Mammon knew better than to talk back in these moments so instead he waited with his arms crossed over his chest, head ducked down as if he could make himself smaller and unnoticable.

“You gave those harpies a relic of immense value.” Lucifer said, voice teetering between even and ragged, “It was one of the components that protects and seals this House from outside intruders… evidently… we have far worse concerns within!”

His voice raised to a near shout at the end, but Lucifer restrained it back, eyes shut tightly as he composed himself. Mammon felt his pulse all the way to his fingertips, clenching the fabric of his sleeves tight in his fists, focusing on the solidness of the floor beneath him rather than the lightness that threatened to swarm through his head.

“… I-I’ll get it back.”

“No. You will not. I will retrieve it. You can not be trusted to any position of responsibility. In fact, I begin to think I made a mistake entrusting the well being of our human guest with such an irresponsible lout.”

Insults were nothing, Mammon felt the blow of words meant in teasing and in earnest all the time… but this was different. His eyes widened, a breath caught in his chest. He wheezed trying to form words of protest, but Lucifer simply threw up his hand, silencing him.

“These thefts will stop. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah…”

“I will think upon your status as protector. Until then, if you so much as step one centimeter out of line—“

“I got it, okay? …I got it. I’m sorry.” Mammon hurried to change his tone and must have appeared sufficiently abashed because Lucifer’s shoulders relaxed and he turned his eyes away from Mammon. That alone hurt worse than anything his brother had said.

“…okay. Good.”

As always, something softened in Lucifer’s features and Mammon could feel the regret mixed into his anger. It wasn’t like Lucifer enjoyed this shit and Mammon knew that… but thievery was a compulsion he wasn’t likely to kick for good anytime soon. Perks of being the Avatar of Greed.

“You can go back to class.” Lucifer said instead of what else was on his mind and Mammon did.

—

It was nearly impossible not to hide the sharpness in his breath as Mammon half gasped and half panted as he strode down the halls of RAD. Being away from the House was good, it got out from under the oppressive aura Lucifer gave off when he was angry… but in the back of his mind he kept hearing those words over and over.

…I made a mistake entrusting the well being of our human guest…

The thought of Lucifer taking her away from him made his stomach churn. He’d still see her, sure, but her concerns? Her needs and her wants? Those would fall to another brother. He’d be sidelined and unimportant, pushed aside. Would she make a pact with that brother? Who would it be? Asmo? Beel? Most likely Satan if Lucifer could stomach granting such a privilege to him. He was reliable, he was smart.

Mammon growled under his breath, pushing a hand roughly through his hair and tugging, trying to distract himself with the pain.

“Stupid, worthless idiot… shut the fuck up, stop thinkin’ bout it.”

It was no use. His thoughts were spiraling and his chest was prickling with tightness. His eyes stung and Mammon knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, he needed to get out of sight. He found an empty classroom just in time, forcing open the door and slamming it closed as he furiously began rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fist.

Why the hell was he so upset?! He didn’t give a shit about Lucifer being mad! Luci would posture and raise his voice and be rough and then by tomorrow he’d be apologetic … even if Mammon did probably deserve this scolding and worse for having stolen from Lucifer yet again.

But… but dammit just the thought of Lucifer giving her to someone else made him want to fuckin’ scream. He didn’t want them near her! She was his to protect! He was the one she should be comin’ to in the middle of the night, when she was scared of thunderstorms. He was the one who should be taking her around Devildom, the one she was glued to and brought her homework to when she needed “help”… even if they just played on Devilgram the whole time instead.

Mammon was so preoccupied with these thoughts he jolted when the classroom door opened and softly someone slipped in.

“… hey um— so. You like, okay?”

Her voice was quiet and strained, but he knew the human exchange student’s voice anymore. In confusion, Mammon turned and saw in the light that her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks blotchy… as if she had been crying. His entire demeanor shifted, brows snapping together as he stood up taller.

“Whose responsible for this, huh? Who messed with ya?”

“Uh? What? Dude. I’m not crying because I want to. It’s you!” She waved back and forth between them, indicating to something invisible.

“Ha…w-what? Me? The Great Mammon? Absolutely not, I would never be all weepy and pitiful and junk.”

She gave him a skeptical look, one well-groomed brow lifting and a smirk on her lips. She reached into the pocket of her RAD uniform and produced a handkerchief.

“Your nose is running.”

He swiped it with a scowl, balling it up and roughly scrubbing his face.

“It’s the pact. I can feel what you feel when you are close.”

Mammon grumbled some reply, but it was indecipherable behind the handkerchief.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No… man, this sucks. Just stupid really, but it’s gonna mess everything up.”

She nodded, not pointing out he had said “no” and then proceeded to begin talking about it. That was pretty typical Mammon behavior.

“I got in trouble.” He mumbled, looking away from her sheepishly, “…Lucifer said I ain’t responsible enough to be lookin’ after ya anymore. So… guess ya will have to get used to Satan or someone.”

The silence after he stopped speaking was deafening, but he felt something in his chest… a tiny twinge of anxiety similar to what he had felt before but… faded. Like someone speaking through a tin can on a string into his heart. Mammon risked a short sideways glance over to her and found she was standing rigid, fists clenched at her sides. Her glossy lips were pressed tight together, redness spreading from her cheeks down her throat like a lit fuse before she exploded.

“Lucifer can shove it, I’m not taking anyone else! He can’t make me.”

“W-well… I dunno, it might be better cause I ain’t exactly the most reliable kinda guy. Ya probably would be better off if you had someone else watchin’ out—“

“What? What? What are you saying? Like, I can’t hear you over Lucifer talking out your mouth!”

Not what he had expected, he’d give her that.

“Say sike like right now!!!” she demanded.

“Wha- wait?! Why are you mad at me!”

“Because I don’t hear you saying you told him no!” She said, crossing her arms tightly against her chest and huffing, “Because you are standing there talking bad about my best friend… I don’t want someone ‘more’ reliable or whatever. I rely on you just fine. You are…I…”

She struggled to get the words out, the redness in her face having little to do with anger now.

“Mammon, I want you. No one else. I don’t care whether they are better at the job or not, they will suck at it because they aren’t you!”

Relief was immediate, followed closely by sheer embarrassment as Mammon hid his face with her handkerchief, covering his nose and mouth and hoping she wouldn’t notice the flush creeping down his own neck now.

She took in a shaky breath, eyes going wide as her chest rose and fell a bit faster.

“Wow… wow, I can like totally feel that.” She said, voice hushed, “You’re so—“

“Shuddup!” Mammon groaned, tossing aside her handkerchief and dragging her close. With her face pressed into his chest, she couldn’t see his face anymore and honestly… Mammon couldn’t bare to let her see him, pact or no pact.

His embrace was crushing and no doubt not very comfortable, but she softened under his touch and gently her hands came up to soothe over his back.

It was too much. It was just too fuckin’ much.

“…you’re just so happy.” She murmured into his shirt and Mammon swore he could feel her smiling.

“What if I am?! W-what’s it to ya, huh? Human?”

She giggled, arms wrapping around him fully as she squeezed back as tightly as she could.

“You’re so weak… puny human arms. Nuthin’ compared to the Mammon.”

“Ohhh, can you pick me up!? That’d be fun!”

“N-no!”

“Oh, so you can’t? Got puny demon arms?”

Mammon wasn’t one to take a challenge laying down. Her feet lifted off the floor as he hoisted her up, wiggling and giggling with delight. She got her arms up between them so she could wrap them around his neck, hooking her legs behind his own.

“Whee! Much better.” She hummed, looking down at his very unamused face with a smile. She had succeeded in her goal of distracting him and Mammon knew it.

“...I ain’t got puny arms.”

“I know, Mammon.”

“You’re bein’ extra needy, human.”

It wasn’t true. He was the one who needed and needed and needed. Her affirmation, her affection… don’t look at anyone else. Don’t be with anyone else. Mammon was suddenly struck with the knowledge he’d give up every penny in his bank accounts if it meant no one else ever got to have her.

And he didn’t know what that meant, but he knew what she wanted it to mean right now.

“…I’ll tell Lucifer no.”

“Hmm? What was that?” She cooed, voice teasing and light.

“I said I’ll tell um no! I ain’t given ya up!”

She weighed next to nothing with his strength, but still he settled her unto the instructor’s desk, palms flat on either side of it’s smooth surface as he leaned in, caging her.

She kept her legs locked around him, but now she could put them around his waist. Her hands slid from his neck down his arms, coming to rest on his forearms where she kneaded and rubbed at the bare skin where his sleeves were rolled up.

Normally, this kind of position would have Mammon a stuttering mess, but there was something determined and direct in his eyes, as if he couldn’t focus on anything right now but making sure she knew he was in earnest when he said what he said.

“I’m not giving you up either.”

Simple words, and yet she could feel where they pierced into his heart, leaving him half joy and half agony. Why did it hurt him so much when she spoke kindly to him? Mammon craved the words, but something held him back.

“You aren’t stupid.” She whispered, gently lifting her hand and resting it on his neck, watching as the pact mark began to appear exactly on him where it was on her.  Her thumb found it, pressing and rubbing in firm circles until she pulled a groan from Mammon’s throat and he tipped his head forward to bury his face against her neck.

She felt his lips brush her mark, a touch more than a kiss, but a kiss all the same.

“You’re my first guy… you’re my favorite guy. I like you best.”

She knew if she kept it up, she was going to make him fall apart… and part of her wanted to. Part of her thought it was exactly what he needed. Instead, she gently kissed the side of his head with a loud and pronounced “mu-wah”.

“C’mon! Let’s cut class.” She said, gently wiping Mammon’s cheeks with the back of her hand when he untangled himself from her. He sniffed once, refusing to meet her eyes and nodding vigorously as he got himself composed.

“Eh… Lucifer did say somethin’ bout not breakin’ anymore rules today.”

“I’ll tell him I was sick and needed company.”

“You ain’t sick!”

“I’ll tell him it was ‘girl troubles’. That one gets him so quiet you’d think I was the Avatar of Awkward Silences.”

Mammon laughed, rolling his eyes which were starting to look a bit less red and a bit more mischievous as he considered the possibilities of ditching. Taking the opportunity, she slid off the desk with a tiny flourish, spinning to fluff out her skirt before brushing it down resolutely.

“It’s decided! Two hellfire boba teas and chocolate newts are what the doctor ordered!”

She took his hand and he resisted only for a moment so he could relish the feel of her tugging him towards her and the sight of her pouting before she stamped her little booted foot on the floor.

“C’mooooon!”

“Alright, human. You’re buying."

[stuckonvenus]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 » Ellie & Becca

 Ｊｕｌｙ ３１ｓｔ， １９９８

The saying goes as such: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb... or whatever. Honestly I have only ever applied this proverb to my relationship with my sister whenever we weren’t in mortal peril. While I have plenty of friends and acquaintances who I’ve shared battlefields with (i.e. the morning after a party), that never made me any closer to them in a real crisis. I would say about seventy-five percent of the time that the blood is thicker than the water, and the remaining twenty-five percent is when the water isn’t necessarily thicker, but more pressurized. That’s the only time in our lives when we’ve ever come together as sisters.

Well, this is the twenty five percent, and never has the feeling of being sucked and trapped against a fissure at the bottom of the Challenger Deep been more realized than now. It doesn’t help that my bladder is about to implode and leak the citrus-flavored toxic waste I’ve consumed in rapid succession over the past half hour into my visceral fat and contaminate all my vital organs. 

I waddle awkwardly through the narrow doorway of Page One and slam my tiny palm onto the countertop. A bookkeeper who I can recognize as my lab partner from sophomore year chemistry pokes his nose out from the novel he’s immersed in. Moby Dick. Jesus, who reads school assigned books after graduation?

“Hey, Drew-Drew,” I greet him, a lopsided grin fitted on my lips as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and offers me a smile in return. He has a lot more charisma than I remember. I think his eyes have gotten bigger and bluer, too. It reminds me of the water’s surface I’m staring up at from the very bottom of the ocean. “Where’s Becky at?”

Drew dog-ears his page — which is kind of disgusting to me, do they not sell bookmarks in this busted ass joint? — and he points toward the graphic novel section. “Over there, we just got Spider-Man #76, she’s stocking up.”

“... Didn’t #76 come out in January? Of last year?” I ask him. He opens his mouth so he can answer but I stop him with a raised hand. “No time. You’re lookin’ good, Drew-Drew, considerably less like a delicious pepperoni pizza. Keep it up with the Oxy Pads.” I say before pushing away from the counter and venturing off to my destination.

Indeed, my older sister is crouched down and rustling with a display, slightly disgruntled by the symmetry of the copies of Spider-Man she’s stocking. I don’t really have any witty remarks as a smooth enough introduction, so I settle with, “Need help?”

She whips around and I can almost hear the crack in her spinal cord from the velocity. “Lily?” she half-whispers. I forget that I haven’t seen her since late May, and also that I swore I’d never see her again.

“In the flesh,” I confirm and do a curtsey, which threatens my full bladder. I really need to piss soon or else I’ll die a terribly death in the shittiest bookstore on the eastern seaboard. “Do you have a sec? It’s 9-1-1.”

Becca’s expression shifts from awe and minor annoyance to something resembling concern as she pushes herself off her knees. “What is it?” she asks me, crossing her arms over her chest as a last resort defense mechanism. 

I don’t hesitate to hold up the plastic Walgreens bag I’ve carted with me for two blocks. She recognizes the items inside and her eyes go all moony and her jaw slacks a bit. I jerk my brows up expectantly and she assumes the position of utter bewilderment.

“Do you have a place I can empty the biohazardous contents of my bladder? It’s about to necrotize,” I hiss at her. She reaches down, digs in her pocket, unearths a bronze key and walks ahead of me at full speed. I have to waddle after her like a newly hatched penguin chick. It would be more humiliating if over half the population of Eden were literate, but alas...

Becca jams the keys into the lock and just about bodychecks the door so we can enter the rectangular bathroom. It’s cramped and the lighting resembles something out of a Hitchcock film, but who the fuck am I to be picky about where I take the most important whizz of my life?

I place the bag on the counter and take out the three empty full-sized cans of Surge I used to fuel my bladder before picking up the grossest thing I have ever held: a pregnancy test. I keep it in my grasp for a few passing beats, nearly crushing the box underneath my iron-tight grip before man-handling it open and tearing out the plastic stick that will determine my fate.

“This is by far the most unholy fortune telling experience ever,” I decide to joke as I witness my sister cower in the corner. You’d think by the looks of it she were the one whose life was about to change forever. “You think if I shake it a genie will come out and grant me three wishes?”

“... Only if it’s negative, as a gift,” Becca chimes in at last. “Otherwise not even God can save you.”

I let out an involuntary snort, because while my reflexes register this as a funny joke, I am actually scared shitless.

I stare at the porcelain toilet bowl. I feel sicker now looking at it than when I’ve genuinely been at risk for vomiting up my lunch. I could still do that, I’ve been puking like a bulimic for weeks now. The thought is almost comforting. Almost. I bite the bullet instead and yank my pants down, my boy pants, which I normally wear as a boy when I’ve got slightly wider hips and more junk to hide and taller legs to protect with denim fabric. Fuck me.

“I just... Hold it and piss, right?” I ask her, as if she’s gone through this before. I know for a fact she hasn’t, or else this wouldn’t be our first time. I’m surprised it’s our first time, actually, thinking that karma would’ve caught up with me a long time ago. 

“Just don’t get any on your hand.” Becca replies. Very helpful, I think, but rather than respond verbally I give a sigh of defeat and do what needs to be done. When my bladder is emptied an eternity later, I pull up my oversized pants and briefly grieve my dick before I place the test on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at Becca, “It’s seasoned. Just gotta let it marinate.”

“Gross.” she says with a scrunched up nose.

I turn around and slide down the wall, an action she mimics a couple seconds later. I stare ahead, up at the light that’s screwed into a 70s pendant-shaped fixture, and pass the silence by making them flicker. I do this as a distraction from the materializing tension between us. Normally, this doesn’t happen, but then again our peril has only involved either extreme intoxication, pedos on AOL (during high school), or something about her and Gabriel’s arguments, which felt like walking through Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

She’s the first one to say something.

“Whose is it? ... If it’s a thing,” she wonders, and as I look over at her I notice that her eyebrows are knitted together and her mouth is fixed downward. “... Please don’t tell me Topher’s.”

I chuckle at the idea. “I think if it were a thing and Topher’s, it’d have grown like a xenomorph baby and ripped itself out of my stomach by now,” I tell her. “I’d deserve that kind of karma for getting knocked up by him.”

“Xenomorph?” she says, and I open my mouth to offer an explanation before she finishes, “Alien. Right.”

“... Yeah, exactly,” I nod along. How in the hell did she remember that? We only ever sat through Alien and Aliens once, and I could’ve sworn she was too preoccupied reading a magazine to actually notice what was happening on screen. 

I also notice that she’s wearing my favorite striped turtleneck. Stone cold bitch.

Some things never change, huh?

Shit, I think I might cry.

This is why we’re siblings, I think, so I can hate her for wearing my favorite turtleneck while sitting by her side as we await Satan’s final decision on the state of my cursed uterus.

Tears prickle my vision but I blink them away. 

“Whose is it, then?” she wonders again. I visibly tense. This is probably where our unspoken, once-in-a-blue-moon loyalties end. How do you tell your sister that her ex-boyfriend is the reason you’re sitting in the dingy bathroom of her workplace with a piss-riddled stick inches away?

In the end, I don’t have to say anything at all. We look at each other simultaneously and she reads my expression with ease. Her features soften and I can see a glint of hurt in her eyes, and I expect ripples of betrayal to make themselves known across the rest of her body soon enough. But those ripples never come. The water I thought was loosening from around me doesn’t make a goddamn move. 

I’m still at the bottom of the Deep, but she’s with me now.

Her hand grips mine. Tight. I can feel our pulses match up in our paralleling wrists.

“I think it’s been enough time.” I say eventually. She doesn’t release my hand. Our shared warmth creates a comfortable friction between us. “... Will you hate me after this?”

Becca squeezes my hand. A heart beat jumps out from her touch to mine. “I think I’ve hated you enough for one summer.”

A smile flickers on the corner of my lips and I slowly depart my hand from hers. My palm is slick with sweat but I don’t mind. I stand up and feel my equilibrium struggle to steady itself before I’m ready to approach the counter. The test is still there, so I know this wasn’t an abstract fever dream I’ve had after discovering so much eerily similar history.

I’m not a fucking coward. I’m looking this shit straight on, no matter what. Do you think I’m afraid of a sign? Totally not. I lean over and stare down, my gaze idling at the base before finally fixating on the panel.

+

Holy shitstickers.

“... Becca?” I call out, my voice half gone from unknown forces. She perks up and I see her reflection in the mirror with widened eyes. “Do you have five bucks? I’m gonna need more Surge.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter eight: nightshade in cultivation

“So in nearly three months, you still haven't found a place yet?” Sam asked Marla, who shook her head at that.

“Nope—a lot of it has to do with my history with Charlie. There’s this royally fucked up belief going around right now that heavy metal, whether you’re inside of it or associated with it in any way, converts one to Satanism, but whatever.”

“Wow, what the hell.” Sam had to stifle a laugh with that.

“I know, right? but Genie seems to like living with Bel, though. She likes to sleep on her bed.”

The sun hung low over Providence and the first wispy sheets of a marine layer settled in from the ocean, and because of it, the two of them had made their way backstage before the Cherry Suicides took to the stage. Marla had to hustle to Sam's hotel room given the size and shape of their dresses, but the latter insisted things were fine as they walked down the block to the theater in question. Belinda had run back to New York City, and Aurora was on her honeymoon with Emile, and thus that left the two of them behind in Providence. Both girls were to get in through the fan club: Marla volunteered to put both of their cards into her purse so Sam herself needn’t risk taking hers along into the crowded theater. For the time being, they huddled backstage, on a bench on the wall within range of the main stage: to Sam’s right was Anthrax’s dressing room, and around the corner was the Cherry Suicides’ room.

Somewhere along the way, Testament had finished and released their album, but everything had happened so fast for Sam that the date passed her up: she had been focusing so much on school that she wound up wondering why Aurora never mentioned it to her on the occasional day she worked alongside her.

The otherwise slightly snug corset left Sam's body feeling a bit sore: every so often, she would raise her arms over her head to better ease the feeling within her.

“If and when I do find a place, would you like to be my roommate?” Marla offered her.

“I'd love to! It would get me out of the Bronx and I wouldn't have to find a new place for myself.” She raised her arms over her head and her shirt raised up over her waist a little bit. Minerva from the Cherry Suicides strode past them and she reached towards her exposed, slightly full waist for a little poke, but Sam was quick to bring her arms down again.

“I'll get you,” Minerva teased her with a wag of her finger: those long black and red acrylic nails glimmered bright under the pale yellow overhead lights.

“You and what army?” Sam retorted, and the three of them laughed. Minerva kept on walking and then Marla turned to Sam's body.

“You do look good with a little weight, though,” Marla remarked. “I remember when we first met, I thought you were looking a little on the thin side. So I like you with a few because it’s more so around your hips and your chest rather than right onto your belly.”

“Did you gain weight when you first started school?” Sam asked her.

“I actually lost weight—lost like ten pounds and then I met Charlie. He says he loved it but—” She shrugged her shoulders. “—swings and roundabouts, I guess. Hey, there's Alex!”

She nodded across the floor to the sight of Alex himself with his head bowed over a little amp on a chair. He played around with some of the dials on there but neither of them could make out any part of his face besides his nose. From a distance, Sam could tell that his nose had healed from the strong blow from Joey, but she paid attention to the way in which his jet black hair covered the side of his face, and she knew he was still rather ruffled by it.

“Alex!” Marla called out. “Hey, Alex!”

He gave his hair a little toss back, and then he glanced over at the two girls there. Marla gave him a pretty little wave, and while he raised an eyebrow at her a bit, his expression turned cold upon sight of Sam. He returned to his amp and then he reached for something behind the chair: he took out a little red guitar out of hiding and he slung it over his shoulder. He lifted his hair out from under the strap but he never looked over at them.

“What's up with him?” Marla asked her.

“I called him annoying earlier,” Sam explained with an exasperated sigh.

“Annoying? What was he doing?”

“Yeah, 'cause of the whole thing between him and Joey earlier and he was all like, 'I didn't do that!' and he was real insistent on it, too.”

“That's it?” Marla frowned at that.

“Yeah.” Sam sighed through her nose. “I dunno, Mar—I kinda feel bad for doing that, because he wasn't that annoying. I just wanted him to tell the truth and apologize to Joey.”

“Maybe he was telling you the truth,” she pointed out. “You didn't see what he was doing—he may have been telling the truth.” She stopped in her tracks. “What was he even doing?”

“He says he was talking to Greg about something and he was moving his hands around a lot and Joey thought he flipped him off.”

“Oh, I see. And then Joey socked him right square in the nose.”

“He told me three times he didn't flip him off,” Sam recalled.

“So? Maybe he was being sincere about it.”

Sam sighed through her nose again.

“I dunno, Marla. I kinda wanna—“ She stopped and pursed her lips together.

“What?” Marla tilted her head a bit but it was enough to make her iridescent hair shine a different shade of gold under the yellow lights.

“I want to help Joey,” she confessed in a low voice.

“Help him with what?”

“Get him to stop drinking for one thing,” she replied. “I can tell he doesn’t want to do it. Bel feels the same way about him.”

“Well, have you tried to actually do something about it?” Marla offered.

“Yeah, I’ve brought it up to him and I’ve moved him away from things that can bring it on. It’s just… hard to understand and predict, too.”

“When Charlie and I were together, he would drink a bit, and I distinctly remember telling him the day after his first big hangover that I didn’t want him to do that to himself. And he was like, ‘okay, what do you think I should do?’ And I said, ‘I want to help you out of those habits because I worry about you.’”

“So what did you do?” Sam asked her.

“Well, for about a week, I went with him whenever we went grocery shopping. I told him he could have a drink once in a while, but not a lot, though, like a beer every now and again. I asked Frankie to take it easy on it, too, and he promised to keep it in check himself. I guess Scott and Danny are the real big drinkers—that’s my guess anyway. But I’m not sure how to approach it with Joey. I think your best bet is to just keep an eye on him and walk him through it.”

“Which means spending more time with him, I would think.”

“Oh, yeah, but you don’t have to be beyond that, though. At least with me and Charlie, I had a bit of an advantage of being his girlfriend. But I wonder about Joey in particular—especially with how he looks at you.”

Sam rolled her eyes at that: stray notes from Rosita’s bass floated into the area right then. There was a slight sound barrier between the two of them and Alex so they couldn’t hear his playing around on his guitar.

“I have never seen him in action like that,” she flatly said, but she thought about his little advances in his apartment. The look in his eyes. The way he was so open to it, especially with Belinda there with her. She came close to him there on the couch.

“I sure have. I’ve seen him and the way he looks at your legs and your hips in particular. You may want to do something about it.” She then tilted her head a little bit once again, and the roots upon her head shimmered as if made of metal. “How did you and Cliff go about?”

“He got close to me once but we were fighting, though. We never went any further than his touching my hip and feeling me.”

“Did he at least kiss you?”

“Of course he kissed me. But, like I said, we never went any further than that.” She paused for a second. “Kinda wish we did.”

“Have you ever thought of experimenting with someone?”

“Not really.”

“When you get a chance, you should experiment with Joey. That is, if you’re comfortable with it. It’s all about going beyond what you already know and what you’re comfortable with already.”

“You want me to be comfortable but also not?” Sam raised an eyebrow at that.

“Yeah. In fact, I can readily say that art is just like that. Miss Estes told me and Bel both that when we first started taking her class. You have to expand your horizons so you come out stronger and healthier and more astute than before. It’s gonna be hard at first, but it’ll be more than worth it in the end. And another person, a new heart, is no different.”

She turned her attention back to Alex, who had moved his amp down to the floor and took his seat in the chair and cradled the guitar in his lap. His bangs shielded his eyes from their view, but Sam could tell he was focused on his guitar and only that.

“And by another person, I don’t mean Joey,” Marla continued in a low voice. Sam glanced over at her and the thoughtful look on her face.

“What are you saying?”

“Look at that little boy over there,” Marla nodded. “I know I just said he’s a little boy, but—just look at him.”

Indeed, Sam took another glimpse over at him there. He raised his head a little bit so she could see right into his face. His deep eyes seemed even deeper from the side there, and his black eyebrows were even blacker. His fingers held to the guitar neck as if he held onto it for dear life, while his other hand glided across the bridge at a quick pace. The sound barrier between them had only gotten stronger with the Cherry Suicides better putting up their set, but she could tell he was performing a solo to himself.

“When did their album come out?” she asked Marla.

“Who, Testament?”

“Yeah. It’s been a few months, and up to this point, I’ve just been up to my eyeballs in school and Aurora’s wedding—she even fell short with it all herself. I haven’t really been paying much attention lately.”

“I think last month? I haven’t been in the know, either. You know, with Charlie being out of the picture and whatnot. I’m pretty sure it was last month, like I overheard someone talking about it some time ago, but that’s about it.”

Sam sighed through her nose. Yet another album she needed to listen to before they put out their next one. But first things first: she stood to her feet and she ambled towards Alex and his soloing to himself. She could hear some voices on the other side of the curtain: the show was about to start up for the night.

He lifted his gaze a bit but then he returned to his guitar: when she cleared the sound barrier, the heavy dark tone of the guitar strings greeted her. His tone was rich but cold, and his fingers sailed about the guitar’s neck. He reached down and fiddled with one of the dials on his amp, and turned it down a little bit, much to her surprise.

“Hey,” she said to him in a low voice, but he never raised his head to her. She put her arms behind her back and she cleared her throat so he could better hear her. “Listen—about the annoying comment—I'm sorry if that upset you at all. I was just—freaking out about Joey is all.”

Under his bangs, she could make sight of his eyes as they pointed in her direction. The black hair dye held onto that gray stripe for dear life, even though she could see its faint glimmer under the light. The gray stripe that aged him, and the black hair dye that brought him back to the end of his teenage years.

But he never raised his head towards her, and he never stopped.

She leaned in closer to his face. A red mark had appeared right on the bridge of his nose, and he had a slight bruise under his right eye, but he still looked fine.

“I don’t ever mean to upset you,” she said right into his ear. “I just wanted to protect Joey.”

He kept on playing and thus, she lifted herself into an upright position and she strode on back to Marla. She nodded her head at her.

“So?” she began once Sam was back in earshot.

“Eh, I gave it a shot,” she confessed with a shrug.

“Hey, at least it’s something,” Marla pointed out, and Zelda walked past right then in bare feet and with her drum sticks tucked into her shorts pocket: her long slender legs shone with a nice glow courtesy of a fresh shave.

“Have either of you girls seen Chuck?” she asked them, out of breath.

“Can’t say I have,” Marla confessed with yet another shrug of her shoulders.

“You can probably ask Alex over there,” Sam suggested, “but he’s not really talking to anyone right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sam called him annoying earlier because he flipped off Joey and Joey punched him in the nose for it,” Marla explained in a single breath. “As far as we know, anyway.”

“So I tried to make it up to him,” Sam filled in, “but he never said anything back about it, so I don’t really know.”

“Jesus, if I had a nickel for every time someone talked about someone flipping someone off and then that person punching them in the nose—I'd have two nickels,” Zelda proclaimed also in a single breath.

“Anyways, what do you need Chuck for?” Sam asked her.

“I borrowed his old shoes so I can drum faster. These big heavy boots that were just falling apart and one of the last things Louie told me was that if I weigh down my feet and ankles with big heavy boots, they’ll get stronger. Guess what happened.”

“They fell apart?” Marla quipped.

“They fell apart! Right at the seam near the toes. So now, I gotta tell him and then go find some duct tape for them.”

“Hope you don’t get sore feet, though,” Sam advised her.

“Nah, they fit well otherwise. Just have to stick them back together. I once duct taped a pair of slippers back together when I was in school and they’re still holding up perfectly.”

“Wow!” Marla gaped at her.

“I gotta find him quick, too—we’re gonna go on in like twenty minutes.” She then turned her head. “Oh, there’s Greg with a roll of tape—hey, Greg!”

Zelda hurried over to Greg, who stood on the other side of the backstage area with a roll of silvery gray duct tape in hand and his bass slung onto his back.

“Wanna go out to the audience?” Marla offered Sam, who frowned at the sight of them over there. She looked across the floor to Alex, who had gotten to his feet and stooped over behind the chair. For a few seconds, she fixed on the slight curve of his hips and thighs, but then she remembered how he behaved towards her a few moments before.

“Yeah, might as well,” she said with another exasperated sigh.

Marla put her purse over her shoulder, and then she and Sam began towards the hallway which led them back outside, at least for the time being. They would double back around the other side of the theater and show off their fan club status to will call. Indeed, Marla took Sam’s card out of her purse, but then she hesitated.

“What’s up?” Sam held the card in between her fingers as if it was a business card.

“Hang out here for a moment, I need to use the ladies’ room—“ Marla closed her purse and she ducked past her to the corridor behind her. Sam stood there with one hand pressed to her hip; she gave her dark hair a little toss back and she gazed up to the rafters overhead.

She was honored to be a part of the fan club of a brand new band out of the Bay Area, but on the other hand, she had new doubts about Alex. None of it with him made any sense. Maybe it was part of the way he grieved Cliff: she was Cliff’s girl, but the whole thing with Joey felt so strange to her. There was so much her parents never exposed her to upon growing up, and thus she saw the whole thing with him as total science fiction. She wished it was easier to understand, that she could go back in time and actually see what happened outside of that cafe that evening. If Alex had told the truth and if Joey just had a bad reaction to it.

She then felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to find Alex right behind her, still with that stern look on his face and that little guitar slung around onto his back. Her heart skipped a few beats.

“Oh—”

“Hold out your hand,” he said. She did, and he reached into his pocket and he took out a little blue guitar pick.

“That was Cliff's pick,” he told her in a low voice. “I guess he didn’t use it much, that’s why it’s so pristine. And I guess they found it plus Cliff’s skull ring at the scene of the accident and Jason took it. But then he gave it to Frank and then Frank gave it to me.”

Indeed, when she turned it over, Cliff’s name had been inscribed on the back in silver cursive lettering. She recalled that one song from their last album, “Orion”, and the heavy bass riff of that filled her ears by the mere thought. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over her. All the tears and all the grief, and she still missed him. Marla’s words rang through her mind as well, and she wondered if she could go places with Joey that she never could with Cliff.

“By the way—I recommend you stay away from Joey,” he continued, and then she shook herself out of her daydream.

“Why?” she demanded, taken aback.

“He's lazy.”

“No, he's not,” she insisted and she stifled a chuckle at that. She held the pick close to her chest. The only piece of Cliff left behind that wasn’t just his parents or his sister.

“Yes, he is,” Alex persisted with a straight face. “Let me ask you this, have you ever seen him actually do something for Anthrax besides sing for them? Like write a song or anything like that?”

She shook her head.

“I know I sound like a total dick for this but—I feel like he should do more for them than just provide his voice. Don't you agree?”

“Well...” Sam shrugged her shoulders, and she had no idea as to how to answer that. He raised his eyebrows at her, the first time she ever saw his face soften up.

“Tellin' you, Samantha. The man's lazy.”

“Have you seen him play hockey, though?” she pointed out.

“That's totally different. Skating on a stretch of ice and adding something more to a band you're part of are not comparable.”

“He's a drummer,” she continued.

“Have you seen him drum? Has he added his skills to something from them, like has Charlie asked him to do parts on anything?”

She shuddered at it all. She didn't like hearing Joey in a bad light like that because he needed more love and care than anything else. There was also a lot to the music world and the making of it that she still didn't know yet: there was so much for her to recall in the art world in and of itself. Some things had not crossed her mind in the same way in which it had with all of her musician friends. Alex shifted his weight and then he squinted his eyes at her.

“Be careful around him,” he warned, and Sam scoffed at that. “Come on, you know I'm right.”

“Well, you could be completely wrong about him, too,” she curtly pointed out.

“So what if I am?” he asked her, and she rolled her eyes at him. She clutched the pick in hand and flounced away from him.

“If I am wrong, at least I'll admit to it,” he called after her, and she turned back to him with a look of disgust on her face.

“Belinda's right—you are precocious,” she snapped.

“At least I admit to it,” he repeated, and she rolled her eyes at him yet again.

“Whatever,” she said as she pocketed the pick without thanking him. Sam strode out of there at brisk pace and let the door shut behind her.

“Whatever, Alex,” she muttered. “Whatever. I don't need you and I don't need your opinions about anything.”

She stood outside under the cool marine layer as it covered the slight sliver of a moon. She thought of the gray stripe on Alex’s head, and how it appeared to fight back against the black hair dye. It became a faint memory at that point, but she recalled what Aurora and Marla had said about it at their first show at L’Amour. Something about that stripe that not only aged him, but put him in a strange spot.

But she shook her head, and the door behind her swung open. Marla strode out from behind her with a refreshed look on her face.

“I was just talking to Alex,” she started as they walked side by side to the street, “he said Anthrax might not do well tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno, he didn’t say. It was kind of out of the blue, too—like he said that to me rather suddenly.”

Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. She held the pick in her hand all the way to the street, and even though it belonged to Cliff, she thought of throwing it across the street. She fumed at the thought of Alex. He was not only precocious but he was pretentious as well. That gray stripe aged him, but he obviously couldn’t handle it. She kept on shaking her head as they reached will call and made their way towards the front part of the floor. Marla handed her the ear plugs and she slipped them inside.

Zelda’s drum kit had been set up right smack in the middle of the brightly lit pale wooden stage, and she took her seat there behind the kit. She turned away from the audience: Sam spotted Greg, who knelt down before her with those boots in question in hand. He had stuck a great deal of silver duct tape over the toes and part of the soles so they better fit her feet. She smiled at him once Zelda teased him about something and it made him laugh. 

If nothing, she could still turn to Greg, Louie, Chuck, and Eric.

Indeed, those boots made Zelda push harder and harder on the drums, but Sam and Marla both could tell it proved to be a challenge for her, even though the crowd behind them loved them. The Cherry Suicides played “Day of the Dead” and Zelda was out of breath by the first chorus. The first time Sam had seen her truly exhausted from a night of drumming: she always did it as though it was second nature to her.

When she left the stage and waved at everyone, her chest heaved and her face was pale from dehydration. Sweat had drenched through her white t-shirt and little shorts, and she seemed to trudge her way off of the stage.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen her that beat before,” Marla confessed to Sam over the noise of the crowd and the muffled quality in her ears, and she shook her head at that.

Within a few minutes, Anthrax took to the stage. Charlie had tied his black hair up at the back of his head in a taut ponytail while Frank and Dan wore big baggy bright Bermuda shorts: the former’s were a bright fiery red while the latter had on little blue ones with the Jetsons imprinted all over them. Scott soon followed as his dark hair billowed behind his head and his thick dark eyebrows stood out even from across the room. And then—

“Oh my god, look at him,” Marla declared. Sam gazed on at the sickly look on Joey’s face and his shaking hands. He let out a low whistle and then Scott picked up his white Flying V guitar and slung it over his shoulder. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned towards the microphone before him.

“Hello, Rhode Island, this song is called ‘Medusa’,” he said and his voice broke a bit.

“They look sick,” Sam confessed to Marla, who nodded at her. Scott led the way into those grinding riffs: Sam had a vague memory of this song from Joey’s apartment, and all she remembered was Charlie’s thumping drums and the dissonance in the chorus. Joey’s voice meanwhile, seemed a lot more restrained than usual. His vibrato wasn’t as strong and he held back on his high notes in the chorus.

“He's either having a bad night or he's hammered,” someone behind them shouted over the wall of music. Indeed, Sam frowned at the sight of Joey's closed eyes and the pallid look of his otherwise healthy sun kissed skin. He rubbed his eyes every so often. He looked as though he had just woken up from a nap, but he kept a hold on the microphone head and the stand. She thought about what Alex had told her back there, but she knew she could help Joey out of it.

The words bled out from his mouth and even though she could hear the words, he lacked that big operatic power she heard from the studio and the record.

Every time he finished a line, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

All five of them appeared to be out to lunch, and thus they only played four songs, and Sam wondered what was going on there. Joey retreated back into the backstage area, but Sam couldn’t visit him just yet given she and Marla were a part of Testament’s fan club.

On the other hand, the five of them were as tight and strong as the duct tape on Zelda’s boots. Alex, Greg, and Eric let their long black hair wave about with Louie’s rhythms: he put his head down and powered away on his drum kit. Marla looked over at her with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Man, these boys got tight!” she exclaimed.

“Off of their first album!” Sam shouted back; she flashed back on the Stormtroopers of Death tour, and how the four of them were so tight and loud during that string of dates in the hot summer sun. Chuck held onto the microphone stand and bellowed into the head. Where Joey missed his marks, Chuck brought home the bacon with his smooth dark hair over his face and his shriek having developed a bit of depth. In those few months alone, he went from a screech akin to Zetro’s voice to a powerful singing voice much like that of James.

There was that shout courtesy of him, Eric, and Greg, “OVER THE WALL!” and it filled the whole otherwise vast room. Even though she was questioning Alex, there was no way she could miss them for a hot minute.

They, too, only played four songs, but it came from the fact they were rather new in comparison to Anthrax. Louie chucked his drum sticks out to the audience and someone behind Sam and Marla caught them; Alex bowed out without a trace. Greg and Eric flashed the two of them the sign of the horns, and they returned the favor.

“Thank you, Providence!” Chuck exclaimed through his microphone over the roar of the audience. “We love ya! We’ll be back soon enough! Remember, we are TESTAMENT!” He then left the stage, and Sam took the plugs out of her ears. The sharp noise of the crowd was enough to make her go deaf.

“Wanna go check on Joey?” Marla offered to Sam right into her ear so she could hear her.

“You know I do!” she declared; she led Marla towards the edge of the room, and the doorway into the backstage area. She stared ahead to the wide open doorway of Anthrax’s dressing room, and she spotted Joey’s slender legs spread out in horizontal fashion from something.

Dan poked his head out from the doorway: the look of concern was all she needed to know.

“Thank god—you girls better get in here,” he told them once they were within earshot: his voice sounded so far away given the slight whirring in her ears, but she could hear him. She stepped past him and there Joey lay flat on his back on a little fold out bed. He had put his hands over his forehead and he groaned from the feeling inside.

“Oh my god, you’re wasted!” she exclaimed, and the tears filled her eyes.

“Was,” he corrected her in a broken voice. “I knew it was too much and so I puked it all out, though. So I ask kindly to keep your voice on the down low.”

Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. If he had knowingly puked it out, then that meant he needed something right there.

“Wanna help me get him something, Marla?” Dan suggested.

“Yeah, sure,” she said.

“Thank you, Danny,” Sam called after him. She stood over him, slightly disgusted but she realized the truth about that drunk guy from the wedding. He probably gave Joey something he shouldn’t have had. She wiped away tears and dove down to the bed next to him.

“Come here—“ she cooed to him: Marla’s words rang throughout her mind. If she wanted to have him get better, she needed to act for him. She put her arms around his slender waist and he let out a soft groan. He smelled of alcohol and vomit.

“I don’t want you to drink anymore,” she begged as the tears streamed down the bridge of her nose. “Never again. Please, Joey. I’ll make sure you don’t ever again. I don’t want you to do that to yourself!”

“And I don’t want this,” he groaned with a pained grimace on his face. She kissed the side of his face and kept her arm around him. She stayed there, cuddled next to him, until Dan and Marla came back.

[ineffable-endearments]

“I lost my best friend” (does Aziraphale know?)

One of the most confusing moments for a lot of people, myself included, is Aziraphale’s reaction to “I lost my best friend.” I’m trying to parse out whether I headcanon that he Knows, and if he does, what his response means.

It turned into a 2000-word-plus analytical post. At first I thought Aziraphale knew, then I thought he didn’t, then I thought he did again. And there are so, so many implications for the whole rest of the story. That one line is such an important moment!

But I’ll put my thoughts behind a read more, for courtesy’s sake.

First of all:

Aziraphale definitely thought there was a chance Crowley might still want to help him out after he said he was leaving for Alpha Centauri, because he called Crowley the instant he realized Heaven was determined to destroy Earth. However, on his second contact attempt, he asked if Crowley went to Alpha Centauri. While Aziraphale probably knew, given the circumstances, that Crowley hadn’t literally left the planet, the question was an opportunity for Crowley to get out of helping. Aziraphale had to have given him that opportunity on purpose because he wasn’t 100% sure if Crowley would still want to help.

Last time Aziraphale called him, Crowley had said it wasn’t a good time to talk. “I’ve got an old friend here.” They didn’t get any time to communicate, but Crowley was playing it as cool as he could. Aziraphale, who...sometimes takes things at face value, could believe that he had an old friend there instead of an enemy.

Aziraphale does not know he’s supposed to be dead. He doesn’t know the bookshop burned down, and he has no idea about what Crowley went through inside.

All of these things together would lead me to think that no, in that moment, Aziraphale did not know Crowley was talking about him. He reacted as if he might not know, and there are several reasons that he could plausibly not know.

However.

Fast-forward to Tadfield airbase. Aziraphale realizes the best way to compel Crowley to come up with an idea for stopping Satan is to threaten never to speak to him again (or, at least, remind him that if they die now they’re never going to speak again). This would indicate that he does know what Crowley was suggesting back there: that Aziraphale is his best friend, so much so that life isn’t worth living without him. And, conversely, that he might be persuaded life is worth living for him.

This tells us with relatively little doubt that Aziraphale does in fact know Crowley’s feelings and that he was the loss Crowley was so upset about.

It’s also worth noting that in the script book, Aziraphale is given a chance to label their relationship when introducing Crowley to Madame Tracy. Aziraphale just says “He’s...well, we’re sort of business associates.” He is still reticent to label Crowley a friend (even though Crowley literally just said they were friends to the army guy). So it’s quite believable that back at the bar, he would have tried to work around accepting the Best Friend moniker from Crowley.

Initially, when Crowley said he “lost his best friend,” Aziraphale had no idea about the bookshop fire, and he probably thought Crowley was referring to their relationship being lost during their argument during the bandstand breakup. As in, the two of them had a fight, Aziraphale said “we’re not friends,” and now they’re not friends anymore. As far as Aziraphale would know, this upset Crowley SO much that he just gave up on living.

This is not flattering. This is disturbing. Aziraphale has been afraid of Crowley getting hurt by their relationship - “whatever you wish to call it” - for at least 417 years, first mentioned on-screen in 1601. Is it the only thing Aziraphale has been afraid of? Certainly not. He has been attempting self-preservation as well. But is it important? Without a doubt.

THIS IS KIND OF LIKE AZIRAPHALE’S BURNING BOOKSHOP MOMENT. Crowley isn’t LITERALLY dead, but he’s resigned himself to it...and Aziraphale is blaming himself. That awkward “I’m so sorry to hear it” is, in many ways, Aziraphale trying to keep his shit together. Just as Crowley, in the bookshop, thought he’d caused Aziraphale’s death, Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s death is the final consequence of befriending an angel.

I’d like to keep in mind the one instance in the series when Aziraphale does openly call Crowley a friend. It’s when he’s lying about not having any information about the Antichrist. When reminded to call with any updates, he says, “Of course! We’re friends! Why would you think I wouldn’t?” Given how strategic Aziraphale is trying to be, I think he’s partly nervous and losing track of his lies/accidentally letting the truth slip, and partly trying to butter Crowley up because he knows that if going to Heaven works like he wants it to, Crowley will have to accept their asylum. The one difference between this moment and all the other moments when he denies their friendship (which almost always also involve lying to other people) is at this moment, Aziraphale thinks he’s figured out how to solve Armageddon.

Anyway, Aziraphale promptly goes and feels Heaven out to see if they might just stop the entire war like he wants. When the Archangels turn the conversation to how much they all love smiting the foe, however, Aziraphale backs down and turns his Antichrist discovery into a hypothetical, choosing not to tell Heaven about it right away, either. Here, they’ve reframed Crowley once again as “the foe.” After that, Aziraphale has another fit of indecision, but agrees to meet Crowley at the bandstand, where he suggests, subtly (but not that subtly) that Crowley should join Heaven.

This tells me that he still hopes Heaven might save Earth, but if he’s going to save Crowley alongside Earth, then he’s gonna have to get Crowley on Heaven’s side so that he doesn’t get Smited. He’s so certain at this point this is the only solution that he won’t even let Crowley walk away until Crowley establishes that there is another option besides Heaven.

And that second option - the option to just leave it all and flee to the stars - is what makes Aziraphale decide it’s time to end their Arrangement and deny everything about their relationship instead of simply saying “no, I’m not leaving.” After all, Crowley cited their friendship as the reason they should go off together. As far as I can see, the only way this sudden turnaround really makes sense is if Aziraphale is being protective here, trying to remove himself from the equation in the desperate hope that Crowley will make decisions for himself rather than for Aziraphale (who is occasionally dense but is not stupid; he remembers 1862, and 1941, and 1967).

This exchange loops us back to Aziraphale’s probable assumption in the bar that Crowley’s “I lost my best friend” is referring to this fight, NOT to Aziraphale’s presumed death.

“I’m so sorry to hear it.” Almost six months later, I finally believe I have a real interpretation for that phrase. With the context that it’s Crowley explaining that’s why he hasn’t gone to Alpha Centauri to escape from the war between Heaven and Hell, why he’s so devastated, why he’s given up on survival, it’s Aziraphale responding, “I’m sorry you lost something so important to you. I’m sorry I was so important to you. I’m sorry that you decided your life wasn’t worth living without me.”***

But Aziraphale:

Is not going to apologize for the fight itself. He was harsh, but he WAS doing his best, and in this moment, I don’t think he sees any way that he could have avoided it.

Is not going to acknowledge that they’re friends. Right now, he likely still believes Crowley would be better off far away from here. And he also probably believes that calling themselves “friends” remains a bad idea, because while he’s been disabused of the notion that Heaven is worth asking for help, Heaven and Hell and their punishments are STILL looming over them. I have little doubt that Aziraphale’s ideology is playing into this as well - he believes they’re enemies and therefore cannot be classified as friends - but it’s the threat behind that ideology that is motivating him, not that he loves the ideology for its own sake.

Aziraphale always eventually turns to Crowley when he doesn’t know what to do because Crowley is fucking brilliant and also the only being in the universe who actually cares about either Aziraphale or Earth for their own sakes.

However, I’d say he avoided getting Crowley involved until he realized there was absolutely no other option, rather carefully made sure Crowley didn’t have to be involved, and gives Crowley a choice every step of the way on whether he wants to risk his life all the way until the tail end. When they’re sitting at the bus stop and he’s reminding Crowley, “my side wouldn’t like that,” it isn’t only for Aziraphale’s benefit; it is a habit, yes, but he’s likely thinking about how if the Archangels caught him and Crowley living together, they’d definitely smite Crowley because that’s what they love to do. They told him as much during the conversation in Heaven, going as far as to say “Crowley and the others were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.” They’d love to “settle” things. So would Hell, now. And it is Crowley’s determination to stay that convinces Aziraphale it’s finally okay to believe they’re on their own side.

I think, on that bench in Tadfield, the question of whether it’s time to leave the planet was still hanging over the two of them. After all, they’re now slated for punishment. I think that by saying “I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop,” Aziraphale was gently informing Crowley that he doesn’t plan to leave Earth - he plans to die here. By saying “I don’t think my side would like that” about Crowley’s idea that they should live together, he’s giving Crowley one more chance to leave for the stars.

Good Omens is about a lot of things. One of them is opposites. Aziraphale’s faulty philosophical assumption is that blending two “opposite” things (or, in this case, people) will destroy them both. As far as he’s concerned, either one of those two people must first change, so that they’re no longer “opposite” (i.e. Crowley rejoins Heaven), or they must not mix (“I need a receptive body. It’s a pity I can’t inhabit yours! But occult, ethereal...we’d probably explode.”) The real truth is that having both of them together is the only way to win, of course. The Earth is a Libra and it thrives on balance, but not separation.

All this - the fact that Aziraphale will still ask for help with saving the world but denies his friendship with Crowley and seems to try to stay away as a protective measure - really suggests to me that Aziraphale loves Crowley, cares deeply about him, but wants him to stay only if he’s genuinely going to choose Earth for his own sake, not because he’s trying to choose Aziraphale (who, in his own opinion, is dangerous to be around; see 1601, the Holy Water, the bandstand). What he’s not taking into account is that he, Crowley, and the Earth are united as one, and it’s not only safe for the two of them to choose each other, but it’s essential.

Yeah. Leaving together on the bus is Aziraphale finally letting Crowley choose him.

***A little note about Crowley’s self-worth/will to live...I don’t mean to imply that he doesn’t have any interest in living outside of having a relationship with Aziraphale. Of course he does. But in that moment, with the incomplete information that Aziraphale has, it looks to him like that’s what is being said. In reality, Crowley’s despair isn’t just about not being friends anymore - it’s the belief that Aziraphale is dead, permanently gone. When you care a lot about someone, as hard as it is to move on from a breakup, it’s even more difficult to get over the despair of knowing that person is no longer out there at all. Combined with Armageddon, it was too much.

Crowley and Aziraphale are extremely oblivious, and yes, they do have some misunderstandings. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not their mutual feelings that they’re oblivious to. It’s the fact that they actually do have the power to save each other. It took an act not of divine but of human intervention to get them to understand that.

[greenbergsays]

I keep thinking about “or I’ll never talk to you again” bc honestly it doesn’t even register to me as a threat but really a reminder of the situation they’re in. like sure if they face satan himself they will very likely die, but even if they don’t die and the war goes on, worse than dying is that they’ll be *separated*!! either prisoners of hell or of heaven, they really never will be able to speak to each other again. that’s what motivates crowley out of the hopelessness of “we are fucked”

I’ve seen several people say this! And, really, I mean, if you sit down and examined it and thought about it, that line could probably be a mix of both.

But I’ll tell you the reason why I like the “threat” reading of that line.

Because here’s the thing: the idea of them dying is terrible, yes. But other people (in the case: Satan himself) would be the ones ending them.

The idea of them surviving and having the respective factions take them as prisoners or force them to fight in their stupid war is, again, terrible. But also again, it will be other people forcing this separation upon them. 

@kedreeva wrote an excellent post about how each and every one of their relationship problems–however you read that relationship, whether it be platonic, romantic, queer, etc–comes from outside sources. You can find it here, if you’re interested.

And it’s very true: every problem that they face on a personal level as a duo are problems from outside sources. It’s always other people tearing them apart.

Which means it’s something that they’re rather used to. It’s not great, it doesn’t make it easy, but that’s…that’s their life. Heaven & Hell are constantly interfering with their relationship and because they are supposed to be on opposite sides, Crowley & Aziraphale have never had the chance to get too close for fear the their sides will find out.

It’s been 6,000 years, they live with that reality every day now. It is an unspoken barrier between them–one that Aziraphale has to give voice to often, if only to remind them both of why they cannot be too close, too friendly, too dependent upon each other.

They’d rather keep what distance they need and have each other than they would close that distance and risk their respective sides finding out, thus separating them permanently.

So, for me, it seems rather redundant for Aziraphale to say, “I’ll never talk to you again,” and solely mean “they’re gonna kill us” or “we’ll be separated.”

By this point, those two things are just. obvious.

So, because of all of that, I rather like the idea of Aziraphale dropping all pretense and saying, “It will be me this time. I’ll never talk to you again, not because other people have pulled us apart like always, but because you have abandoned me in this moment and I’ll be very upset with you.”

But look. Honestly? Truly? What Aziraphale means when he says those words is far less important to me than Crowley’s reaction.

Because we can sit here and argue ‘til the cows come home about what Aziraphale meant. But in the end, we only know two things for certain:

The first is that Aziraphale is scrambling in that moment. Searching for anything that will motivate Crowley out of his hopelessness and into action. And those were the words that came to mind, those were the words he knew would work: “I’ll never talk to you again.”

What he meant is irrelevant. The important thing is that he said them.

The second thing we know is that no matter what that means–whether it was threat or reminder–it fucking worked.

In those six words, Crowley found a future that he did not want. A future that was dim and bleak, a future that hurt.

A future that he would do anything to prevent and so he does the only thing he can do to prevent it: he does something. (Not just something, he stops time. God, Crowley, you really love that angel, don’t you???)

WHICH HONESTLY? MAKES SENSE.

We’ve just spent 5 & ½ episodes watching Aziraphale essentially do and say whatever he needs to in order to get his way. And we’ve spent the same 5 & ½ episodes watching Crowley immediately indulge him every goddamn time.

So, really, it’s not at all out of character for Aziraphale to both plead and threaten Crowley in a bid to force him into action. He doesn’t have time to try one and then the other, so he does both with the same sentence, because in that handful of words, so much can be held. Meaning can be taken and bent and twisted until it’s whatever Crowley needs it to be to motivate him.

And it is also not at ALL out of character for Crowley to immediately do what he needs to in order to rectify the situation and make his angel happy again.

[ocean-of-ideas]

Close your eyes.

Slow your breathing.

Focus on your intent.

Focus on him.

Esmeralda listed off her instructions in her head as her hands hovered over a worn copy of a book in a language she didn’t understand. A small, flickering light came from her palms, burning brighter with each passing second. The book on the table mirrored her light as if on fire but remained un-charred as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Casting her magic into the object she spoke aloud:

“Allow this message to find its way to the proper recipient,

Make my every thought and emotion be felt, heard and seen by the receiver.

Into this object I weave my memories of times in which happiness overflowed,

Into this object I place my love in a visual sense.

May this object stand the test of time and show no further signs of wear.

May this object never be lost or destroyed.

And, as I will it, so mote it be!”

Her final words hung in the air as the light left her own hands and surrounded the book. Images began to appear in a wispy haze like a slide show, a slide show of her favorite moments with Satan. A gentle smile found its way to her lips as she watched, from playing with cats and peaceful reading sessions to love letters and nights spent under a starry sky. The tears that threatened to fall earlier did so freely now. The emotions radiating from their memories, now woven into a very special book, hit her like a crashing wave.

Being an empath, Ezzy had the ability to feel the emotions of others. It made relationships, whether platonic or romantic, quite daunting. She could feel the little shifts in conversation or moods, sense a person’s true intentions, and feel their strongest emotions as if they were her own. In the beginning, this ability was her own personal hell. Now, though, she welcomed it and the control it gave her over her own emotions. She used it as a tool to strengthen her relationships instead of controlling them. Her late teacher, Madame Fleur, was to thank for that.

Shifting her focus to the surrounding lit candles and burning incense she made sure nothing flammable was too close before stepping back to admire her work.

“There we go,” the witch sighed. “Now, these babies here have to burn down all the way and it’s done! Wow, this is nerve wracking.”

A yawn escaped her lips as she moved to her couch and unceremoniously flopped onto it. 

“Poor Cyn, he’s gonna be feelin’ this one,” she looked to the photos of her and Cyn on the shelf and smiled. A warm feeling spreading through her at the thought of her best friend and other half of a timeless pact. A pact that tied the two of them together for all eternity, which both welcomed eagerly. “I hope he listened and took some extra coffee this morning.”

Just as the young witch was about to doze off, a knock on her door startled her awake. With an exhausted groan Ezzy hefted herself off the sofa to answer whoever stood on the other side. To her surprise, she was greeted with the blonde hair and bright green eyes of the object of her affections.

“Say!” She squeaked out his nickname, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Hello, Ezzy,” he nodded in greeting. 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had a Council meeting today!”

“I did, but my presence was no longer needed so I came to see you,” a hand came up the brush a strand of jade colored hair behind her ear. “My time is much better spent with you, anyway.”

Ezzy could feel the heat filling her face at his words. “O-oh, well, that’s very sweet of you. I’m not sure today is a good day for me,” her words warped into another yawn that she directed into her elbow. 

Satan’s face scrunched up in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine! No need to worry about me,” she tried to laugh it off but he wasn’t buying it at all.

“I’ll always worry about you, Ezzy. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. Promise! It’s just, I uh, I haven’t had time to clean yet! I spent the morning baking again and I have a mountain of dishes to do along with a weeks’ worth of laundry to do,” she inwardly cursed her nervous ramblings as his frown only deepened.

“I’d be happy to help out, you know. You look drained as it is, let me help.”

“No, it’s okay. I swear!”

“Ezzy,” he sighed. “I know something’s up.”

“I know, I just- “she was cut off by the sound of laughter playing from the memories inside the book.

“Who’s that?” Ezzy could practically see Satan bristling as he tried to peer around the door. “Do you have someone over?”

“N-no! It’s no one just, uhm, one of my familiars.” His raised brow indicated he, once again, wasn’t buying her bullshit. “Okay, that was a lie. I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on, Esmeralda?” The use of her full name, especially from him, made her stomach drop. She hated the cold tone in which he used it, a stark contrast to the warmth he greeted her with.

“Nothing is going on, I swear,” she locked her eyes with his and spoke with finality. “I’m working on a very complicated spell; it’s taking up all of my concentration and energy right now.”

“You’ve never had a problem working around me before,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why now? What don’t you want me seeing?”

“I just can’t tell you right now, okay? Trust me, nothing is going on. I’m not doing anything dangerous or risky in any way, I promise. You know I’d never do anything to deliberately put myself in harm’s way. So, please,” she held his gaze, something most people couldn’t do without fear. “Trust me.”

Satan seemed to be thinking things over. She could tell he didn’t feel right with the situation, which she understood, but he also didn’t want to overstep her boundaries and upset her. He put his hand to his chin and closed his eyes. 

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?” Ezzy shook her head, jade green waves swaying with the motion. He let out a little laugh, “Stubborn as always, I see. Alright, I’ll trust you. But,” he placed his hand on her cheek and pressed a light peck to her forehead. “At the first sign of trouble, you call me. Okay?”

The heat returned to Ezzy’s face at the loving gesture and she nodded. “O-okay, I promise.”

Satisfied with their conclusion, Satan said his goodbyes and turned to walk home. Ezzy closed the door once he was a reasonable distance away and slid down to the floor with a heavy sigh. “Why’s he gotta be so sharp?” she grumbled, eyes slipping closed as exhaustion threatened to take her.

She allowed herself a few moments rest before heaving herself off the floor and back onto the couch. There was no way she’d be able to get anything done with this spell still going, but, if she fell asleep, she ran the risk of setting the house on fire if she left the candles to burn unsupervised.

Ezzy took a deep breath and shouted, “Smeowg!” and the little cat came running through the pet door. The bell on his collar tinkling pleasantly as he hopped onto the sofa next to her. He meowed at her as if in response to her call. “Do me a favor, babe? I’m gonna pass the hell out, can you be sure to wake me if the candles get a little to rowdy?”

Smeowg chirped his answer and rubbed his little head against her face. “There’s a good boy,” Ezzy’s words began to slur slightly as she fell into a deep sleep. “You’re gonna get so many treatssss….”

She must have been out for a good few hours because, when she woke up, her best friend was standing over her with a shit-eating grin. She awoke with a yelp and instinctively punched him in the chest.

“Don’t scare me like that, you ass!”

Cyn only laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, babes, couldn’t resist,” he laughed. “I see you’ve been busy today.”

Ezzy looked at the now finished book and got up to retrieve it. “Yeah, sorry about the energy drain. I know you felt it.”

“No worries, dear. Just gave me an excuse to have a nap through Lucifer’s boring meeting,” the fondness in the demon’s eyes betrayed the mischievous smile he wore. “Is it done?”

“Yep, it’s all done,” her heart raced as she looked at the book. Her heart wrapped up in these pages. “When should I give it to him?”

“Well, we had a deal that you would confess if I did. I’d say as soon as possible,” Cyn shrugged and flopped onto the couch. Smeowg happily jumped onto his owner for pets. “We all know he has feelings for you, so just give it to him right now. He should be home, anyway.”

Ezzy chewed on her lip as she thought, ignoring Cyn scolding her for the nervous habit. She was beyond excited to share her creation, there was no doubt about that. But she was also terrified. Sometimes, the space between her emotions and those of the people she’s close to is a bit gray. She knew her own feelings for Satan, but was she projecting that onto him?

“Ezzy,” Cyn broke her out of her thoughts. “If you don’t get your ass moving and quit biting your lip, I’ll throw the book at him myself. Now, go girl! I’ll hold down the fort here, won’t I Mr. Smeowg? Yes, I will! Aw, you’re such a baby!”

While Cyn fell further and further into his cooing, Ezzy gathered her things and made the journey to deliver the very special gift. 

As usual, no demons dared bother her as she walked. Most of them knew who she was by now, who she had made a pact with, and those who didn’t could feel something off about her. It helped, as well, that she had a rather large Hellhound trailing after her.

When she stood at the front door her stomach did flips again. She turned to look back at her canine friend, his lopsided, doggy grin giving her a small boost of courage. It was Beel who answered the door when she knocked, food in his hand as usual.

“Oh, Ezzy, what’re you doin’ here?” His words were muffled with whatever he was eating but the little tilt of his head was adorable.

Ezzy laughed. “Hello, Beel! I’m here to see Satan. Is he home?”

“Yeah,” Beel swallowed his mouthful and moved to let her in. “He should be in his room, reading. You know the way?”

“Yep! Thanks, Beel!” She gave him a wave before quickly making her way up the stairs and down the fancy halls of the House of Lamentation. The sheer elegance of the home astounded her every time she visited. It was like being in a museum with all the art on the walls, the fancy carpeting, vases on equally as regal hall tables. It made her kind of nervous and hyper aware of all her limbs.

When she reached Satan’s door, she paused for just a moment level her breathing before knocking lightly. It took maybe a minute before he answered the door, the look of irritation at being interrupted melting away into a smile.

“Ezzy,” he instantly moved to the side and ushered her into his room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hi again,” Ezzy stood among the piles of books and nervously shifted her feet. “I, uhm, I wanna apologize for earlier. It was rude to shoo you off earlier so, I’m sorry.”

He chuckled and led her to sit next to him on his bed. “You don’t need to apologize, dear. You said you were working on something important; I understand your need for absolute concentration.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “There’s another reason I’m here, though.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I have a gift!” Ezzy leaned down to look through her bag and pulled out the book. “You said you were looking for this book but, since it was from the human world and went out of print ages ago, you could never find it.”

“Ezzy, you didn’t.”

“I did! Don’t worry, I didn’t go bankrupt. Here,” she turned to face him fully and held out the book in shaky hands. “Take it.”

As his hand touched the worn material of the book, he felt the tingle of magic run up his arm. “What did you- “

“Don’t worry about it!” she rushed. “Just open it.”

“Open it?” At her nod he did just that, unsure of what to expect exactly.

As soon as he flipped to the first page, a small cloud of purple mist slowly rose from the paper and formed a sort of wall between them. Amidst the colors images started to appear, flipping quickly to form a slideshow.

It started with the group of stray cats he and Ezzy took care of outside of her home. They were sat on the stoop that backed into an alley way and surrounded by cats of varying sizes, ages, colors and wear. Some were blind, some missing limbs, but they all knew the local witch who gave out food and water to any wandering feline. Ezzy and Satan were sat shoulder to shoulder, her head resting on his shoulder, soft smiles on both of their faces. Warmth spread through his chest and he smiled.

Before he could say anything, another memory appeared. This time, they were outside. It was dark out and their only light was a full moon and the stars. Ezzy had taken him to a bit of land far enough away from the city to be rid of light pollution. She’d said she wanted to show him the stars but, where he was concerned, she could ask him to do anything and he’d do it gladly. The two of them may as well have been in some cheesy romance movie. They laid on their backs, not a breath between them, looking up at the sky. He could remember his amazement at just how bright the stars were, he’d never seen the stars from the human world before and here was this little witch, pointing out different constellations and explaining each one. He could remember a picnic, something Ezzy had put together with baked goods and other comfort foods from both her world and his. She never did tell him how she learned to make those.

With a flash the scene changed. This time, they were in her room. She was curled up in her bed, tears streaming down her cheeks and shaking in fear. She’d had a bad day at work, he recalled with a frown. The stress had built up to a rather large panic attack she couldn’t bring herself down from. Satan remembered the frantic call he received from Cyn that night, telling him to go to Ezzy as soon as possible. It was the middle of the night and Cyn was in the Celestial realm on business, otherwise he’d have been first on the scene. He knocked to announce his presence and continued in when he got no response.

“Don’t question it,” Cyn had ordered. “Go full demon form, let her run her hands over your hair and horns until she calms down. It works like a charm every time.”

He followed Cyn’s instructions with confusion. Weren’t demons meant to scare humans? How would him looking intimidating help her calm down? All reservations left his mind when he saw her face, red and stained with tears, her eyes coming back into focus as he reached for her. There was, once again, not an inch of space between them as he held her tightly. She raised her hands up shakily before lowering them and fisting the blanket in them instead.

“It’s ok,” he heard himself whisper. “Cyn called me and explained it. Do whatever you need to do, darling. I’m right here.”

He couldn’t begin to describe that feeling. Her small, soft hands running over the ridges of his horns, combing through his hair and scratching his scalp gently. He’d call it heaven, but that’d be a gross understatement. At some point, he’d ended up laying with his head on her stomach so she could reach better. She had said something about pressure, but he was willing to do anything so long as her hands never left his head.

The scene ended as they drifted off to sleep, words appearing in the place of pictures.

“Thank you, for everything. I love you.”

He stared slack jawed as the words disappeared with the cloud, returning the book to normal. His eyes landed on Ezzy’s bright red face; her gaze locked on her hands that fiddled with the hem of her shirt. He felt as if he’d short circuited, all words had left him as he stared at the woman in front of him.

“It replays,” she spoke quietly. “Every time you open the book a different set of memories plays but the end message is, uh, always the same. It only appears when you open the book, though, so if it gets too annoying, I can remove the enchantment!”

“Esmeralda, look at me,” she flinched at her full name but did as he asked. The look on his face shocked her. It was one of awe and warmth, one of love that she never expected to see. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You have given me the most incredible gift; I will treasure it always.”

Small tears gathered in her eyes as she laughed in relief. She watched as he set the book to the side and leaned towards her. Her mind seemed to stutter for a moment, one second he was sitting in front of her and the next he was cupping the back of her neck and pulling her towards him. Electricity shot through her body the moment her lips touched his, literally, she felt him flinch a bit, but he just laughed it off and kept kissing her.

She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around the back of neck, pulling him down with her as she laid back on the bed. A few tears fell from her eyes, but they were filled with overwhelming happiness, so she let them fall. The energy in the room quickly turned to comfort, happiness and love as light static ran between them.

Just out of their sight, hidden in the doorway uncomfortably close together, was a group of eavesdropping brothers. Someone had a phone held up to record the scene, all of them shushing and shoving each other in the cramped space. Cyn moved through the group of boys and quietly pulled the door closed, a gentle smile on his face. 

“Alright you lot,” he whispered. “Shows over, give them some privacy. I swear, you’re all perverts.” The groans and whines as they dispersed was drowned out by the feeling of love emanating from his pact mark and spreading through his chest. A feeling he’d come to find quite familiar.

[jetsetlife138]

Sick Like Me (Michael Langdon x fem!reader): Chapter 2

Summary: You meet a man claiming to be the Antichrist through your aunt's Satanic church. Will he lead you into darkness, or will you lure him into the light? Either way, he makes it very difficult for you to keep your composure... 

Pairings: Michael Langdon x You

Words: 2,400

Warnings: A bit of romancing in this one, but that’s it. There will be eventual smut (lots), dubious consent, religious imagery, gore, and more as we go along.

Previous Chapters: 1

Your mind was reeling. A random homeless man that your crazy aunt had invited into her home had basically just declared himself as the Antichrist without even a hint of humor in his voice. He didn’t seem proud, or scared, or confident at all. He just seemed… lost. “How dare you blaspheme!” Madelyn bellowed, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin at the unexpected reaction. 

Before you could properly assess the situation, she had a large knife to Michael’s throat, already drawing blood at the pressure of the blade against his skin. “Aunt Madelyn!” you shouted, stumbling out of your chair. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Michael remained eerily calm and collected as he addressed Madelyn in a firm tone. “Before you kill me, dear believer… see me.” It was then your aunt’s eyes flickered to a spot behind his ear close to his hairline. She faltered for a moment before hastily removing the knife and staggering away from him. Her expression was in complete disbelief and awe as she fell to her knees beside him. “Hail Satan!” Michael gave you an awkward glance, as if he was slightly embarrassed by Madelyn’s reaction, but also challenging you to argue. 

“He has the mark of the beast!” Madelyn wailed, bowing continuously. 

“Excuse me?” you retorted, still not comprehending how the situation could have taken such a strange turn. “What are you talking about?” 

Michael rose to his feet, causing you to instinctively step back to keep as much space as possible between the two of you. He paused for a moment, tilting his head and raising his hands defensively to show you that he meant no harm. Still hesitant, you allowed him to come closer as he raised his arm to pull his hair to the side and show you the mark. 

When you inspected it closer, it initially looked like a brand that had been botched. It wasn’t until you focused that you could see the number 666 grouped together messily on his skin. Raising your eyebrows, you fought the urge to laugh at how gullible your aunt was. “Oh… wow,” you commented, feigning fascination. “That’s… interesting.” 

He furrowed his brow, clearly bothered  by your underwhelmed reaction. “You don’t believe me.” 

It was clear that you and your aunt had made a grave mistake by allowing this man into her home. He was obviously delusional and you needed to separate yourself from him as quickly as possible. “I think you should leave,” you insisted, trying to keep your voice even so as not to upset him even more. 

“No!” Madelyn argued, raising from her crouched position. “He’s my guest! We will reveal him to the congregation tomorrow!” “Aunt Madelyn, I don’t think-” 

“Hush,” she interrupted, gripping Michael’s arm and escorting him past you. “Come, Michael, you need to rest. Let me show you to the guest bedroom. It is my honor to host you.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you muttered angrily. “This is not a good idea!” 

“You can leave whenever you want, dear,” she insisted over her shoulder as you followed her down the hall. 

“And leave you here with a stranger? I don’t think so.” 

“Oh, but he’s not a stranger,” she countered as she stopped to gaze at him in awe, grinning widely with tears in her eyes. “He’s here to save us.”

Ignoring your blatant scoff, she led Michael into the guest bedroom, which had a full-sized bed, a dresser, and a desk. It wasn’t much, but it was charmingly plain. You had spent many nights here in your youth, always having had a close relationship with your aunt. 

After taking a moment to inspect the room and ultimately deciding that it would suffice, he turned to address you. “Where will you be sleeping?” 

“Uh… I…” you stammered, caught off guard. Why should that matter to him?

“She has her own apartment across town,” Madelyn answered on your behalf. “But if she wants to stay, she can have the couch.”

He stepped aside, gesturing towards the bed. “Would you rather take the bedroom?” Narrowing your eyes at him, you brushed him off quickly. “No. I’ll take the couch. I won’t be sleeping much anyway,” you warned, hoping he would get the hint that you had every intention of watching his every move.

He grinned, amused by your blatant suspicion. “Very well.” “Get some rest, Michael! The bathroom is down the hall and the left. Everything you need is in there. Please, help yourself to anything you desire.” Madelyn wasn’t usually one to play host, but you supposed that for the Antichrist impersonator, she had made an exception. 

Once the door was closed, you immediately opened your mouth to argue with her, to which she lifted her hand in dismissal. “I don’t want to hear another word. This is my house. If you don’t like it, go home.” 

Despite her harsh words, she leaned in and gave you a loving kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” you mumbled in return. After locating scattered pillows and blankets around the house, you created a make-shift bedding on the floral-print sofa in your aunt’s living room. Making yourself comfortable, you watched the entryway to the hallway like a hawk, preparing yourself for any kind of foul-play from the deranged stranger. 

Alone with your thoughts, you cursed yourself for allowing this to happen. You were just trying to be nice to the guy. What harm could offering some water and stale donuts to a homeless man do, especially someone who seemed so defeated? It wasn’t in your nature to be cruel or neglectful of the needs of others, but now because of you, the two of you were at risk of getting slaughtered in your sleep. 

Eventually, despite your best efforts, you drifted off, lost in a dreamless sleep until something woke you. Your eyes fluttered open, your body aching from being in the same position for too long, urging you to turn over. Groaning, you flipped around, not expecting to be met with a pair of intense blue eyes. Instinctually gasping to release a shriek, Michael’s hand moved quickly to cover your mouth, muffling the sounds of your screams. He placed a finger to his lips, shushing you as you scrambled back, trying to distance yourself from him, which didn’t really do anything since you were trapped between him and the back of the couch. You then noticed that he was kneeling on the floor next to the couch. Had he been watching you sleep?! What kind of fucked up Twilight shit was going on?! Finally, he removed his hands, lifting them defensively. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered urgently. “I’m sorry.” Your heart was hammering against your chest as you fought to catch your breath, shaking from the unexpected intrusion. Struggling to find words, you just stared at him, waiting for him to explain further. 

His expression was guilty, as if he truly felt badly for scaring you. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated, scooting back on the floor just a bit to give you some room. “I thought that you would be awake.” 

Finally finding your voice, you hissed, “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he replied casually, “Couldn’t sleep.” “So you decided to watch me instead?” you snapped, flipping the blankets off of you while you sat up. “No…” he began awkwardly. “I was just… I was hoping for some company. I see that I’ve upset you. I’ll go back to the room.” As he got up and turned to leave, you sighed heavily, knowing you weren’t going to fall back asleep after having that slight heart attack. “Wait,” you called after him. He halted, facing you once again with a somewhat hopeful gleam in his eye. “I’m gonna make some tea. Do you want some?” you offered. The corners of his mouth turned up into a slight grin. “I’d like that very much.” Before you got up, you took a moment to inspect him, now able to fully comprehend his appearance after your episode. He had showered at some point, all of the grime and dirt now gone, revealing his cherub-like face. His hair fell gracefully in golden waves; messy, and yet somehow appearing styled. His filthy clothes were replaced with a form-fitting dark gray t-shirt and black pajama pants. 

As if he could read your thoughts, he replied to your unspoken question. “I found them in a drawer. I hope Madelyn doesn’t mind.” Nodding your head, you remembered your aunt had her fair share of suitors over the years who had left items here and there, establishing an array of items for Michael to choose from. As far as you knew, they were up for grabs. Rubbing your eyes, you got up from the couch, waving your hand at him to follow you into the kitchen. After grabbing the kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the stove, you leaned against the counter, facing Michael. “So,” you began tiredly. “The Antichrist, huh?” His eyes locked onto yours as his expression remained indifferent, slowly placing his hands behind his back as he adjusted his posture. “Does that frighten you?” “It might,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. “If it were true.” “So quick to dismiss the possibility,” he commented, furrowing his brow as he inspected you. “Are you always so skeptical and pessimistic?” You chuckled quietly, entertained by his commitment to the part he was playing. “I’m a realist, and from what I can tell, you’re an opportunist.” “How so?” he asked, taking a step forward, still gazing at your curiously. 

“It’s smart, really,” you praised facetiously. “Making yourself seem sad, lost, and alone, positioning yourself right down the block from a Satanic church? You must have seen me coming from a mile away, and I was gullible enough to fall for it.” 

His jaw tightened while he clenched his teeth, fracturing his composed expression. You were getting under his skin, and it was obviously affecting him. 

Suddenly, the fire from the stove erupted, nearly singeing off your hair - and it would have, had you not moved so quickly. Cautiously, you went to investigate, until it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees in an instant. 

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, turning to face Michael to see if he had felt the change or if you were going crazy. A gasp escaped you when you saw his once blue eyes, turn white and vacant as he lifted his arms into the air, like he was summoning something. 

“Michael?” you asked, now partially convinced that you were not yet awake, and was instead having a nightmare. 

He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, loosening his muscles before opening them again. The blue of his iris’ had returned as he smiled at you before turning to look up towards the ceiling. Following his example, you also glanced up, not at all prepared for what you saw. 

Snow. Actual fucking snow was falling from the ceiling in your aunt’s kitchen. Your jaw literally dropped at the sight as you reached your hand up to catch some in the air, bringing it back down to see it melt in the palm of your hand. 

It was hauntingly beautiful, and you couldn’t fathom how this was occuring. You weren’t dreaming. This was really happening. Holy shit. Cue panic attack. 

Your eyes must have been the size of baseballs as you turned back to Michael, lost for words as you took in his smug expression. “Nothing to say?” he mocked, enjoying every minute of this. 

Swallowing thickly, it took you a moment to find your voice again. When you finally did, you choked out, “W-why are you here?” 

He tilted his head again, his smirk widening as he approached you, causing you to back up into until you couldn’t anymore. Having no where else to go, you stood still as he reached you, placing his arms on either side of you as he pressed his palms against the wall. Still shivering, both from the cold and also from his freaky display of power, you only then noticed the heat emitting from his body, partly tempting you to curl into him for some relief against the chill in the air. Pressing his lips against your ear, he whispered, “Weren’t you listening today?” You shook your head slightly, indicating your confusion as to which part he was referring to. “I’m here to bring about the end times and lead you all into darkness.”

He pulled back then, gauging your reaction as your eyes flickered across his sharp features, not able to stop the next sentence that spilled from your mouth. 

“Is that what you want?”

He faltered, knitting his brows as if the thought had never occurred to him. “What?”

“Um… ending the world. Bringing about darkness. Is that what you want to do?” 

He sneered, pulling away from you then, letting his arms fall to his sides, allowing you to take a relaxed breath. “It’s what I’m supposed to do.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” 

You had no idea where the ability to be so forward with him came from, but you couldn’t seem to stop. He was thoughtful for a moment, formulating his answer before he finally spoke. “No one has asked me that before. I’ve always been told that this was my purpose. I never had a choice.” 

A wave of pity washed over you as you noticed the sadness in his eyes. “Michael, you always have a choice.” 

His focus flickered from your eyes to your mouth, lingering there before meeting your eyes again. You didn’t miss the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he took his bottom lip in between his teeth, biting for a brief moment. 

The next thing you knew, his warm, plush lips were on yours, devouring your mouth, and keeping true to his word by leading you into darkness. 

[spnsisimagines]

Still the Same

Warnings: Losing an arm, depression, descriptive gore Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, Hunter!Reader, Rowena, Crowley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar Summary: After losing your left arm during a hunt, your friends help you regain your confidence. Reader’s Age: Under 18 Word Count: 2177

Y/N: Your Name

A/N: Not sure how I like this one tbh. There’s an easter egg in here btw so look out for that. I also really struggled to figure out a title don’t judge... Enjoy!

"I think I can handle this one," you said, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at the two brothers. You had been with the Winchesters for a few years. You had grown up in the hunting life, and when your parents were killed, the Winchesters took you in. The brothers would usually let you hunt with them, but only if the cases were easy.

"It's a nest of vampires, Y/N, you're not ready for that," Dean replied as he shoved a machete into his duffle bag.

"I've killed vampires before, Dean, this is no different," you snapped.

"You're a kid, Y/N. If you think I'm gonna just let you walk into a nest of what? Ten vamps? You're out of your mind," Dean threw his duffle over his shoulder and walked out of his room, you trailing behind him.

"I won't be going in alone! I'll have you two!" You argued, looking over at Sam as you entered the War Room.

"Dean, maybe we should let her, she has to learn somehow," Sam took your side, seeing your pleading eyes.

"Really? You agree with her?" Dean turned away from the stairs to look at his brother.

"We'll watch her back, and we know she can watch ours," Sam replied. Dean looked at you, seeing the slight smirk on your face as you know he has lost this battle.

"Fine!" He grudgingly agreed as he walked upstairs, you and Sam following.

"You do everything we say when we say it, and exactly how we say it, got it?" Dean handed you a machete. You saluted him and nodded.

The hunt went fairly well; you slashed at every vampire that dared showed its face. You and the brothers were checking around the barn for any hiding vampires. There were bodies and heads everywhere. You watched Sam walk into a back room in the barn while Dean peeked his head outside. You looked around the room, feeling accomplished. You smirked, to think that Dean doubted you. Pfft. Look at what you did! You took out a vampire nest.

You walked towards some haybales and took a seat. You thought you felt someone behind you, but you figured it was one of the brothers. Your eyes wandered to the door, seeing Dean a few feet outside. You looked to your right and saw Sam through a window in the back room. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your breathing came to a halt.

You slowly turned around and saw a vampire holding a machete above his head. You instinctively held your left arm up to shield you from any incoming blows. The machete buried itself into your forearm. You let out a blood-curdling scream as the vampire yanked the machete out of your flesh and gave you another blow to your upper arm. Within seconds, you were down on the ground with darkness surrounding you.

You took a deep breath in, seeing bright lights through your closed eyelids. You slowly opened them, expecting to see a dingy motel room or your room at the bunker, but you weren't expecting to see a hospital room. Your eyebrows knitted together as you looked around. You saw Dean passed out sleeping in a chair next to you. You continued looking around and saw Sam outside the room drinking some water.

With your head pounding, you closed your eyes at the pain and went to put your left hand on your temple, but you felt nothing on your head. You opened your eyes and didn't see a hand at your left side. You froze for a moment; it's probably under the blanket. You went to move it, seeing your shoulder move slightly, nothing else happened. You sat up and used your right arm to throw the blanket off of you. You stared down at your left side, seeing nothing. Your voice got caught in your throat.

Sam entered the room and saw your panicked state. He quickly rushed to your side, "Hey," he sat down by your legs.

"W-where-" you continued to stare at the space where your arm used to be.

"They, uh, they had to amputate it," Sam said quietly, reaching over and giving Dean a few taps to wake him.

"I-I don't..." Your eyes filled with tears, watching your left shoulder move.

Dean jolted awake and leaned forward. "How're you feeling?" He asked.

"I don't have a left arm, Dean, how do you think I'm feeling?" You barked, not removing your eyes from your shoulder.

"Right, stupid question," Dean mumbled, looking at Sam for help.

"Why couldn't Cas heal me?" Your voice broke as you finally made eye contact with Sam.

"He wasn't responding, we had to make a decision, rather wait for him to get here and risk you dying or amputate your arm, knowing you'd live," Sam explained, he wanted to reach for your hand, but realized it wasn't there anymore.

"I would've rather died," you mumbled. The brothers' eyes widened at your comment.

"You don't mean that," Dean said, taking your right hand in his.

You looked up and stared so deep into his eyes, "I would rather be dead," you spat, yanking your hand from his grasp.

Sam and Dean gave each other a look before getting up and walking away.

You went back to looking at your left side. You swear you could still feel your arm. You were tapping your fingers right now. You took your right hand and slowly touched your shoulder where your arm would've been connected.

"Hmm, so it is true?" A voice spoke. Your head flung up to see Gabriel.

"What's true?" You replied.

Gabriel motioned to your missing arm, "You're a pirate now,"

"I lost my arm not my leg," disdain leaked throughout your words.

"Right!" He pointed towards you. "But now you can get a cool mechanical arm,"

"Yeah, okay, Gabe, let me just pull the thousands of dollars out of my bank account to turn into Bucky Barnes," you rolled your eyes.

"Geez, buzzkill... Didn't know you were so much like the Winchesters," Gabriel mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you clenched your jaw.

"It means," a new voice spoke. You turned your head to see Lucifer sitting on a chair with his legs kicked up onto your bed. "that you're now little miss grumpy pants,"

"Are you two in my head or are you really here?" You asked, not knowing if you were dreaming.

"Oh, we're here, buttercup," Gabe answered, tossing some candy into his mouth. "And you," he pointed at you, "need to cheer up. The only reason we like you is that you're the little ray of sunshine that keeps the two idiots outside together. You take that away, and we all crumble apart,"

"He's got a point, y'know," Lucifer mumbled as he stared at his intertwined fingers.

"Sure, let me just start bouncing up and down at the fact that I lost my arm!" Your voice grew with every word.

"Just think of it this way, it's one less limb you have to worry about!" Lucifer suggested. You rolled your eyes at his comment.

"Oh, would you two shush!" A woman's voice was heard. You looked towards the door and saw Rowena and Crowley. "You are obviously not making her feel any better," she sauntered over to your bed. "How are you feeling, dear?" She grabbed your right hand.

"Terrific," you muttered.

"Oh, now, now, deary. Just because you're one limb short doesn't mean your life has to disappear along with it," she fixed your hair a bit.

Rowena was about to continue talking, but someone cut her off. "So, who's ready to drink your life away?" Balthazar stood in the room with two bottles of alcohol.

"Put those away you, embesil," Crowley spoke.

"Yeah, she's a kid! Pass me some," Lucifer motioned for Balthazar to bring the bottles over.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood in the doorway, not knowing how to react to the room full of angels, demons, and a witch.

"We're here to make the honorary Winchester feel better, no thanks to you three," Gabriel was the first to speak.

Dean's eyes fell on Lucifer who was now holding the liquor bottles. Lucifer quickly pushed the bottles back into Balthazar's hand as Lucifer pointed to him. You smiled at the scene.

"What do you mean no thanks to us?" Dean shook his head slightly, turning his attention to Gabriel.

"You two left her here to mope!" Gabriel stood up straight, puffing his chest out, ready to defend you.

"Can we just go home?" You interrupted the conversation before it got out of hand.

You arrived back at the bunker. You immediately went to your room, not wanting to be around for the pity party.

"Y'know, between you and me," you heard Lucifer speak as you shut your door. Of course, you weren't going to get some peace and quiet. "I think the no-arm situation is pretty badass. Just think of all the things you can do!" He sat on your dresser.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "If anything, I can do fewer things than I could with two arms,"

"Fair," he raised a finger that pointed to the ceiling, "but, now that you're a cripple, you get so many perks!"

"Don't call me that," you hissed, collapsing onto your bed.

"Whatever you say, Bethany," you glared at Luci. "My point being, you have an excuse to not do so many things! Carrying heavy things, driving, getting things down from the top shelf," he listed. None of those things made you feel better, but you appreciated the effort, especially since it's coming from Satan himself.

"Just think of how much of a dude-magnet that is!" Gabriel appeared.

"Are we gonna go through this again?" You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"What we're trying to say is you shouldn't let the no-arm thing get in the way of you being you. Sure, you're less of you physically, but your noggin' is still intact. It's time to show everyone you can be just as powerful as you were with two arms," Lucifer spoke. You took a deep breath and looked up, seeing the room empty.

It had been a few weeks since you lost your left arm. The brothers and your friends have slowly been helping you regain your confidence. Dean took it upon himself to give a death glare to anyone that he felt was staring too long. Sam helped teach you how to do simple things with one arm, like cooking, typing, and hopefully, driving. Castiel and Lucifer helped teach you how to fight. Gabriel would always bring you candy in hopes of cheering you up. Balthazar would often bring you to different timelines to witness different historical events. Rowena would bring you with her to have a girls day, buying you new clothes to help you feel even more confident. And then Crowley would let you play with his Hellhounds, saying there was nothing else he could offer.

You had gone with the brothers for a hunt. You decided to stay at the motel, not feeling confident enough to go with them. But something was wrong. It had been a few hours, and they weren't back. You kept checking your phone, but nothing was there — no new texts. No missed calls. No voicemails. Nothing.

You grabbed your gun and headed out the door.

You approached the abandoned hotel. You walked through the squeaky door as you looked around. Graffiti and broken glass were everywhere. It was hard to believe that this hotel used to be clean and buzzing with people.

You held your gun in your hand, checking if the safety was off. You heard grunting coming from a room behind the front desk. You hopped over the desk, the other way being blocked by a pile of chairs. You slowly opened the door, seeing Sam and Dean tied up, backs to each other.

You crept through the door, hiding behind a pillar. You glimpsed around the corner, watching someone circle them. You thought back to this being a witch hunt, one of the reasons you didn't want to go with.

You held your gun down by your legs, waiting for an opportunity to shoot. The witch said some mumbo-jumbo and Dean started grunting in pain, holding most of the pain in to not seem weak.

Sam yelled something at the witch; she said something else and Sam started coughing up blood. You flung around the corner, reaching your arm out as you pulled the trigger three times, each bullet hitting the witch. Sam and Dean took deep breaths as the pain left them. You rushed over to them and started untying them, using your teeth when needed.

"Damn, Y/N! Why didn't we have you with us in the first place?" Dean chuckled as he untied his feet while you worked on untying Sam's hands.

"Thanks, Y/N. That was pretty awesome," Sam complimented as he untied the rest of himself and you stood up.

"Guess I got my hunting skills back," you chuckled.

"You kidding me? Those skills never left!" Dean threw an arm around your shoulders as he led all of you out.

Requested by Anonymous: “ WHY HELLO THERE!! Can I have a drabble where the reader is like 13 and not related to anyone winchesters or Angels but still hunts with them and one day goes through a freak hunting accident where they couldn't get to her intime and she ends up losing her left arm and they (winchesters, GABRIEL,cas,Balthazar, crowley and lucifer) try to cheer her up and help her self esteem and eventually she becomes more self assured,starts hunting and ends up saving all of them big time! Pls and thanks”

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[missy-elles]

Anubis, Atum, Hathor, Horus, Aphrodite

ANUBIS:Terrified and anxious. Im absolutely scared shitless because we dont know what happens after someone drops dead. All that remains is a corpse, maybe ashes, and a tombstone if they are lucky. Like what if hell actually exists and i have to meet satan because i didnt go to confession when i was 10 and still ate Jesus' body and blood. Also im scared of dying a painful death and being unhappy by the time my life ends. ANTUM:I have alot of them. My anxiety for one, spikes for stupid reasons. I have a bad habit of procrastinating. That combined with being a little bit of a perfectionist isnt good. I have an aversion to change. Also i have bad habit of buying and hoarding alot of books without reading them but aint nobodys gonna stop me.HATHOR:Writing in any kind of way. Scripts. Short stories. Poems. Whatever. Reading a book i really enjoy as well. Hanging out with friends and making them happy. Seeing said friends succed and achieve their goals...ah cute animals. New books. Theaters. Good movies. Harry Potter. Naptime. Full nights of sleep. Sunsets and a sky full of stars. Good memories and scented candles. My Ma's cooking and elderly couples. A lot of things bring me joy, just depends on the day.HORUS:Doing what i love. Im taking a risk and going into theater/writing. Im pretty much going against everything my dad wants me to be and yea it hurts when i look towards my family and they cant say they are proud of me anymore. But i cant force myself to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or whatever respectable profession that they want to brag about. It just doesnt feel right. Id rather be content with just enough to get by. Rather than be rich and miserable.By the end of the day, my fam can say or think whatever they want. That doesnt change the fact that im proud of myself. APHRODITE:I think im alright. Im not the best human being out there. Ive made mistakes and hurt some people. But im not evil and i don't mean to be. Im just...decent. But i am working my way to being on Rihanna's level of fierce, so theres that.# @s-nnyd ( im still shit at tagging)

[howtohero]

Hi, I hope this goes through. I'm a friend who, through a tragic misfortune that I'd rather not get into, and I'm sure if you think long and hard enough you'll recall, has died. Which sucks but whatever. Anyway, I'm sending this message because I've been offered an opportunity and I want to know what the best way to go about pursuing it is. So, if you've got a second, what are your thoughts on making deals with demons?

(A friend who has died? Huh? Wait a minute...)

It doesn’t matter who it is! Don’t think about it any longer. What matters is that somebody has come to us asking for help and we, as the foremost experts on everything ever, are obliged to help. So, anonymous ghost friend, here’s what you need to know.

#279 Making Deals with Demons

So the thing with making deals with demons is that, you’re inevitably going to have to do something that a demon likes, which is probably something that you don’t want. Usually they’ll ask for command of your soul for all time. And don’t read me wrong, that’s not “for a lot of time” that’s for all time. Demons are immortal beings, they’ll own you until time ceases and maybe even after that who knows! That’s uncharted territory. So you’re going to have to make a judgement call on your priorities. For example, if this demon is offering you the power to take vengeance on the person responsible for your untimely and explosive (wait, explosive?) demise, you might think that’s worth condemning your soul to unholy bondage for all time. Especially if you’ve got a penchant for evil anyway. (Seems like an odd assumption to make about this very friendly anon but ok.) 

But another thing to consider is that... if a demon offers to make a deal with you, it means you have something that they want. Which puts you in a position of negotiating power. Most demons already have a bunch of souls. The big name guys, your Satans, your Hadeses, your Gregs the Skeleton King, they’ve got billions of souls under their control! If they’re approaching you with a deal, then you’ve either got a high-value soul, or they’re a low-level demon that you can assert dominance over. (Remember, demons love peanut butter, if you offer them peanut butter they might not even demand your soul.) So what you need to do is get yourself an lawyer who specializes in arbitrating afterlife altercations. To expand on that let’s throw to our in house lawyer.

[Ok, so when negotiating contracts with demons you need to be very careful about the wording. You don’t really have to worry all that much that the demon is going to renege on their end of the agreement, like my colleagues said, you have something they want they therefore have a vested interest on following through. They will, however, do their best to twist your wording so they can do the most harm to your and your loved ones. They’re demons after all, and we can hardly fault them for that. So, if you’re serious about making a deal with a demon you need to sit down and think of any loophole this demon can find in the wording of your request. Make sure to specify that you don’t want any of your loved ones dying, or for your marriage to be erased from the timeline, or for them to give you a permanently bad haircut. Explain what you want in the clearest of clear terms and after that your lawyer should be able to take it from there. Make sure that demon knows that if they try to trick you that you’ll be seeing them in court. A demon can hardly refuse a properly-performed ritualistic summons. And I, and many other lawyers, have plenty of experience when it comes to summoning demons in courthouses.]

Another thing you’re going to want to consider is what all it is that you have to lose. Sure, obviously your soul, like we mentioned. But how do you know for sure that your soul wasn’t already going to Hell, and thus into the employ of some demon or another anyway! It could be that all you’re doing here is deciding which demon gets your soul, and there are no real right choices there, so may as well get vengeance or ice cream or whatever it is you’re wheeling and dealing for. So if, for whatever reason, you’ve spent your life being a supervillain, and performing horrific experiments on alligators, and living in someone’s basement rent free and accidentally at one point feeding them to a  monster, then hey, maybe nothing nice was going to happen to your soul anyway! (These are some very specific accusations. {Are you an idiot?} What’s your problem? {Nothing, nothing. Never mind.}) 

Other things to consider are loopholes. Like Lawyer Guy said, every contract has them, and why should you leave all the loopholing fun to the demons. If your lawyer can sneak in some language that gives you an out, then power to you! The only risk there is that demons already have their own army of lawyers whose souls they’ve acquired through one way or another. It’s hard to outsmart dead lawyers from Hell. But there are still other things you can do to come out of this with what you want and your soul intact. For example, if your sole is already embroiled in some other kind of agreement. Such as, off the top of my head, if you’re a ghost whose soul has been condemned to walk the Earth until you can identify the person or people who killed you thus attaining absolution. There’s no telling which of those arrangements takes precedence. It could be that if you make a deal with a demon to help you bring your killer to justice, then you might just attain the absolution you were promised for doing that. You could even offer to trade your killer’s soul to the demon in order to make it up to them. Obviously we can’t recommend sacrificing somebody’s soul to a demon, but hey, if that person mailed a bomb to your our office, maybe they deserve it! (Or if that person kidnapped a duck and turned it evil. Or if that person decided to be an ice cream themed villain and then become the worst villain to ever exist thus making everybody see ice cream as an “evil thing” forever. Or any number of other highly specific crimes.) 

While making a deal with a demon certainly isn’t ideal. There are ways to make it work in your favor. Demons are beings with immense power, and if you can channel that power towards doing some good then it could be worthwhile. Especially if you make them do something nice and then use fancy legal jurisprudence to renege on your end of the deal. Then you’ve done some good and you’ve foiled a demon’s plot. That’s doing two good things already. You’re gonna be superhero of the week with stats like that. (That’s all for today! See you next time! And as always, if you’ve got a question for us, our inbox is open!)

I hope this was helpful Brainwave, or whatever you’re calling yourself now. Good luck with your quest. Wherever you are.