#i want to be in a middle distance and be unseen but sometimes the 'please like me! please tolerate me!' just.....radiates from my sketchbook

[cloudbattrolls]

All Alone

Sometimes I don’t have eyes.

Sometimes I have so many eyes that everything is a breathtaking web of angles and perspectives, no space left unseen. Sometimes I grow eyes to see all the colors trolls cannot, to view all the wavelengths that pass by, invisible! 

How awful, that trolls can see so little. I feel for them! I feel for the part of myself that wants to be wrapped up and isolated in my first form all the time - a sort of death, for me. Stasis, at least.

Terrible. I was never meant to stay still.

Not that any living thing is ever fully at rest. Cells divide, matter passes in and out, gasses exchange. What a beautiful collection of processes we all are! What wonderful harmonies!

Other part of me - please learn to be honest that you enjoy this. 

You are not wrong for existing. It doesn’t hurt others to love what you are.

Thrixe’s lip curled in disdain as he read the notes he’d left himself. The things he said in his full horrorterror state! Ridiculous. As if any of that was at all respectable to talk about.

Yes, he had to be that way at times for his health and sanity, that much was inescapable. But the least he could do was keep it private.

He looked up at the currently uncovered viewing window of his underwater hivestem block. Colorful fish passed by, and he could glimpse a sea serpent weaving back and forth in the distance.

Atlantis was a good place for seadwellers, for him in particular; he could blend in here, far less noticeable among the unusually high population of violets and fuchsias that existed. Even a few off-caste folk could be seen, some hiding it, some flaunting their illegally colored fins and gills as if to dare someone to try culling them. Tails were thought little of. Ullane would like that.

He looked back down at the notes on his desk - well. Notes was a generous term. In his horrorterror state he took down observations in several forms besides writing. Living, growing structures of flesh whose altered DNA held messages in the double helixes, packets of song given physical form that could be activated with a word or touch. 

The former grew like glistening violet spiderwebs in one corner where the brown desk met the hive’s dark stone wall, while the latter hung as nets of pale crystalline shards suspended in midair over its surface. 

The constructs smelled of salt and the sea, but not badly, he thought. It wasn’t like he had visitors here - if he did he’d be sure to hide such things. 

Typical, that he couldn’t even take normal records of his work and thoughts in that form. It wouldn’t be hard!

He’d have to try and keep more of his troll sensibilities next time he changed shape, that was all. He could civilize himself.

He had to be better. It was the only way to balance out all his…developments.

Zanzul would scold him if he called them freakish aberrations. She was no stranger to elbowing him or prodding him with her spiny limbs if she felt he was acting badly.

But that’s what they were. Even if it was normal for them, they couldn’t act like it was normal, for politeness’ and honesty’s sake.

He had tried multiple times to explain that to her and Zanzul didn’t listen, so he’d given up.

Thrixe drummed his slightly webbed fingers against his desk, the cool ceramic pleasant under his skin.

What if he tried to engineer himself so that he always kept his troll mind, regardless of form? Surely it was possible. 

He remembered, briefly and with discomfort, how Ullane had meddled with her own mind…but this was different! He wouldn’t hurt himself. He’d learned so much since discovering Uryali’s world.

Besides, this was for everyone’s safety.

He paused. Just in case something happened, he should probably do it deep down in the ocean, where he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Yes, he could have gone to the pocket world…but he craved the real ocean, the deep ocean he’d come from sweeps ago. 

Thrixe opened the door to his underwater lobby, though the lobby itself had a wall with a door in the middle, as an extra measure to keep the water out. Past that, after he’d sealed it, lay the door to the ocean. Biotech sponges dried the water that came in after every use, easily keeping up as long as he quickly came in and out. 

He relaxed as he settled into the cold waters, perfectly dressed for them in a black and violet bodysuit that covered him aside from his face and hands, his curly hair floating free from its usual braid. Thrixe’s glow spots lit up, naturally providing illumination, though he was only in the underside of the city; hardly deep down at all.

The hybrid swam swiftly and surely down, the currents bothering him little, and the sea serpents and aquatic dragons knew not to bother him. 

He’d fought a few who hadn’t gotten the message when he’d first moved here. The sharks attracted by the ensuing bloodbath had discouraged any others from trying.

It took some time, but he made it to where the sunlight vanished for good, the edge of the sea’s true depths. The water was clearer down here, and his gills flared, taking it in. He glowed brightly from his fins and his facial spots, and little fishes swam around him, attracted by his light - only to be snapped up by larger ones.

He was tempted to eat one himself…but what would Mikiel think? Snapping up raw fish like a feral? That wasn’t proper highblood behavior.

His glowing eyes watched the larger fish dart about, his digestion sac grumbling. 

Guiltily, he speared one with a tendril grown from one of his hands and ate it, then retracted the spiny growth. His moirail never had to know.

Satisfied, he closed his eyes, focusing as life still swirled around him. 

Thrixe changed.

His troll body warped to starfish flesh, spiny and full of tube feet, growing numerous eyes and mouths, engulfing the fish that strayed too close to him because - sorry, fish - he realized he was still hungry. 

He grew and grew, extending his many arms and his head, his legs, his tendrils and tentacles. He filled the dark, crushing waters as a glowing, rippling creature whom bubbles rippled around in a massive sheet.

The Choir hummed softly, happy to be back in this state. But his song soon stopped as his troll aspect tried to assert itself - and succeeded. He tilted his great head, eyes blinking, and his happiness waned as he realized how big he was, how he’d just eaten all those fish, fed into his many mouths. How horrible he must look!

At least no one could see him here, at the border of the midnight zone. 

He shut his many eyes. He needed to act better when he was like this, no matter how tempting it was to start prodding at the fish and other ambient life, at the currents of the depths…

No. He’d grown too careless lately! This wasn’t something to be enjoyed. Had he forgotten what had happened to the Siren and Uryali?

His powers were useful, that was all, just useful enough to outweigh how wrong they were. 

He didn’t have to be wrong. He could be decent and respectable and normal. 

…He could act like it, at least.

Didn’t it count because he wanted it so much? Because he didn’t want anyone to suffer his strangeness? 

That meant something, didn’t it?

Endless tons of water pressed down on him, and without him even meaning for it, his limbs extended further, questing for more organic material to consume or alter.

He stopped them. He would be still. He wouldn’t give in.

Exhaustion set into Thrixe. This was possible, but it was draining…he had better turn back. At least he knew it was possible now.

He began to shed his starfish flesh. 

Rather, he tried to.

It wouldn’t dissolve. 

A spurt of panic entered him, his many limbs writhing wildly as he tried again, and again, and again. No. No. 

No.

A terrible despairing vibration swept through the deep waters from his body, for somehow he had become stuck, unable to return to troll form.

Thrixe trembled all over. He had his mind, blessedly he still had his mind, but why not his body? Why wouldn’t it obey him? He had to go back! 

If he couldn’t go back, he had to stay down here. 

If he couldn’t change back, he had to be alone in the depths where no one could see him and he couldn’t hurt anyone.

Thrixe could not sniffle - he had no nose - but he felt as if he still did it, somehow.

He would fix this. He would fix this, no matter what.

In the meantime…

He calmed himself enough to compose a message for his friends who knew what he was, and one for Mikiel. 

He sent his moirail’s first - a recording condensed into crystalline form, waiting for him at his hiveblock. It was shaped like a diamond, of course.

Mikiel -

Something went wrong with one of my experiments. I’m fine, but I can’t come back until I fix it. I don’t know how long it will take - I’m hoping no longer than a few nights. Did you get that artisan olive oil I sent you? Good, right?

I hope work is okay. Freeze some monsters for me.

- Thrixe 

The one he sent to his friends was more generic, but he still asked them how they all were and warned them he was unavailable while he fixed his experiment. 

Zanzul…Thrixe winced at the idea of telling his signmate what he’d done. He knew she wouldn’t approve. Maybe he could fix himself before she found out.

He sent one last message to the clinic itself.

Could someone feed Archimedes? I sent him to stay while I’m gone. Please look after him while I’m away.

Thrixe swam toward a continental shelf and carved himself a hollow to curl up in. Rock crumbled away into the ocean as he squeezed himself in, curling up into a huddled violet mass.

Humming quietly, he tried to sing himself to sleep in the cold, dark depths.

[mjvnivsbrvtvs]

wow! sometimes making a post that reveals too much about your relationship with art is cathartic, but sometimes it’s also: time to bury that in a graveyard somewhere

[impalas-r-important]

Branch Out - Chapter 1

Summary: Y/N left everything she's ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they'd ever look.

Word count: 6219

Pairing: Dean x reader (eventually, maybe?)

Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter, but if you think i should add one, feel free to let me know!

A/N: I started this series a long time ago and just barely had the motivation to start it up again. I really love this series, and have been enjoying writing it. Let me know if you want a tag!

My Masterlist

Branch Out Masterlist

Thank heavens for GPS, there’s no way you would have found this place without step-by-step directions. A narrow gravel driveway branched off from the worn mountain road and wound to a homely cabin. You stepped out of your old pickup truck and pulled out the key the realtor had given to you. Buying a house sight unseen wasn’t the smartest idea and you second guessed your impulse decision as you took in the dense woods that were so foreign to you. The seasoned wooden boards of the porch creaked under your feet while you made your way to the door and let yourself into your new home. Dust rested gently on every ledge and the frigid January air was lined with a twinge of must from sitting unoccupied for so long, but something felt so promising about the sturdy structure.

A modest kitchen and living room made up most of the house with a bedroom and bathroom on either side of a small hallway. A small, metal woodburning fireplace sat just next to the backdoor and you had a feeling you would end up putting that to good use if you ever figured out how to use it.

Your hand was subconsciously touching the bruise that was prominent on your forearm and when you realized, you pulled your sleeve down to cover it. The decision to leave your family and friends behind was a heart-wrenching one, but you knew you had to make a change if you wanted to heal completely. You needed to do something for yourself, and you wanted a fresh start. A small cabin in the freezing cold woods of Idaho was about as far from what you knew to be normal as you could have gotten, but a seed of hope was planted firmly in your chest.

When a job posting for the assistant city accountant had fallen in your lap a few weeks back, you applied without thinking twice. A few online interviews later, you had secured the job and things fell into place effortlessly, as if some external force was paving your path to this small town. You bought this quaint home with the help of a local realtor, packed your things, and left the only home you had ever known in Arizona, despite the protests of your family. Not knowing what your future held was scary, but something about this place felt right from the moment you pulled in.

You had brought only what you needed to in hopes of making a quick escape, meaning you had only a mattress, some clothes and a few personal belongings. After working for a few years, you had a built up a good savings account and figured it would be easier to buy furniture once you got here instead of trying to move big pieces by yourself. It didn’t take long to move your things inside, and you felt grateful that you called ahead to have the power and water turned on so you could shower once you had unpacked what you needed for your first day on the job tomorrow. Anxiety sat like a rock in your stomach, so you skipped dinner and went straight to bed, burying yourself under a mountain of blankets to shield you from the winter chill that had settled in your bones.

Your nerves woke you up well before your alarm went off, so you dragged your feet across the frozen floor and pulled your clothes on quickly before digging through your boxes for some granola bars for breakfast. You leaned against the kitchen counter and began to make a list of things you would need to buy since you were essentially starting from scratch. Double checking the email that you had received with instructions for your first day, you took a deep breath and headed out.

City hall was a historic, two-story red brick building that was shared with the fire department. It looked like something out of a storybook, but then again, this whole town did. You pushed the door open and looked around at the empty lobby, checking your watch to make sure you weren’t crazy early. Rustic chairs lined the walls by the door, and a few empty desks were placed behind the tall front counter.

“Hello?” You asked, turning your head left and right to look for any signs of life.

“Oh!” A muffled voice responded, and distant footsteps quickly scuttled your way from the back room. “You’re here!” A pretty, dark haired girl gave a few excited claps as she made her way to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Sarah. Sarah Blake.” She eagerly pulled you into a hug which caught you by surprise and she chuckled a bit to herself before taking a step back. “Sorry, my boyfriend says that my enthusiasm scares new people away. I’ve just been so excited since I heard they hired you. I’ve been praying for someone my age to come work around here for a long time.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re the first person I’ve met in town so it’s nice to see a friendly face.” Her warm welcome calmed some of your nerves.

“That’s right, you just moved in yesterday, huh?” You tiled your head in question, wondering how she knew that. “It’s a really small town, everyone knows everything, especially when it comes to new people. You’ve been the talk of the town the past little bit.” She shrugged. “Well, I’m the marketing/PR girl here, and we all just kind of pitch in with working the front desk. Come on back, let me give you the grand tour.”

Sarah led you around the corner and stopped at the first office on your left. “This is Ellen Singer’s office. You’ll be working under her, she’s the lead accountant.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “Hmm, she should be here by now. I bet her car is giving her trouble.”

A friendly voice called out to Sarah from down the hall and she motioned for you to follow her as she stepped just inside the end office which was significantly bigger than the rest.

“Y/N, this is Garth Fitzgerald, he’s the mayor. Garth, this is Y/N.” Sarah introduced you and he stood to shake your hand.

“It’s great to meet you, Mayor Fitzgerald.”

“Please, call me Garth.” You smiled and nodded. “We’ve been excited about you around here. I think you’ll make a great addition to our community.” His phone ringing broke the conversation. “Excuse me, ladies. Oh, and welcome to Wallace, Y/N!”

“Next up is Arthur Ketch, he’s the city planner. Sometimes he can be a little abrupt, but deep down he’s a big softie. Don’t let him scare you.”

He was on the phone, so he simply waved to you two as you passed. Sarah’s attention was drawn back down the hall when two police officers walked in. “Jody, Donna!” She hollered to them.

“Heya, kiddo! Who you got with you?” The blonde officer sent a warm smile your way.

“You must be Y/N!” The other responded.

“Oh, that’s right! I heard you were coming to town. I’m Donna and this is Sheriff Jody Mills. It’s so great to meet you.” She pulled you in for your second hug of the day.

“Everyone here is seriously so nice. I don’t know why I didn’t move here years ago!” You joked.

“Well listen, if you need anything, you can always come to me, okay?” Jody put her hand on your shoulder. “We’re all so excited to have a new face around.”

“Thank you. You’re all making this transition so much easier than I thought it would be.”

Sarah waved to the officers as they left and pulled gently on your arm. “Come on, let’s chat while we wait for Ellen.” She took a seat at one of the desks in the front and you sat across from her.

“Thanks for showing me around, it’s nice to know that I have a friend at work already.” Sarah’s eyes lit up when you called her your friend.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been dying for you to get here. I knew we’d get along.” She folded her arms and sat back in her chair proudly. “So, where did you move from?”

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“And you moved to Idaho in the middle of January? Are you crazy? I would give anything to go lay out in the sun for an afternoon.”

“Yeah, I might be!” You laughed. “I guess I just needed a change, you know? It was just time to move onto the next chapter of my life.”

“I get that. I grew up here and couldn’t wait to leave for college, but as soon as I was gone, I missed this place.”

“I can see what you’re talking about. It has a good feeling to it here.”

“So, now to the juicy stuff.” Sarah leaned forward. “Are you dating anyone? Because there’s a whole pool of eligible bachelors I could set you up with here.”

“No, actually I just got out of something kind of messy, so I don’t think I’m really looking for anything at the moment.”

A sympathetic look was sent you way. “I’m sorry to hear that. But if you ever feel ready, you let me know, okay?”

“You will be the first. What about you? I heard you mention you have a boyfriend. Tell me all about him.”

A smile spread across Sarah’s face and she pulled out her phone to show you a picture. “This is Sam, we’ve been together since high school.”

She handed you her phone and you looked at the tall, handsome guy whose arms were wrapped around her. “He’s cute, nice work!” She beamed as you handed her phone back. The expression on her face was clearly one of adoration as she looked at the picture.

“We actually broke up before we went to college. He went to Stanford and I went to the University of Oregon and we figured it would be easier to break it off on good terms rather than fade away in a long-distance relationship. That lasted about two weeks and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Do you think you’ll marry him? You guys are so stinking cute together.” You weren’t sure if you had ever seen a better fitting couple.

“I overheard Sam talking to his older brother about buying a ring. I don’t think he knew that I was just in the other room, but I’ll let him try to surprise me.” Sarah giggled. Your conversation was interrupted by someone walking in the back door.

“Hey, Ellen.” Sarah greeted. “Your reinforcement has arrived.”

Ellen looked at you with relief in her eyes. “Oh, honey, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Come on back here and we’ll get started.”

“Have fun!” Sarah left you to meet your new boss as she went up to help someone at the front desk.

“Y/N, you’ll have to forgive me for being so late. My stupid car has been giving me hell the past few weeks. You’d think with my husband owning the only mechanic’s shop in town, I’d have a reliable vehicle, but here we are.”

“No worries. It gave me a chance to meet some people around the building. I’m excited to get started though.” You sat in the chair across from her desk and she plopped down with a sigh as well.

“I’ve been begging Garth for two years for some help, so you are a light at the end of my tunnel. I’m hoping to retire in a few years and hand you the reigns, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

The next few hours were spent introducing you to all of the systems and procedures. After receiving a call from her daughter, Ellen decided to call it a day just after three in the afternoon and the two of you agreed to hit it hard tomorrow. You gathered your things and returned to the front area where Sarah was scrolling through her phone. She looked up when you entered the room.

“Hey! How are things going?”

“Ellen has to take off, so we’re going to call it a day and just work a little longer tomorrow.” You sat at the desk adjoining Sarah’s and set your things down.

“Take any desk. It’s just you and me out here. Charlie is the county IT girl and works out here sometimes, but she hops from building to building.”

“Well, I suppose this one is as good as any.” You unpacked a picture frame and a few supplies at the desk across from Sarah’s. “Hey, are there any places to buy furniture around here? I only moved with the bare essentials so I’m in desperate need of a few things.”

“So, what you’re saying is you need to go on a shopping spree? I’m in! I’ll drive.” Sarah grabbed her purse and coat and led you out the door.

She took you on a short tour of the staples around town before arriving at the only big box store nearby. You browsed up and down the aisles, pulling all the necessities off the shelf and tossing them in the cart. You’d have to order some of the bigger furniture pieces online since it was a small place, and they didn’t have anything like here.

Sarah had a basket and was creating a good-sized stockpile of her own. “Sam has been trying to put me on a budget for a while now, so I’ll have to hide this stuff before he sees.” A guilty smile pulled on the corners of her mouth.

“Just tell him you were shopping with an accountant and I approved all your purchases.”

“Hah! We’re going to be good friends.” She picked up a candle, smelled it, and placed it in her basket.

“Where does Sam work?” You asked as you looked through the bathroom towels.

“He’s the lawyer for Winchester Lumber, the sawmill in town. A lot of people work there actually, it’s kind of the main business that brings people in. Sam’s great grandpa started it and it’s stayed in the family. Sam’s older brother, Dean, runs the place right now, but I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to hand the throne over to their Dad when he gets back. He got cancer a few years ago and they moved to Kansas to be closer to medical treatment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. How is he doing?”

“He’s doing really well, actually. He’s in remission and they’re hoping to move back soon.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent checking things off of your to-do list and grabbing dinner with Sarah. She dropped you off back at your truck and you thanked her for showing you around before you went your separate ways.

Back at home, it took you a few trips to unload your haul, but you were just happy to have a few more things to fill your empty home. Your first day had gone better than you could have imagined, and you were filled with confidence in your decision to uproot your life.

Sarah opened her front door and did her best to sneak her shopping bags past Sam and Dean who were sitting in the living room, sharing a pizza and some beers. She successfully stowed her treasures away in the hall closet and joined the boys.

“Hey hon!” She placed a kiss on Sam’s forehead before grabbing a slice of pizza and plopping down on the couch next to him.

“You’re in a good mood.” Sam noticed his girlfriend’s chipper energy.

“I made a new friend today.” She took a big bite and gave a smile.

“Don’t you already know everyone in town?” Dean’s voice sounded as pessimistic as usual.

“No, actually. There’s a new accountant at city hall, Y/N. She just moved in yesterday.”

“That’s great! You’ll have to invite her over sometime.” Sam placed his hand lovingly on Sarah’s knee. “Where’s she living?”

“She bought a cabin up in the mountains sight unseen, so we went shopping for some essentials. I think she might be kind of close to you, Dean.”

Dean frowned, trying to think of which cabin the new girl would have bought. He moved up there to be alone, so the thought of a neighbor was disheartening. “You mean that old shack just off of Placer Creek Road?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the one.”

“She’s got a lot of repair work to do on that place.” Dean shook his head, glad that it wasn’t him that put any kind of investment into what he was sure was a money pit.

You awoke early the next morning to find that it had snowed overnight. Growing up in Arizona, you had never really experienced snow like this before. Every breath you took felt like your lungs were filling with ice and you couldn’t help but cough, willing the warm weather to find you soon. Winter was one thing you didn’t think about when moving to a mountain town, so you wanted to give yourself plenty of time for the commute. After packing a few things for lunch, you stepped outside to find your truck buried in a mountain of frozen powder.

“Ugh!” You groaned and threw your head back, looking around for a stick to help you dig out your vehicle. You made a mental note to buy a scraper after work. Ten minutes and one soaked pair of shoes later, you had finally freed your car. You twisted the key, forcing the engine to sluggishly turned over, then blasted the heat on high while you ran inside to change into dry shoes and socks before taking off down the road.

The feeling of your back wheels slipping around on the frozen dirt road was so foreign to you, and you weren’t a fan. About two miles away from the main road, your engine began to sputter as it struggled to trudge ahead through the wet snow.

“Please don’t do this to me…” You steered towards the side of the road as much as you could while the truck wound down to a full stop. An annoyed sigh escaped from your lips. “Great.” You turned the car off and then back on, willing it to start up again, but the clicks of defeat that sounded from under the hood dashed your hopes.

You hadn’t had the time to buy a heavy winter coat yet, so you zipped up the light jacket that you had on and began walking. You didn’t want to make a bad impression on your second day of work by calling in sick, so you picked up your head and kept going. One of the points of starting your new journey was to be more self-reliant, and this definitely fell under that category. Ten minutes had passed, and your toes were so cold that you were sure they would snap off and rattle around in your shoes at any point now. The sound of an engine coming down the hill made you look over your shoulder to see a snowmobile barreling around the corner and straight towards you. You quickly side-stepped out of the way, but not enough to avoid the kickback of snow that was thrown into your face as the machine drove past.

“Seriously?!” You yelled as you shook the snow from your clothes. The snowmobile stopped and slowly backed up to meet you.

“What are you doing up here?” The man abruptly asked as he pulled off his helmet. If you weren’t so annoyed and cold, you might have thought he was attractive.

“Being buried alive by some maniac speeding down the mountain.” You retorted and brushed the snow from your hair with your fingers.

“I’m going to assume that’s your truck back there?”

“Lucky guess.” The wind-chill blew through your jacket and you crossed your arms. “I don’t think it likes the cold, and I don’t exactly blame it.”

His eyes assessed you. “Crappy shoes, thin jacket, and no gloves. I’m going to assume that makes you the clueless new girl.”

“What an ass...” You thought to yourself.

“I guess it does, Kowalski.”

“Kowalski? Really?”

You were surprised he got your reference to Clint Eastwood’s infamously crotchety main character.

“If you’ll excuse me, I gotta get to work.” You didn’t find much point in continuing on this conversation with such a smug jerk, so you continued on your path down the road and heard the snowmobile make a sharp u turn to climb back up the trail.

Ten more minutes later, you could see the main road just ahead of you had been plowed, and you were thankful that you wouldn’t have to be hiking through any more ankle-deep build-up. You could hear a vehicle slowly coming up behind you and you made sure to move as far over as you could to avoid being blasted with snow again. The truck slowed to a stop next to you and you looked over to see the same man from earlier rolling the passenger side window down.

“Get in, I’ll give you a ride.” His voice still sported an undertone of condescension and he rolled his eyes when a doubtful frown from you was sent towards him. “Just get in.”

Hundreds of episodes of Dateline should have taught you to not get in a car with some stranger, but you figured that even if he didn’t murder you, you’d end up dying of frostbite and decided to you’d rather die inside a warm truck. You opened the door and took off your damp jacket before getting inside.

The man’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel tight. You placed your hand by the heater on the dashboard in hopes of defrosting your fingers enough to feel them again.

“You shouldn’t drive a pickup in the winter.” His gaze stayed firmly glued on the road ahead.

“Uhm…” You dramatically looked around, “aren’t we in a pickup right now?”

“Yeah, a pickup with chains on the tires and a weighed down bed.”

“Well, I’m still pretty new at this whole snow thing…”

The man glanced at you from the corner of his eyes. “I couldn’t tell. You’re Y/N, aren’t you?”

“Should I be concerned that you know my name?” You raised an eyebrow.

“No, no,” he must have realized how creepy that came off, “I know Sarah. She’s dating my younger brother and she was telling us about you last night.”

“Oh, it all makes sense now. You’re the grumpy older brother. Dean, right?”

Another eyeroll made an appearance, but you could tell he wasn’t going to make any further comments.

“Well, I appreciate the ride. I’m sorry if I screwed up your morning routine.”

“It’s no big deal.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that Dean wasn’t a man of many words, and you were okay with that. You weren’t really one for small talk either. Dean’s eyes moved to your arm that was extended towards the vent blowing heat.

“That’s a gnarly bruise. How’d you manage that?”

You pulled your arm back quickly, hoping that your sudden move didn’t come across as suspicious. “Oh, you know, just being a clutz. They never tell you that moving by yourself is a dangerous game.” You chuckled casually while watching his eyebrows knit together ever so slightly as he glanced at the bruise one more time. No further remarks were made so you assumed he bought your story.

Dean pulled up in front of City Hall and stopped as close to the door as he could get. Before you could reach for the door handle, Dean instructed, “give me your keys.”

“What?” Your face twisted in confusion.

Yet another fed-up sigh escaped from his chest. “Bobby Singer down at the auto shop owes me a favor. I’ll get him to tow your truck down and take a look at it.”

“Oh.” you weren’t expecting such a generous gesture from such a grumpy guy. “I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”

“Hand it over.” The tone in his voice remained gruff, but the bluntness was slightly faded at this point. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your key ring, sliding the truck key off and placing it into Dean’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean’s eyes avoided yours and you took the hint that it was time to leave.

The wind blew flurries in the air, forcing you to quickly sprint to the door, meaning that you missed Dean watching you with curiosity. Sarah, who was observing from the front desk, didn’t miss his wondering stare. He quickly averted his eyes when he saw her spying and peeled away.

“Kowalski.” He muttered to himself with a half-entertained chuckle once he was a few blocks away. Dean would have never admitted it, but he quite enjoyed the witty nickname.

Sarah couldn’t stop the mischievous smirk that crept up on her face and leaned on the counter to greet you the second you stepped through the door.

“You look like you’ve had quite the morning.” She greeted.

“Yeah, something like that.” You hung your jacket up on the coat rack in the corner to dry and stomped the packed snow from the tread of your shoes.

“Am I going blind or did Dean Winchester give you a ride to work?” She quickly cornered you.

“Yeah. My truck broke down and then he tried to bury me in snow, so he gave me a ride.” Goosebumps covered your arms as you made your way to your desk. You had never been more grateful for heat.

Sarah crossed her arms and sat on your desk as you took your seat. “You know, people call him the Grinch because he moved way up the mountain to be all broody and alone.”

“I can’t say I don’t understand it. It’s kinda fitting.” You logged into your computer, but Sarah continued to press for details.

“Well did he say anything on the ride over or did he just glare at the road?”

“A little bit of both I guess. He told me I shouldn’t be driving a truck in the winter, but that’s about it.”

Ellen arrived and cut the chatter short. “Hey girls. You ready to get started, Y/N?”

“You bet.” You stood from your desk, but not before Sarah pointed an accusing finger at you.

“This conversation is not over!” She warned.

After lunch, Ellen had given you some expense reports to review and organize. It was tedious, but you didn’t mind the slow afternoon after a crazy morning. Sarah was helping you to punch holes in the stacks of papers and organize them into departments while the two of you chatted away. The snow had kept most people inside, so it was a slow day at the front desk. Just before it was time to call it a day, the bell of the front door dinged, and Sarah walked over to see who it was.

“Hey, Dean. You going over to Benny’s tonight?” She greeted.

“Not sure yet.”

Dean’s hands were shoved into his front pockets as he stared Sarah down, not wanting to give her any more room to speculate as to why he was here.

“Hi.” You smiled softly, trying your hardest ignore Sarah’s curious stare as you joined in the conversation.

He pulled a key from his pocket and set it down on the counter. “She’s all fixed up. Battery terminals were corroded so I cleaned them up a bit, but you’re going to need a new battery soon. That one doesn’t have much juice left in it.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that you worked at the auto shop.” You remembered Sarah saying something about Dean working at the sawmill.

“No, I used to. But I figured it would be an easy fix, so I took a look myself. I stuck some old grates in the bed for some weight. Take it into Bobby’s tomorrow after work and he’ll take care of the rest. He knows you’re coming.”

“Wow, I really owe you one. Thank you.” You slid the key from off the counter and fiddled with the metal ring.

“Don’t read into it.” Dean tapped his fist on the counter twice before swiftly leaving.

Sarah was biting her lip, and you slowly turned your head towards her. “Spit it out.” You gave permission for her onslaught of questions.

“You didn’t tell me he was going to fix your car for you!”

“He said he would have Bobby tow it back to the shop and take a look at it. I didn’t know he was going to fix it himself.”

“I’ve known Dean for a long time, he’s pretty much my older brother at this point, so I can see past all the grumpiness. He’s a really good guy, he’s just been dealt a hard hand the past few years that made him swear off people.”

That was a feeling you could easily relate to. “He really went out of his way to bail me out today, so he can’t be all that bad.”

“He’s all bark and no bite. Granted, it’s a big bark.” Sarah checked her watch. “Closing time! Hey, would you want to come back to my place after we clock out? Sam’s playing poker at a buddy’s house tonight so I figured maybe we could grab some take out and find some furniture for you online?”

“Yeah, that’d be great actually! It definitely beats the PB and J I would be making otherwise.”

After work, you ran home to change and Sarah stopped for some Chinese food, then the two of you met at her apartment.

Some crappy TV movie played in the background while mostly empty take-out containers littered the kitchen counter. You were sitting on the floor with your laptop on the coffee table, browsing through loveseats while Sarah lay on the couch behind you giving her input.

The door gently swung open and the man you assumed to be Sam walked through. Sarah stood up and stretched before giving her boyfriend a hug.

“How was the poker game?”

Sam tossed his keys on the counter and pulled off his jacket. “About the same as always. Benny won most of the games, Cas still has no clue what he’s doing, and I lost a little too much pride.”

“You’ll get them one of these days. Come on,” she tugged on his shirt sleeve, “I want you to meet Y/N.”

You stood when Sam and Sarah walked into the room. “Y/N, this is Sam.”

“Ah, the infamous Y/N, I’ve heard lots about you the past day or so. It’s nice to put a face with the name.” He shook your hand. “How are you settling in?”

“Honestly, the move has been a lot easier than I thought it would be. Everyone here has been super welcoming and helpful.”

“Including Dean.” Sarah gave a knowing look to her boyfriend, who was clearly confused.

“My brother, Dean?”

“The one and only. He gave Y/N a ride to work and fixed her truck up for her.”

Sam’s face read skeptical. “My brother, Dean?” He repeated.

“I found myself knee deep in snow and car problems this morning. I’m sure he helped me out of pity more than anything.” You tried to explain, not wanting to make a big deal of the situation.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow. I guess that’s why he was late to work today. Well, I hope he didn’t scare you off too much.”

You shook your head with a smile. “Not at all, he really helped me out. But I have to admit, I feel bad. He would barely acknowledge my thank yous. I don’t want to come across as ungrateful.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he heard you loud and clear, he’s just hasn’t been properly socialized yet.”

Sam finished off the rest of the Chinese and got to know you a little better while Sarah sat next to you on the floor, scrolling through furniture.

“Where’d you go to school, Y/N?” Sam stacked the empty red food containers together and set them aside as he pulled his feet up on the couch.

“University of Arizona. I didn’t originally plan on staying so close to home, but a full ride soccer scholarship is hard to turn down.”

“No way! That’s awesome.” Sam’s face lit up with an idea. “Oh! Every summer we do this obstacle course race thing here in town as part of the summer festival. Maybe you can be on our team this year?”

“That sounds super fun! Count me in.”

“Yes!”’ Sam made a fist in the air. “We’ve used to win every year, but we’ve come in second the past three times, so maybe you’ll be our secret weapon.”

Sarah joined the conversation once she’d had her fill of online shopping. “I was thinking, Y/N, I don’t know if you’re much of a baker, but if you wanted to say thank you to Dean, he’s a sucker for a good pie. I know he wouldn’t just brush that off.”

“It’s true. He’s a pie whore.” Sam nodded.

“Sam!” Sarah scolded.

“Noted,” you said through your laughs.

The clock in the corner of your laptop screen caught your eye and you realized how late it was getting. “I should probably start heading home before I hate myself tomorrow at work.”

“At least it’s not supposed to snow tonight.” Sarah teased.

“Wow, it’s going to be like that, huh?! It’s a learning curve, okay?” You stuck your tongue out as you gathered your things.

Sam stopped you after Sarah had said goodbye. “Hey, Y/N, I know Dean doesn’t make the greatest first impression, but do me a favor and don’t write him off just yet. He’s had a rough go the past little while and could always use another friend in his corner.”

“I won’t. I’m sure there’s a great guy buried under all that angst.” You gave a reassuring smile and Sam gave you a hug before you left.

The next day was Friday and between training and helping out with the front desk, the workday flew by. You needed to take your truck in to get the battery switched and Sarah had agreed to give you rides while you were without transportation. After work, you dropped off your truck at Bobby’s, and Sarah took you home. You were glad for a little time to yourself so you could clean up the house before the first delivery of furniture tomorrow morning.

On your lunch break earlier that day, you had gotten all the ingredients to make blueberry pie bars as a thank you for Dean. Time was in short supply, so you hoped these would be a suitable place holder in lieu of a regular pie. You quickly threw them together and loaded up a plate once they were cool enough. Baking had always been a stress reliever for you, and the way it filled your small cabin with warmth and sweet smells felt so cozy and charming.

Dean’s place was only a ten-minute walk from yours, so you bundled up and began your hike. You had finally gotten yourself a suitable coat and boots and couldn’t believe the difference they made as you crunched through the snow that was matted on the gravel road. His cabin was much newer than yours, and considerably nicer. A long staircase on the right side of the house led up to a wide porch. Smoke spilling from the chimney and lights beaming through the windows told you he was probably home, so you knocked on the door.

Clattering of locks being undone broke through the silence a few moments later and an expressionless Dean opened the door.

“Hi,” you began, “I just wanted to say thank you for helping me out so much the other day.” Dean stood silent and stone-faced, so you awkwardly continued. “I, uh, heard you were a big fan of pie, but I didn’t have enough time to make one from scratch, so I hope these will do.” You extended the plate of goodies and he looked at them doubtfully.

“Look,” a gravelly voice ended his vow of silence, “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not looking for any new friends or whatever this is.” He began to shut his door when you interjected.

“Listen, this is nothing more than a simple thank you for bailing me out when I really needed it. I’m not going to force you to eat them, but I’m also not going to take them home with me. Maybe just wait until I’m gone before you throw them away though.” You set the plate on a neatly stacked pile of firewood off to the side of the door. “Don’t read into it.” You echoed his parting words from yesterday and took your leave. A sneaky glance over your shoulder as you walked away revealed that Dean had picked up the plate and was looking at it with a half-impressed nod. You assumed that was as much of a reaction as you’d get from him and marked the trip to be successful.

Chapter 2

[cassiusapologist]

a conversational snapshot moment during 44. BC [~500 words, gen, implied Brutus/Cassius]

‘You should be happier,’ says Cassius. ‘Urban praetor, beloved by Caesar, admired by the people, and I find you here instead. Porcia is worried about you.’

‘Aren’t you angry?’ counters Brutus. ‘This is--

‘Of course I’m pissed,’ replies Cassius. ‘I was stuck cleaning up Caesar’s fuck up in Parthia, and he had the audacity to spend months stringing us both along when we all knew that he was going to give the urban praetorship to you.’

Brutus says nothing. Cassius sits next to him in silence.

‘Do you hate me for it?’ Brutus asks in a rush. ‘I didn’t— I didn’t earn this right, I know why Caesar gave it to me, but I took it anyway because I wanted it. I can’t stop thinking about it, even Cicero--’

‘Don’t listen to fucking Cicero,’ says Cassius over the rapid thudding of his own heart. Do you hate me for it, gods, that’s the worst thing Brutus could ever ask him. Do you hate me? Never, he’s never been able to hate Brutus, even when he wanted to. ‘I don’t hate you, have you spent weeks thinking that? Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?’

‘No,’ answers Brutus, and then: ‘Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘I might have been angry, but not like that.’ When did they go so wrong that the idea of hate could worm its way between them? ‘If I was going to hate anyone, I’d hate Caesar. What were you going to do, turn down the offer? Again? He’s been angling to have you as his successor for years. That’s not your fault.’

Cassius looks down at his hands, at Brutus (who’s gaze has never left some unseen middle distance), and then up at the ceiling.

‘Did you really think I could hate you?’ he asks quietly.

‘I hoped not,’ replies Brutus, equally quiet. ‘It’s different now, though.’

‘Not everything,’ Cassius says. ‘Not us. We fight sometimes, sure, but we’ve always fought. It never…I’m never going to hate you, even when we’re furious with each other. You know that, right?’

For a horrible minute, Brutus says nothing, and then he threads his fingers through Cassius’ own.

‘Porcia has been trying to convince me to talk to you,’ Brutus finally admits.

‘She always was smarter than both of us.’

‘I keep having these dreams,’ continues Brutus, as though Cassius hadn’t said anything. ‘They’re horrible, you’re always in them and--’ he cuts off abruptly.

An awful part of Cassius that craves everything about Brutus wants to ask, to pry, to hear the details of these dreams that he’s in, dreams that are apparently so awful that Brutus can’t force the words out of his mouth.

He doesn’t do that.

Instead he says: ‘Well, you know I don’t believe in things like omens. Instead of keeping your wife awake at night with your thoughts, seek me out instead. I’ll argue with you over the nature of these things until it’s forgotten.’

At that, Brutus finally smiles. It’s small, and barely qualifies, but Cassius will seize victory wherever he can grasp it.

‘Cassius,’ he says, ‘what would I ever do without you?’

‘Fall to pieces,’ Cassius says without hesitation. ‘You don’t sleep enough, you'll stay at your desk unless someone manhandles you into bed.’

Brutus laughs, and it’s almost enough-----

---

some miscellaneous notes, aka sections of text that rattle around inside my brain.

i. Far from being annoyed at Brutus for making his own reconciliation with Cato’s circle, Caesar took great delight in Brutus’ company: he complimented his recruit and he was particularly pleased with the way Brutus had conducted affairs in Cisalpine Gaul. As a reward, Brutus was promised the urban praetorship for the following year, 44 BC – purportedly much to the chagrin of Cassius, who had to make do with the less prestigious peregrine praetorship – and it may have been now that he also earmarked Brutus for one of the two consulships of 41 BC. [Kathryn Tempest, Brutus: the Noble Conspirator]

ii. Itane? nuntiat Brutus illum ad bonos viros? Εὐαγγέλια. Sed ubi eos? nisi forte se suspendit. Hic autem, ut stultum[165] est. Ubi igitur φιλοτέχνημα illud tuum, quod vidi in Parthenone, Ahalam et Brutum? Sed quid faciat? Illud optime: "Sed ne is quidem, qui omnium flagitiorum auctor, bene de nostro." At ego verebar, ne etiam Brutus eum diligeret; ita enim significarat iis litteris, quas ad me: "Ast vellem aliquid degustasses de fabulis." Sed coram, ut scribis. [cicero to atticus] [trans. Is that so? Does Brutus really say Caesar is going over to the right party? That is good news. But where will he find them, unless, perhaps, he hangs himself? But how foolish it is of Brutus! Where, then, does that masterpiece of yours, which I saw in the Parthenon, the tree of Brutus' family from Ahala and Brutus, come in? But what can he do? It is excellent to hear that not even the man who began the whole criminal business has a good word to say for young Quintus. Indeed, I was beginning to be afraid that even Brutus was fond of him; for in his letter to me he said, "But I wish you could have had a taste of his tales." But when we meet, as you say.]

iii. her heard a voice nor seen anything. Brutus stayed awake for the rest of the night, but as soon as it was morning he visited Cassius and described what he had seen. Cassius, who was a follower of the doctrines of Epicurus, and who used frequently to dispute with Brutus on subjects of this kind, said to him; ‘Our opinion, Brutus, is that by no means everything that we see or experience is real or true. In the first place, the perceptions that come to us through the senses are deceptive and unstable, and, secondly, our intelligence is quick to transform the experience itself, which may be quite illusory, into a whole variety of forms[...]' [plutarch, life of brutus]

[tainted-wine]

Evil Demonic Music

Priest!Reader X Demon!Present Mic

Hizashi has a large and filling feast on every Halloween night. He’s been doing it since before you were born. Yet here you are crashing his party while smelling like fresh meat in a den of wolves. It’s entirely your fault for throwing off his groove.

Disclaimer: Reader is more reminiscent of an action priest in a gothic action movie or anime. There’s little to no accuracy here. Lightning will most likely strike me the next time I venture outside.

Words: 7.9k

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Christian Themes, Possession/Mind Control, Orgy, Public Sex, Sorta Corruption, Downer Ending

🎃👻🎃HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!🎃👻🎃

------------x------------

Yuuei Club Presents “Dance With The Devil” Halloween Event LIVE Music by Present Mic Costumes Encouraged // Doors Open at 8 p.m.

It looked innocent enough; a graphical poster on the door of a building surrounded by smaller businesses in the outlet. It masked itself well in the daytime with its plain exterior, devoid of any attractive decorations save for the club’s name that glowed in hypnotizing neon when night falls. All of its temptations were contained inside, dormant until it was filled with careless souls seeking unholy pleasures.

You didn’t hate them for it. The temptation to sin is strong. It’s how evil thrives, and the average person lacks the strength to resist. It’s your duty to protect all people, even the faithless, from evil’s many devices. 

Like this nightclub.

Party locations like these were an uncommon feeding ground, although now that you think about it, the muddled and vulnerable minds residing within should make for easy meals. The loud and nonsensical “music” and absolute lack of restraint that the people displayed was baffling, but your task is to guard souls, not convert and guide them back to Heaven’s path. One demon in particular, however, favored ‘party animals’ more than any other creature from the vile depths.

“Easy there! You glare at this place any harder and it might combust!”

To the average human, the monster that appears beside you is nothing more than a tall blonde man with an inviting smile, but he can’t hide himself from the blessed and perceptive. Beneath the guise of spice and incense, he reeks of smoke and brimstone.

Hizashi, as he called himself, will never fool you.

“Stay back,” spit nearly flies from how harshly you say the words. You know that he can’t harm you, not while you wear your cross around your neck and calmly hold thoughts of your Lord in your mind. Still, you warn the dangerous fiend to keep his distance.

He obeys and innocently raises his hands. “Hey hey, you know I’m not out to hurt you, and you’re not gonna pull anything with that crafty little weapon there, right?”

No, you weren’t going to take a stab at him with the blade hidden in your holy necklace. You tried it before, an attempt to drive it into his back when he wasn’t looking. His hand caught your wrist at a speed you couldn’t comprehend – you were certain that you didn’t blink, yet you didn’t even see him move at all. His friendly smile didn’t waver, not a hint of anger visible on his face.

“Careful, baby priest! Don’t mean to sound cocky, but I’m way out of your league.” The warning wasn’t in his words, but in the heat of Hell itself that briefly washed over you, a sensation so powerful and real that you feared you were being dragged down that very instant. But the unseen flames died off the second he released your hand, eyes flashing a bloody red before returning to their usual emerald hues.

That was the first and only time you tried to banish him.

“I don’t trust you, but I’m not stupid,” was your answer, making sure not to let your hatred and disgust cloud your mind. He might take hold of that.

It was a satisfactory response, going by his bright beam of a smile. So friendly and inviting.

Months had passed when you finally accepted that he was a demon who genuinely enjoyed living alongside humans. He never spoke ill of your fellow men and commended them for their many ways of enjoying their short lives. Most demons you’ve dealt with favor negative emotions. Fear, sorrow, anger… those cold and bitter feelings attracted hellbeasts like flies to honey. 

But this one? He fed on mortals that were as cheerful and carefree as him. All of this still wasn’t enough to convince you that he is truly gentle, however.

Hizashi stayed where he was, staring at his own promotional poster. The urge to leave was almost overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him know how much he unnerved you with just his presence alone. Instead, you shuffle awkwardly and try not to utter prayers of protection. Whether or not that will anger him is something you don’t want to find out.

He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Are you pumped for the best night of the year? Man, Halloween never gets old for me, especially in this day and age. Everyone dancing while dressed like a bunch of monsters...it’s almost like I’m at home! Humans sure know how to party like tomorrow is The Cleansing.”

“Yes, and it’s shameful,” you humor him. “I have no interest in debauchery.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “It’s called having a good time, babe. Put the tome down and loosen up every once in a while.”

Put down the tome?

Loosen up?

Babe?

How dare he make you even entertain the thought of abandoning your teachings. You just know he’s trying to rile you up, to make you lose control. You won’t let him have his way. “I have my good times in moderation, on days when I praise God with my brothers and sisters with a glass of wine. There is discipline in everything, even celebration. Heathens simply get drunk and lose themselves in the madness.”

The demon chuckled as he ran his fingers through long golden locks. Just the beautiful sheen of his hair could probably attract the greedy. “Yep. Times sure do change, don’t they?”

“They don’t just change, they’re desecrated. What was once a day to ward off evil spirits now does the exact opposite. They’re too busy with their consumerism, candy, haunted houses…”

“Oh yeah, those haunted attractions are wild. So many of my buddies gorge themselves there. Free fear for the taking, ya dig?”

Despicable.

“And you don’t?” You test him. He was a conversationalist; a few probing questions won’t bother him, surely.

He withdraws his phone, scrolling through the screen for something. “Come on, you know me by now, don’t you? That sour stuff isn’t for me.”

“Forgive me for still struggling to trust you.” Sarcasm felt too risky, actually. You won’t use it again.

“Heh, no offense taken! You priests know just how cruel we can be sometimes. Mortals learned from the best, after all.”

Your lips twitch. His curve into a more wicked grin.

Every single passerby can’t seem to resist giving you odd looks. You can feel the eyes behind you as people make their way around the shops. Your garb wasn’t that strange; they’re acting like they’ve never seen a person in a robe and wearing several divine artifacts before. They would too if they knew what Hizashi was, who has yet to garner a single look of suspicion.

Ridiculous, his casual getup is actually fooling them. Perhaps the silly villainous mustache wasn’t big enough to give him away.

“Ah, here it is!” You nearly jumped from his voice and how quickly he leaned in, a video playing on his phone. “Just tap on the screen to play it an-”

“I know how to use a phone,” You hiss, taking the device from his hand and shooting him a glance every few seconds in case he tried something. 

The video was chaos, an unsteady view of flashing lights and thumping heavy beats. Whoever held it was smack dab in the middle of an energetic crowd that sang and danced like barbaric animals. It was an orgy of overindulgence. Too much drinking with their comically shaped cups and bottles, too much lust in their crude excuse of a dance, and synthetic drums that dragged on for so damn long, even the beat sounded drunk. It’s not the first time you heard the horrid noise; it unfortunately appears to be popular among the masses. 

God help these poor souls.

“Last year’s party.” Hizashi’s words cut through your thoughts. “Pretty hype, huh? Nothing gets my listeners goin’ like a hard trap beat!”

Oh? So he’s fully admitting it now? “So you’re calling it what it is, are you? Trapping them with your satanic melodies?”

The confusion on his face was very convincing, but you knew better. “What? No, that’s what the music is called.” 

You couldn’t help but snort. “Please, demon. What do you think sounds more believable: A genre of music with such a simplistic and misleading name, or evil tunes that your kind uses to ensnare unassuming mortals that don’t know any better?”

“....um…”

“I thought so.” To think that he’d slip up so easily. He wasn’t as clever as he thought. “Tell me what happened to the people in this video. Are they alive? Or did you drain them until they were nothing more than lifeless husks?”

There was a snicker behind you. Both you and Hizashi turned around to see a young man holding his phone up with an amused smile, giving a little wave after being noticed. “Sorry,” he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I really like your costume, miss. Your acting is awesome, too.” With that, he put away his phone and whatever images he now has of you and continued on his merry way.

Impertinent juveniles.

“Anyway, they’re all fine,” Hizashi said, eyes returning to the door while tapping his feet to a beat you can’t hear. “I know how to feed without causing any serious harm. Even if I do go a little overboard, they’ll just brush it off as having too much to drink.”

“It doesn’t matter how good you are at controlling yourself. You’re an evil entity invading human minds.” It takes every bit of strength to not flinch when he looks at you. Again, there’s no anger – there’s never anger with him – and it makes you all the more uneasy. Maybe a being as ancient and influential as him doesn’t find a novice exorcisor like you worth getting angry or even annoyed over. “Your stench will remain on those people forever, attracting more of your kind to them unless someone like me finds and cleanses them.”

He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Come on, your boy is doing his best here. What do you want me to do? Starve?” He considers what he just said for a moment before laughing. “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Look, I ain’t leaving the stage, little priest. I’m addicted. The noise, the energy, the way everyone just loses themselves in all of it.”

The way his tongue peeks out to swipe over his upper lip has every hair on your skin sticking up.

“Man, I wish they knew just how sweet their own essence is when they’re caught up in the lights and music. Sweeter than any candy the kids will be bringing home tonight.”

He compares consuming pieces of a soul to children’s treats. “You’re really not helping your case,” you remark.

Another shrug. “C’mon, you say that like I actually have a chance at winning with you! I won’t hurt anyone in there. You have my word.”

You scoffed. “A demon’s word is-”

“Worthless, I know. See what I mean?” He withdrew a ring of keys out of his pocket. “Welp, I think we’ve stood here and stared at the door long enough. I gotta prep for the big night. Thanks for the company!” A few more seconds pass when he finds the right key and opens the entrance to the club. 

You didn’t follow him inside. That would be careless.

Now it’s only you observing the building that will soon hold a giant living feast for the hungry monster. After another passing compliment about your “cool and authentic costume”, you figured you’ve stood around long enough. It was time to head home.

And find a way to keep everyone safe.

He was right; you have no way of getting rid of him yourself. That doesn’t mean you’ll stand by while knowing what danger these people will be walking into when night arrives. You’re not afraid to put your life on the line if it means protecting His children from the many evils on earth. When the first step of your plan takes root in your head, you change routes and make your way to the nearest costume shop.

Hizashi won’t be having his fill tonight.

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

8:30 p.m.

You weren’t expecting to encounter two demons tonight.

Well, perhaps that term isn’t appropriate. There is no sort of aura attached to the dark-haired man that you can trace back to the pits of Hell, but he is undoubtedly a creature of evil. One that was birthed from the shadows, living for eternity by lurking in darkness and drinking the blood of any unfortunate mortal that catches his eye.

“I knew it. I knew someone so close to Hizashi couldn’t be human.”

The vampire at the lively club’s entrance didn’t seem fazed by your accusation. He wasn’t even hiding himself. The sly bloodsucker knows that his crimson irises and enlarged fangs will be mistaken for prosthetics. Very convincing prosthetics.

“Nice to see you too,” he deadpans. 

You’re getting a little tired of these beasts brushing you off. “So what’s your feeding plan here? Waiting to find an innocent maiden who wishes to see the sinful wonders inside, then take her to the back and drain her dry?”

“Like you?” The smirk doesn’t reveal any teeth, but his predatory eyes are enough to make you step back and grip the cross that still hangs around your neck. Your reaction makes him chuckle darkly before he returns to his regular disinterested self. “I already ate.” That monster. “I’m here because Hizashi thought I’d make for good security.”

“So you intend to drink from anyone that steps out of line?”

“No.”

“Lies. Look here, vampire…”

“My name is Shouta.”

“...You and your friend won’t be preying on these naive humans for much longer. He told me about his trap music, but I won’t let his songs bewitch anyone tonight.”

He stared at you, one eyebrow quirked high up. “Alright...can you give me your hand already? There’s a line growing behind you.”

You look over your shoulder, and there is indeed a line of disgruntled people dressed as various monsters and characters. You have to admit that their costumes look to be of higher quality than the angel outfit you hastily bought in the store’s clearance section. The fuzzy headband for your halo was itchy and your flimsy wings were on the verge of falling off with every sudden movement.

With a glare that messaged him not to try anything, you cautiously extended your arm. He took your hand in his – deathly cold – and wrapped a thin paper tag around your wrist. “Have fun.” 

You always hate it when you can’t read their smiles.

The suffocating darkness around him was lifted when you made your way to the same doors you were looking at with so much contempt this morning. Glancing back, you saw others happily complimenting his ‘spooky’ appearance, to which he responded with either a quick thanks or a grunt. None of them seemed to notice his chilling aura or ice-cold touch.

Why must they be so blind to the evils that walk beside them everyday?

When you stepped in, the music nearly blasted you back outside. So loud, but not like the angelic choirs during gospel. You didn’t feel lifted, you just felt bombarded by pure noise. A repetitive tempo made the entire building pulse like a heartbeat. This didn’t sound like the music Hizashi supposedly used to put the crowd under a spell. It just repeated the same forsaken beat over and over again. Perhaps the repetition is meant to ease the victim’s mind and lure them in a false sense of security, then those long rolling beats will come in next, ensnaring them when their guard is down. Clever, but not clever enough.

You passed the lounge and bar area, paying no mind to the lecherous behavior around you. Boisterous laughs, alcohol being carelessly chugged…

“Hey there, angel.” A man dressed as a superhero nearly tripped over his own cape in his attempt to approach you. “You as innocent as you look? I can introduce you to the boUUUURP.” The sudden belch burned your poor eyes with the stinging smell of rum.

Lord have mercy on both you and these savages.

“No thank you,” you said through gritted teeth and brushed past him. The lights and colors are disorienting. Strobe lights, spotlights whizzing across the walls and floor, and vibrant ever-changing shapes on every surface. The intoxicated folk probably welcomed the flashing chaos. When you drink at the church, your sips stay modest and controlled, ensuring to never reach the stage of drunkenness. If you were feeling ‘buzzed’, as they would say, this musical and optical discourse would likely feel pleasant, like entering a world devoid of rules and consequences.

Also known as a world of sin.

A huge mass of bouncing bodies covered the dancefloor, and there on an elevated platform, acting as an advanced musical throne, was the evil orchestrator of the chaos.

And those long curved obsidian horns were most definitely real.

Even as he tampered with the many buttons and dials before him, Hizashi moved as wildly as his prey, too caught up in his own infernal electronic hymns to even notice your presence. Surely your chaste energy sticks out among these wrongdoers like a dove in a pit of serpents.

You need to activate your blessing before he eats. Good thing the vampire didn’t bother to inspect your costume for any natural evil repellents that you happened to be carrying.

Your self-made pockets were filled with sage and rosemary, common herbs used to drive away demons and spirits. You sprinkle them onto the floor as you continue to make your way to the center, where your power will work most efficiently.  Hopefully their scent will not be overpowered by the sweaty bodies and breaths laced with alcohol of all kinds.

Pushing through the dancing crowd was an arduous task. The music had since switched to something faster and more aggressive. The hectic sounds in this one was making you miss the boring but calmer tunes from before. You never considered what the sound of a robot vomiting would sound like, but it would probably sound similar to the cacophony of ‘whirs’ and ‘wubs’ that were assaulting your ears.

The mass was pushing and tossing you every which way. The variety of masks and makeup beneath the constant moving lights was rather frightening. Of course, you’ve dealt with plenty of real monsters, but it disturbed you to see your fellow man acting in such a frenzied matter in such a perplexing setting. You can see why Hizashi adored this environment. You couldn’t tell the difference between man and beast.

Straightening your halo, you decide that this spot will fare well enough.

Now it was time to apply holy water around your feet. Just a few drops of the blessed fluid will be enough to protect everyone here.

You close your eyes, ignore the many bodies bumping against you, and pray.

O Lord, protect me from temptation.

The water trickles out before you.

O Lord, forgive those who have been led astray.

“WOOOO SHIT! THIS IS MY JAM!”

The nearby exclamation makes your eyebrow twitch.

For we know that your power is greater than any evil.

The song is deafening, but you keep going.

Grant, O Lord, the protection fro-

Someone violently collides into you, knocking the bottle right out of your hands and rolling away to disappear behind the wall of stomping shoes.

Shit! Forgive my language, Father!

You elbow the fools blocking your way, ignoring the occasional “hey” or “watch it” during your desperate search for the most important tool against evil influences.

You didn’t even finish your prayer. You need to at least do that first, before it’s too late. Clapping your hands together, you shut your eyes again and moved your lips rapidly.

OLordprotectmefromtemptationOLordforgivetosewhohavebeenledastrayforweknowthatyourpowerisgreaterthanany-

“HERE COMES THE DROP!”

The rhythm and bass changed drastically, and with it came a powerful wave of raw exhilaration.

It’s like a force was injecting every positive chemical directly into your bloodstream. The abundance of newfound energy needed to be released, just like the tension that was released from that beat drop.

Your hips are swaying in a way you’ve never moved them before, and you can’t make them stop.

Stop! Stop, please! This is his doing!

“How are my listeners doin’ tonight?!”

The demon’s voice booms through the speakers, seeping into your ears and filling you with so much excitement that you can’t help but cheer with everyone else. Your senses feel simultaneously enhanced and dulled. The humans around you were out of focus, but the diabolical DJ up ahead was so clear, it’s like you were right in front of him. The hunger in his currently red eyes struck fear in you even as you danced.

“Woo, I’m lovin’ this energy! Thanks for coming by this Halloween, ya little monsters! Now...bring this house down!”

Your heart accelerates from the rush and you begin to jump in sync with the possessed crowd. Even the people standing by or sitting at the bars couldn’t resist, joining the growing horde on the dancefloor to jump in unison. 

It was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Not a care in the world. No customs, no praise. It didn’t give you that warm feeling of ascension. Instead you just felt...liberated.

No!

Struggling in the demon’s grip, you cleared your thoughts just enough to try to calm yourself and regain control.

Utter a prayer. Hurry. Focus. You need His protection.

‘Baby priest? Is that you?’

That is not the mighty entity you wanted to hear. The voice echoes in your head, impossible to escape. When your eyes open, you see that above the vast sea of faces, Hizashi is staring right at you. 

‘I thought the dancefloor smelled a little weird! I was so busy feelin’ the beat that I almost missed you!’  You watched him laugh as he continued to violate your mind. Damn him. Wasn’t possessing you cruel enough? ‘Please, no prayers when I’m about to dig in. That’s gonna leave a bad taste in my mouth. Just keep groovin’ like everyone else!”

Your limbs obeyed without your consent and followed the rhythm. This didn’t even sound like the music you heard in the video. Were you just foolish in thinking that he only used one specific sound to trap his victims?

With another change in the bassline, a heavier weight invaded, reaching right into the depths of your heart and tugging at your very soul. You know that fear will only make you more defenseless, but there was no fighting the terror that overtook you.

Not when a demon was feeding from you.

Your brain clashed with itself. You had to keep fighting, even as he stole a fragment of what your gracious Heavenly Father had gifted you and every human, but the cheerful voices implanted in your mind begged you to stop worrying and just give in already.

There was no stopping your movements or the unending rush that surged as strongly as the music. Only now, as he completely ignored your holy safety measures and tainted your soul as easily as the oblivious heathens surrounding you, did you fully understand just how great the differences in power between him and you were.

‘Whoa...holy shit.’

The breathless moan in your head made you shudder. 

‘I haven’t tasted a human as pure as you in ages.’ 

“Please! You’ve already fed from me!” You scream out loud as the mob revels in the thrilling sensation of having a part of them sucked away. Your voice is drowned out by the music and shouts, yet you know that the horrid fiend can hear you loud and clear. “Just get out of my head!”

The dancing stops.

The music stops.

Everything stops.

It’s relieving to finally let your body rest from the forced celebration. The lights still flash and move in the dead silence. Every single person in all of their costumed glory turns and pins you with a sharp glare. Their eyes were unfocused and glazed over, consciousness elsewhere. Hizashi was in full control of all of them.

The demon himself looked down at you, no longer wearing his usual friendly and carefree smile. He was now showing the more twisted happiness you were used to seeing on his kind.

Crazed and eager to devour.

He spoke into the microphone on his headset, voice low and eerily calm. “Angel, you can’t just give me a sample of a five-star meal and expect me to not want more.”

The dread threatens to make you faint.

“Hey, none of that!” He laughs and switches back to his cheery tone. “I told you the negative emotions aren’t for me. I mean, a lady as sweet as you is gonna taste delicious either way. Why don’t you come on up here?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to flee from this entire situation that you foolishly believed you were ready for. You thought you could sneak into this age-old creature’s gathering and force him to go hungry for the night.

Cockiness treads horribly close to pride, and pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

You clearly didn’t have a say in the matter, what with your feet moving forward on their own. Every individual in front of you stepped aside to create a clear path from you to Hizashi’s platform. Their eyes never left, heads slowly turning as they watched you slowly climb the steps with legs that trembled from your resistance.

As he stood tall clad in leather behind the large mixer table, you noticed along with his sturdy horns, he also sported a black pointed tail that lazily swayed behind him. And his stench...the foul smell that would often make you crinkle your nose was replaced with a pleasing fragrance, like a sweet and fruity beverage. It was undoubtedly the work of his spell; everything about him has suddenly become tempting.

At this point you were wishing for the music to return so that you couldn’t hear your thunderous heartbeat as you stopped right in front of him. His hellish eyes observed you from head to toe, holding his chin between his fingers before shaking his head and smirking.

“Ya really couldn’t find a better costume?” He snickered as he got closer and fiddled with your cheaply-made gown. You avoided looking directly into his eyes, afraid of falling into the blood-red depths and never finding your way back out.  “Or do you priests work on a budget?” He pauses when he notices the contents in your pockets. “Oh?” A hand is shoved inside and pulls out a handful of herbs.

“Aww gross! Sneakin’ herbs into the joint?” He winces from the smell before tossing them aside, leaving them to scatter into the unmoving group below.

How? His reaction should have been much stronger…

“Not that this stuff really works when I’m vibin’ in my element, but I’m hurt! I thought we had some trust!” He pinches your cheek, knowing that you’re unable to pull away. “And I thought you knew that I was way out of your league. You’re gonna need the big guns if you plan on keeping me away from my food.” The breath blowing into your face is abnormally hot.

There’s a layer of something otherworldly hidden in his tone whenever he emphasizes his words, like a filter poorly attempting to cover up a monster’s true guttural voice. 

But once again, he switches back to normal, which does nothing to calm you. “But I’m not gonna get mad at some rookie that doesn’t know better, especially one as tasty as you!” Twirling around, he pushes a few buttons on the table that you didn’t even know where to begin to figure out. 

“Sorry about the interruption, listeners!” He says to the crowd, cruelly acting like they have any ability to respond. They continue to stare blankly. “I hope you don’t mind if I switch things up a bit. Your boy is gonna be a little preoccupied during the next few tracks.”

The deafening silence is lifted with the start of a new song, and the people suddenly spring back to life, completely unaware of the mindless state they were in. Their only goal was to keep partying.

Your body was moving again as well, this time bobbing gently to the double and triple beats and low frequencies that vibrate through the floor and up your spine.

This...this was the type of melody you feared, and yet it didn’t affect you any more than the other songs. All of them were traps.

The only way you can think of fighting back is by filling your head with songs of praise. Keep your Lord in your thoughts. He will protect you.

“Tsk...angel, that stuff doesn’t work when I, ya know, already ate a piece of you.” His face tightened from hearing just a few seconds of the holy song in your head. “I told you, ya gotta loosen up a bit. You’re already dancing better than I thought you would!”

He paid no attention to his other prey, instead admiring your simple but energetic movements.

Then he began to move as well, shoulders doing a slow shimmy and following each of your steps with his own, moving closer and closer until he was able to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in.

He’s warm. Not burning or emitting an aura of terrifying darkness. The music suddenly feels softer, easing your fears. Like an intimate embrace. 

“There, it’s not so bad, is it?” He says lowly, lips almost touching your face. “Quit thinking about your big daddy for once.”

You want to protest against the disrespectful nickname for your God, but he predicts your reaction and tightens his hold on your spirit.

“You taste so damn incredible right now, don’t mess it up,” he groans and savors you. With every part of you that is consumed, it becomes harder to resist. It would be so easy to just hold onto him and keep swaying like this, rocking back and forth as his hips press against yours, grinding into you.

The unfamiliar sensation startles you, but Hizashi shuts down your panic with a growl. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’ve forgotten.” he murmurs into your shoulder, breathing deeply to take in your scent. “I’ve been so hooked on the party life that I forgot just how heavenly innocents like you taste. To think that I’d have an actual priest dancing with me, tasting that revelry from such a pure source...pardon my blasphemy, but goddamn.”

You’re swimming through the fiery haze clouding your mind, clawing against it in a desperate search for an opening. But with every beat, the haze thickens and you sink further in.

You couldn’t find the light. No salvation.

More sinful feelings assault you from the friction of his groin against yours, a growing bulge rubbing on your most sacred area. It sends a foreign tingle down there.

“Ooooh, don’t think I can’t feel that, baby” he rasps, holding you so closely in a dance fitting for two lovers. “I can sense everything now that you’ve let me in.”

That angers you enough to find your voice again, just barely. “I didn’t let you in...” You tense from another hard grind. “Foul...beast.”

“Are you sure? You’re giving in pretty easily. It’s nothin’ to feel bad about, I promise. Humans aren’t built to resist life’s basic needs, so I don’t know why the big man in the clouds gets so wound up about it all the time.” 

How dare he.

“Damned snake!” You force your hands to beat against him and push him off. “You will not corrupt me with the Devil’s words!”

He’s actually shocked for a moment, even to your own surprise, but he laughs it off. “Geez, my bad! I guess you are pretty persistent. Must be…” He grabs the cross around your neck, ignoring your horrified gasp. “...this.”

With a sharp yank and a pinch at the back of your neck, your one remaining object of holy protection is removed.

And with its loss, his influence completely overpowers you. The clearness of your senses switches on and off.

The music is muffled. It’s too loud.

The roaming lights are blurry. Too bright.

Are you still moving? Or is your body too heavy?

“It stings a bit, but that little thing can’t do much when the wearer’s already under my control.” An unfocused image of the demon tossing your precious necklace over his shoulder, the necklace you’ve held close to you since the day you first stepped into the cathedral and accepted your role as a righteous defender of man.

Your essence is now being stolen so quickly that it makes you shiver. He shouldn’t be taking this much.

“Mmm, I can’t get enough of this,” Teeth that are too sharp brush against your neck, threatening to pierce your skin. “I’m an old guy, ya know. I’ve done a lot of experimenting over the centuries, to see what I’m into.”

There’s a rip, and your gown is being pulled down along with your wings. It only relieves you from the growing heat of your surroundings.

“Y’see, our daddy isn’t a helicopter parent. He brings us into the world and just...lets us decide what to do. So no, my words ain’t the Devil’s words. They’re just mine, honey. I live for myself.”

Tilting your head, he presses his lips against your throat, making your breath hitch. No, your body is sacred. Don’t let him do this to you.

You don’t even know when the music had changed, but you’ve noticed the club was filled with a synthetic ambiance, the colors switching to magenta and cyan. 

The party demon is so captivated by you that he doesn’t even acknowledge the change in tune. “I used to stalk the depressed. Wasn’t worth it, they were too bland.” He peppers kisses down to your collarbone. “I tormented scared paranoid folk. Fun, but it loses its flavor fast.”

Your bra is removed to expose your breasts to him and the entire populace within the building. Your heart races, but the synths don’t stop seeping into your ears, the bliss wrestling with your fear. 

“Shh, don’t freak out. I’ll make sure everyone forgets everything that happened tonight.” He attempts to reassure you while massaging your newly revealed mounds. “So time went on as I treated my palate to different tastes. Wasn’t long before I realized my favorite vibes were the good ones. Festivals, games, a few buddies hangin’ out,” he lowered himself and flicked your nipple with his tongue. “Or a couple fucking, I ate all of it up. And after a while I decided that I just liked people in general.”

The pleasure felt when your breast is engulfed by the heat of his mouth is shameful. Hizashi moaned at your taste, though you weren’t sure if it was the taste of your flesh or your lust that was exciting him.

“I liked it when humans were having good times, so I figured out how to join in on the fun and damn, how do you guys keep finding new ways to rock out? The prudes keep droning on about how my favorite type of people have lost their way, but I think they’re the ones who found paradise, and they’re not even dead yet!” After nursing on both of your breasts, he rises and grabs your face to turn it toward the crowd. “I mean, just look at how these guys – oh.”

‘Oh’ indeed.

The people were no longer dancing. They were grabbing at each other, at men and women they probably didn’t even know, tearing apart clothes in a vicious urge to fornicate right there on the dancefloor. Some of them were already completely nude. You avert your eyes to stare at your feet instead.

Hizashi cleared his throat. “Whoops. Look what ya made me do, angel. My lust got the best of me!” He held you close while watching the horrid act before him. You’re trying to move your heavy arms to cover your bare body. “No wonder I’m feeling so horny. Think I should make them stop?”

It takes effort to nod your head.

His lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout before going, “Nah. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen an orgy. I bet this is a first for you.”

Something tickles your hips, your eyes wandering over to see the arrow-like point of his tail curling around your white panties, tugging them down.

Part of you already knows that Hizashi is allowing you to struggle for his own amusement. With all of your protection gone, he can easily stop you from swatting at the flexible limb as it brings your final article of clothing down to your ankles.

Wearing nothing but the small strap around your wrist, you want so badly to curl up and hide yourself. You were completely bare on a stage with a demon quietly taking in your form. The contrasting feelings of anxiety and calm threaten to tear your psyche in half.

“Given how anal you guys are about chastity, I think it’s safe to say no one’s ever touched you before?” The way you tense tells him enough. “Alright alright, relax. I’m gonna make this easy for you.”

‘How? By letting me leave?’ You want to say, but your vocal chords aren’t cooperating.

He grinned from ear to ear. “Well, no. I told ya I know everything goin’ on in that head.” He grabs you by the shoulders and places you right in front of his mixer.

There were many suggestive sounds amongst the pile of writhing bodies before you. It was the most depraved sight that you’ve ever witnessed. These people may have been sinners for their immoral pursuits, but they were still victims of a wicked creature’s influence. You wish you could apologize to all of them for failing to protect them.

Slender fingers massaged your shoulders. “Ain’t it beautiful?” He whispers hotly into your ear. “I’m not that crazy about lust, but I can’t resist when it’s coming from someone like you.”

His aura has you shackled on the spot, unable to move or even tear your eyes away from all of the sex. His voice meshes with the increasingly sensual tunes, both him and the music putting you in a deep trance that leaves every nerve in your body extra sensitive.

You’re gently pushed to lean forward until your hands are supporting yourself on the table. The leather of his clothes pressed against your back is irritating, but easily overshadowed by the hands trailing down your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“One of my favorite hobbies was hunting down faithful maidens like you. All demons love doing it, really. You can’t top raw innocence, it’s always a delicacy. It’s the closest most of us will ever get to fucking an actual angel. I managed to fuck an angel, and lemme tell ya, it’s a once in an eternity experience.”

He reaches your mound. There is still fear and an urge to pray, though it’s drowned out by the electronic harmony and all of the hot sex.

“Now she’s a fallen one that hangs out with me. Pretty little devil’s obsessed with sex now. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll give you a visit in your sleep at midnight.”

His fingers reach your untouched folds, making you gasp. You’ve never felt so much lubrication down there before. Was that normal?

“I was really good at the whole corruption thing, so good that I caught the attention of the big holy boys. They were toughies, gotta hand it to 'em. I decided to lay low after that little showdown. That was all a preeetty long time ago.”

The demon’s voice is background noise as you watch deplorable acts that you didn’t even know existed. One woman was taking a cock into her mouth while another man pounded into her from behind. A new male approached and grabbed her free hand, wrapping her fingers around him and encouraging her to stroke him.

Three men pleasuring themselves with the same woman. They were probably complete strangers.

The repulsive sight makes you wetter.

They sure were having fun.

Hizashi hums at your arousal, sinking a digit into your folds. 

“Ah,” you choke on your own voice. His other hand plays with your breast again while you’re being penetrated for the first time. Some sort of flame was growing within you, burning and pleasing at the same time.

“I thought I’ve found my place. Going place to place and bringing in crowds who just want to forget their troubles for a day and groove.”

The finger pushes through your tightly clenched walls, or at least they try to.

“Fuck, relax a bit, babe,” he groans.

You do exactly that, giving him enough leeway to push in and out at a steady pace. You don’t think about the violation, only the strange friction that has no right to feel as good as it does. 

“And then you come along,” An unexpected sharp thrust causes his finger to brush against a spot that fills your vision with even more blinding lights. “It’s not like I was after you or anything. You’re a solid negative ten on the threat scale, but ya just wouldn’t leave me alone!” He relentlessly hits the spot again, and again, until you’re crying out and your legs are shaking. “Then you waltz in here and try to ruin my favorite night of the year?

He’s able to hide his anger as he speaks, but fails to keep it from entering his possessed victims. The orgy becomes more violent, all of the people looking no more civil than savages in torn rags as they try to dominate and fuck each other senseless.

It affects you as well, going by how annoyed you’re getting by his rambling. Can’t he just focus on pleasing you?

His finger leaves you too soon, your cunt already missing the brand new sensations. “Sorry, babe,” he says when he releases you and begins to undo his pants. “Normally I’d spend more time warming up, but I gotta join in on the raunchiness now before I go nuts. Just...do me a favor.”

You whined, wiggling your hips and rubbing your ass against his freed cock. He only chuckles at your impatience.

“Slow your roll, I’ll get started as soon as you push that button riiiight there.”

You push one of the many glowing buttons, and stock phrases are shouted out of the speakers.

“No, the one next to it.”

You press it, and another song begins.

Hizashi hums in approval. “I usually do a smooth transition between songs, but…”

A hard impact knocks you forward with the overwhelming feeling of being completely filled all at once. The stretch and pressure has your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“....Yeah, I just wanted to do that. And-” He yanks the halo off your head and drops it at your feet. “-I always loved the symbolism in that.”

He wastes no time building up. You’re being pounded as hard and consistently as the energetic beat. It should hurt, but the euphoric state of your mind dulls any pain and discomfort. 

With the demon inside both your head and your womanhood, there was no saving yourself. Your prayers wouldn’t even be heard through this thick depraved fog.

“Oh fuck yeah,” He growls loudly with his wild thrusts, hands gripping your hips tightly enough to bruise. “I’ve been missing out. So hooked on the party life that I don’t even remember how it feels to eat up a modest little soul like this.”

Was he still devouring you? You can’t even tell, not while you’re trapped in this melodic dreamworld as his cock rams you.

“Ya mind if we do this again sometime?” He angled himself to ensure he was hitting that sweet spot with each rhythmic pump. Despite his aggression, his hips moved with musical purpose. “Not like you’re much of a priest anymore. You’re fuckin’ a demon, sweetheart. I think the pearly gates have closed for you.”

That sounds sad and all, but God does he feel good. The entire moment was feeling like a hallucination. Your world was saturated with fuzzy images and muffled bass as your virgin pussy was ravaged. The tightened heat in your core was growing hotter by the second.

Hizashi just wouldn’t stop talking even as he became short of breath. “Ah, don’t worry, my doors are always open to misfits!” His rhythm falters a bit when you give him an especially tight squeeze. “Ya like that? I can always wipe your memory of tonight along with everyone else’s, and you can head back home. I just don’t think your next visit to the house of God is gonna end well.”

How does he expect you to care with the way he’s plowing into you?

His arms wrap around you in an embrace. “No pressure, angel. You can decide later. For now, just enjoy the show.”

And finally, he shut up and focused on fucking your divine lights out.

With his pelvis flush against your ass, Hizashi humps with newfound vigor, his thrusts rapid yet precise enough to keep stimulating your most sensitive areas.

The blinding stars in your eyes make it impossible to even make out what’s happening in front of you. A shame, because you want to know if you’re being dicked down as good and hard as the whores on the dancefloor.

The demon may not be talking anymore, but he was still being very vocal about his pleasure with feral moans and growls right into your ear. 

An extra hard slam forces you to nearly topple onto the controls, hands scrambling to keep you upright and hitting several buttons in the process. 

A series of sounds and distortion effects are added to the song.

It unexpectedly riles him up. “Shit, that wasn’t a bad mix, angel. I might have a junior DJ in the making,” he praises.

The tempo changes - different speed and new layers - and Hizashi follows suit by switching his quick bucks into deep thrusts.

The fire inside was close to doing...something. You weren’t sure what it was or what exactly will happen if this lasts any longer, but part of you knows that it’s about to feel very good.

With the head of his dick striking you nice and deep, you quickly learn that you were right.

The explosion of spasms was too pleasurable to even comprehend, each contraction tearing filthy screams from your throat. Hizashi bursts soon afterwards and fills you up with a cry even more lewd than yours.

Just like that, your mind is freed and the weight of his aura is lifted...and you feel gravely tired.

A coldness sweeps over you and saps every ounce of your strength. You find yourself dropping to your knees and falling over as a distant voice expresses genuine worry.

“Oh.......I overfed.” Though it doesn’t sound as panicked as it should.

You don’t want to close your eyes. You fear that something terrible might happen if you do, but your eyelids are quickly becoming too heavy to fight.

“Really sorry, little priest! I didn’t mean to! Look at the bright side - my friends are gonna love ya down there! Home isn’t half as bad as those books make it out to be!”

Each word sounds fainter than the last, but you still catch each one.

Home?

Your eyes shut. 

And the remains of your soul become stained with ash and black before heading downwards into the demonic realm.

Welcome home.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

To Travel Through the World and Not Be Alone (Good Omens Fic)

Last week I asked for some more fluffy prompts, and @sparkkeyper​ suggested Crowley getting flustered and turning into a snake. Well, it looks like I’ve used up all my “Short Fic” mojo for the time being, as the result was over 10k and is available on AO3.

I really, really tried to make this one light and silly, but my brain does not operate that way, and so...a somewhat emotional deconstruction of the trope I guess?

--

Aziraphale stepped out from the dubious shelter of a sharply angled rock, shaking the last of the rain from his wings. Since leaving Eden the weather had certainly become much more variable. Days so hot his skin ached, nights that left him shaking with cold, a dryness that got into his mouth and eyes, and then – quite unexpectedly – more rain! Not as much as the first time, of course, but unpleasant enough.

The demon, Crawly, had been walking by his side, as he generally did, nattering on about the way sand moved in the wind and something about camel noses, but he trailed off as the rain began to fall. Aziraphale had lifted his wing to offer a bit of protection, until he noticed the rock in the distance, just tall enough for two man-shaped beings to crouch behind. Perfect, he’d thought and quickly gave Crawly’s hand a tug, intending to lead him over. Instead, the demon had all but run from him, vanishing into the night without another word.

Odd, that.

Stretching his arms in the bright morning sunlight, Aziraphale took a deep breath. Lovely, really, the slightly moist smell of the air after a rain. He suspected it would be even more pleasant once they found a place a bit more like the Garden itself – lush and green, rather than this endless expanse of sand, stone, and stunted trees.

He could see the humans up ahead, packing up their camp. The shelter they’d found had been no better, and Aziraphale hoped the cold and the damp hadn’t done any harm to the Woman or the child she carried within her. Quite a lot was riding on that yet-unborn human. There was still a chance the whole of humanity could end, now, here, in the blink of an eye. But the Man put a hand on the Woman’s shoulder, and she smiled, shaking her head, and helped him pick up their supplies.

As they moved out, Aziraphale began to follow after, but stumbled as some sort of black shadow twisted away into the brush, moving too quickly for him to make out. His body helpfully supplied a massive dose of adrenaline, which sent Aziraphale’s heart racing.

Steady on, he warned himself. It would take some getting used to, these human instincts, but there was no reason he couldn’t control himself. He was, after all, an angel. Aziraphale forced his breath back into a steady rhythm, expelled the unneeded chemicals from his system. That was better. He squinted at the line of dried-out bushes, then tilted back his head to scan the sky, but whatever had cast the shadow seemed long gone.

Well. Probably nothing important.

Already, the humans were fading into the distance, but it wouldn’t be difficult to keep up. Day by day, the Woman grew larger about the middle, and their pace slowed. The real danger was not accidentally overtaking them, or stumbling across them at rest and revealing themselves.

Both he and Crawly had received orders to observe the humans until their child was born. Not to protect, or disrupt, or involve themselves in any way – simply to observe. As for how to deal with each other – they’d been given no instruction whatsoever.

And so, for the past week, they’d passed their days traveling together, trailing behind the humans unseen. Aziraphale had expected it to be a time of silent contemplation, but Crawly had apparently never heard of such a thing. He constantly pestered Aziraphale with questions, tried to make conversation about topics that, if not technically forbidden, were certainly better left alone. He crouched sometimes, digging around in the sand, never saying what he was looking for. It was an annoyance, but whenever he was out of sight, Aziraphale found himself worrying. What is he getting up to now? And when will he be back?

He found he didn’t like being alone. Which was absurd – he was an angel – a Guardian. Being alone for long stretches of time was part of his job description, his very being. And yet, in the same way his body was programmed to overreact to every shadow, it also needed to have other bodies around, to see them, hear them, possibly even to touch them. Unfortunately, until the Woman delivered her child and Aziraphale was allowed to reveal himself to the humans, his only option was the strange demon who talked too much and wandered off without warning.

Just as Aziraphale was certain he would lose sight of the humans – and was making up his mind to leave without the demon, and let him find his own way – Crawly materialized, stepping out from behind a sand dune and shuffling over to Aziraphale.

“It’s about time,” the angel said in a low voice, ignoring the unwelcome wave of relief. “I hope you’re not planning to leave me waiting for you like this all the time. And where, precisely, did you go?”

“Not far.” Crawly shrugged, not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Anyway. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you? We agreed not to interfere until the child’s birth – these humans been through enough, Crawly, and they don’t need you—”

“Sssss’not that.” His lips twisted as if he’d eaten something sour, then pressed flat again. “Didn’t go anywhere near them. Promise.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he believed that, but up ahead the humans had already vanished into the heat-hazy distance, apart from the flare of the flaming sword and a long line of dark footprints. “If you say so. Keep up now, Crawly, there’s a good fellow.”

--

After two more weeks, their path began to run alongside a stony ridge. The base of it was cool, a little damp, and small flowers grew there, shielded from the sun. The humans had paused up ahead, and so Aziraphale stood watching them, grateful for a chance to rest in the shade.

Crawly, on the other hand, was causing some sort of trouble again.

“Look at these!” He tugged at one of the plants. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

Aziraphale glanced down. Tiny flowers, just a speck of white or red on a thick stem growing out of a mass of green, low but thick. “We had much larger ones in the Garden,” Aziraphale commented. The humans were gathering rocks, it seemed, tapping them against the exposed stone of the ridge.

“Yeah, but look!” He’d been going on like this all day, digging at plants, collecting funny stones, running over to show each to Aziraphale, as proudly as if the demon had created them himself. It didn’t seem to be harmful or wicked behavior, but Aziraphale couldn’t decide what to make of it. “No water, no sunlight, barely even any soil to root in. You wouldn’t think anything could grow here. But they—oops.”

“You killed it, didn’t you?”

“No, just – look I pulled off the flower. The rest is fine.” Crawly wandered over just as the humans seemed to finish their task. The Man took the Woman’s hand – how odd, to walk like that, yet it didn’t seem to slow them down – and together they headed eastwards. Aziraphale stepped out of the shadow of the wall, and bumped directly into the demon. Crawly skittered back, clearly struggling with his own adrenaline, though Aziraphale had mastered that particular unwanted reaction ages ago.

“Terribly sorry,” the angel said, brushing his hands down his robe. Crawly’s dirt-smeared arms had left a mark, but he found he repeated the action more times than necessary. “But, please, Crawly – learn to pay attention to where you stand.” Another brush of his hands. It was soothing, in a way.

“I meant to be standing there.” The demon scowled. “I was going to show you…here.” He thrust the flower towards Aziraphale.

It was a bit unusual. Formed into a little cup, petals strangely thick to store the rare water of the desert. A sturdy little plant, a survivor, but beautiful in its own way. He plucked it from Crawly’s fingers, in order to study it from every angle. Their fingers brushed each other in passing, and Aziraphale found he was rather more aware of the contact than justified for such a minor thing. “It’s…quite nice, I suppose.”

“Good.” Crawly stepped back, fingers twisting in his robe. “Um. You can have that.”

“I see. And…what am I meant to do with it?”

Crawly shrugged. “Whatever you want. Just thought, you know. Flowers. Very angelic. Let’s go.”

He hurried along the ridge while Aziraphale looked at the flower again, fighting back a smile. Did it look better after their now, after their brief exchange of words? He found himself admiring the way the petals faded from dark to light.

“Oi! Angel!” His head jerked up. Crawly had stopped at the same spot where the humans had paused. “Come look at this!”

Tucking the flower into his sleeve, Aziraphale quickly stepped beside him, glancing over to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh, that is…” but words escaped him. Somehow, the humans had made marks in red and yellow, white and black across the stone. Not just marks, shapes.

Aziraphale could see two rough, humanoid figures standing hand-in-hand, one holding a brilliant yellow line. The sun illuminated the rock ahead of the figures, and cast a deep shadow behind. Other, simpler marks indicated parts of their journey – a hint of storm clouds, the line of the Garden Wall, a lion, crouched, ready to pounce.

“I think…” Aziraphale’s gaze traced it, east to west. “I believe this is what they call art.”

“Huh. Thought it was gonna be, y’know. Fancier.”

“Well, they’re just starting out. I’m sure we’ll see improvements soon.”

“Right.” Crawly was digging around in the dirt again, and stood quickly with a lump of charcoal. “Just need to make a few adjustments.” He rubbed the dark, crumbling stone against the ridge, making a black streak some distance behind the two figures.

“Crawly! What are you – you can’t – that isn’t allowed!”

“Oh, what, now it’s forbidden to make marks with rocks? Heaven is nothing but stupid rules these days.”

“No – yes – you’re distorting something the humans created!”

“I’m making it more accurate.” He stepped back, studying the newest figure. Thin and black, legs splayed in a funny way, arms spread by its sides. “That’s me, following behind. Hand me some red ochre, gotta do my hair, too.”

“This is, without a doubt – we’re supposed to be observers, not – not making ourselves part of the – what are you doing?”

Fingers now coated in ground-up lime, Crawly was dabbing another figure onto the stone. Brilliant white, and with a bit more care taken to the limbs, this one stood close beside the black one.

“Adding you, of course. Little me can’t be up there alone.” He glanced at the two human figures, then rubbed at his own one last time, extending the white figure’s arm to end…just where the black’s did.

Hand-in-hand.

“What do you think?” Crawly asked, rolling his neck as if he’d just finished some strenuous task.

“It’s…” Aziraphale stepped closer. “I mean, you really shouldn’t…” His mind raced, trying to think of any response that would be even remotely appropriate. This was a…a gross breach of protocol, surely, and Aziraphale had to…put his foot down, make it clear such things were not acceptable.

Instead, rather without his direction, his hand drifted over to clasp the demon’s.

Once again, it seemed the work gained more beauty the longer he looked at it. And Aziraphale found he was very aware of Crawly’s hand, just as he had been of his fingers. Crawly squeezed his hand, an uncertain, welcoming gesture, and Aziraphale felt a strange tingle, a rush of warmth roiling up his arm, filling his head. He squeezed back—

“Sorry. Gotta.” Crawly dropped his hand and bolted away, back up the path they had just walked down.

“Don’t be ridiculous, that isn’t even—!”

Vanished.

Aziraphale waited a long moment, wondering if he would return. It gave him ample time to study the wall, the little flower. His own hand.

Then, with a sigh, he followed after the humans alone.

When Crawly returned, just before sunset, he didn’t mention running off. Or the art. Or the flower that Aziraphale had carefully set aside on a rock where he had stopped to rest.

Probably best to forget it all, then.

--

More weeks passed, enough that Aziraphale lost count, and the humans came to a river.

Not perfectly clear-blue water running merrily over rocks and under sweeping trees, as they’d had in Eden, but a large brownish affair making its way between steep banks covered in reeds. There were some trees, larger than the ones in the desert, and fruits hung from them for the humans to gather. It was painstaking work, as they grew too high, or over thorny patches. Some fruits were too ripe, others not quite ready. The Woman was also in no state to be climbing trees, so the Man did most of the work, tossing fruits down for her to catch.

“I know we said not to interfere,” Aziraphale said, rubbing his palms together. Another habit that seemed ingrained in the body, but it seemed to help his worries. Perhaps he’d keep it. “But surely it wouldn’t hurt to – to lend a hand, would it?”

“Wuzzat?”

The angel turned, ready to repeat the question, until he saw something that put the humans out of his mind entirely. Crawly had tied his robe up around his knees and was walking along in the river.

“What on earth are you doing, you – you strange creature?”

“It’s hot,” the demon griped, scooping up some water to pour over his head. More of it got on his robes than anywhere else.

“Well, now you’ll be hot and covered with dripping wet clothing, does that really sound more appealing?”

“Don’t know, haven’t tried it.” Crawly reached into the water again, drenching his sleeves. He frowned as they emerged. “No, that’s…heavier. Not very comfortable. But…a little less hot.” He squeezed his sleeve, water dripping back into the river. “Could take the clothing off entirely,” he mused. “That might work.”

“Now you’re being absurd. It isn’t allowed!”

“It isn’t?”

“No! There are – Crawly there are rules.”

“Only for the humans. And look, they’re not wearing nearly as much as I am.” He tugged at his dripping garment again. “I can wrap some leaves around my bottom if that will make you feel better.”

“It’s not about making me feel better! It’s – it’s the principle of the thing. You and I should be setting a good example for the humans, not…not…” He waved helplessly as Crawly arched his back to dip his hair into the water.

“This is a good example! Problem solving! Using the available resources to make yourself more comfortable. If the humans bothered to look back and see us, they might learn a lot.” He flipped his hair forward, spraying droplets everywhere. “You wanna join me?”

“Certainly not.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand at the back of his neck, where itchy sweat was beginning to accumulate. “We have more important things to worry about right now, like—” He glanced back to where the Man lowered himself from the tree, seemingly entirely unharmed. The Woman smiled and handed him a piece of fruit, which he accepted gratefully.

“You know the humans are fine without you.”

That, surprisingly, hurt. Aziraphale found, more and more lately, he had a strong desire to join the humans. To walk beside them, to hear what they said, to laugh when they laughed. When he watched them walk away together, he felt…oddly empty.

An emptiness that vanished when he turned back to Crawly. Much as the demon grated on his nerves, Aziraphale found he enjoyed his company. When he spotted Crawly crouching in the shade of a tree, long fingers scratching at the ground, or scrambling up a ridge of stone to see what was on the top – there was always a bubble of anticipation, an eagerness to see what he’d found, to see that shining excitement in his eyes.

He felt it now, as Crawly waded deeper into the water to investigate a log floating in the current.

“I mean, m’not saying you should give up or anything, but…you can’t spend every day worrying about them. They’ll be fine.”

“Of course I spend every day worrying. I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature to want to help and protect those around me.”

“Ohhhh, is that why you’re always nagging me? Or is it because—”

Without warning, the log split into an enormous, tooth-filled jaw, lunging forward to snap at Crawly. With a yelp, the demon tumbled backwards, kicking water at the revealed crocodile, scrambling back towards the shore.

Aziraphale rushed forward, colliding with Crawly, wrapping one arm firmly over his chest to pull him back to safety; the other hand he flapped at the snapping creature. “Shoo!” he called and, just to be safe, put a note of angelic command in his voice: “WE ARE OF NO INTEREST TO YOU.”

The crocodile snapped its jaws one more time before turning away, lowering itself again to float downriver.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to settle his mind. The adrenaline had flooded him again, but this time it had helped, giving him the speed he needed to react. Perhaps these instincts could be useful, if properly regulated. Unlike Crawly, who still clutched at Aziraphale’s arm, heart racing so that the angel could feel it. He pressed Crawly back a little more firmly against his own chest. “I hope you’ve, ah, learned your lesson.” He wasn’t sure what lesson exactly they should take from this, but he needed to continue his policy of blanket disapproval of all demonic nonsense.

“That thing—” Crawly started, but his voice pinched off, too tight to speak.

“That thing could have bitten your leg off,” Aziraphale chided, brushing Crawly’s torso with his free hand, making sure everything was intact. “I’m not sure if I can heal a demon at all, and I certainly can’t regrow limbs. You must learn to be more careful, my dear fellow.”

His eyes met Crawly’s enormous golden ones, and a heat rose in Aziraphale’s face that had nothing to do with the sun and the desert.

“I, uh…” Crawly very nearly blinked. He tilted his head back a little further and his breath brushed across Aziraphale’s cheek in a startling way.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale let him go, though his arms seemed slow to obey.

Immediately, Crawly scrambled away, jumping into the thickest part of the reeds.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Crawly! Is it too much to ask that you comport yourself with a little…” But when he looked along the riverbank, there was no sign of the demon.

Aziraphale took a good long while to search – until the humans had finished their mid-morning meal and begun walking again – but all he managed to find was the usual wildlife: rodents, reptiles, a few birds.

“Typical,” Aziraphale muttered. Such strange behavior had become increasingly common as they traveled, and the angel had learned by now that if Crawly didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. Best to just keep walking while the demon got over today’s mood; Crawly always managed to catch up in the end.

Sure enough, well after sunset, a dark-robed figure slunk over to the spot Aziraphale had chosen to rest in. “Angel,” he mumbled in greeting.

“And where were you this time?” He felt another wave of relief, but sternly reminded himself not to encourage the demon. “Honestly, I half thought some river creature had devoured you, and it would serve you right for – for disturbing it…”

Crawly didn’t say anything, merely dropped onto the ground and stared at the light of the humans’ fire, far ahead. Not even a glance at Aziraphale.

When the silence had drawn on too long, Aziraphale lowered himself to sit beside Crawly. “I…am glad you’re unhurt, you know.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, so they sat in silence for the rest of the night.

--

“Aha!” Crawly crowed, leaping from one rock to the next, pale skin flashing in the sunlight. “I knew this was going to be better!”

“I’m sure it is,” Aziraphale said as neutrally as possible, trying to keep his eyes on the path ahead.

“You can’t even imagine! I feel so much lighter! I can finally move!” He dropped into the river with a splash, Aziraphale turning quickly to make sure Crawly was unharmed. But, no, he stood in the shallows, tossing water all over his bare skin. “This is…Angel, you have to try this!”

“And why, precisely, would I want to do that?”

“I told you, it feels good. Washes off the sweat and – I dunno. Like the heat can’t touch you through the water. Just come down, I’ll show you.”

“Crawly, get out of there. I’m not about to see you be devoured by wildlife again.”

“It’s ffffine.” But he hopped out, dashing up the path to a fruit tree. Before Aziraphale could say anything, he’d pulled himself up onto the lowest branch.

“Crawly! No, get down, you’ll break your neck and…and…”

“Why do you worry so much?” He pulled himself higher and higher, vanishing among the leaves. “I’m a demon, I’m not going to fall unless I want to.”

“I’ve told you, I’m a Guardian, it’s my nature—”

But surely Crawly couldn’t hear him all the way up there. A head emerged from the crown of the tree, gazing out into the distance as the wind stirred his bright red hair, sending streamers in every direction. He glanced down at Aziraphale and waved and, quite at a loss, the angel waved back.

He almost wanted to join Crawly. Not with the nakedness, though his robes were getting to be something of a burden, ending each day heavy with dust and sweat. But it seemed peaceful up there, cooler. And ever since the incident with the crocodile, Aziraphale had been feeling a strange urge, to be near the demon, to touch him, to ensure that he was safe.

Perhaps it was related to the instinct that compelled him towards proximity to the humans. That made sense; lacking options, his mind was trying to reach out for the only other being available. Though that didn’t really explain the strength of the urge, or why it seemed to grow daily as they spent more time together.

Crawly’s head disappeared. Branches rustled, leaves falling along the riverbank, and suddenly he dropped onto the lowest branch, grinning like he had a secret. “Look, I know you’re hot, Angel. Just admit it.”

“Certainly not! I am perfectly content as I am,” Aziraphale lied, trying to subtly flap the collar of his robes to let in a little air. “Perhaps it is your…Fallen nature, but I am completely immune to the effects of the environment.”

“Are you? Here, catch.” Something flew towards Aziraphale’s head, and his hands barely snapped up in time to grab the oddly shaped, greenish fruit. “I think that’s a pear,” Crawly continued. “Also, pretty sure it’s ripe.”

Golden eyes sparkling with excitement, he grabbed the branch with two hands and leaned back a little with an eager smile.

Aziraphale studied the fruit, turning it over in his hands. Well. No point in being rude, was there? He raised it to his lips and took a bite.

The inside was soft, but not too soft, with an oddly gritty texture. More importantly, it flooded his tongue with a mildly flavored liquid, sweet and refreshing. He’d gotten so used to his mouth being dry, Aziraphale had stopped thinking about the discomfort, but this – this was exactly what he needed. He eagerly took a few more bites.

“Oh,” he finally said, glancing up at Crawly, who still watched from his perch. “This is absolutely marvelous.” He wiped the juice from his chin and smiled.

Crawly grinned back, swinging his legs with a bit too much excitement, but it was an infectious excitement, bubbling up in Aziraphale’s chest with every bite.

Until, suddenly, Crawly’s expression fell, as did he, dropping from the tree to scramble about on all fours, racing back the way they’d come. “Don’t wait for me,” he called when he managed to get his feet under him, and by the time Aziraphale had even turned around, he had vanished again.

Well. At least it was quieter now. Aziraphale took another bite of his pear and continued his walk.

He was, by this point, getting used to Crawly’s unexplained disappearances. He never arrived later than the following dawn, and sure enough he caught up just as the humans were settling down to sleep. Once again, he didn’t say much or even look at Aziraphale, merely crouched on the ground, watching the distant firelight.

The next morning, however, was a different story.

“Ow! Stop that, it hurts.”

“Well, I do apologize, but I need to know what’s wrong!” Aziraphale rubbed his finger again across Crawly’s now bright-red skin, peppered here and there with some truly nasty looking blisters. It was extremely hot to the touch.

“Sssstop!” Crawly tried to wriggle away, but he was firmly trapped: Aziraphale sat on his back, legs pinning the demon’s hips in place, one hand lightly on his shoulder, but ready to press it flat into the dirt if required.

“If you don’t stop moving around, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“You aren’t – this is torture, that’s what it is. Bloody sadistic angel!”

“It would appear you have burns covering every inch of your skin. How on earth does that even happen? What were you getting up to yesterday?”

“Nothing! Just – you saw. Walking around. Wanted some space’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Ngk. Might have. Stretched out on a rock to bask for a bit at noon. Felt good.”

Aziraphale sat, considering the boiled red of Crawly’s back and his own slightly pink hands, the itch at the back of his neck. He’d been working on a hypothesis, and this would seem to be his first clear bit of proof.

“Crawly, I believe you’ve been burnt by the sun.”

“Didn’t go to the sun,” Crawly grumbled.

“This is no laughing matter. I understand burns can cause permanent damage to humans.” He brushed his fingers down Crawly’s spine, carefully avoiding the blisters, but even that was enough to send the demon squirming. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes it hurts! What have I been saying? Are you even listening?”

“I am,” Aziraphale assured him, looking for any spot that was still mostly pale. “How about this?” He pressed fingers into the side of Crawly’s ribs, just under the armpit.

“Ssssssss…not as bad, but yes.” At least he’d stopped struggling, but still Crawly’s fingers curled into the dirt, scraping deeply in the brown clay.

“If I’m right, the burn is the worst in areas that received the most exposure to the sun, and only light or incidental in areas that were shaded or protected.” There weren’t many of those. Crawly was a very thorough basker.

“Wait, really?” He started to twist around to look at Aziraphale, then cringed and looked forward again. “You think human skin can be burned just from being out in the heat?”

“Perhaps. I’m still gathering evidence.”

“Well, the humans aren’t getting burned!”

Aziraphale bit back another remark about Crawly’s Fallen nature. That wouldn’t be helpful here. “I’m not quite sure why that is,” he admitted. “But my own burns are very minor, perhaps theirs are the same. Certainly, they keep to the shade as much as possible, particularly in the hottest part of the day. Meanwhile, you are the first one to spend half the day lying naked in direct sunlight.”

“Not half the day.” Crawly whimpered a little as Aziraphale pressed his shoulders down one more time. “Seems a major design flaw, you ask me,” he grumbled.

“Hush, now.” Aziraphale lifted his hands and rubbed them together, summoning just a thin line of celestial power. “This may sting a little.”

“What? What are you doing now? Everything stings!” Another squirm as Crawly tried to pull free, but there was very little chance of that.

“I’m going to heal you, if you can hold still, you ridiculous thing.”

“Heal me?” Crawly went still and stiff. “Why?”

“Why? Because you’re in pain. What other reason do I need?” He reached a finger towards the worst burn, then hesitated. Could he dilute his power even further? “What did you think I was doing back here?”

“Dunno. Thought you were just…curious. Or wanted to learn for the humans.”

Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale traced his finger across Crawly’s shoulders. It left behind a trail of bright white, which rippled out several finger-widths in every direction, a wave of healing that left behind unburnt skin. He sighed in relief. “Well…there was that, too, but I thought I’d made it clear by now, I have no interest in seeing you come to harm. Even if it is harm by your own doing,” he added, so that Crawly could be sure he wasn’t entirely off the hook for his choices.

“So…you’ll…heal all of it? Entirely? No…leaving scars so I learn my lesson?”

“Crawly! How could you even think such a thing?” He pushed his fingers to the healed skin. It was a bit darker, browner than before, with a smattering of darker spots. “Does this hurt? Or here?”

“No…it’s…it’s good.” He lay his head on the ground, seeming subdued.

“Wonderful. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Down by the river’s edge, the humans finished picking up their woven mats and bundles of food. “They’re getting away,” Crawly muttered as they wandered down the river.

“We’ll catch up,” Aziraphale assured him, carefully applying just a touch of healing along his spine.

“You’re not worried? Thought it was your job.”

He glanced up, taking another look at the Woman, her blossoming belly, the Man helping her step over a patch of rough earth. He did feel an emptiness, a need to follow them, but it felt less important, less urgent, than the task in front of him. He smoothed away a particularly horrid patch of burn, and Crawly murmured with relief, a relief Aziraphale felt in his own chest.

What was this? The human need for proximity, an instinct he still couldn’t control? His own Guardian nature, perhaps, leading him to want to protect the being nearest to him?

Both of these, yes. And something more. Something that made him wish to see Crawly running across the riverbank, carefree and smiling again.

“Why did you disappear so suddenly anyway?” Aziraphale asked, carefully working on Crawly’s arm.

“Nrrrg. Just…wanted to be alone. Don’t you want to be alone sometimes?”

“Well…yes, but…” But I’d thought we were having a good time.

“Aaaaah, s’not fair!”

Aziraphale moved to kneel beside the demon, and Crawly rolled over, sitting up so he could watch Aziraphale heal his legs. “I used to handle actual stars, you know. In my bare hands! Now look, I can’t even stand in the light of one without…this.” He gestured to his still-burned front.

“You were fine for many days, Crawly. You just have to be careful.” The bottoms of his feet were fine, at least. Perhaps the thicker skin had helped protect them. “And, I think, keep your robes on. They seem to block the burning aspect of sunlight.”

“But I don’t want to be careful.” Aziraphale released his foot and Crawly crossed his legs tightly so the angel could start on his chest. “I want to explore. Experience things, everything, now while I can.”

“What do you mean, while you can? The world is going to be here for a good long while, regardless of what happens to the humans.”

“Mmmmph.” His shoulders hunched forward from something unrelated to the pain, and Crawly looked away. “Not supposed to tell you.”

“Ah.” His thumb ran across Crawly’s throat. “Then don’t.”

“I’m not…actually supposed to do anything when the child is born. Just, watch the humans, learn what I can, and then back to Hell until they decide what to do with me.” He shrugged, still not looking at the angel.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s fingers moved slowly across Crawly’s chest.

“Guess I surprised them all, with everything in the Garden. Don’t know what to do now, right? Your side has a Plan. My side needs information, to figure out what to do. So they gave me until the humans have their child, then I go back, tell them everything. Maybe...maybe they’ll send me back to Earth. Maybe they’ll send someone else. Maybe it’ll all get locked up in bureaucracy and they won’t make a decision until everything comes burning down.”

“I see.” Somehow, Aziraphale had assumed they had the same orders.

While the humans were banished from Eden, no Word had come down whether they were to be considered entirely lost. The Archangels had determined that, regardless of the status of the Man and the Woman, it was possible their child had not been completely corrupted. So Aziraphale was to assist in raising the young human, and any others that came along, asserting as much Heavenly influence as possible.

He’d thought Hell would want the same, that he and Crawly would be working…not together, but in parallel. A Guardian and a Troublemaker, guiding the little souls.

“Is that why...you’re always running around...investigating everything? Gathering information for your side?” He kept his fingers as steady as possible, tracing across Crawly’s stomach.

“Nah. Hell barely cares about the humans, you think they want to know about...flowers, and rocks, and little ducks? The way ants follow each other in lines that go on forever? No one gives a shit. I just - I want to see it all. So...I have something to remember when I’m down there again.”

“I see.” Aziraphale wished he had something more to say.

“Except I can’t do everything! Stupid…things…getting in the way. Stopping me from…what I want to do.”

“Well, your time is limited, it’s true.” Careful strokes under the eyes, sending a ripple of healing across his cheeks. That long nose was absolutely covered in tiny darker dots. “But…I don’t think this should stop you from experiencing everything you can.”

“Everything?”

Aziraphale ran his thumb across Crawly’s chin. It wasn’t necessary – all the burns were gone – but he found he couldn’t stop himself. Each touch made him feel…jittery. Electrified.

It was like the human bodies were made for contact, fingertips picking up invisible details, the bristle of little hairs, the flex of muscles at the edge of the mouth. Look, how perfectly his hand slotted on the side of Crawly’s face, cupping his jaw and cheek, thumb moving across the sharp cheekbone.

“Hnnnnngh.” Crawly shoved him back – not hard, but enough to give the demon room to scramble to his feet. “I’ll catch up.”

And once again, he vanished.

Sighing, Aziraphale called in the general direction he’d run off to, “Just make sure you don’t lie about in the sun again, I can’t be doing this every day.”

--

Seasons changed – hotter, cooler, wetter, drier. Aziraphale hadn’t yet learned how to mark the passage of time, but Crawly explained it had been almost half a year, then explained what a year was, then tried to explain how he could tell from the stars, then gave up.

The demon’s newly-browned skin seemed more resistant to the sun, but he still sometimes burned himself if he wasn’t careful. He took to wearing his robes again, but with sleeves pushed up past his elbows. Every few days he slunk back to Aziraphale for a fresh round of healing, staring determinedly at the ground between them while the angel cradled his hands and gently rubbed the burn off his forearms, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Afterwards, he usually scurried off to sit against a nearby tree.

The humans moved more slowly now, not just because the Woman’s child was nearly ready to arrive. Sometimes they would stay in one place for days at a time, experimenting with creating shelters for themselves out of leaves or reeds or branches. When they did move, it was only over short distances, trying a little closer to the trees, then a little farther from the river’s edge.

Aziraphale found he had a great deal more time now, and not much of an idea what to do with it.

He tried keeping closer to Crawly. To keep an eye on the demon, yes, but also because…it felt right. It made the hollowness he felt vanish for a little while, particularly whenever he saw that look in his golden eyes, the burning passion that was woven into every disrespectful question, every ill-advised endeavor. It was unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen before. More and more, he found he could hardly look away.

He felt he needed to do more. When Aziraphale found a new and interesting type of berry, he wanted to share with Crawly, find out what he thought. When he greeted the demon on returning to their resting spot, he wanted to straighten his robes, his hair, rub a bit of dirt off his cheek. When they sat, he wanted to move closer, until their fingers brushed, until the warmth of another body tickled down his side.

And yet, any time he indulged one of these whims, the need for more only grew stronger.

Disgraceful, really. Maddening. If this was some sort of human instinct, perhaps he should return to Heaven and have the body adjusted. He could ignore the body’s need for sleep, for food, for almost anything else - there was no reason this one instinct should be so much more powerful than the rest, unless something was wrong.

Besides, his actions tended to send Crawly scampering off again, vanishing for most of the day.

It was very hard not to follow.

--

After the half-moon set, Aziraphale had very little to do apart from watching the banked fire in the distance and waiting for the sun to rise. Crawly wasn’t talking, for once, lying on his back nearby, either studying the stars or drifting off to sleep.

Aziraphale thought he saw some movement in the human camp, shadows at the edge of their shelter. They sometimes woke before dawn, but rarely did much apart from hold each other and talk in soft voices. Seeing it always made Aziraphale’s arms itch in a strange way. But there seemed to be too much movement this time.

“Crawly. Crawly!”

“Whaaaaa?” He shifted in his awkward, ungraceful sprawl but didn’t turn his eyes away from the stars.

“Can you see anything?”

“Mmmmh?”

“The humans!” It was Aziraphale’s angelic instincts this time, his Guardian mind telling him something was wrong, that he was needed. “Something is going on over there, but I can’t quite make it out.”

Slowly, too slowly, Crawly rolled onto his side and glanced at the shadowy figures. “S’fine. Just moving those reed mats around.” He slumped back, wriggling around again. “You think those things are comfortable?”

“They’ve been using them every night, so I imagine they are.” Aziraphale kept his eyes on the distant figures, even though Crawly seemed to have lost interest already.

“Cuz this ground. S’really starting to make my back hurt.” He arched his spine, stretching. “Another design flaw, you ask me. S’like this body isn’t even made to be bipedal. Hurts if you walk too much, hurts to sit, hurts to lay on the ground.”

“My back doesn’t hurt,” Aziraphale lied piously. “Perhaps you’re just using it wrong. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to just…fling your limbs all over like that. Not to mention the way you walk.”

“What’s wrong with the way I walk?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said, a little too quickly, pressing his lips together. Lately, Crawly had been trying to swagger, but he hadn’t quite gotten it down yet. It was more a meandering progression of flailing limbs, an embarrassment to watch, and Aziraphale always had an almost overwhelming urge to pull Crawly against him and tell him to stand still.

“S’right. Nothing wrong with that.” Crawly turned back to the stars again, deep in thought.

A flare of light drew Aziraphale’s attention, but it was just the Man building up the fire a bit, crouching outside the shelter. Unusual, he supposed, but everyone got restless sometimes. Seeing the flames reflected off the Man’s dark skin, Aziraphale felt himself relax. He wasn’t needed here, a thought that was both soothing and slightly disappointing.

A few more pokes at the fire, and the Man picked up another woven mat and carried it back inside.

Aziraphale could just make out the shadowy shape of the Man offering the mat to the Woman, shifting her onto it to lay more comfortably. Once again, Aziraphale felt that itch in his arms, that ache in his chest for a warmth that had nothing to do with fire. He was often alone, in the Garden, in Heaven – but only now, wandering the world, did it have a physical effect on him. Aziraphale wondered how much longer he could bear it.

He glanced over at Crawly, and for some reason remembered a pear offered on a hot day. It wasn’t wrong to give his body the refreshment it needed. Even if the offer was made by a demon. Surely, surely if his body had a comparable need for contact, there was no harm…

Aziraphale made a decision and rose to his feet.

“Here, this should make you more comfortable.” Crawly twisted around, and Aziraphale smiled a little at the shocked expression that crossed his face. The angel shook out the mat he’d miracled up, making it snap in the wind. It was modeled after the ones the humans used, but better; Aziraphale had a little insight into materials they hadn’t yet found in the world, ones that would be a bit softer, provide a little more support.

“Angel, what are you—?”

“You’ve complained enough for one night, haven’t you? I know how to take a hint.” One more shake and the mat stretched across the ground. “Go on. See if this makes your back feel any better.” He crouched on the ground beside it and smiled encouragingly.

“Look…s’not that bad. I was just. Making conversation.” Crawly rolled onto his side, but still eyed the mat as if it might turn into a crocodile.

“Fine. Let’s make conversation. I’ve designed a new sleeping mat and would like your opinion.” He pressed his hand against it, showing how the mat compressed slightly. “Do you think the one is enough? Sometimes the humans pile a few together, but that might not provide much advantage. Come, now, I want to know your thoughts.”

Crawly’s eyes finally flicked up to look into Aziraphale’s face, then shot back down to stare at the mat again. “It’s, ah…” Crawly ran one finger along the soft surface. “It’s big enough for two.”

“Is it?”

Aziraphale doubted his tone sounded as casual as he meant it. Already the heat was rising in his face. It was, of course, a foolish idea. And painfully obvious. But these human bodies were not designed to go for half a year with only minimal physical contact. He craved it, like he craved food, rest, a comfortable seat, and he just…very much needed to feel…closeness.

He’d thought he could resist it. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

“You don’t sleep.”

“You do.” He’d seen how the humans slept, the Man pressed against the Woman’s back, arm across her protectively. He thought about it at night, and sometimes during the day. There was no reason Aziraphale should want that, no reason he should have any desire to protect a demon, and yet…he did.

“I nap. During the day. When it’s hot.”

“There must be a reason they sleep at night.” Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing his hands on the mat. It was more than just a physical need. He wanted to see Crawly smile. Wanted to feel him slowly relax inside the circle of his arms, trusting and content. He wanted to whisper secrets in the darkness, like the humans did. They had no need to whisper, there was no one to overhear, and yet they did, and Aziraphale wanted to know why. “Let’s find out. You’re the curious one.” Hands a little closer, until they almost touched Crawly’s. “You told me you want to experience everything.”

“Tempting me?” Crawly didn’t smile. He looked tense, almost panicked. Aziraphale lifted a hand to reach towards him, and the demon flinched. “I…I can’t.”

Aziraphale’s stomach plummeted, a wave of shock, of disappointment, of shame. “Crawly…”

No. He wouldn’t argue. What more was there to say? This was his foolishness, Crawly had rejected it. There was no need to drag things out. “Of course.” A wave of his fingers, and the offending mat was gone. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

Crawly still looked away, past the human encampment, away across the endless expanses of desert.

“I…didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said. No wonder Crawly always fled from him. He needed to learn…boundaries. Needed to learn control. His fingers had already reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind Crawly’s ear, but Aziraphale forced them to stop, hovering in the empty night. “It was never my intention to—”

Crawly grabbed his hand and, fast as anything, pressed his lips to the knuckles. Then, just as suddenly, he surged to his feet and started walking away.

“Wait!” He hadn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel pulled him back, so sharply Crawly nearly fell. “Don’t just – we need to talk about this, Crawly! What I’m feeling – I don’t understand it, but – if you feel it too—”

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re…let me go!”

“Crawly, please!” Aziraphale still knelt in the dirt, clinging to the demon’s hand in confused desperation. “Yes, these – these human emotions are confusing and intense, but we can’t just ignore them. It was foolish of me to try and act on them, but—”

“Don’t talk to me about human emotions, Angel, you have no idea—”

“Then tell me!” Aziraphale squeezed his hand, wishing Crawly would look at him. “Regardless of – of everything else, Crawly, I want to help. I care about you!”

The words seemed to echo through the empty plain, across the river, up to the stars above.

It really was that simple wasn’t it? Human emotions and Guardian instincts and everything else aside, Aziraphale had simply come to…care about his enemy.

“You—!” Golden eyes turned back, wide with shock. “You said – But I’m—”

Crawly jerked his hand free, stumbled back two steps, and fell.

Except that what landed on the ground was not a red-haired, pale-skinned demon, but an enormous black serpent with a red belly.

“…Crawly?”

The serpent stared at him a moment, then shot out across the desert.

“No, get back here!” Aziraphale ran after him, fast as he could go, but the black shadow moved too quickly. “Crawly, wait!” Already he was vanishing into the night. “Crawly, please! Let me help you!”

But the serpent had vanished, as Crawly always did.

Aziraphale found his legs were shaking, trembling, until he could hardly stand. Even tugging his sleeves and smoothing his robes was not enough to set things right. He stumbled across the brown sand to sit on a rock, trying to make sense of it all.

Two puzzles presented themselves: What had he just seen? And what had he just said?

I care about you. And not in a…Guardian Angel way, aloofly wishing to ensure his charge’s safety. This was something different, something not at all of Heaven. He thought of the way the humans took care of each other, as equals. Not just providing safety, but happiness, and taking it from the other in turn. There was a gentleness in their actions, hiding a deep burning passion that would quite possibly consume an angel. He certainly didn’t feel that for Crawly, but…could he? Was this how it started?

What he felt just now was worry. He knew Crawly had come to Earth as a serpent, of course, had seen that with his own eyes. He didn’t think the transformation had harmed Crawly, but…it wasn’t supposed to happen. His shift to a human form was supposed to be permanent.

And the way Crawly had transformed…the suddenness…his distress beforehand…it hadn’t seemed entirely voluntary.

As he sat there thinking, one long streamer of shadow detached itself from the night and slid closer, coiling itself by his feet.

“Crawly?” Familiar golden eyes reflected the light of the stars as the serpent’s head rose. “Can you still understand me?”

Slowly, the serpent – Crawly – nodded, then tilted his head to the side. Yes, but not well, Aziraphale guessed. That made sense; this form didn’t have ears, and demonic senses could overcome only so much.

“Are you hurt?” Crawly shook his head. “Can you…change back?” Another shake, and he looked up at the stars, slowly progressing across the sky. Not yet.

“Why…” Too many questions, buzzing around Aziraphale’s mind. Crawly was the one who knew how to handle questions. Where to even begin? “Why did you run away?”

“Sssssshame.” It was hard to make out the word in the hiss.

“Shame? But why would you feel…” Aziraphale slid off his rock, kneeling next to Crawly. “There’s…you don’t have to be ashamed.” The serpent pulled back, coiling into himself, tucking his head somewhere along his body until everything appeared to be a black knot of night.

“No, listen. I’m the one who should be ashamed.” Aziraphale reached a hand towards the cool black scales, but stopped just shy of them. “I…I have behaved reprehensibly. Saying…all manner of things. Touching you when you didn’t want to be touched. And my actions tonight…no. It was my choice to – to indulge, to explore these new emotions, but I never should have attempted anything without seeing if you felt the same. Crawly, I never wanted to upset you…”

As he spoke, the narrow head emerged from the coils and shook, indicating a negative.

“No? Am I…wrong about something?”

A nod, but Crawly wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Something worse, perhaps? “Can you…tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Ssssss.” This time he could decipher nothing.

“That…let’s try another way.” Once again, Aziraphale stretched out a hand. Crawly pulled back his head, looking at it uncertainly until Aziraphale lowered it back to the ground. “Sorry. You don’t want to be touched, do you?”

A nod, followed by a complicated ripple down fifteen feet of serpent that might have been a shrug.

“Alright. Let’s see…did this happen all those times you ran off?” A nod. “And…do you have any control over it? Changing to this form, I mean.” A shake. “What about changing back?” A head tilt and another rippling shrug. What did that mean? Some control? He wasn’t certain if he had control?

Well, that wasn’t important right now.

“Do you know what…causes this?” Nod, again not meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. “Can you tell me?”

“Sssssssss.” A defeated head shake.

“Well…I know it was usually when we were talking, or when I…reached out or…” He swallowed. “It’s my fault?” Of course it was. It was so blindingly obvious. Foolish Principality, invading Crawly’s space again and again, driving him away, forcing him to change form.

But Crawly shook his head frantically. “Sssssss.” This one sounded frustrated. “Ffffffff. Fffffeeeel.”

“Feel?”

“Ffffeeeel. Hhhhhhaby.”

“Feel happy? Feel…Crawly, are you telling me you – you change into this form every time you feel happy?” A nod, this one eager. “But you’re always happy! Or most of the time. Not tonight, though, you were very sullen and…”

But Crawly shook his head again. “Hhhhhhhaby.”

“You were happy?” Nod. “That…I came over with that mat and…?” Nod. “And that I said I…care about you?” Nod, and his snout moved a little closer to Aziraphale’s face.

“So, you change when you’re happy. Very happy, I assume.” Nod. “And…I’m the one who…?” Another nod, this one looking more embarrassed.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, feeling strangely pleased that he could have this…incomprehensible effect on another being. Oh, it wasn’t something to be proud of, but it made that warmth surge inside, to think that of all the things that made Crawly happy...

“Ah. But. Um. Why change? You said it wasn’t because you wanted to.” Head shake. “Then why?”

“Sssssss.” Crawly drooped. Whatever it was, he couldn’t explain it in this form.

“Never mind then.” Aziraphale stood up again, dusting off his robes. “Ah. How long to change back? You’re usually gone for hours.” A nod. “Oh.” Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder, back towards the human encampment. Surely…they would be fine on their own…for one night. “Should I stay with you?”

“Ssssssssssss.” The serpent pulled back into his coils again, but, after a long pause, emerged to nod slightly.

Aziraphale smiled, settling back onto the rock. “It’s my pleasure, dear fellow. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Ssssss.” Crawly reached forward and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. “Ssssss?”

“Oh.” Serpents were, after all, much simpler creatures than humans. A human body needed many things to be happy, physically, mentally, and emotionally, as Aziraphale was rapidly learning. But a snake only desired heat. “Yes. Of course.”

Crawly darted forward, twisting himself up Aziraphale, wrapping around his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, tail twisting down around one leg, head coming to rest by his cheek. Aziraphale managed to get one arm free, the other pinned against his ribs. A squeeze went through Crawly’s body, gentle and brief, as he settled into place. “Ffffffffffine?”

“Yes, this…this is perfectly fine.” He scratched one finger carefully on the back of Crawly’s head. The serpent leaned into it, then shook free to tuck his head under Aziraphale’s chin. Another brief ripple of a squeeze, before bit by bit Crawly drifted off to sleep.

“Have pleasant dreams,” Aziraphale said, fingers stroking the black scales wrapped around his belly.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined. And yet, Aziraphale did spend the night with Crawly pressed tightly against him. He did provide his companion with comfort and safety.

Not at all how he’d thought it would happen, but Aziraphale was still radiantly happy.

--

“Itsssssstupid,” Crawly muttered, still lisping a little after his change back.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Just tell me.”

Crawly had awoken just as the stars had begun to fade, quickly twisting free of Aziraphale to transform back into his usual shape. He’d explained, somewhat embarrassed, that sleeping usually helped him change back quicker, and that sometimes he even woke up back in his humanoid form. This had presented Azirapahle with a very interesting mental image that he didn’t have time to indulge just now.

Crawly walked beside him, golden eyes darting in the pre-dawn light, reading Aziraphale in an instant before turning to stare at the ground again. “It isssss.” Crawly clenched his jaw and continued more carefully. “Sspent too long in the sserpent body. All that time in Hell. But. Ssnakes don’t…have emotions. Not like human bodies. Sso…I get…overwhelmed. And I can’t hold my shhhape anymore.”

“I see.” Aziraphale carefully studied Crawly out of the corner of his eye, almost afraid to look at him straight on. “And all those times you ran away?”

“I can ssort of…feel it coming. I have a little time to get away, but there’ss nothing I can do to sstop it.” He swallowed, seeming angry with his own mouth. “Stop it.”

“But why would you need to get away?”

“Ngh. I mean. You’re the enemy, I’m not supposed to…” Aziraphale couldn’t hide his pained expression fast enough, as Crawly’s eyes flicked over again. “And…it’s embarrassing. Don’t want to be that snake anymore. This is me now. This body.” He took a breath. “I…didn’t want you to think less of me. Because I can’t control myself.”

“I would never!” Aziraphale stopped walking entirely, but managed to fight down the urge to grab Crawly’s shoulders. “My dear fellow, we’re both learning to control ourselves here. You might be struggling with it physically, but I assure you…” He thought back over the choices he’d made since leaving the Wall. Things he’d said, ways he’d reached out and pulled back with almost no warning. Blaming it on urges and instincts, but he could have resisted if he’d wanted to, could have spoken about his feelings, could have done many things that were better, wiser, kinder. “I thought there was…something between us. Some understanding. But I was completely unaware of your struggles the whole time. I have been abominably selfish.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Crawly watched his toe trace lines in the dirt. “I think this…whatever it is, that makes you act the way you do and makes me so…mind-numbingly giddy I can’t keep my shape…I mean. It’s meant for the humans. We’re the first angel and demon to feel it. Of course it isn’t easy.”

“But…you do feel it, too?”

“Think so, yeah.”

Aziraphale tried to fight back the smile, but there was no stopping it. He turned away, preserving at least a little dignity. “So…what do we do about it?”

“Dunno.” Then, softer, “I want to touch you. Your hands, your face. I’d only...you know…but I want to.”

“I as well. It’s…I’m resisting but…it seems to grow harder every day.” He smoothed his hands down his robe. “Do you suppose it will always be this way? Between us? With every being we spend enough time around?”

“I hope not. It wouldn’t feel as…important if it were common. And it’s…distracting. I miss just talking.”

“As do I.” Aziraphale turned back in time to see Crawly’s smile. “I suppose…if it’s a question of the human-shaped corporation, you could always have it adjusted. Remove the troublesome emotions.”

“No!” The vehemence of Crawly’s voice startled him. “Aziraphale, that’s the last thing I want. I told you before, I want to – to experience everything this world has, including stupid human emotions. I don’t need them taken away I need…I need to build up a tolerance.” He nodded, staring ahead. “That’s it. A little at a time until…until…”

“Until you can feel whatever you want. Without���repercussions.”

“Nh. Don’t know how I’ll pull it off but..yeah. It, ah…” Another quick glance. “What about you? Probably help with your angelic duties if you didn’t have to worry about…all this.”

“It probably would.” They started walking again, slowly, side by side. “But I think…I think I would also like to experience all this world has to offer. And I can learn to control myself.”

They continued in silence for a little while, each lost in his thoughts.

“Do you think it will take much longer?” Aziraphale asked, twisting his fingers.

“You definitely need to learn patience, Angel.” Crawly grinned. “Yeah. Um. Remember when I tried to explain what a year was? Probably lots of those.”

“Ah. Is there…anything I can do to help?”

“Ngk. Well. You—”

A high-pitched scream echoed from the camp ahead, long and drawn out.

“The humans!”

They both took off at a run.

--

In the end, despite half a year of careful observation, Aziraphale and Crawly did very little. By the time they arrived it was nearly over; by the time they’d finished awkwardly re-introducing themselves – and convincing the Man not to skewer them on a flaming sword in a blind panic – there wasn’t much to be done except provide encouragement.

The Child was born, a healthy young boy who shouted quite indignantly at the inconvenience of it all.

The human race had truly begun.

Much later, as the Man and Woman rested, Aziraphale held the tiny baby in his arms. The boy had settled down somewhat, now that he was wrapped tightly and warm, and looked in danger of falling asleep in the angel’s arms.

“How does it feel?” Crawly asked, sitting at the edge of the camp.

“Oh, I can’t – it’s incredible, Crawly. I know he’s just a little thing but – I can feel it, his presence, his potential. Everything he can be, good and bad, and it’s just—” The baby opened his mouth in a wide yawn. “��It’s adorable.”

“You’re pathetic,” Crawly said, but with a smile, rising to stand closer, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder at the Child. “So? Everything there? I know you spent about an eternity counting fingers and toes. Didn’t think it took that long to get to twenty.”

“They’re just the most precious little things! Look – look at his ears.”

“I’m looking.” One hand stretched out uncertainly, tracing along the Child’s cheek. The baby turned his head immediately, searching, sucking on the fingers he found. “Look at that. Not even a day old, searching for food, trying to survive. They just…they just keep going, huh?”

“I suppose so.” Holding the Child filled an emptiness in Aziraphale he hadn’t known was there, not the strange magnetism that drew him to Crawly, but that deep desire for connection, the need to walk with the humans, to be known. Accepted. Though it wasn’t all that different, he reflected. Two sides of the same…two-sided object. A need to not be alone. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Angel…” Crawly’s hand drifted back to the Child’s head, resting on the nest of dark downy curls. “Aziraphale. I really don’t think I can.”

He turned around, and was surprised to see tears in Crawly’s eyes.

“Sssstupid, huh? Child’s got nothing to do with me. But…” He turned abruptly and walked away from the camp.

“Crawly, wait!”

“Nope. This was it, Angel. Just on Earth until the kid was born.” He turned back and shrugged, arms spread wide.

“That doesn’t mean you have to go now.”

“I can feel them calling already. In here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Longer I wait, more likely they’ll send someone to get me, and that’ll just be...messy. And what am I supposed to do now, anyway? Sit here and watch you...carry him around...wishing I could...” He bit his lip. “What would be the point?”

“But…but I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought, too. But what can we do?” Crawly looked down at the ground, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Look. Take care of them, alright? They don’t need your help. They’re smart. But…be kind. S’what you’re best at.”

“But…” Aziraphale looked down at the future of humanity in his arms. “Is that enough?”

“It’s everything.” Crawly stiffened, clenched his fists. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale took a step forward, and immediately the Child started fussing, sensing his anxiety.

“Well. Guess it’s not just happinessssss.” He swallowed hard, clearly fighting something. “Look. Angel.” Crawly walked back to hover beside Aziraphale again. “I – I really liked working with you. I hope…If I get another chanccccce…” He shook his head, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s cheek.

It spread across his face, a warmth, a blush, a smile, blooming like a flower.

Aziraphale turned his head, catching Crawly’s lips with his own. He’d seen the humans do this from afar, and he’d wondered why, but now…

Now he knew.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Crawly was gone, and a large black snake slithered away, fast as a shadow.

The Child started to cry. Aziraphale rocked him, bounced him a little. “No, dear, don’t worry. We’ll see him again.” The taste of Crawly was still on his lips, new and intriguing. “Nothing ends today. This is the beginning of our story.”

--

Thank you for reading! If that ending wasn’t satisfying enough, I recommend the fic Snuddles (Snake Cuddles) as a very distant epilogue.

[undertaker1827]

Hi, I really like your masterlist. If it's okay could you please write 14 for our demon trash can? (I swear I still love Sebastian). Thank you very much 🙏❤

Of course!! And thank you! Prompt in bold

This isn’t really fluff until the end I’m sorry

Masterlist

❗️Warnings; violence (canon-typical) ❗️

-

“Why are you trembling?”

You swallowed hard, mouth parched and throat scratchy. You tried hopelessly to even out your breathing, to make it seem like you were confident. Like you knew what you were doing. You thought you had, to begin with.

It was a game. Just a game - a harmless bit of curiosity you couldn’t quench. Sebastian had a habit of disappearing sometimes, when you were supposed to have a nice evening together. You were well aware of his master and how insufferable he was when it came to Sebastian obeying his orders, but you could never understand why the lord would suddenly summon his butler ‘as a matter of urgency’ so often in the middle of the night. You had decided there was more to it than stoking the fires or replenishing candles; after all, there were other servants in the manor who could those tasks. Sebastian, brilliant as he was, had to be needed for more than just the menial tasks. It had to be something important.

This particular evening, when you had just been talking quietly and enjoying each others’ company, an owl had arrived at your open window, a message tied to its leg. This appeared to be Phantomhive’s preferred way of getting Sebastian’s attention and no sooner had the butler read the letter than he was gone, black clothes and hair blending in perfectly to the moonless night. He had given his customary farewell - a gentle apology, a kiss to the cheek - then departed at once for the manor. This time though, you had decided to follow.

You knew from experience how good he was at sensing others around him, so you took every possible precaution in getting to the manor. By the time you got outside, Sebastian was, miraculously, well and truly gone - you hadn’t even considered how he had managed it so quickly, with no horse or a carriage and certainly no train. Ultimately though, it worked in your favour, as you arrived at the Phantomhive estate undetected. You wished now that you had been seen. You watched as Sebastian and the other servants arrived at the door, the lord arriving soon after and entering a carriage which the butler was to drive. You deduced from the direction in which they drove that they were heading back into central London, so once again left before anyone noticed your presence, taking various shortcuts until, by chance, you stumbled across the abandoned carriage the duo had been in moments before. From then on, you just guessed your way to their location, once again remaining unseen, by what could only be described as dumb luck.

You had gone in the first place wondering what on Earth the lord could want Sebastian for in the middle of the night, just to satisfy your curiosity. Never in your wildest dreams could you imagine this. When you finally caught up to them, it was in an alleyway. Two men faced the butler and the earl, and Phantomhive had a loaded gun pointed straight at them. Evidently, neither noticed a third man to the side of the earl, a knife brandished and ready to attack him, when from nowhere appeared Sebastian. He had moved far too quickly for anything human and in seconds had lifted the man from his feet by the mere collar of his shirt, the knife blade snapped cleanly from the hilt and both discarded on the ground by Sebastian’s polished loafers. Your eyes widened as the first two charged the boy, whose gaze had flickered for a moment behind him, but again, the butler was there.

A swiftly delivered kick to each had them both thrown against the opposite wall, unconscious bodies crumpling to the cobblestone. The third man was now on his knees, begging for mercy, for his life, the terror of thousands rooted deep in his words.

“Sebastian.”

The man’s plea cut off suddenly.

Sebastian turned to look at the earl, and in the dull shine of a street lamp, his eyes glowed crimson.

“My lord.”

You fled in terror when those eyes turned to you.

“Why are you trembling?” You took two steps back for every one Sebastian took forward, quickly running out of room in your small apartment. The butler’s hands landed either side of your head on the wall you had backed into, though his face displayed a polite, of not utterly false smile. “How much did you see, exactly?” He asked calmly, as if you were discussing the evening’s tea options. “Everything, I assume?” You could barely force yourself to nod. “I see,” he murmured softly, amber eyes bearing the merest hint of the blood red you had seen before. Fear made you launch into feverish apologies as you pressed yourself further against the wall, trying desperately to put distance between you. You yelped in spite of yourself as his arms encircled you, only to hold you close to his chest as he rested his chin on your head. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it and your breaths were so short that you were barely taking in oxygen.

“I’m a demon, if you were wondering,” he stated, tightening his grip just a little. His embrace was starting to feel like a cage. “Now the young master sent me here to ensure you’d keep quiet about this evening’s events, my dearest, but it is quite clear to me that I’ve terrified you enough already. Suffice to say that I’m sure you can imagine the position you would be in should you breathe a word of this to anyone.” You nodded frantically and Sebastian hummed in agreement. “In any event, I do hope you can look past what you’ve seen tonight and come to realise this has always been a part of me, you just didn’t know it. I’m no different now than I was before.” When you realised he was going to say nothing more, you tried to gather some courage from deep within you. You loved Sebastian, you trusted him, but this had thrown you entirely.

Tentatively, nervously, you placed your arms around him, hands resting on his upper back as you buried you face into his shoulder, still not daring to say anything. Feeling you relax a little, Sebastian allowed a hand to gently run over your spine, the other held flat between your shoulder blades. He let out a small breath.

“Are you alright?” You thought about it for a moment, ran through the imagery of the alleyway, but then thought of all the time you had spent with the butler. How kind and caring he had always been towards you and how you had felt about him just moments before your decision to follow him. It occurred to you that if Sebastian not telling you he was a demon was him being untrustworthy, then you had more than repaid the butler by sneaking out after him. At length, you nodded again.

“I will be.” He smiled a little, then left a quick, small kiss on your hair before leaning down to you and squeezing his arms on more time.

“I’m glad.”

[pxningfo0l]

Craving for more.

PLEASE DON’T COPY ON OTHER SITES.

Fandom: MHA

Ship/Pairing: Kirishima/Bakugou

Genre/Rating: kinda angsty? not really? it’s just fluff and stuff. Also jealousy.

if you wanna read on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416458

Katsuki huffs, staring at the ceiling and willing his mind to just shut the fuck up already. It does nothing to help him.

It’s way past his bedtime, Katsuki doesn’t need to know what time it was to know that. He’d been exhausted, ready to collapse onto his bed and sleep for eternity, but the second he got comfortable in his bed, his mind decided now was a good time to think about everything, and nothing.

It annoyed the fuck out of him. He tossed and turned, and growled to himself. He just couldn’t sleep.

Eventually, he groans, more loudly and dramatic than necessary. He bolts from his bed, shoving his duvet roughly. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes tightly, then running a hand through his messy blond locks, he paces around his room.

He considers working out, then decides he’s not bothered enough for that. Watching videos and movies until he falls asleep? Nah.

Katsuki stops pacing, gazing at the door. Maybe a cup of tea could help.

He opens the door slowly, careful not to make too much noise. He slowly makes his way to the kitchen, but freezes in his tracks when he hears something.

Voice. Hushed voices.

Feeling the strange need to be unseen, Katsuki tiptoes to the kitchen. He stops at a safe distance, and cranes his neck to see-

Red.

Red hair. Kirishima.

And he’s talking to someone. Someone with annoyingly bright green hair.

Something twists in Katsuki’s gut. He leans closer, trying to hear what Kirishima and Deku, of all people, were whispering about. Gritting his teeth when he can’t hear them at all.

Then, he registers Deku’s pale body tremble, and Katsuki immediately knows that the nerd is crying. He’s proven right when he hears a pitiful sniffle.

And Kirishima- stupidly supportive, friendly, caring, Kirishima Eijirou- smiles wistfully, and pulls Deku into his arms.

The twist in Katsuki’s gut worsens. Liquid fire rushes through his veins, and the need to seperate the two overwhelmed him suddenly. It didn’t make it any better that Deku was so short he reached Kirishima’s collarbone, and it certainly didn’t lessen the feeling when Deku’s arms came to wrap around Kirishima’s middle.

Hugging. They were hugging. Deku’s face was buried in Kirishima’s chest and he was shaking and crying, and Kirishima was humming softly, moving his hand in an up and down motion on Deku’s back.

Katsuki felt sick. He felt nauseous. He was going to fucking puke. He needed them to seperate, and he needed it now.

He considers exploding something, preferably Deku’s stupid face, but then, he blanks when Deku moves out of Kirishima’s grip, and his teary eyes flicker to him.

Feeling himself go stiff, Katsuki doesn’t say a word. He narrows his eyes, daring Deku to say anything.

Deku does end up saying something, but he doesn’t mention Katsuki, much to his great relief. Katsuki knows this because the green-haired boy smiles at Kirishima, something that makes Katsuki feel slightly sicker. He pats the redhead on the shoulder, saying something along the line of “goodnight,” or whatever. Then, green eyes flicker to him again, and Deku starts walking towards his direction.

He stands completely still, not moving but glaring daggers at Deku, who offers him a small tired smile, eyes crinkling in a way Katsuki considered knowing, and he hated it. It made him feel exposed, like Deku knew everything about something Katsuki didn’t even know himself.

Deku leaves. Katsuki finds himself staring at Kirishima, who’s back is turned to him. He watches Kirishima sigh heavily, shoulders slumping, and Katsuki has barely enough time to react because Kirishima in then turning around.

Garnet eyes meet his. Katsuki’s heart skips a beat.

Kirishima blinks at him. Katsuki blinks back.

“Dude.” Kirishima breathes, running a hand through his red hair. Katsuki briefly wonders if it’s soft. “You scared me.”

Katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes. He steps into the kitchen, walking passed Kirishima and dutifully ignoring the remaining twist in his gut. He gathers the things to make the tea, ignoring the way he felt eyes drilling into his soul.

“How long were you there?”

He doesn’t face Kirishima, but his movements falter, just for a brief moment. “Not that long. Why do you care?”

It’s more a demand than a question, but Katsuki’s curiosity is blatantly obvious. “No reason.” Kirishima hums softly. “It’s just- uh.” He trails off.

Katsuki looks at him then. Kirishima is looking down, chewing at his bottom lip in thought. He wonders how the redhead hasn’t broken skin yet.

But, no rational thought except one remains in Katsuki’s mind. Kirishima doesn’t want him to know what happened with Deku.

The realisation causes the feeling in his gut to increase tenthfold. This, along with an ache in his chest, one he can’t recognise.

(Or maybe he doesn’t want to.)

He sighs, looking away from the other boy, instead choosing to stare at a spot on the floor. He knows what this feeling is. Has felt it too many times to count. And for some stupid, fucked up reason, it always has something to do with Deku. Deku, and his new quirk. Deku, and his quirk that he got from All might. Deku, and his victories. Deku, and the way he was just in Kirishima’s arms, somewhere Katsuki would kill to be-

Suddenly, there’s a grip on his arms. Katsuki snaps his head up, and is face to face with Kirishima.

Close. Too close. He’s standing way too close.

“Bakugou?” His breathe wafts over Katsuki, and makes his shiver. He hopes Kirishima can’t feel the rise of goosebumps on his arms. “You okay?”

He scoffs and looks away. “Obviously. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Can you look at me then?”

Fuck. Katsuki doesn’t think he can do that. Nonetheless, he turns his head slowly and meets Kirishima’s concerned gaze. Something skips in his chest. He can’t look away.

Kirishima’s eyes are pretty. Really pretty. Red like his Katsuki’s own, but a different kind. Red like the shimmering sunset, red like rubies or garnets, red like candied apples. Looking so closely, Katsuki notes the barely there flecks of golden-brown in Kirishima’s eyes. 

“You’re my friend too, Bakugou.”

Katsuki barely realises that Kirishima had spoken. He blinks rapidly, processing the words. “I’m friends with a lot of people, and you’re one of them.” He continues, still gripping at Katsuki’s arm. The touch burns. “Maybe even my best friend.”

And Katsuki forgets how to breathe. Kirishima is so so close, and he’s smiling, and it’s different from this close.

He hates himself for thinking beautiful, and he especially hates himself when he finds that the twist in his gut- jealousy - has still not disappeared. Lessened, yes, but it hasn’t disappeared. Rather, it’s being replaced with a different emotion.

Longing.

He longs for more. He wants more from Kirishima. He doesn’t want to be just friends. Katsuki wants more.

More of what though, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. Not now. Probably not ever.

It’s selfish as fuck, but he craves for it. Still, he finds himself nodding, and Katsuki immediately feels his knees go weak when Kirishima’s smile widens.

He can’t help the way his eyes drop, just for a moment. He wonders what it would feel like to kiss that smile.

Fuck. What? Kiss? Where did that come from?

But there’s no time to consider why he just thought about that, because then his mind is swirling with more thoughts about what it would feel like to kiss Kirishima. To feel his lips against Katsuki’s, to feel his sharp teeth scraping his mouth, to feel his hot breathe waft over him.

Katsuki can’t think, can’t breathe. He needs to get away, because if he stays this close to Kirishima any longer, he might actually kiss him.

“You’re tea’s gone cold.” Kirishimsa says, like Katsuki it totally not having a goddamn mental breakdown. The redhead steps away then, much to Katsuki’s relief and disappointment. He feels cold suddenly.

He sighs and grabs his tea, downing it in three large gulps. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turns to Kirishima.

“I’m gonna head back.”

The other nods, smiling softly. Fuck, why does he always have to smile? “Alright. Goodnight then.”

Katsuki lets himself stare for a few more seconds, taking in the sight of Kirishima at this late hour, then nods, muttering a “‘night.”

He makes his way back to his room, exhaustion settling into his bones. Crawling into his bed, Katsuki sighs and closes his eyes.

The last thought before he falls asleep is Kirishima, and his stupidly pretty smile.

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

“Midoriya?”

There’s a yelp, too loud for a time like this. Eijirou winces apologetically, stepping towards Midoriya and patting his shoulder a few times.

“Kirishima.” Midoriya breathes, hand at his chest.

Eijirou chuckles softly. “Sorry bro. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright.” Waves the green-haired boy dismissively. “Why’re you awake at his hour?”

“Should be asking you the same thing.” Eijirou leans back onto the counter, noticing the paleness of the other boy, and the dark bags under his eyes. “You okay?”

He receives a too-fake smile in response. Midoriya opens his mouth, presumably to say something along the lines of “I’m fine.”, but then he closes it, sighing heavily.

After a brief moment of silence, Midoriya shakes his head. He avoids eye contact with Eijirou.

Hesitating for a second, Eijirou asks, “You wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t-“ Midoriya cuts himself off, running a hand through his messy green hair and sighing in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“You can if you want to.” Eijirou comforts, crossing his arms and leaning back onto the counter. “Swear I won’t tell anyone.”

The freckled boy smiles, but it’s small, so unlike his normally enthusiastic smile. “I know you won’t.” He chews at his lip, staring down at the floor. “I…Sometimes I can’t sleep.”

Eijirou nods in understanding, waiting patiently for the other to continue. “Nightmares. I get nightmares about so many things, and I know it’s not real but it’s still so scary. I don’t…I don’t know what to do.” Inhaling a shuddering breathe, Midoriya hunches in on himself. Eijirou struggles to stop from smothering the other in hugs, allowing him to keep speaking. “I’ve always wanted to be a hero, and I knew there was going to be pressure, but I wasn’t expecting this much.”

Eijirou now notices the tremble in Midoriya’s body. The second he sees the tears, he reacts without moving and pulls the small boy into his arms, rubbing his back in a soothing motion.

His own eyes prick with tears of empathy. He knows very well what that feeling is, but this isn’t about him, so he hums and continues his actions, ignoring the growing dampness on his shirt.

Eventually, Midoriya pulls away. He smiles softly, seeming relieved. Eijirou’s shoulders slump in relief too, happy to see his classmate- his friend- feeling a better, even if it’s a bit. 

“Thanks, Kirishima.” Midoriya says, smiling and patting his shoulder. Eijirou opens his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t. The boy had left quickly, almost like he was in a hurry. Strange.

Eijirou sighs, suddenly finding himself really tired. He turns around and-

Crimson eyes. Staring right at him. Eijirou’s heart skips a traitorous beat.

Bakugou.

[otpnessmess]

For you, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do Pt. 3

I ended up beta reading this myself, which only means I made it angstier and longer so..yeh. Coronavirus social distancing going great over here, hope you’re all safe! Enjoy!

Ao3 - Masterlist

First - Previous - Next

-

Old habits kicked in hard as Marinette slipped into Ladybug mode and turned to Jason with a determined look in her eyes he knew very well despite not having seen it for some time now. She sometimes showed an expression resembling it in her daily life, but it never quite felt the same as when she had first gone out on patrol with him.

The young woman had renounced the Miraculous in favor of keeping them safe, but he could tell she sometimes missed the feeling of freedom they brought. So one night he dropped through her window in the middle of the night, way after the bats had ended their nightly rounds, and offered to take her out.

That was the first time they had soared together over the ceilings of Gotham and the sight of her bright smile only made it so Jason fell even harder for her.

Their outings had to be few and far between, since Marinette refused to let the presence of the Miraculous be known, which meant they had to be extra careful before heading out. It became a thing they rarely got to share but, at the same time, it only made them relish it even more.

The man loved seeing her laughing happily while jumping from roof to roof, even if it distracted him a whole lot. He could still feel the ache in his bones from that one time he was too busy admiring her he didn’t see the chimney in front of him. Marinette loved teasing him about that...

"I’ll see if I can help get some people out while you go change Jay.”

All of his fantasizing was shattered by those words as he saw his best friend about to bolt towards danger. She would have left him there with no response had he not grabbed her hand in a desperate attempt to knock some sense into her.

“Nette, wait. You don’t have a Miraculous and we don’t know what’s going on, how many people are there, or who even is attacking. I know you want to help but you should remain unseen, or just escape. We’ll handle it.”

He should’ve known his belle wouldn’t listen to his pleads to remain out of danger’s way, that wouldn’t have been her. If there was someone that needed saving, she would do everything in her hand to help, and Jason could never ask her to ignore that part of herself. Still, he could at least try to convince her not to do anything utterly reckless to the best of his abilities.

The bluenette held in a sigh and was ready to start an argument they really shouldn’t be having in a moment like this. “Jay-”

“Marinette, please . We’ll take care of this, there’s no need for you to endanger yourself more than necessary.” She still didn’t seem convinced enough and in a somewhat panicked effort to get through her he blurted out “What if it’s the Joker? I know you can handle yourself but I still worry. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her eyes softened at the pleading tone of his voice, and next thing Jason knew he was being squeezed to death in another hug. His arms instinctively held her close as if she would disappear if he let go, which he wasn’t sure wouldn’t actually happen.

"That's a bit hypocritical of you if we're being fair, isn't it? I have to see you put yourself on the line to fight crime all the time too.” That made the man feel slightly guilty and blush, she was right. Wasn’t she the one always left behind when he was called to a commotion, wondering whether he’d be back or not?

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be complaining about it as much as trying to get him to ease his worries, her soft voice mumbling reassuring words while her hand didn’t seem to want to leave its place over his heart.

“I'll be as careful as I can Jay, I promise to avoid unnecessary risks. Now let's go, we can't waste more time."

Giving him one last quick smile she then finally took off, leaving Jason to push his feelings to the back of his mind with a sigh, longing after her warmth. He didn’t allow himself to sulk, though, there were people in danger, and the fastest this was solved the earlier he could get home and watch movies in their pajamas with Mari.

Knowing the high number of rich and powerful people in attendance was very likely to attract some of Gotham's best-known villains like a moth to a flame, Bruce had adopted the habit of reserving a designated room in whatever venue he was organizing an event where the bats could safely change into superhero attire if there ever was a need. Jason would’ve liked to say they hadn’t had the need to use it that often but that was simply not true. Villain break-ins happened more often than not.

Having memorized the blueprints of the building as part of the protocol, he had no trouble finding his way to where his siblings were already getting ready. Barbara and Tim had set up an operations center earlier in the day so they could stay close to monitor the situation and were handing out the intercoms.

Jason immediately started changing while Dick tried to get input on what was happening on the lower floor. “What do we have on our hands this time?”

Tim, who had just put up the surveillance footage from the main hall cameras on the several monitors in front of him, was the one to answer. “The Penguin and about 20 other people stormed the hotel,  all of them armed and if I had to say, probably here for the auction pieces. Around 200 civilians still remain inside, the rest managed to escape before they closed off all the entrances. The balcony and main doors are heavily guarded inside and out but there are still a couple of safe access points through the windows and ceiling. They shouldn’t spot you until it’s too late.”

By the time the report was finished everyone was ready to head into battle. Bruce established disarming the attackers as a priority but, should the opportunity show itself to allow more people to escape, they should focus on that. Quick last-minute directions were given before they were all off, knowing perfectly well every second wasted meant a higher chance of anyone getting hurt.

While this was happening, Marinette had barely managed to make it back to the ballroom doors. People were screaming and in such a haste to get as far from the chaos as possible they were shoving each other out of the way, which meant going in the opposite direction with a puffy gown proved to be incredibly hard.

Once she reached the main entrance, though, the petite woman came to a halt before hiding behind a wall. It had been blocked and a minion stood before it with a rifle in his hands. Just great. She doubted she could get inside without being spotted now, and that made her feel utterly useless.

Despite knowing his friend and his family would be here soon to make quick work of the situation, the urge to help people had been embedded deep within her after so many years battling Hawkmoth and wielding a Miraculous, and she despised having to watch from the sidelines.

Unfortunately, as if some kind of higher power had heard her thoughts, she got pulled out of them by a very loud yelp some meters away from her. The guard had spotted a couple coming back from one of the many minor hallways of the hotel, seemingly oblivious to the transpiring events. His gun was now pointed at them and the man had a wicked grin in his face.

“Oh my my my, what have we got here? Get inside!”

He moved towards them with every intent to push them inside the room, more hostages to be used to bargain with the vigilantes. What he didn’t expect, however, was that turning his back to Marinette’s hiding spot would give her an opening to grab a nearby vase and crack it on his head from behind, knocking him out.

The scared couple thanked her in a rush as she directed them towards the hotel doors, urging them to run. She was relieved they listened since a moment later another minion that heard the commotion had approached her with a rage-filled scream when he saw his partner bleeding on the floor.

Marinette’s training was still useful even if she wasn’t transformed and helped her evade the attacks that were being directed at her body. The man had forgone his gun in favor of trying to mess her up with a deadly-looking knife, thinking she would be somewhat of an easy target.

Fighting unarmed against an armed opponent, especially while wearing a dress and heels, was bound to go wrong though. He managed to land a couple of hits on her in her arms and shoulder, the stinging and extra weight of her dress starting to make her falter. However, before he could take advantage of this and land a deadly blow, Red Hood had already punched him so hard his body landed on the floor, unmoving.

“Worry not Princess, your knight in shining leather is here to save the day!”

Always a lover of the dramatic, Jason bowed with a chuckle before being shoved by Marinette behind the same wall she was hiding earlier, the bullet grazing him on the side.

“Careful!”

More and more attackers were approaching from their positions guarding the entrances because of the ruckus, and they didn’t seem keen in being merciful to the duo. Her mind was running at a thousand miles per hour, coming up with plans to get them both out of this in the easiest way and with the least amount of injuries possible.

Jason, though, didn’t give her the chance to ponder this for long before he reached to cup her face, told her to run, and jumped in to square up against all the goons by himself, trying to give her an easy escape route. Truth be told, he would have probably been able to take on those guys enough for one of his siblings to show up and help him out. She did hear him call for help into his intercom after all.

But she also saw how at the minimum display of struggle a guy landed a shot to his head that, even if it merely cracked his helmet, had Marinette’s heart racing and her throat tightening. This was still her best friend in that suit, and she’d be damned if she would play bystander while he was endangering himself.

Utilizing the shadows as cover, she hurried to pick up the guns and knife from the fallen men near her and gulped at the implications of it. It weighed in her hand and mind, what she was about to do. However, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Those men could live without a hand, or a foot, but she could never imagine a life without Jason.

Thanking the heavens that she had accepted his offer to teach her how to shoot, the bluenette first went for the ones on the sidelines holding the guns. The sound of the weapon going off was deafening in her ears, her arms were bloody and her hands were sweaty, but steady.

Five shots were all she needed before the only noises left were the ones coming from the men brawling. It seemed that the sounds of gunshots were enough to attract their attention to her, making one of them point his own weapon at her.

Paralyzed in place, Marinette witnessed Red Hood knocking out the two men holding him back before going for the one focusing on her. She was extremely relieved seeing the last threat come down crumbling to the floor as Jason breathed heavily standing in the middle of the mess.

Marinette wanted to rush to his side and see for herself if he was okay, but as she tried to move she started to feel just how heavy her limbs were. Drowning in the sound of her blood in her ears, her head felt light and dizzy.

Looking down, she wondered when she had added sleeves to her dress, her entire arms coated in a beautiful crimson. Her eyes then glazed over the bullet wound on her shoulder, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it yet, before turning to Jason.

If Marinette tried really hard, she could hear him calling for her in agony. He was going to be so mad at her for not turning tail when he told her to. She hoped he could forgive her.

The image of her best friend running to her and catching her before her body could hit the floor was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

-

As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope to maybe update the 4th part at some point but don’t quote me on that, I try my best but I’m not always in the mood to write.

Tag list

@18-fandoms-unite-08 @vixen-uchiha @tbehartoo @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @queenmj10 @mochegato @stressedfan @bigpicklebananatree @novicevoice @crytallized @maribat-shenanigans @casual-darkness @kiara-rose-blackthorn @fertileleaf @chez-pezeater @shizukiryuu @marinettepotterandplagg @normal-piece-of-shit @theatreandcomicfreak @violatiger8 @corabeth11 @i-is-mysterious @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @weird-pale-blonde-person @iloontjeboontje

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only Your Touch

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Sometimes the ghosts from the past are in control. Sometimes, you just need to scream. (This is in the Only For A Moment universe but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Warnings: Trauma, flashbacks, allusions to rape

A/N: If you’ve read, oh idk, any of my series at all you know any fluff is usually tempered by a dose of hurt. My brain pumped out that sweet Valentine’s fluff and immediately pivoted here. Part because I’m a monster and part because it’s something that was touched on in Part One of Only For A Moment and we didn’t circle back to it. And also because I find it important to remember that healing isn’t linear. 

This is heavy so please read with caution. (Does end sweetly though.)

Every time the home you share with Bucky comes into view you can’t help but smile. 

The lake, your collection of small thatched roofs, the smell of earth and hay--all coming together every day, no matter how tired your body, to welcome you back. But there was something missing this afternoon, Bucky wasn’t out working. 

Odd. You think as you pull the bike to a halt. 

You step inside, breathing in the smell of cardamom, cinnamon, and rich earth, listening for him. Just barely you can make out breathing from the bedroom to your right. He must have laid down for a nap or to read. 

A mischievous smirk lifts your lips. Regardless of the reason, you were always happy to join him in bed. Quietly you slip out of your clothes before heading into your small bedroom. 

Bucky lay on his right side, facing away from you, the defined muscles along his back practically begging to be touched. You crawl into the bed and under the covers, pressing your chest to his warmth.

“Hey there Mr. Barnes,” you breathe into his ear. You kiss his neck as your hand goes to grab his cock, already aching to feel him. Before you make contact his hand grips your wrist so tight you suck in a quick breath as the bones bend ever so slightly. 

“Please… don’t,” he says in a hoarse whisper, grip loosening just enough. Your heart falls into your stomach. 

“Are you ok?” You ask, knowing the answer. 

He shakes his head against the pillow, breath ticking up, “No.” You can feel him fighting to steady his breath beneath your touch, and feel him fail. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he releases your wrist and bolts for the bathroom. You follow him, worry humming in your veins. 

He hits his knees before the toilet, heaving. Immediately you gather his hair in your hands, holding it back. Gripping the bowl with his hand he purges until there’s nothing left, his body trembling with the force. 

“I’m gonna get you some water,” you say. It takes only a few seconds to go to the kitchen and back. He takes the glass, looking up at you with red eyes. 

“Thank you,” he says before taking a sip. You nod, plucking your cream-colored robe from the hook and slip into it, not bothering with the tie. 

Sighing he sets the glass aside, moving to lean his back to the wall. His head falls back with a thud, brows creased as he tries once more to slow his breathing. 

All you want to do is hold him, cradle him in your arms until his muscles stop their incessant twitching and his soul settles. You know this isn’t the time though. Instead, you just sit on the floor close to him, taking care to leave enough space for him to breathe but not too much that he’ll think you’re scared. 

“I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t-”

“Oh god, doll, no,” he shakes his head, looking at you with those haunted eyes. “You didn’t-” He reaches over, fingertips just barely touching your knee before pulling his hand back. 

Bucky touches his left shoulder as he does from time to time. A reminder that they no longer have him, he is not their weapon anymore. 

It doesn’t seem to bring him the reassurance he’s seeking. He covers his face with his hand, a small sob breaking free. Your own eyes burn, your teeth digging into your bottom lip. Every fiber of your being wants to help him but you just don’t know how.

He lowers his hand, pressing the palm flat against the cool polished concrete of the floor to ground himself. You watch as his chest stutters with his attempts to calm himself. 

Bearing his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut he tilts his face up as his back arches, breath hissing out as if he’s in pain. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, unable to stop yourself, body moving toward him. 

“Ju-j--just,” he stutters through clenched teeth. “Just tell me they’re not here.”

The missing piece clicks into place. 

Shuri had said that the trade-off of fixing what Hydra did to Bucky’s mind meant that he may remember other things more clearly, things he may not want to remember. There had been quite a few rough nights as those memories came back but nothing like this. 

“There’s no one here but me, baby,” you say in a solid but soothing tone. “No one.” He nods before a groan doubles him over, arm wrapped around his middle.

“Don’t,” he barks as your hands hover over him. “Please,” his pleading tone sending a wave of pain through you. He rests his head against his knees, body shaking with tremors. 

“Please don’t touch me. I-” His voice breaks with a sob. 

There’s no stopping your own tears now, they slide silently down your cheeks. A small whimper of pain from him takes your breath. In the same moment, you can hear the glass of the mirror shake just a bit, your power threatening to lash out. With effort, you pull it under control. 

“I can feel them,” he manages at last. “I know it’s not real but I can feel their hands…” 

His back straightens, you can see his jaw flex as he tries to hold in a scream. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, head once more pressed into his knees.

Forcing calm into your voice you say, “Talk it out if it helps. Whatever it is-”

“No,” he says softly. “Not this. I-I c-can’t.” 

“Look at me, Bucky.” Slowly he does, the terror on his face filling you with rage at anyone who made him feel this way before. “Whatever it is, you can share it with me. I’ll help you carry it if you want me to.” 

He swallows a sob, fixing his eyes on the floor between you before speaking. 

“I can-” he grimaces. “I can feel them touching me. Goddamnit-” his breath comes in ragged gasps.

For several minutes neither of you say a thing. Each sound of suffering from him breaks something inside of you. Still, you wait, sitting back on your heels your hands in white-knuckled fists resting on your knees.

“I can feel them-” he pauses. Looking up at you he continues, “I-I,” his eyes slowly close, “I can feel them in me.” When they open once more they’re begging you to know what he means, because he may want to try and share but it’s clear he can’t say more from the way his mouth opens and closes. 

He doesn’t have to say more. 

The two of you had shared so much with one another but this, this you had both locked away inside yourselves. Sometimes it surfaced, like the first night you spent together when he struggled to let you touch him, or others when you needed to sleep alone because the thought of someone touching you was too much. But to say it, to admit out loud--even to the person you loved most in the world--just how much those monsters had done… It was just too hard. Until now. 

“Oh, Bucky,” you breathe out. “I understand. Believe me, I do.”

His face contorts, “No.” HIs head shakes, “I don’t want you to understand this… not this.”

“But I do…” Far too well you knew the touch of phantom hands.

Another flash of pain colors his features but he doesn’t make a sound. With gutwrenching clarity, you realize that he’s not keeping quiet for your sake or even his. You can hear the orders of silence as clearly in your ears as he must be hearing them in his own.

“Just scream,” you say. The desperation in his eyes shatters your heart but you will not let it show. “Do it. Let it out. Whatever you need. Scream, cry, break shit--it doesn’t matter, just don’t hold it in.” It’s easier said than done you know. 

You watch as his body reacts, telling him there is pain where there is none, reminding him that sometimes the past is in control. A bead of blood forms where his teeth bite into his lip, desperately trying to silence himself, follow orders, save himself from more pain. 

“There is just me here, Bucky,” you say in an attempt at encouragement. 

Maybe that was the push he needed or maybe his body and mind had reached a breaking point. Regardless his arm unfurls from his abdomen, fist slamming into the floor. You can smell the coppery tang of blood from his busted knuckles. 

“Fuck!” He bellows. His body lurches forward as though pulled by some unseen force. 

On his hand and knees, Bucky screams. Over and over, punctuated only by his sobs. 

For decades he’d been forced into silence, a prisoner within his own body. He’d endured more than any man should, and now the sound of a lifetime of suffering fills the space around you. His body shakes, muscles rippling with tension as he purges every unuttered cry of pain, of protest, of hatred. 

You do not look away, do not cringe back from his rage. You sit, your silence a safe harbor for him when he’s ready. Though a part of you does wonder if there is a sea of such sorrow waiting in your own soul, and if so will it break free one day too?

After a long while, he begins to fall silent. At first in fits and starts, then there is nothing but ragged breathing as he tries to pull air into his undoubtedly tired lungs. Soon, he falls to his side on the cold hard floor, knees drawn up toward his chest, body shaking all over from exhaustion. 

Without hesitation, you lay on your side beside him, a comfortable distance between you. His lids flutter open and you swear his eyes are less haunted than before. 

“What do you need?” You ask in a whisper. 

“You,” he responds, voice almost gone. “But… I can’t… I don’t want to think your touch is theirs.” He looks so sad at the thought. You only smile. 

“I can touch you without touching you.” His brow knits in confusion, too tired to understand your meaning. “Would you mind if I try?” After a beat, he nods. 

You start small, sending your power out to cup his cheek. He lets out a small breath, eyes closing. Slowly you allow your power to cover him down his shoulders and around his chest until you’ve cocooned his upper body in an invisible blanket.

“Is this ok?”

“Yes,” his voice cracks a bit. “Only you could touch me like this,” he smiles as fresh tears trickle from his shuttered eyes. “It could only be you.” 

Blinking away your own tears you cover his whole body in your power, squeezing ever so slightly. He releases a sigh that could almost be read as contented. 

“Do you want to stay here?” You ask. His eyes open, a flash of concern in them. 

“I… I don’t know.” He was past the point that he could make many choices now. 

“Let’s move to the bed. We’ve both laid on enough hard concrete floors for several lifetimes.” 

“Ok.” You feel your chest constrict as that desperation rises to his face again. “Just please don’t let go.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” 

His breathing becomes more even and you can feel his muscles relax under your hold as the minutes tick by. You even manage to get a piece of bread in him and another glass of water before laying down beside him. 

For once, you actually make use of the space your bed affords, you were both so used to sharing a small mattress that most of the bed often went unused. Now it allowed you enough space to be near but keep him comfortable. 

“Y/N?” He mumbles, voice hoarse from strain and exhaustion. 

“Yes, love?” You’re surprised, you’d thought he’d drifted off a bit ago. 

“Will you hold my hand?” His eyes don’t open but you can see the corners of his mouth lift just a bit. 

You swallow hard trying not to let the tears in your eyes show in your voice.

“Of course.” 

He turns his hand up, the back resting on the mattress. You slowly slide your hand over his. The palm is warm and rough but his fingers are long, strong, graceful even. You loved this hand. Once your fingers are between his he holds on tightly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice slurring a bit. 

As the light outside fades you keep vigil your hold on both his body and his heart, never wavering. 

TAGS

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[snarkythewoecrow]

Colors of the Soul

by: Snarkymuch

Rating: T

Characters: Tony Stark (Female Tony), Edwin Jarvis, Howard Stark, James Rhodes, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Tony & Edwin Jarvis, Tony & Rhodey, and Steve & Tony (can be read as pre-relationship)

Summary: Toni Stark's wings told the story of her life, just like everyone's did, but few lived a life like hers. The smallest action from the most unlikely person showed that there was always room for something better.

--

It was a Friday night when Antonia came into the world, her entrance unexpected and on her own terms, setting a precedent for the rest of her life. Though tiny and frail, her lungs were strong, her shrill cries loud and piercing, bringing everyone to attention around her. 

Like every child born, she had beautiful white wings lying against her back, blank canvases that life would write upon, telling her story through colored feathers.

Wings were the windows to the soul, tapestries of life's lessons learned, both good and bad. Parents taught their children young how read a person’s feathers; each color and pattern had its own meaning. It was a universal language, spoken by all those with wings.

Within the first few moments of her life, it was clear Antonia would be burdened by hers, because as soon as the nurse told Howard that he had a daughter, deep blue feathers with flecks of black danced across the tops of her wings, following the lines of her lesser coverts—rejection settling over her like blanket she could never shed.

The nurses exchanged looks of concern, shielding the crying bundle from her father's hardened gaze as he stormed from the room. 

Antonia Margaret Stark wasn’t going to let that stop her, though. She had determination in her soul, and it would soon show on her wings.

Rejected by her father, and with a mother that drank to cope, her care fell to the butler and his wife. Edwin and Ana Jarvis welcomed her with open arms, doing their best to guide her curious mind and give her the love she so desperately needed. It wasn't more than a day after meeting Toni that their devotion and love made itself known on her wings, the deepest of forest greens brushing against her father's rejection.

The shimmering gray of intelligence that crept across her plumage before she even learned to toddle came as no surprise. She may have been nothing like her father in spirit, but she had his mind.

She was four when she created her first circuit board, presenting it to her father only to be turned away—a few more feathers of rejection spread across her wings that day, but something else, too. A few yellow feathers of hope appeared as well. Because despite it all, she dreamed of her father's love and approval.

When she was seven, she built her first engine. She beamed with pride, so keen to impress her father that a few more brilliant yellow feathers weaved their way against the mass of rejection that already painted her wings. 

She waited, watching timidly as he circled her creation. Her father's massive wings were on rare display, golden tipped black primaries shimmering in the light—a testimony to his narcissism.

Shaking his head, Howard nudged the spark plug wires, a biting smile twisting his face. "You should stick to your dolls—the placement of these is all wrong. You'll never be worth the Stark name."

She ran to her room, stretching her arms behind her, clawing at her wings, wanting to tear every last hopeful feather out.

Ana found her curled up on the floor of her room hours later, wings bloodied where she'd stripped the feathers. They'd regrow, but Toni would never let herself hope again. Around the raw wounds, feathers the color of blood, for righteous anger and resolve, spread outwards. Even when her wings healed, evidence of her misplaced hope would always remain. 

The older woman knelt in front of her, ducking her head to try to see Toni's face. "Oh, sweet child, what have you done?"

Toni's tucked her chin to her chest and drew her wings tighter around herself, feathers twitching at the movement. "He'll never care, Ana—no matter what I do."

Ana rested a hand on Toni's head, thumb stroking her hair. "Your father isn't a kind man—life has hardened him. You can see it in his wings."

"Like the bad in mine?"

"Darling, your wings aren't bad."

Toni looked up through her lashes, meeting Ana's green eyes. "I don't want them. I hate my wings."

The woman sighed heavily and cupped Toni’s cheeks. “They are hard to look at sometimes, aren’t they? They show the truth—even if it’s painful to see. You know, I would pluck my feathers, too—during the war.”

Toni sniffed and looked up at her. “Really?”

Ana nodded. “Yes. It showed my sympathy for the oppressed, and that was a dangerous thing. I would rip them out in fear. Do you know what happened?”

Toni was silent for a moment before shaking her head. 

“Nothing but pain. It hurts to pluck them, and doing so did nothing to stop the Nazis. It was a day much like today, my wings bleeding and stripped, tears on my face, that I decided to do something—to make a change, so I joined the war effort. What will you do?”

Toni glanced at the bloodied feathers scattered on the floor. Unseen to her, a new color blossomed along the edges of Ana's love—a vibrant purple, marking her with the deepest of determinations. 

"I'm going to get back up—like Aunt Peggy taught me to do."

After that, Toni threw herself into studying, not letting her father's refusal to teach her stand in the way. 

As time went by, the feathers of hope she'd plucked were slowly replaced. The ones that grew in their place were smaller, a little misshapen, but the message they conveyed was clear. The acidic green edged by lines of black flashed to the world the spite that fueled her. 

When she turned eight, she walked into her father's workshop with a small robotic dog. She left with pieces and a stinging handprint on her cheek. Her mother caught her in the hallway, her eyes falling to the reddened mark. The woman pursed her lips, hand making an aborted gesture before it dropped back to her side. 

Toni set her jaw, and even though there were tears in her eyes, she held her mother's gaze. The woman blinked, looking away and hurrying down the hall. Toni stood there, staring at the spot her mother had just been. She felt more empty and alone than she had in a long time.

Toni didn't check her wings that night—or the next. She didn't care. She didn't need to check to know that the red and black feathers of her mother’s betrayal had found a home on her wings. 

The house was quiet after that, her father continuing his search for Captain America, her mother drinking alone in her room. 

Toni spent most of her father's absence alone. She'd considered sneaking into his workshop but didn't dare. Even though she knew he was gone, his presence still seemed to lurk in the empty space. 

Jarvis found her early on a Sunday, two weeks after her father had left. She was outside, throwing rocks at her mother's roses, knocking the blossoms free. 

"May I ask what the flowers have done to deserve this?"

Toni's brow wrinkled as she turned the jagged stone in her hand, feeling its rough edges. She squinted up at him. "It's not like she ever leaves her room to see them."

Jarvis hummed knowingly, hands clasped in front of him. "You're angry with her."

Toni shrugged then drew her arm back, taking aim at another one of her mother's prize flowers. It was a direct hit, a few petals falling to the ground, joining the corpses of her earlier victims in the grass.

Jarvis squatted down, picking up a stone and weighing it in his hand before offering it to her.

Toni eyed the rock then looked to Jarvis's face. "What are you giving me that? Aren't you mad that I've destroyed them?"

"I won't deny that the flowers are beautiful and deserve the chance to bloom, but if this helps you, then take the stone."

Frowning, she looked between the stone and the bushes before settling her gaze back on Jarvis. It felt like a trick, him offering the rock, she considered for a moment before shaking her head. If she really thought about it, she knew that the flowers weren't at fault. "Please don't tell my mom."

Jarvis nodded, his fingers closing around the stone. "Would never think of it."

He never told her mother the truth of the flowers, even when his livelihood was threatened. Toni had heard her mother screeching at him, demanding answers, as Jarvis calmly explained that the local wildlife must have developed a taste for roses. Trust found a place in her lesser primaries that day, delicate pinks with edges of blue. They were feathers she would wear with pride.

Weeks passed before her father came home, and when he did, Toni knew enough to hide. He was always angry when he came back from his searches empty-handed and quick to lash out. 

Toni was sneaking past the entrance to his study when she heard him snarl her name. She froze in her tracks, turning to see him through the open door. His wings loomed over his back, primaries nearly touching the floor. They were full of anger and vengeance, of death and regret. The dark colors and massive size made it feel like he owned the very air you breathed.

Toni's heart slammed against her ribcage as she met her father's eyes. It took all her courage to keep from averting her gaze.

"How much more of an invitation do you need? Get in here." 

She watched as he finished his drink, turning to grab another and set it on the desk. All she could see were his huge wings, the gold edging on his primaries catching the light. His left wing twitched, feathers ruffling as he reached for another glass, turning it over and placing it beside his own. 

Hands tightly balled in fists, she nudged the door open with her elbow and stepped inside. She moved to the middle of the room, keeping her distance from her father. 

He picked up the decanter and filled each glass halfway. Picking them up, he turned and faced her. There was a tension in his features that spoke to his anger. He offered one of the glasses to her, holding it out expectantly. When she didn't move to take it, his mouth twitched, pulling tight, and he narrowed his eyes. 

"It's time you learn what it means to be a Stark," he said, nodding to the glass. "Take the damn drink."

She tried to wet her lips, but her mouth was too dry. She eyed the drink then stepped forward, taking the glass from her father's hand. Drawing it close to her chest, she wrapped her fingers around beveled glass. The sharp and familiar smell made her nose twitch.

Her father kept his gaze on her as she held the glass. He raised a challenging brow, so she lifted it to her lips. The liquid burned her tongue as it entered her mouth, but she didn’t want to appear weak, so she suppressed a grimace and continued drinking, forcing it down. It made her stomach ache in a way she’d never felt before. It was warm but burned, too. 

He nodded when she finished the glass. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”

Jarvis found her later that night lying sick on her bed. When he'd gotten close enough to feel her head for fever, he'd drawn back, a frown on his face.

“Why don't you get under the covers, little miss. You'll feel better after some sleep," he said, helping her climb between the sheets.

She looked up at him with bleary eyes as she settled her head against the pillow. "Do you think he's proud of me?"

Jarvis brushed the hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He smiled at her, but it didn't touch his eyes. He looked sad, and Toni didn't like it. She wondered what she’d done wrong.

He sighed. "I can’t speak for him, but I will always be proud of you, little miss.”

Toni's ninth birthday arrived, and with it, a ticket to boarding school. She finally had an escape, a place far away from her father's reach. Even Jarvis and Ana seemed relieved at the news, though it was clear they would miss her.

Time flew by quickly there, only occasionally coming home for visits. She was younger than the other students, but she thought of Ana and Jarvis and held her head high. 

It wasn't until the crisp air of fall began to shift to the biting cold of winter a few years later that her world came crashing down.

The headmaster called her to the office. He was a portly man who took his job seriously. The conversation was short between them. Apparently, her mother had sent a message. Toni was to pack her things. She was coming home for a family emergency, but the message didn’t give any clue as to what the crisis was. It felt as though a dark shadow had wrapped around her, weighing her down with dread.

It didn’t take long to gather her things and arrive home. When she reached the door, her mother didn't greet her—Jarvis did. One look at his face and Toni knew something terrible had happened. Emotional, her control over her wings slipped, and they arched up, instinctively flexing as if warding off whatever awful thing was about to come.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “What’s happened?”

There were tears in Jarvis’s eyes as he knelt before her, hand brushing back her hair. "I wish I had better news, little miss, but it's Ana.” He paused. “She's passed."

The air felt too thin, and her chest heaved. It felt like great claws were tearing her ribcage apart. It couldn’t be true. Her head began to spin, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the dizziness. Ana promised to be there. She couldn’t be gone.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she furiously wiped away her tears. "No! No! She's not gone!"

Jarvis shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

Her hands balled into fists. "You're lying! You said you'd never lie to me!"

He reached out and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. I wish it wasn’t true."

As he held her, the grief and loss painted her wings in speckled gray feathers, a permanent reminder of the first person she’d ever lost. 

xXx

Another year found her in college, accelerating through the grades. It was more isolating than high school had been, all her peers older by years. It wasn’t all bad, though. It was in the halls on her second day that she met someone who would become the best friend she never had. Toni was walking to a lecture when an older student cat-called her. It made her immediately stiffen and clench her fists, but before she could spin around and give him a piece of her mind, another voice intervened. “Watch your mouth!”  

She turned and looked to see a man taller than her with dark skin pinning the guy to the wall. 

“Chill, I was only having a little fun,” the guy said, struggling.

Her unknown knight tightened his hold and leaned in closer, eyes narrowing and face twisting in a snarl. “She’s just a kid, you fuck. I see you around her again, and you can kiss having your own kids goodbye.”

The guy nodded, and her rescuer let him go, eyeing him as he scurried down the hall. When he a distance away, the man turned to Toni and nodded, a small smile touching his lips. “Hey, sorry about that. Some guys can be jerks.”

Toni bit her lip, chewing it for a moment. She could have handled it, but it was nice that this guy had helped. No one other than Jarvis and Ana had looked after her before. “Thanks, so do you have a name, or would you rather something like Lancelot since you came in like a knight in shining armor to protect me?”

He snorted and walked up to her, extending a hand. “Name’s James Rhodes, and I know who you are. I think everyone does.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up in a smirk. “Nice to meet you, Rhodey.”

He raised a brow. “Rhodey?”

She shrugged, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “James is too formal, and you don’t look like a Jim. Rhodey seemed like a good compromise.”

He shook his head, scratching at the barely-there stubble on his cheek. “Okay,” he chuckled. “How about I walk you to class? Keep the fair maiden safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need any help keeping safe.”

It wasn’t long before their friendship grew, and soon it showed on her feathers. A few soft pink feathers touched by blue, like those she carried for Jarvis, peppered in amongst the other colors. 

“Do you ever show your wings?” Rhodey asked one night as they took a break from studying. “I mean, you always keep them tight to your back like your ashamed or something.”

Toni tapped her pen against the open book in front of her and shrugged a shoulder. 

“People already say a lot about me. I don’t need to give them more ammunition.”

Rhodey's brow wrinkled as he studied. “You know I wouldn’t care, right?”

She pressed her lips together, considering his words. “The first thing most people see is my father’s rejection. I can’t hide that.”

“Just means Howard’s a dick.”

She snorted. “I guess it does.”

They didn't talk anymore about wings again that night.

xXx

It wasn't until years later that death would touch her wings, just not in the way most would imagine. She was home, visiting Jarvis, when the call came. There had been an accident, and her parents were dead. Drunk driving. Like she ever expected anything different from her father.

Unlike when Ana passed, Toni's wings didn't gain the speckled gray feathers of loss. Instead, betrayal and anger flitted across the edges of her wings. The loss of her parents caused a storm of emotion that she couldn’t control. To ease the pain, she turned to the one thing she learned from her father—how to drink. She buried her twisted feelings under the numbing balm of alcohol.

xXx

The universe was cruel, and soon after her parent’s death, Jarvis passed in his sleep. It felt like her heart was torn from his ribcage, much like it had when Ana had died. New gray and black feathers fit in beside those of Ana's passing, nestled together, a reminder of those that had helped shape who she was. They were forever a reminder to be better.

Except she didn’t do better—not always.

The world was a blur after she lost Jarvis, drowned in alcohol and drugs. Obadiah guided her, putting her degrees to use. She created the weapons the world wanted and partied any chance she got. It was easiest to not connect, to pretend not to care. Other than Rhodey, no one got too close.

At twenty-one, she stood with Obadiah and took her place at Stark Industries. Some thought it would be a mistake, and their uncertainty showed in the stocks, but her genius proved them wrong. When it came to creating, she was unparalleled, creating weapons that left carnage in their wake, a true Merchant of Death.

Obadiah insisted she get an assistant. After many false starts, Toni met her match, a no-nonsense redhead that put her in her place. The woman’s wings shouted that she bowed to no man. Pepper took no bullshit and cut off all of her advances. The woman pushed when others would pull. It was precisely what Toni needed.

When Toni stood in the desert of Afghanistan, arms held high as the hills exploded behind her, something in her wings changed. As she demonstrated her weapons, a cocky smirk on her face, her primaries changed. Just like her father, gold-tipped black feathers of narcissism colored her wings.

The Fun-Vee didn’t turn out that fun, and she as she lay there on the ground, blood blossoming from wounds on her chest, she wasn’t afraid. Her thoughts went to Ana and Jarvis, and she smiled as she closed her eyes.

Death didn’t take her, though. Flashes of pain and glimpses of faces, the sound of someone screaming, it passed in a blur. When she awoke with a battery attached to her chest and a man named Yinsen at her side, she was angry, and it showed on her wings. Colors no one wanted blurred into her feathers, contrasting sharply with the love, faith, and determination.

“You will build us our missile,” said one of the men, a rifle on his shoulder.

Toni narrowed her eyes at him. Her mouth tasted like dirt and copper, and she spat on the ground. Ropes tied her wrists in front of her, and her wings were bound behind her back. Blood dripped from them, and the acrid smell of burnt feathers and flesh filled the air.

Most of the torture had taken place on her wings and back, burning away skin and feathers alike. Toni didn’t even want to imagine what they’d look like if she survived. The feathers would never regrow the same through the scars, and as for the colors—she didn’t want to think what her plumage would say now.

She gritted her teeth as they tore her primaries out, throwing them at the ground where she knelt. When her eyes caught the gold and black of narcissism, laughter bubbled up inside her. They didn’t know it, but they were doing her a favor. The last thing she wanted was to die with the same colors as her father.

She had almost given up, almost thrown in the towel and let the pain win, when something changed her mind. Maybe it was her determination that shone so bright or the righteous anger that covered her feathers, but when one of the men laughed, calling her a just another pretty face with no mind, something solidified in her. She might not be her father, and she didn’t want to be her mother, but she sure as hell was not some girl who was going to let them win.

Slamming her weight against the ropes that held her wings, she snapped at the men. “You want a weapon? I’ll build you your weapon.”

The men considered her for a moment before the leader nodded.

“Take her to the doctor, have him see to her wounds.” He turned to her, his face dirty and sweaty. His smell bit her nose. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

Toni blew her falling bangs from her face and smirked. “You have no idea.”

The took her back to Yinsen, who saw to her wounds. Each dab against the raw wounds made her grit her teeth. Thankfully, it didn’t take long, not because the damage was light, but because there was just little to do. The burns were severe and would leave scars behind. The worst of the damage was over the first color she ever gained. The speckled blue of her father’s rejection. Toni didn’t know how to feel about that. In a way, it made the ugly even worse to look at, but in another, at least the love of Ana and Jarvis had been spared.  

“I have cleaned the burns, but they will scar,” Yinsen said.” The feathers—the feathers will never regrow the same.”

Toni’s face hardened. “That’s fine. It wasn’t like they were a reminder of good things.”

“Can I ask who?” Yinsen said, taking his supplies and putting them back on the table.

Toni knew what he meant. Everyone wondered how someone so young had wings like hers.

“My father mostly. There was never any doubt he didn’t want me.”

Yinsen was quiet as he wiped his hands on a dirty cloth. “I’m sorry to hear that. Family is a precious thing—or it should be.”

“I’ll get you back to your family,” Toni said. “I promise you I will.”

And amongst all the scars and pain, for the first time since she was a child, yellow bloomed across her wings, hope in the darkest of places.

xXx

Her wings were draped over her back when she fell to her knees in the desert, throwing up a peace sign to Rhodey. If he was shocked to see her wings so damaged, he never said. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“Next time you ride with me, princess.”

She snorted, fingers clutching the fabric of his uniform, her head resting on his shoulder. “You always were my knight in shining armor.”

He pressed a kiss to her head and helped her to the chopper. After a whirlwind of doctors and nurses, Toni covered her wings with a shroud and went home, looking ahead as she remembered Yinsen’s dying words to not waste her life.

xXx

Obadiah turned on her, and she killed him. Betrayal clustered around the spite on his wings.

xXx

Despite not being recommended, the Avengers were formed, and Toni kept her wings shrouded, though curious eyes watched her. The Captain didn’t like her from the start, but she didn’t care. She’d met people like him before, people stuck in the past. It was clear what he thought of her. He could take his pristine wings and shove it.

She flew the nuke into the wormhole, proving them all wrong.

The suit covered her wings, so there was no chance anyone would see them. Even if she left her suit, she still kept them wrapped and shrouded. It wasn’t that she was ashamed. She just didn’t want the pitying looks. Though the world had come a long way, people still read your feathers and made snap judgments. She didn’t want to think what someone would think after reading hers. There was so much betrayal and rejection, so much anger. And the scars from Afghanistan littered her wings. Highlighting what a mess she was.

The Avengers had settled into the tower after Loki was returned to Asgard with Thor. She wasn’t sure why she offered them a place to live, maybe deep down she felt alone.

Bruce, with his massive onyx wings, settled into the room he gave him and thanked her for the lab. If there was anyone she could relate to, it was Bruce. His wings shouted death. Ever since the accident that turned him into the Hulk, his wings had been black as night. It set most people on edge, but it didn’t bother Toni. She knew what it was like to have wings you wanted to hide.

Clint and Natasha both accepted their rooms but made themselves scarce. Clint’s wings were a picture of rejection, anger, and pain, not that different than her own. Natasha’s were hard to look at it. It was clear that from a young age, she never felt the love of a family.

Then there was Steve, and his enormous wings, wings painted with warmth and love, except for the grief that laid like a blanket over them, dripping down the feathers. The grief wasn’t there in his early pictures from the war. It was new, something that had changed after he was thawed from the ice. Toni supposed she could understand. He’d lost everything he knew, but that didn’t give him an excuse for being such a dick.

Toni was in her workshop, working on calibrating the suit, when the door to her lab opened. The music dimmed, and she looked up, huffing when she saw it was Steve.

His wings twitched, arching up slightly before settling back down.

Shaking her head, Toni returned to her calibrations.

“Toni, can we talk?” Steve asked.

Toni slapped her hands onto the workbench, dropping her head as she sighed. A few stray strands of hair fell into her eyes, and she blew them out of the way. Turning, she leaned against the workbench and appraised Steve.

“What’s up, Capsicle?”

Steve face soured at the nickname, and his wings ruffled. “I feel like we should clear the air. It’s been months since we all moved in, but we rarely see you. Is it something I’ve done? Something we’ve done?”

Toni rolled her eyes, turning back to her project. She waved a hand at him. “Everything’s peachy keen, Cap. I’m just a busy woman. Got a lot on my plate.”

“Oh, so it’s not—I mean, I know we didn’t start off on the best of terms.”

Toni thought back to their confrontation on the carrier and snorted. Maybe she was bitter about things. Her father had spent his life searching for Steve. She lived in his shadow. It almost seemed fitting in some cruel way that Steve wouldn’t judge her worthy.

“Water under the bridge,” Toni said.

Steve left soon after, and Toni slumped against the workbench. What was she doing, letting them all move in with her? Pepper had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, but Toni was feeling magnanimous, and maybe the brush with death had changed something in her, though it didn’t show on her wings.

Over the next few weeks, Steve stopped by her workshop a few times, each time bringing something with him, usually a snack, and once dinner. It was nice, but she didn’t know what to make of it. It was easier when people kept their distance. She had enough people in her circle, and she didn’t want to add more. But over the weeks, she found herself softening to his approach. Instead of greeting with a grunt and a scowl, she offered a small smile. Steve’s face seemed to light up at the gesture, and Toni found herself chasing that little high.

They’d just gotten back from a rough mission, fighting some terrorist cell, and Toni had spent way too long in the suit. Her wings itched, needing to be stretched and preened. She retreated down to her workshop and unwrapped her wings, letting them stretch. A few stray feathers fell to the floor. Rhodey was the only one that Toni trusted to preen her wings, but he was busy, so she was just going to have to do it herself.

Sitting on one of the stools with her back to the door, she reached around and tried to pull her wing out. She worked on the left one first, where most of the damage from Afghanistan lay. She ran her fingers through the downy under feathers, trying to unknot them. They were tangled and damp with sweat from being wrapped for so long.

She didn’t hear the door to her workshop open, but she heard the suck of breath behind her.

She nearly toppled out of the chair as she got to her feet, turning to hide her wings.

It was Steve. Of course, it was.

Her jaw tightened, and her wings arched up against her will. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“Your wings.” He seemed to be struggling for words. “Who—who did that to you?”

“The scars? Those were courtesy of my stay in the cave. I’m sure you’ve read my file.”

Steve shook his head. “Not the scars, everything else.”

Toni ruffled her wings, and she looked away. “I wasn’t Howard’s favorite. Guess you could say he never wanted a daughter.”

She heard Steve let out a controlled breath, and she glanced over. His hands were flexing in and out of fists. “I’m sorry—I know people can change, but he wasn’t like that when I knew him.”

“Lucky you.”

Steve nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes fell to the feathers on the floor and then flicked back to Toni. He was quiet from a moment while he seemed to consider something. “Do you have anyone to help you? Pepper maybe?”

Toni frowned. “No—I mean, I have Rhodey, but he’s busy. It’s not a big deal.”

“No offense, Toni, but I saw your wings.”

“Unless you’re offering, there isn’t any else for us to talk about. You know the way out.”

Steve’s head tilted just a hair. “Maybe I am offering.”

Toni drew back a bit, not expecting the reply. “To be clear we're talking about the same thing, what exactly are you saying?”

Steve's expression softened. “I want to help you, Toni. I’m offering to preen your wings.”

Toni nodded a few times, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Right, I guess you’ve already seen them and haven’t run for the hills.”

“I would never.”

“They’re even worse up close. The scarring is nasty.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

Tony nodded again. “Right, yeah, well, I’ll just sit then.”

Steve smiled, and it unfurled something in her heart. She sat back down on the stool and turned, so her wings were facing him. A moment later, Toni heard a chair being dragged across the floor, and she felt someone brush her wings, making her jump.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Can I start?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine—do this kind of thing all the time. Perfectly normal. Doing great.”

“Breathe, Toni. I won’t start until you’re ready.”

She adjusted her wings, letting the tension drop from her shoulders. Taking a steadying breath, she said, “I’m good, really, go ahead. Just be careful around the left wing. You can probably see—the scarring is bad. The feathers grow wrong and get sore.”

“I’ll be careful.”

And then Toni felt the first light touch, up high near the rejection from her father. Wasn’t that something? The man that her father had spent his life searching for was preening the wings of the daughter he’d loathed.

Toni waited for Steve to ask questions, to comment on her feathers, but he stayed quiet, fingers slowly working over her plumage. She could feel the light tug as he zipped the feathers between his fingers, sealing them back up. He got a sore spot on her left wing, and she winced as he tugged a feather free, rubbing the spot after.

“Sorry, it needed to come out,” Steve explained. “It looked infected. When was the last time someone preened your wings?”

Toni shrugged, keeping her gaze on the floor. “Rhodey’s been busy. I didn’t have anyone else.”

“Well, you do now.”

Steve smoothed the feathers, and then his hands came to a stop, resting near the lesser coverts. Toni frowned, wondering why he’d pause over the rejection that rested there. Her wings twitched up as she felt his fingers tracing down.

“I’ve never seen it happen before,” Steve said in awe.

Toni sat up straighter, turning to look over her shoulder but unable to see what Steve saw. “What?”

Steve was smiling, his fingers still tracing the feathers. “They just appeared.” He pressed so she could feel it. “They’re the softest blue and pink I’ve ever seen.”

Trust. Tony sucked in a breath, realizing that somewhere along the line, she’d grown to trust Steve. She’d let another person into her small circle.

“They’re yours,” Toni said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, I trust you.”

Steve’s fingers traced over the feathers again. “I’m glad.”

[himbowelsh]

Ahaha sorry for more shifty/tab but imagine shifty as the little mermaid and tab as the prince? I feel like that would be soo cute!

so, i am  i n c r e d i b l y  sorry this took so long??  i loved this idea so much that it just had to be a fic, and i started it over a month ago, got 500 words in, and my brain just...  roadblocked.  fell into an abyss and could not write another word.  and then last night, for some reason, i sat down with it and just??  knocked it out??  like, 2000 words in an hour.  so hopefully this gives you a taste of this au, because it’d be the sweetest thing, and i love the idea of little mermaid!shifty!!  (please don’t imagine sobel as ursula holy heck)

Before a great storm, the oceans writhe and roil, charged with an energy far beyond the imagination of landborne things. No one can predict what the sea will do; when she lashes out, roaring fury with waves towering high, all are powerless against it. No force in the world is as powerful as the ocean, or as willful. She is alive — alive with sealife as well as her own tempestuous nature — and to underestimate her is the doom of any living thing.

Now, when a body spends their entire life below the waves, they learn the waters easy as breathing. It all becomes familiar after a while. The buzz in the water right before a big storm; the shifting of the tides; how schools of fish swim against the currents, as if they’re escaping something… it all adds up, like the ocean itself is whispering a warning out loud. Bound to be a storm tonight. Gonna be a big one. Get ready.

Above the waves, great storms are something to be feared. To those below, they don’t make more than a ripple’s worth of difference.

Popeye had raised his eyebrows when Shifty declared he’d be going to the surface that night, all signs of an imminent storm be damned. Some things are worth getting tossed around by angry waves for. Last Shifty checked, the supermoon wouldn’t come around again for months, and he needed some fresh supermoon water to last that long. Llŷr knows he wouldn’t be the only one who dared risk it.

He couldn't have predicted the calm before the storm, though. It was rare, in this corner of the ocean — as rare as seeing a ship passing through, which happened once in a blue moon. They weren’t that far off from the coast, but most Man made vessels had better things to do with their time than drift so near land. There were more exciting waters to be found than the quiet currents Shifty called home.

As soon as he surfaced to spot a brightly-lit vessel only a few dozen yards away, Shifty should have known. He ought to have known, and really, he did. Darrell Powers, the voice in his head that sounded much like his Mamma scolded, if you have half the sense Llŷr have a guppy, you’ll make yourself scarce. No moon was worth getting caught by the Men up above. Every Mer was taught to fear them from the moment they could flip their fins. Shifty wasn’t any different — he knew better.

So nothing could explain the strange pull he felt towards the vessel — like he was caught up in a current, drawn closer whether he wanted to or not. The nearer he got, the clearer the great ship became… and it surely was something to see. Like a massive star on the waterline, it twinkled and danced, lit from above with gleaming lanterns strung across the deck. The great wooden hull stretched up from the water, towering overhead; it’s darkness was a stark contrast to the light crowning it. Music carried through the air, over the softly-churning waves — a lively tune, from some instrument Shifty had never heard before. Voices shouted, hooted, hollered; silhouettes galloped across the deck, caught in some rollicking dance. And in the middle of it all, at the center of this storm of Men, was…

Shifty’s breath caught in his throat; the gills along his ribs momentarily stuttered, scales at his neck suddenly feeling dry. He drew even closer, unconscious of his own movements. Treading water along the bow, his powerful, silver-finned tail kept him afloat. Were the ship moving, he might have to work to keep up… but with it anchored, his only preoccupation was remaining unseen. He pressed into the shadows, gaping up at the brightly lit deck. Wide brown eyes followed the man, golden and glowing, as he twirled and danced across the deck.

The grin on his face was near-blinding. His hair was closely-cut, messy, as though he’d run his fingers through it too many times; his white shirt was loosely buttoned, revealing a toned chest. When he tossed his head back, the torchlight caught against the tan of his skin, and he seemed to glow.

So this was a Man. Shifty had never seen one in person before, certainly not this close. Never before had he been seized with the desire to study, to follow the fellow’s movements and keep track of each leap. Not once, in a lifetime of sometimes-questionable choices — thank you, Popeye — had he ever wanted to get close to the world above.

Would being seen by this Man be a bad thing? He didn’t sport any fangs, no malicious gleam in his eye; he wasn’t hurling harpoons or fishing nets to catch ignorant Merfolk unawares. Surely there were bad Men, like all the stories said… but for the life of him, Shifty could not believe this was one. 

He seemed too gentle to hurt anybody. Too joy-filled, too… alive. His soul shone through his smile, and my, was it beautiful. 

The music died down as the song came to an end. It’s absence was drowned out by laughter from above. In the middle of the fray, Shifty’s gaze could not leave that Man, even for a moment. His fellow sailors slapped his back, dancing around him. His grin shone brighter. Clearly, he reveled in the company.

“I’m here,” Shifty breathed, too low to be heard over the noise from up above. “I’m here too. Right below you. Can you feel me?”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, the Man turned, hollering something to the band. Seconds later, the music picked up once again with a new tune. The Man seized a young lady by the arm, reeling her towards him. Together they began to prance across the deck, buoyed by the lively melody.

All Shifty could do was gaze up. The shadowed distance separating that brightly lit deck from the fathoms below created both a veil and a barrier. He could not cross it; to those golden people up above, he did not exist. Something inside of him churned, like the tempestuous sea itself. Feelings he’d never before even contemplated bubbled within him, one after the other, threatening to wash him away. Hunger… no, different. Excitement… yes, but something else too, something stronger and emptier, something aching within him…

Yearning. There it was.

My, how he yearned.

To be held in the golden limelight of that handsome man’s stare; to be met with his smile, to be the one held close to him, leaping and twirling around the deck. Oh, to be among that happy crowd — to be beside him! What would it be like? How would it feel? 

Now, you know that can’t be so, the sensible voice in the back of his mind scolded. Men and merfolk don’t mix. We stay apart for good reasons.

Even so, all those sensible reasons were drowned out by the Man’s laughter, rising above the waves.

The waves — rising. Llŷr’s sake, they were! As soon as the realization dawned on him, Shifty cursed himself for being so careless. In the countless minutes he’d wasted, soaking in the antics of the Men up above, the ocean’s pitch had picked up. No longer were the waves churning ominously; they’d moved beyond that, into full pitch-and-roll. As they lashed the sides of the ship, the people above fought to keep their footing. Laughter rang out louder, raising over the music. To them, it was all a game.

Shifty knew better. He felt it in his veins, thrumming through his blood. The waters were angry. 

Being above wasn’t safe any longer. He ducked below the waves; as the water closed over his head, he half-hoped whatever instinct tethering him to the people above would be severed. No such luck. Instead, something inside of him bellowed, an incoherent roar of urgency. They weren’t paying one lick of attention, too caught up in their own fun. They couldn’t feel the ocean like Shifty could. They didn’t know.

With one flick of his powerful tail, the waters parted effortlessly for him. Shifty surged below the ship like a bullet, finding himself on the other side in seconds. He hovered a safe distance below, gazing up as the great shadowy beast overhead began to thrash.

Buffeted by the ocean’s growing fury, the ship was helpless. As the waves stirred up, they pitched and rolled within it, forced down low in the waves before surging back up on another outraged swell. Though blind to the struggle of the crew above, Shifty could see it in flashes: ropes lashing out for purchase, lantern flames catching and igniting, sails going up in a matter of seconds… and the bodies as they hit the water, flung one after the other from their safe berth into the abyss. From such a distance, they were nothing but silhouettes, thrashing and writhing in the waters above…  but it did not take long for the thrashing to stop. They grew more defined as they sunk. Shifty studied a man’s bearded face as he drifted past on his way to the bottom; his fingers caught in a woman’s loose moonsilver hair. A face drifted by, mouth agape and eyes wide, and for a moment, Shifty was sure he’d been spotted… but the man’s eyes were empty, dull. They shone like black diamonds on his way to the bottom.

This was the natural order of life. Men were not meant for the sea. It would swallow them whole, given half the chance, and still they did not fear it enough. Shifty felt no grief as the souls slowly foundered… only a great hollow in his chest where his heart should have been.

The Man. That golden, dancing Man. Where was he?

A sudden urgency spiked within him. Shifty looked up at the mass of dark forms thrashing in the water above. The ship was a roaring ball of flame; as the sails burned, the waters were thrust into eerie orange oblivion. It wasn’t much light… but as Shifty propelled himself upwards, slicing through the drowning figures, it was just enough. He darted from body to body, too focused to worry about being seen, and moving too fast to register in the minds of desperate, drowning people. He couldn’t save everyone, even if he tried. But that Man —

No, sir, the law of the sea shouldn’t be his undoing. Not a Man like that, so full of life. Not a man who glowed like the spirit of the full moon was within him, shining from the inside-out… Shifty remembered every detail of his silhouette, had a clumsy outline of his face memorized from a distance. He could spot him in a tidal wave; he could spot him in a storm; he could recognize him even in the darkness, where the ocean ends and the abyss begins.

And there  ---  there. He saw him now — just another figure, lurching and thrashing as the waves drag him down.

Shifty’s arms caught around his waist, stopping his descent. The Man was a heavy weight against his chest, violently thrashing — not at Shifty, but at the waters themselves, the only enemy he was coherent enough to recognize. Fighting wouldn’t do either of them much good, but Shifty didn’t give up so easy. Instead, he locked on tight, refusing to let the Man thrash his way out of his grasp, and kicked his tail upwards. They shot towards the surface.

It was one thing to see it from below… but above, the ship was a colossus from hell itself, a great monster in its death throes fighting not to sink below the waves. Flames reached out with rabid tendrils, catching on debris and bodies tumbling over the burning rails; with the rain still holding itself at bay, waiting out this great fury, the ship’s only relief was the sea. Fire waged war against the waves eager to consume it… but against the brutal winds and thrashing waters, it could not hold out for long.

The Man gave one massive sputter, and what felt like a breath. After that, he was nothing but dead weight in Shifty’s grasp.

With fire in his eyes and the sky burning above, Shifty turned his back on the burning vessel, and focused on the task at hand. A body can only do what it can, he told himself, propelling away from the shipwreck. And this fella here has done enough.

Now, it was Shifty’s turn.

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

Floyd faded back to consciousness to a burning in his chest, and warmth like honey flowing through his limbs.

It took him a moment to gather his bearings, and he collected them all before trying to open his eyes. He was on solid ground — sand, if the grittiness against his bare skin was any clue — and his clothes were soaked. Even the sunlight, beating directly down on his body, could only dry him so fast. From what his hazy mind recalled, he’d gotten one hell of a soaking. His entire body ached, the exhaustion threading through his limbs maybe the only thing holding him together at all… and somewhere, as if from very far away, someone was speaking to him. Someone with a voice like a familiar memory, soft and gentle as a dream.

His eyes fluttered open — just in time to see a silhouette above him startle and dart out of view.

He tried to call for them to wait, It came out as a croak. His throat was scraped ragged, burning worse than his lungs with each breath he sucked in. Vision still hazy, Floyd struggled to force himself up. His body gave out on him not even halfway through the effort. He collapsed back onto the sand with a groan. For the moment, it was all he could do to soak in the sun, and appreciate being alive.

He was alive, somehow. The how’s-and-why’s of that were a mystery. Last he could recall, he was fighting the water, and the water was winning. As panic locked itself around his chest, squeezing the last of his air out in a rush of bubbles, his last hope of survival evaporated with it.

Yet here he was, with fresh air in his lungs and — unless this was some kind of heaven — life in his body. It shouldn’t be possible. Was it… a miracle?

Had he been saved?

“You.” That word did come out clear, at least. With all the energy he could summon, he locked his grip around the mysterious stranger’s wrist. A broad hand went still, hovering just over Floyd’s chest. Floyd tugged it down, so that they were pressing down on him, touching him, even in a small way. When he forced his eyes open again, they were still too blurred to make anything out clearly… he could see a silhouette in plain view, with muscled shoulders and dark eyes looking down at him.

Something in that gaze was so impossibly kind, It brought tears to his eyes.

“You saved me. Saved my life.” He could barely croak out the words, but he needed confirmation. It came in a single nod of the stranger’s head. “Th-thank you.”

For a moment, the stranger said nothing at all. Then Floyd felt another hand press down on his shoulder, massaging lightly into the sore muscles while urging him back down onto the sand. Floyd slumped, all his energy spent; it was all he could do to keep his eyes half-open.

“There, now. You’ve had an awful time, and I declare, it’ll take you a good while to recover. Once you’re well again... you won’t recall this at all.”

“Not true,” Floyd murmured. “I’ll remember you.”

The stranger was quiet for a moment, before heaving a sigh. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to see you again. Want to… thank you.” Floyd’s grip on the man’s hand tightened, weak but earnest. “You gotta let me thank you.”

“So long as you’re alive, that’s all the thanks I need.”

“You… you’re an angel,” Floyd couldn’t help murmuring — and maybe all that seawater was making him delirious, because he usually had much better game. His mysterious savior laughed anyways.

“No, certainly not. I declare, my Mama might’ve been, she was the most patient woman you ever did meet, but —��� He cut off, sighing. Floyd felt a rough-palmed hand caress his jaw. “You’re a very lucky man.”

“Be the luckiest fella in the world... if I knew your name.”

Leave it to Floyd Talbert to still flirt while laying half-drowned on a beach.

The man chuckled again, and his touch left Floyd’s cheek. He missed it immediately, like a bandage torn from a wound and stinging something fierce. He made a murmur of disapproval, but it was no use. The man’s other hand pulled away too, leaving Floyd suddenly feeling alone, deafened by the absence of him.

For a moment, he was sure his savior had gone entirely… until he felt a breath against his ear, and a voice, soft as a sigh.

“Maybe we’ll find each other again. Maybe you’ll know me.”

“I will,” Floyd replied, resolute. “No doubt. I promise you that.”

The presence lingered at his side for a moment longer… and then, a splash echoed from the distance, and Floyd knew he was alone.

It took a long time for him to summon the energy to sit up; it was an even longer time before he could make it to his hands and knees, and crawl his way up the beach. No surprise that his rescuer left nothing behind, not even footprints in the sand… but disappointment rang in Floyd’s chest anyways, to be left without a trace of him.

That night, and many nights afterwards, he stared out at the sea from his bedroom window, and imagined he could hear a soft voice calling for him. A half-forgotten caress tingled on his cheek; a promise rang in his ears.

Floyd Talbert kept his word, and this one he was bound to keep. He’d find his rescuer… even if he had to comb every inch of the sea, and search til his dying day.

The moment he saw him again, he’d know.

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 7/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,490 Warnings: M for Language, a little more Violence in this chapter

Notes: DemonPower!Beej needs more attention, I think. Expect him to pop up more often.

Chapter 7: In Which Civility is Attempted

It had been days, and no sign of the resident spectre.

There was still tension between Lydia and Holidae over the whole debacle; spurring random bouts of shouting at one another over the smallest of issues. In all honesty, their anger at each other was beginning to wane, but the lack of Beetlejuice kept Lydia on edge. It was unusual of him to disappear for so long, and there was no sign of him even just… being in the house unseen.

The tension had boiled over at the week-since-the-incident mark, and Lydia decided she needed to get out of the house for a while. She took the car into town, claiming the need for more camera supplies, and left Holidae alone to stew in her own guilt for the afternoon.

Anxiety wormed it’s way into Holidae’s brain; a constant buzzing sensation running through her veins as she paced around the house, looking for any kind of distraction, however inane it might have been. At a loss, she wandered outside onto the garish patio, flopping into one of the lawn chairs set out beside a small table. Thankfully, it was overcast and a cool autumn breeze scattered fallen leaves around the deck. Perfect napping weather, if nothing else.

Holidae had just started to nod off when the chair suddenly dipped down, creaking as it tried to bear the extra weight. Blinking her eyes open, she was nose to nose with the missing ghost, his expression… unreadable from such a close distance. The only clue she had was the purple hue that covered his normally green locks.

“That’s my chair, breather.” Beetlejuice leaned closer, pressing his chest against hers.

Holidae was pinned down in the lawn chair, surprised when it didn’t break under the weight of two full-grown adults. Moving her legs subtly, she realized only half of his weight was balancing on top of her, the rest of him hovering just a few inches above her bottom half. She couldn’t tell if it was more or less intimidating to see him just floating above her.

She poked at his stomach, “Thank you for reminding me I’m an imposition to everyone in this house, but I can’t get up.”

Without a word, he took hold of her by the shoulders, lifting her out of the chair as though she weighed nothing. He carried her up to the top of the full-sized wall facade, keeping her suspended high above the ground. Holidae clutched at his arms for dear life, her nails digging into his sleeves.

“No no no… wait, don’t… don’t….” Holidae’s voice cracked.

“This is the right height to break someone’s neck, right? Or at he very least, break something. I could always just snap it and then drop you just to make sure.” Beetlejuice’s claws ripped into her shirt as he loosened his grip. “Ooooh babydoll it has been a long time since I ended a life. Kinda miss it, you know? Lyds doesn’t really want me to hurt anyone, but since she’s not entirely thrilled about you lately, she won’t mind.”

Holidae was grasping at him, trying to reach around his neck to support herself, “Beetlejuice, please don’t drop me. Just… can’t we just talk? Lydia… she told me everything!”

The ghost casually vanished out of her grip, reappearing on the edge of the wall connected to the decking. Holidae felt herself being suspended in mid-air, invisible hands supporting her as she was caught mid-fall. A wave of nausea made her stomach lurch as she glanced down at the ground below, a soft haze clouding the edges of her vision. One of the transparent limbs was wrapped around her throat, forcing her chin upward to look at him instead of her impending death.

“Everything?” He asked, crossing one leg over the other, “That’s a little vague, isn’t it? Better start clarifying or… I dunno, maybe I’ll just forget to keep you up. Sometimes my attention span isn’t the greatest.”

For emphasis, he snapped his fingers, and Holidae dropped a few inches before being lifted back up. Panting hard, she fought the urge to just faint right then and there, her blood pounding in her ears loud enough to muffle his voice.

It was like the carnival ride from hell.

“She… she told me about the Maitlands.” Holidae was sweating now, the cold air making her shiver. “About how she could see you, a-about her mother, the N-N-Neitherworld… and the marriage that was subsequently followed by your murder.”

Another snap of his fingers and Holidae was perched on the wall next to him. She clutched his arm for fear of falling, pulling it tight against her chest as though she could will him to stay put. The two of them sitting there would have almost painted a rather… romantic picture, if not for the fact he had already made a few attempts on her life in the last five minutes.

Beetlejuice was surprisingly quiet for a long time, absently scratching a spot in the middle of his chest, “...she didn’t have to tell you that.”

“Lyddy just started talking, and I listened.” Holidae could feel her heart rate returning to normal, looking up at him to notice he was still sporting his violet hue. “Speaking of which: please go talk to her when she gets back. She’s miserable and I can’t fix it, but I know you can. Just… anything. Talk about the weather. Or some cool bug you found. Anything.”

“I don’t want to talk to her. She can come talk to me.” His brow was furrowed in frustration, but his hand managed to find its way onto her thigh despite his mood. “Besides, I’m sure you two will patch things up and start gossiping about me during sleepovers or some shit.”

Holidae gave his shin a swift kick, “Asshole. No wonder you two are bestest best friends; you’re both too stubborn for any sane person to tolerate. Suck it up and go make her happy.”

With an annoyed grunt, Beetlejuice dragged the girl up onto his lap, dipping her upper half low as though they were dancing, “Stupid move, kicking someone who is literally holding your life in his hands. Got a death wish or something? Listen, I already went through this suicidal breather routine with Lyds, I really don’t have the capacity to care about anyone else’s problems.”

“Then stop talking about it and just fucking drop me, I’m tired.” She knew it was a risky move, but it he wanted her pulverized on the ground, he wouldn’t have let her keep talking.

At least, she hoped that was the case.

The ghost stared at her for a long time, as if he were trying to see something on her person that would be otherwise hidden from view. She started to blush; but she wasn’t sure if it was from the intense scrutiny, or the blood starting to rush to her head from the angle she was being held. One thing she did note was that his violet coloring was fading away into his normal neon green.

“Alright, alright… dumb humans and your sense of morality.” Beej rolled his eyes, transporting them back to the deck. “Ugh, it gets so old.”

Well, in actuality he was standing on solid ground, but Holidae was being held up in his grasp; just enough to have her feet dangling helplessly in the air. Even though he wasn’t that much taller than she was, it was still enough of a difference to thoroughly annoy the poor woman. To add insult to injury, he started to swing her back and forth like a pendulum, causing her to wrap arms around his neck in reflex.

Her stomach did a little flip; being in such close proximity was making her feel off. It wasn’t the musty smell that hovered around him, as she thought as first. No, that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. And neither was his appearance in general, the longer she stared at him. Even with mold growing in various spots. He was rather attact-

Bad thought train, she mentally scolded herself. Must exit.

“Can you please let me down now? I would really appreciate being able to experience gravity.” Holidae pouted, feeling her cheeks flush hot even though he was noticeably cold to the touch.

He shook his head, sticking out his striped, snake-like tongue, “Pfft, who needs gravity? You’re being held in the arms of the Neitherworld’s number one bachelor. Feel honored, Holly-Berry, do you know how many undead ladies and lads would love to fill those shoes of yours? So many.”

Holidae was about to make a retort, when a suspiciously loud clicking caught both of their attentions at the same time. Lydia was standing in the doorway to the house, camera in one hand as she waved around the newly printed polaroid in the other. Beetlejuice and Holidae glanced at each other, and then back at Lydia as she inspected the photo.

“Damn. That guy at the store lied to me.” Lydia frowned, lining up the picture next to her two still-frozen companions. “Can’t see ghosts with this film.”

Writing Tags: @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @ashemspirit

[etlunainmorte]

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

V

***

"Maybe next time, isn't that right?" V looked down at Shadow as he closed the door and left Griffon behind with Nico. "Because for now," He looked at the Grecian statue and saw the boy come out from behind it, waiting for him to join him. " ... we have a more,... pressing,… engagement."

The moment he arrived with Shadow at the foot of the grand staircase, he was met there by not only the boy, but by Maria, as well.

And they were both looking up as if they were waiting for something to occur,...

The old housekeeper turned just in time when V was about to ascend.

"Please let this boy accompany you." Maria simply told him. "It's the only way I could protect you."

The poet looked down at the boy and noticed him trembling, as if he was being forced to partake of this horrifying task. V took pity on him and smiled at Maria.

"Believe me, I can take care of myself. I have a very,... capable,... companion." V spoke as looked down at his familiar, who became wary of the what's on the second floor once more.

Maria hummed in disagreement. "Solitary makes itself known with every decision you make, I can see that." She placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked at V once more. "Very well, since this is your first night, I will let you wander on your own. But, please," She went closer to V and placed her hands on his shoulders. "... be mindful of everything around you. Deception comes,... in all forms." She let go of V's shoulders and made way for him. "I bid you good luck, V."

He nodded and took the first step, then the second, then the next. The evil presence in the place still suffocated him, and it made his footsteps heavier than expected. He looked behind him and saw Shadow still at the foot of the stairs, positively cowering, just like the boy. He motioned for his familiar to go back to him, and she grabbed this opportunity to finally hide from the malicious presence she was so afraid of.

Only then did he finally manage to reach his destination.

There was actually nothing much on the second floor, save for some closed doors, more Grecian statues on every pillar, and a few closed windows. The hallway was understandably dark with only a few lamps illuminating the place, and there was a distinct odor wafting around the area that made V both sick and depressed.

He looked around him, fully prepared should something attack.

The silence was deafening, the darkness, oppressing.

He took a few steps to his left with the intention of opening all those doors to have a look. The sound from earlier did come from this direction, after all. He tried opening the first door. It was, of course, locked. Then, he tried the second one, still locked. The third? Didn't even budge.

It was when he was about to check on the fourth door when he felt something move swiftly from behind him. He turned around and saw nothing.

His eyebrows furrowed, his lips slightly parted. He tried to reach the doorknob once more when he -

"I'll show you something."

He clearly heard a whisper that penetrated through the deafening silence. The hair on his nape stood on end, and his breathing became heavier. He suddenly felt the same kind of cold creep unto his skin, like the first time he stepped into this house. And then, he felt it - an overwhelming kind of sadness that drained almost all of his energy and what's left of his positive mood. The feeling took hold of his heart and made his body frigid for a few seconds. The melancholy spread throughout his body like a virus, and gave him thoughts that sent warning bells to his brain. He knew full well that it was not in his nature at all to feel like this. But, the malicious entity that resided within this house clearly wanted to plant this seed of emotion within him.

Because he suddenly wanted to end his own life.

"I'll show,"

He slowly turned around once more, and he saw, within a few feet from where he was standing, a lady dressed from head to foot in white. Her back was turned against him and she was pointing at something right in front of her.

"... you,..." she ended her sentence as her body seemed to spasm violently, showing some strands of blonde hair that escaped from her white lace veil.

Her body stopped moving, and a few moments later, she dropped her hand to the side and began walking towards the direction she was pointing at. V cautiously followed her, maintaining a safe distance away from her. He raised his cane a bit, preparing himself should this creature decide to attack him. Demons were predictable and easier to fight with, to be honest. They only want one thing from you, and that was your death and destruction.

But, ghosts were an entirely different thing, altogether.

And one can't simply get rid of them, Legendary Devil Hunter or no.

V looked down and realized she was barefooted. But, what really startled him the most was the way she moved.

Her toes were just gliding against the wooden floor. Like something unseen was pulling her from afar and manipulating her movements.

Her spasms, the way she pointed, and the way she glided,...

... it was like she was a life - sized marionette,...

She abruptly stopped moving and faced the third door to her right. She lifted an arm once more, her finger pointing at the doorknob.

This must be it. V thought. He cautiously stepped forward and turned the doorknob.

It clicked.

He opened the door wide enough and raised his cane, ready to summon Shadow should something attack him from the room.

But, there was none.

In fact, the room looked really nice. It even smelled nice, like an old perfume. He carefully stepped inside, his feet barely making any kind of noise. He stepped further and -

BAM!

V turned around and saw the door closed shut. The clicking sound that he heard right after sent his nerves to panic mode. He strode towards the door and tried to open it. But, to no avail.

He felt the tension within his skin as Shadow tried to materialize but, for some reason, she couldn't.

He clutched at his chest, his escalating heartbeat swiftly getting the better of him. He closed his eyes, trying his best to shove all the negative thoughts from his head. He opened them once more, and realized that his surroundings have drastically changed.

For the room, which was once dark and suffocating, has now turned bright, and new, and warm.

Like he was suddenly transported to a different place.

He looked around, his eyes wandering from one furniture to the next. The pastel - colored wallpapers looked relaxing to his eyes, and the French canopy bed was effectively doing its best to lull V in for a good night's rest. There were some large stuffed animals on the side and the white vanity table was filled with some cosmetics of some sort. He went towards it and saw his reflection on the wide ornate mirror. He took one bottle of perfume and sniffed it, realizing it was the sweet scent that wafted around the room. Carefully placing it back, he glanced at the window, curious as to what he would see should he part those heavy, pastel - colored curtains.

He stepped forward, one hand reaching out to move the curtain -

V turned around just in time as he heard the door open,...

... and in came a very beautiful girl with the most luscious set of long, (H/C) curls. She looked up, her large (E/C) - colored eyes landing right to where V was standing.

"I,... ah,..." The poet stuttered, not knowing how he would react to the situation or explain his treason to her own room. Like he was caught in the act doing something really mischievous in a lady's boudoir. "Forgive me, I - "

The fringe of her long (H/C) - colored eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly, and her little cupid, cherry - colored lips parted.

V's mouth dropped open at the sight.

She simply was breathtaking.

Unlike any woman he has seen before.

"I'm really sorry, I,..."

But, she was not even shocked at his presence there! What's more, she just closed the door, locked it, and proceeded to the bed, collapsing in it as she took a stuffed animal next to her pillows and embraced it as tight as she could, burying her face in it.

And then, as if she was upset at something, she literally screamed at the top of her lungs, her fluffy toy muffling the sound she made.

"Oh, my,..." V uttered as he watched her. "I - I'll take my leave now. I - "

The girl, then, threw the stuff animal away, showing her flushed face. Carefully removing her shoes and rearranging her white skirt, she crawled to the middle of her bed and reached for something underneath her white pillows with one hand.

Then, V saw it - a leather - bound book on her hand. She sat up, leaned against the headboard, and opened it. She took the pen next to a music box on top of her bed side table and began writing in the book.

With wary steps, he went closer to her. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, reached out his left hand, and waved it in front of her face.

He was right. She couldn't see him.

V sighed as he dropped his hand to his side and watched her scribble away on that journal of hers. Sometimes, she would simply stop writing and nibble on the pen, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. And oftentimes, she would brush away a wayward (H/C) lock and place it behind her ear. He found this mannerism of hers quite adorable, and when he was about to sit closer to her a few minutes later, she stopped writing, closed the book shut, held close to her chest and smiled, her cheeks turning pink once more. She, then, bowed down low, held the book against her forehead and shrieked, her feet flailing excitedly.

The poet chuckled at the sight. Well, it looked as though cupid has struck an arrow right through this girl's chest. She looked,... so in love. And blissful.

V watched a few more moments of her going back and forth on her writing until someone started knocking on the door.

The girl looked up in alarm and quickly hid the journal back beneath her mountain of pillows.

"My lady?" A woman called from the other side of the door. "Lady (Y/N)?"

(Y/N),...

Such,... a beautiful name. For a girl as lovely as her,...

"Yes?! You can come in!"

Oh, God. Even her voice sounded lovely and angelic,...

The door opened and in came a young woman with dark hair and equally dark eyes.

"What are you doing?" The lady asked.

"Nothing!" (Y/N) answered.

"What was that scream I heard?"

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as she slightly looked down at her pillows. "A scream?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I' am!"

"Well, I heard nothing." (Y/N) candidly lied, making V smirk in amusement. How typical of girls her age,...

"Oh, never mind!" The lady, most probably a maidservant, waved a single hand. "Do come down. Your father is already waiting at the dining hall."

"Oh, shoot!" (Y/N) swore underneath her breath as she quickly scrambled off the bed and made her way towards her maidservant. She took a deep breath and brushed some invisible dirt off her white dress. "How do I look?"

"Adorable." V could not help but whisper.

"You look fine." The lady replied. "Let's go!"

(Y/N) smiled as she took the servant's hand and made their way outside, shutting the door close behind them and leaving V alone in the room.

Then, V felt the air leave his lungs as the room was plunged into total darkness. The things inside the room lost their color, and the sweet smell gradually changed into something that made him sick.

He closed his eyes, feeling the familiar heaviness in his chest return. And when he opened them once more, he suddenly found himself face to face with the same boy from earlier. The boy was peering down at him, not doing anything to help him ease the pain in his throat. And just when V was beginning to think that he was in, yet, another kind of illusion, he felt the boy's cold hand grip his right arm tightly, pulling him with much force in a gesture that managed to convey that it was time to leave.

"Wait." The poet said as he took his arm off the boy's deathly cold grip. He looked around him and recognized the same things that he saw earlier.

From the stuffed animals, to the bottles of perfume, to the curtain, to the French canopy bed he was sitting at.

This,... was, indeed, (Y/N)'s room.

His hand idly reached beneath the cold white pillows, and then he found it,...

... her diary. (Y/N)'s diary.

He took it out, felt a sense of relief to know that it was still in good condition, and stood, following the boy outside of the room. He was still looking at the curious little thing in his hand a few moments later as he went back down to the first floor when a thing so utterly frightening greeted him at the foot of the stairs.

With dark, frizzy hair sticking wildly like bushes and mouth wide open as she yawned, letting him see her tongue, uvula, throat, and beyond, he saw Nico as she stretched her limbs before him. V waited for her to finish stretching and yawning, and when her sight finally adjusted, she waved her hand at him.

"Ey, g'mornin'." She mumbled with a silly smile on her lips.

Wait,...

"Good morning?" V repeated.

Nico's eyes widened as she looked around her. V did so, and realized that it was, indeed, already morning! The sun outside looked as if it was already high above the sky and the house looked bright once more.

And an hour hasn't even passed since he went upstairs! And that was around half past ten in the evening!

"Well, yeah, duh." Nico only replied. "Where have ya been? Didn't see ya go to sleep or wake up."

"Hey!" V and Nico turned to see Avery already dressed and waiting for them at the dining hall. "Drag your asses here! Breakfast is ready!"

"Right! Comin'!" Nico answered as she walked towards the dining room like a zombie.

But, V remained rooted to the ground as realization came down upon him.

It only felt like minutes but,...

... it looked as though he was gone for more than eight hours!

***

✒ @la-vita and @micaelagua . ✒

***

✒✒✒

***

[xeno-stories]

Chapter 1: Ever-Devouring

We hunger. This cluster of lights has proved to be more dangerous then others in the past. Stingers of many different types resist consumption. They will not last. We will consume them, there is much food to be had here and when we consume it all we will be strong enough for hundreds or thousands of trips across the vast emptiness to find other clusters of lights to consume. For now, a new strategy must be employed. Slow consumption of small forgotten orbs. Hidden away while we build this new tendril into a force to consume all. We follow behind two of our previous tendrils in a part of the cluster that we have consumed much of before but proved to have much more life left to consume. First, we explore, we must find those orbs ideal for consumption. Forgotten but full of food.

 Ka’Tar, Bor’kan Mining Colony World

Shas’ui Bor’kan Kais and his team has been on guard duty for nearly a month local time. He estimated it would be a full kai’rotaa soon. The earth caste workers had been diligently building defense walls but the work was slow and tedious due to the harsh rains and winds, not to mention common attacks by the jungle fauna that badly wanted to eat them.  Kais was pleased with his team as thus far no workers had been killed and only one of his team had been injured when caught by surprise from above by one of the climbing lizard creatures. It was minor thankfully and did not impact his battle readiness.

Kais adjusted the climate control in his helmet as he scanned the tree line. At his request the earth caste has cut back the trees farther then required for construction. This made it much easier to protect everyone as most of the creatures used the trees for cover and to attack from above. One of his team, Shas’la Bor’kan Manara, is patrolling along the wall to the north and another, Shas’la Bor’kan Shi’sha to the south of his position in the guard tower. He knew on the other side of the compound the two more of his team would be patrolling. Tonight, his second in command Shas’la Bor’kan Shoh would take over with the rest of his team to keep overnight watch.

How the gue’vesa had inhabited this place before they joined the T’ua he has no idea. The world had been a backward place with the gue’vesa using wooden spears tipped with rocks to fend off the carnivorous lizards that stalked the jungles across much of the planet. They were a tough breed of gue’vesa to be sure and the water caste had trouble communicating at all at first, but a few token gifts and help defending themselves won them over quickly. They proved to be adept farmers working near tirelessly to better the Greater Good with food and basic supplies. Some even were learning to use pulse rifles and forming a small gue’vesa militia.

One of his team’s gun drones hovered past and he made a mental note to bring it in tonight when he went off duty to have one of the earth cast mechanics give it a quick look over.  It was looking a bit rough for the wear after its non-stop patrols for a few weeks, he’d probably bring the other one in tomorrow as well. He watched as the drone wavered in flight as a strong gust of wind pushed hard against it. Rain quickly followed. He was dry beneath his armor and rain wicking uniform, but he still hoped his next assignment was to a desert world with no mud or jungles full of hungry lizards.  The rain also sometimes made it hard to see as even though the lenses of his helmet were set back in his helmet to keep the dry the combination of rain and strong wind would sometimes soak them anyway.  

A rustle in the forest to his left drew his attention and he raised his pulse rifle. Scanning the forest edge for further movement.

“Shas’la Manara movement to your right, thirty meters, forest edge.” He barked into his commlink.  She did not respond but immediately dropped to a one knee firing position and sited in on the area where the movement had come from.  Moments Kais caught movement to his right below him and Shas’la Shi’sha had taken a position below him steady against the wall of the watch tower covering the same part of the jungle.

“La’rua, Manara and Shi’sha are covering North East for potential activity split and cover North-West and South, South East.” Kais was confident his team would cover all other areas while he and the two Shas’la dealt with this threat. Suddenly with a leap covering half the distance between Manara and the forest line a long lean creature with bladed fore limbs and powerful rear limbs appeared. Kais Manara and Shas’la all opened fire at once. Its speed made several shots go wide as it dodged and jumped. One of Kais pulse shots grazed it but it seemed unfazed as the plates that ran along the top of its body only sowed scorch marks. It threw itself claws first at Manara with its jaws agape. Manara did not flinch and instead fired another volley of pulse rounds the last striking the creature in the middle of its chest blowing a lunge chunk of it away and throwing it to the ground twitching.

“Y’he” whispered Manara into her coms. She leveled her pulse rife and fired one clean shot into the beasts head vaporizing it and stopping the twitching.

“Y’he have not been seen in this area for ages, they are off eating Gue’ron’sha some place else.” Kais offered calmingly.

“I have seen them in the tablets and images from Kel’shan. This is a Y’he, I am sure of it” Manara responded still aiming her rifle at the motionless corpse.  Kais trusted her implicitly as he did with the rest of his team and immediately began making plans.

“Very well. La’rua. Retreat to the walls. Cover your designated area from the gun ports.” His team immediately began an organized fall back. We touched a control on his form arm and switched frequency.  “Shas’la Shoh, we have a situation, we need your team awake and battle ready as soon as possible.” A groggy voice returned to him shortly.

“Understood preparing La’rua now” cracked over his com. Kais knew they would be ready in only a few minutes even being woke from a deep sleep.

“Report for orders when ready on combat com” Kais stated. He dialed his com link again this time to Fio’vre Bor’kan Naseot’s earth cast channel for commanding her workers.

“Fio’vre Naseot, Shas’ui Kais speaking. Please contact me on private channel.” Kais requested. He did not want to panic the workers if Manara was incorrect but had to get more information.

“Understood Shas’ui,” Naseot responded and immediately a private coms channel opened. “What is it Shas’ui?” She asked.

“We have been attacked by a previously unseen creature and have reason to suspect it is a Y’he.” A long pause followed Kais statement.

“Y’he?, it has been many tau,cyr since Y’he have been seen in the empire or its borders.”

“Understood, Fio’vre. However we just killed a creature that strongly matches the description and holograms. I am request a retrieval team accompanied by Shas’la Shoh and his team to collect the body for examination.”

“Granted, I will a few workers and a retrieval drone. May the Greater Good guide us if it is a Y’he…” She trailed off. All T’au were taught about the enemies of the Greater Good from a young age. Some like the gue could in time be brought into the fold with the Greater Good but some like the Y’he proved impossible. Kais thought on the name of the creatures itself. Y’he, ever-devouring.

https://xeno-stories.tumblr.com/

Author: G. Kilar

[peanutbutter-and-thumbtacks]

Maid Malevolent

This is a screenplay project I’ve been working on for the last couple of months. I don’t have any long term plans with it, but I wanted to let more people read it. The story does get graphic so if you don’t like blood, violence and themes of domestic violence and sex, this is not for you. 

Please enjoy and if you have any thoughts on the storyline, feel free to share them.

EPISODE I

EXT. FOREST – NIGHT

A thick fog rolls over the old forest floor. Unknown creatures hiss and chirp in the distance as an unseen specter glides through the the underbrush towards something in the distance. It speeds forward, knocking branches and trees out of its way. The ambience has grown now, louder, more demonic in tone. A small cabin emerges out of the darkness, red light pours out from the windows. The specter is growing faster and faster, the cabin growing closer and closer. The ambience has crescendoed and transformed into the blaring scream of an electric guitar. The specter comes up onto the porch and the door flies open to reveal a small rock concert in progress. A mosh pit surrounds the stage as the band stands centerfold. AMY ROSE, a young poet and singer, stands before the audience with her arms outstretched. LORNE, a tall bearded man, stands to Amy's right on bass. To her left, RUTH MARLOWE, a quiet but troubled soul shredding it on the guitar. NED, the drummer, pounds out a hard steady beat as doom metal pounds on.

AMY

(Singing)

Maid Malevolent, spare my soul, I'm not the one that wronged you. They took your girl and your mortal life. Bring the demons their needed hell! Maid Malevolent, you've traveled far, to the future where the wasteland waits. Time and space can't stop you now, burn the wizards army to the ground! Maid Malevolent, the end is nigh, with the coming of Asmodeus. You may be damned or you might just fly. So cross your heart, and hope to die! Legend! Legend! Legend!

Amy takes a step away from the spotlight as Ruth comes in with a earsplitting riff. She seems to be possessed by something greater than herself as she plays. The trauma of an unspoken past echoes through each chord, and the crowd eats it up.

Cut to

A stream of satanic images speed across the screen suddenly. Pentagrams, ritual sacrifices, nuclear annihilation, all culminating in one final image of a glowing red tesseract hovering in space.

Cut Back

RUTH strums the final chord and the crowd is ecstatic. Their cheers imitate the satisfied roars of wild beasts and dinosaurs. The show has been a success. Ruth and Amy look at each other and exchange smiles of approval.

INT. CABIN – LATER

The audience has departed now, and the band is nearly done packing up all their equipment. MARCUS, the band manager, talks with the OWNER of the cabin as he collects the bands earnings for the night. They seem to be quietly arguing over something. Lorne helps Ned pick up the drum set.

OWNER

I made myself perfectly clear. 100 bucks for an hour, that was the deal we agreed on.

MARCUS

Look I feel like I'm not asking for much here.

OWNER

I'm not renegotiating. If you wanted an extra 25 dollars, you should've played an extra 15 minutes.

MARCUS

Look, this band is black magic incarnate, my friend. Last week I witnessed a skinhead convert to Judaism over this fucking music. We're top notch shit. And we've got a whole day of driving ahead of us; gas money is everything. Now imagine in a couple years when these guys hit it big. Do you wanna be known as the guy who made it so we couldn't reach the next gig?

Amy exits from a nearby bathroom and lights a cigarette.

NED

Hey, Amy, do you have the keys to the van?

AMY

Why would I have them? Ruth's the one driving.

NED

Well I don't know where Ruth is. Can you find her so we can put our shit away?

AMY

Fine. You know it's not that hard to go look for her yourself.

LORNE

How are we supposed to find someone that constantly avoids human contact.

NED

You know she hides from us after every show.

AMY

She's not hiding, jackoffs. She likes her space. She's probably outside having a smoke.

(Heads for the front door before looking over at Marcus)

Don't give him too hard of a time, Marc.

MARCUS

Don't criticize me for being a good manager for you people. How about this, 15 dollars and I'll let you keep some merch?

EXT. CABIN – Night

Amy walks out into the fall air. She takes another pull of her cigarette. Above the main doorway she notices a silhouette perched at the entrance. A ladder is conveniently placed to climb up.

Ruth sits performing some form of meditation. She plays with a red rubber band on her wrist. Amy carefully edges her way up next to Ruth.

AMY

Whatcha thinking about?

RUTH

Nothing really. It's kind of the whole point of meditation.

AMY

(Pulls out a cigarette for Ruth)

You'll have to teach me about it sometime. Damn, have you seen the moon?

RUTH

(Lights cigarette with Amy's)

What about it?

AMY

It's crazy looking.

RUTH

(Looks at moon)

Reminds me of a dream I had.

AMY

(Stare at Ruth)

Tell me about it.

The two stare at a glowing red moon. Cigarette smoke floats across the clear autumn sky as the stars shine down on the two.

RUTH

I'm floating through space on some giant rock. And I can see all the planets in the sky. And then there's this bright light hovering over me, looked like the moon. I can feel everything around me moving. Gravity was pulling everything in every direction except for me. I'm... bleeding, but I'm not in pain. And you were there.

AMY

(Slides closer to Ruth)

Really? What was I doing?

RUTH

You were just staring at me. You looked sad, like I did something wrong.

AMY

Why do think you did something?

RUTH

I don't think I did. It was like I just made a difficult decision, and whatever it was I did it for you.

AMY

(Closing in for a kiss)

What happened next?

RUTH

(Puts out her cigarette and places her hand on Amy's cheek)

I think I was going to kiss you, but I woke up before I saw anything else.

AMY

Well that was a dream. This is real.

Amy and Ruth's lips meet at last, but are unfortunately cut short by the guys.

NED

So... how's finding the keys coming along?

AMY

(Takes her time to stop kissing Ruth)

As a matter of fact–

(Holds out Ruths keys)

I just found them.

LORNE

Can we go now? We've got two hours of driving before we're near the next motel.

MARCUS

Actually, that will not be necessary.

INT. VAN – Night – Moving

The band's van rattles down a dirt path on a lonesome forest road. Ruth and Amy sit in the front while Marcus, Lorne, and Ned sit in the back.

NED

So when were you going to tell us that you rented a house?

MARCUS

Well I was–

LORNE

How much did it cost?

MARCUS

It wasn't–

AMY

How much money do we have now?

MARCUS

If you would all please shut up for a moment. It didn't cost anything. I happen to know a guy who lives out here. He was leaving for a fishing trip, and I told him I'd watch the house for a couple days. I was gonna tell you all after the show, but I got stuck arguing with the owner.

RUTH

You were trying to weasel 15 dollars out of him.

MARCUS

I earned that 15 for you all! Don't judge me for trying to help out. And how the hell do you even know what we were talking about? You were on the fucking roof.

AMY

You know the howl of a weasel can be heard up to 5 miles away.

MARCUS

Glad to know I'm appreciated by you all.

RUTH

Just tell us where we're going, Marcus.

MARCUS

(Points out the window)

Take a left here, and follow the road.

A sign up sticks off the road reading:

RISING MOON ROAD

Ruth drives off the main road and into the fog. The road grows narrower as they continue driving.

AMY

Are you sure we're driving in the right direction?

MARCUS

It should be coming up pretty soon.

RUTH

Are we even on a road anymore? If this is the wrong spot, I don't know how I'm gonna get out of here.

NED

Anyone wanna pull up a map?

LORNE

(Looking at his phone)

No luck, we've got no cell signal up here.

MARCUS

I know what my friend, said. It's the first left past the cabin, and... and then he said...

AMY

Have you even been to this place, Marcus?

Marcus says nothing.

NED

You've got to be kidding me.

LORNE

So we're completely lost, great. We should've just headed for the mot–

AMY

LOOK OUT!

Ruth slams the brakes right before plowing into a man standing in the middle of the road. He stares at them, bug-eyed, mumbling something under his breath.

MARCUS

Get out of the road asshole!

He stumbles out of the way of the van and continues walking. As he walks past her window, Ruth notes the mans strange appearance. Tattoos cover his entire body, and his beard is long and gray. He vanishes into the fog behind them.

LORNE

Where the hell did he come from?

NED

Who gives a shit? I just wanna get the fuck out of here.

AMY

(Points ahead)

Look.

The group makes out the dim porch lights of a cabin.

MARCUS

Told you I knew where we were going. Now come on, before more tweakers show up.

AMY

Ruth, are you alright?

RUTH

What?

Amy is staring down at Ruth's side. Her hand is gripped around a small knife hanging off of her belt. Ruth quickly lets go.

RUTH

Yeah... I'm ok.

AMY

Are you sur–

RUTH

Let's keep moving.

The group drives towards the cabin without another word. The strange man watches from a distance.

INT. FRIENDS CABIN

Marcus unlocks the front door and the band enters with their gear. The house is quaint and generally inviting.

MARCUS

The lights should be around somewhere.

Marcus flips a switch, and the room is illuminated. A number of animal heads are mounted on the wall. Lorne notes the double barreled shotgun hanging over the mantle piece by a large hearth.

NED

(Approaching the heath)

If anyone can find me some matches I can get a fire going.

LORNE

First we get everything out of the van. I'm not leaving anything outside. Not with crazy old men wandering around.

Lorne and Ned head back outside to grab the rest of the gear. Ruth walks over to a couch in the lounge area of the room. It folds out into a bed.

MARCUS

There should be two more bedrooms upstairs. You and Ruth can have the main one, and I'll take the guest bedroom.

AMY

Sounds like a plan. How about you head up there now and make sure.

Marcus is about to protest, but stays quiet after Amy gives him a look. He ascends the staircase and leaves Amy and Ruth alone downstairs. Ruth wraps her arms around Amy and tries to kiss her. Amy doesn't reciprocate the feeling, but instead holds out her hand.

AMY

First things first.

RUTH

What?

AMY

You don't need it. We're safe here.

RUTH

I'm not... I'm fine. I'm in control.

AMY

If you're in control, give it to me.

Hesitant, Ruth slowly pulls out her knife and hands it to Amy.

AMY

You don't always need to be protecting me.

RUTH

I'm sorry.

AMY

It's alright. I feel safe enough just being with you.

RUTH

Thank you.

INT. CABIN – Later

A fire is finally going in the hearth, and the band sits around the dining room table. Lorne opens a bottle of Whiskey and pours and the group revel in the drinking. Lorne starts telling a drunken story.

LORNE

So I'm drunk out of my mind right now and we haven't even gotten to the party yet. But I'm an idiot and I feel like a million bucks. And we walk past this store, with one of those big window displays in it. I walk past, and out of nowhere this guy starts talking shit to me. We get into an argument, and then I'm just start screaming at this dude in the middle of the night downtown. Finally I'm like, fuck this guy, and I punch him in the face. Glass shatters in front of me and my hand is bleeding. I punched the window to the store. I'd been arguing with my reflection the whole time. I needed 10 stiches for that cut on my hand. Still stings when it gets cold outside.

NED

I can safely say I've never been that drunk.

AMY

Oh, and you don't have any horror stories you'd like to share?

NED

None like that. But I will say this–

(Rolls up his sleeves to reveal the tattoos on his arms)

–That used to be a girls name, and that also used to be a girls name. And I don't remember either of them in the slightest.

MARCUS

Well that's all well and good. What I wanna know, Ned, is who's Enrique and why is his name tramp stamped on you?

RUTH

Wait what?

NED

You said you wouldn't tell anybody!

MARCUS

You expect me to remember that in my current state?

NED

Fuck you.

AMY

I think we can all agree that Ned is free to love whoever he chooses to love. And I bet Enrique is a wonderful guy.

LORNE

What about you Ruth?

RUTH

What about me?

LORNE

We're all sharing stories. You gotta contribute something to the discussion.

RUTH

I don't really have any stories like that.

MARCUS

Oh come on darling, we've all made poor decisions. That's a part of being in a rock band. You do stupid shit sometimes. So fess up.

RUTH

Honestly, I don't have any good ones.

NED

Doesn't have to be good. I'm gonna be pissed off if we end this on my stupid decisions.

AMY

Guys, don't pressure her to–

RUTH

I've got one. I don't remember it very well, but here goes.

LORNE

We're all ears.

RUTH

So my dad used to keep all his guns in this tool shed next to our garage. He never let me go in there because he didn't trust me. But one day, I noticed where he hid the key for the shed. Bottom drawer by his bed. So I snuck into his room when he went to bed, got the key, and opened up the shed. And there was a ton of shit in there. Rifles, Shotguns, a fucking chainsaw– He was logger. And I notice this clear bottle lying on the floor. I pick it up and it's vodka. My dad liked to drink while he cleaned his guns. So, being a curious little kid, I took a sip, and then another. And another. Eventually I'm holding a shotgun in my hand. I'm 9 and I'm wasted. Then, I hear this scream come from behind me. I whip around just in time to see a raccoon right before I pulled the trigger.

NED

Holy fuck!

RUTH

And I don't remember looking at the raccoon as I did it. I just remember this red mist in the air when I opened my eyes. I'm also covered in raccoon guts. The whole neighborhood is awake now. Dogs are barking, Nina Parker, the old widow across the street, is wandering out on the lawn. And the icing on the cake was that the fucking cops showed up. It was a shit show.

MARCUS

Now that's a story right there. What the hell did your dad do when he found out?

RUTH

My dad? Um... he came outside, saw me holding the gun and–

Cut to

A young Ruth is seen cowering before the figure of her father. She's screaming but no sound is heard. Her father holds up his belt, lunges at Ruth and–

Cut Back

RUTH

He grounded me for two weeks... and decided to make chili with the racoon.

AMY

That's disgusting.

LORNE

Nah, that's just a Sunday in an RV camp.

RUTH

(Finishes her drink and stands)

Well, I think I'm gonna call it a night.

MARCUS

Oh come on, you can't call it quits now. This was just starting to get get fun.

RUTH

Unless someone else wants to drive tomorrow, which I doubt because you're all gonna be shit faced, I'm gonna need all the sleep I can get.

(Grabs her guitar, heads upstairs)

You know where to find me if you need me.

Ruth heads upstairs without another word. Amy follows close behind. She doesn't say another word to the rest of the group. The three men are left alone to their own devices.

MARCUS

(Pours another round of whiskey for the group)

Well, here's to another successful show.

LORNE

Cheers. So... what are we supposed to now?

Without a word, Ned reaches under the table and pulls up a small carved jewelry box. He smiles to himself for a moment, and then reveals.

LORNE

Whatcha got there, Dope Fiend?

NED

Half a pound of Electric Wizard.

LORNE

Nice.

MARCUS

And that?

NED

And what?

MARCUS

That.

Everyone looks in to see something else in the box. A small vial seems to glow an electric pink.

NED

Oh no, we're not doing that.

MARCUS

Oh come on, don't tease us like that.

LORNE

Is it dangerous?

NED

Potentially.

LORNE

What the hell is it?

NED

It's... a hallucinogen. Little bit of this, little bit of that.

MARCUS

Does it have penicillin in it?

NED

Uh... no.

MARCUS

Good. I'm allergic to penicillin.

NED

That should be the least of your worries with this.

LORNE

Ned, where the hell did you get something like this? Who did you even buy it from?

NED

Where doesn't matter, but they do live under a bridge.

MARCUS

Ned, I'm here to make stupid decisions tonight. So let me make stupid decisions.

NED

Marcus, I’m not joking, this shit will melt your face off.

LORNE

Then why do you even have it?

MARCUS

Yeah, you know what I think? I think you know that this is next level shit, and you want it all for yourself. Well as your manager, I am demanding you let us try this. If I'm gonna get fucked, I want it to be memorable.

The trio falls silent as each tries to read the others mind. The message conveyed, Ned opens the vial and takes out a dropper.

NED

Trust me, no one is gonna want to remember tonight.

INT. BEDROOM – Night

The room is dark except for a couple candles and the moonlight pouring in. Ruth lays on the bed with her guitar, quietly strumming a tune. Amy enters and starts to undress. She crawls into bed with Ruth and snuggles up next to her.

RUTH

I've been working on a new riff for when we get back in a studio.

AMY

Sounds metal. I mean everything you come up with is metal.

RUTH

Thanks.

AMY

I wish I had someone to teach me how to play growing up.

RUTH

It was the closest thing to therapy growing up. Whenever I felt bad, I just picked up the guitar and started playing. Only good my blood did for me.

AMY

You don't really talk about your family.

RUTH

Not much to say. We were all fucked up, and no one wanted to help us.

AMY

Why did you lie to them?

RUTH

(Sigh)

They didn't need to know, I guess.

AMY

You don't have to go easy on anyone. That's why you're here. These are the kind of people you can open up to. I know they feel like a lot, but they're not gonna judge you. I'm not gonna judge you. Everyone can be human here.

RUTH

Sometimes I just don't wanna be human.

(Brushes a scar across Amy's neck)

What good have humans done for you?

Amy takes hold of Ruth's hand. She kisses Ruth's callused and blisters fingers, and then places it against her breast. Ruth sets the guitar down on the floor.

AMY

I'd say this one has done a lot.

Ruth blows out the candles, and embraces her lover.

EXT. FOREST – Night

The wind has begun to pick up, and the trees moan and rock with the breeze. FOGERT, the crazy old man from earlier, is still wandering down the road. Through chattering teeth he mumbles a song to himself.

FOGERT

(Incoherent)

I see a bad moon a-rising. I see trouble on the way.

Fogert stops walking and stairs up into a tree. A single Raven looks down upon him from its perch. It doesn't make a sound. Fogert continues on with a quickened stride.

FOGERT

I hear hurricanes a-blowing, I know the end is coming soon. I fear rivers overflowing.

Fogert trails off as an extra strong gust of wind pushes against him. He shields his face from the cold. Fogert feels a strange sensation rush over him. Not the cold, it's something far more sinister.

FOGERT

I hear... the voice of rage and ruin.

An ambient red glow appears down the road ahead. A low rumble follows with it. Fogerts hands begin to tremble, and he grasps at a necklace around his neck. He mutters a jumble of words that don't make any sense. It sounds Latin. An incantation. The light grows brighter, as does the noise. A single thought runs through Fogert's head, hide.

He ducks into the thicket and behind a tree. His body is overtaken by fear, as a jet black car with red headlights rounds the bend. Fogert doesn't make a sound. His heartbeat pounds inside his head. The car slowly comes to stop in front of the tree. The drivers window lowers a crack. Bright red light pours out along with thick black smoke. Fogert hears a low growl like a tiger from within.

Tears roll down Fogert's face. Death has never been closer to him than it has right now. Suddenly, the window rolls back up, and the car drives off. Fogert doesn't leave his hiding spot until the sound of the engine is gone. As Fogert comes out of hiding, he hears the spreading of wings. The Raven leaps from it's perch and sails over Fogert's head, following after the car.

Fogert breaks into a sprint in the opposite direction. He follows the road until suddenly running off into the woods. He trips and stumbles his way to a small hut hidden away.

INT. FOGERTS HUT

He runs inside, locks the door behind him, and closes all the blinds. One by one he lights all the candles scattered about the hut.

FOGERT

I hope you got your things together, I hope you are quite prepared to die.

Old books, artifacts and empty bottles of booze are scattered about. He clears a space in the middle of the hut and draws a circle with salt.

FOGERT

Looks like we're in for nasty weather. One eye is taken for an eye.

He sits in the middle of the circle and clings to the necklace around his neck. He bows his head to worship a mural etched on one of the walls. A six armed man with a goat for a head meditates, the mark of the beast is etched across his chest.

FOGERT

Don't go round tonight, it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise.

INT. CABIN – The Witching Hour

Ruth and Amy lay asleep in bed, naked. Music is faintly heard echoing throughout the house. A record plays downstairs: The End by The Doors. Lorne, Marcus, and Ned lie in a circle on the floor. They stair wide eyed at the ceiling. The fire still burns strong. Marcus takes a drag from a joint and passes it to Ned. He starts to cough, and crawls towards the kitchen sink. He pours himself a glass of water. He stares into the glass. Sparkling light and flickers of color dance through the water. When Ned pulls the glass away, Imps and goblins dance around his feet.

NED

I think I might– I'm about to– Yep... I'm freaking out right now. There's demons in the house.

MARCUS

Calm down. They probably work for the Feds. We should smoke the rest of the weed so there's no evidence.

LORNE

(Takes a hit from the joint)

Way ahead of you man.

Ned wanders back towards the guys, but stops and stairs out the window. A black car with red headlights has parked in front of the cabin.

NED

You guys see what I'm seeing?

MARCUS

See what?

NED

...Nothing.

Ned opens the door and stands in the doorway of the cabin. He stares at the car. The bright red lights are hypnotic.

NED

Damn, this shit is crazier than I thought.

The driver door flies open. More red light radiates from within. Smoke pours out from within the car. It crawls across the ground like a low hanging mist. The driver steps out onto the grass. Ned doesn't move, he's frozen in place as he stairs at the horror before him.

A mesh of leather, latex and metal is illuminated by the blood red light. It's face is concealed beneath a jet black motorcycle helmet decorated with spikes. Immense in stature, and utterly depraved. There is no face to look at, no eyes to humanize it.

And yet, as Ned stares into the black void of it's visor, he can sense... lust. Is it real, or just an illusion? Has his mind merely imagined this avatar of sadomasochism? This Gimp from Hell?

Ned gets an answer, just not the one he wanted. The Gimp pulls out a massive pistol.

NED

Oh...

A gunshot cuts through the night like thunder. Hot shrapnel rips through Ned's stomach–– In and out. He is thrown backwards onto the ground.

Ruth lurches up in bed, awoken by the gunfire.

AMY

What's going on?

RUTH

(Quickly putting on her clothes)

Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.

Lorne and Marcus lurch upright to see Ned, riving in pain.

MARCUS

What the fuck!

Lorne sees the Gimp approach the cabin. He scrambles to his feet and grabs the shot gun off the mantle. Luckily, it's already loaded. The Gimp walks through the door, it's shoulders are so broad that they rip the door frame off the wall. The Gimp aims it's gun at Lorne and Marcus.

LORNE

GET DOWN!

Marcus and Lorne dive behind the couch as a barrage of bullets rip through the furniture. Marcus bolts for the upstairs, and catches a bullet in the ankle. He collapses onto the stairs in agony. The Gimp approaches Marcus with a low primal growl. Another victim to abuse.

RUTH

(Upstairs)

Where's my knife? Amy, what did you do with my knife?

AMY

You're not going down there!

Lorne pops up behind the Gimp and fires into the back of it's head. The buckshot bounces off like rubber and back into Lorne's face. Lorne staggers away unable to see. He trips over a coffee table and falls right in front of the fire.

The Gimp stands over Lorne, and pushes him into the fire with one of it's giant boots. Lorne bursts into flames, screaming and riving in pain. The Gimp doesn't move, he holds Lorne to the fire until it's done.

The Gimp turns it's gaze back to Ned, crawling into the kitchen. The Gimp enters the kitchen and takes a kitchen knife. He grabs Ned's hair and exposes his neck. The Gimp proceeds to cut through his throat and decapitates him. The Gimp admires it's new toy as Lorne's burning corpse sets fire to the carpet and begins to spread.

Marcus has managed to crawl upstairs and Ruth and Amy pull him into their bedroom.

AMY

Oh my god, Marcus! What's going on? Are we being robbed?

RUTH

Where's Ned and Lorne?

MARCUS

T-that... that thing. It... it fucking killed them!

The Gimps heavy footsteps are heard ascending the staircase. The whole house seems to shake. The bedroom door is knocked off it's hinges as The Gimp enters the room. Ned's severed head is pressed into the Gimps crotch.

AMY

Oh my god!

Ruth grabs her knife off the nightstand and gets in front of Amy and Marcus.

RUTH

Get downstairs and start the van.

MARCUS

The whole downstairs is on fire. Don't you see the smoke?

They're trapped. The Gimp inches towards them, growling. There's nowhere to go. Ruth locks eyes with Amy. If this is it, she wants to look at her one last time.

The Gimp presses forward. Ruth charges at it, knife raised. With a swipe from one of it's massive arms, The Gimp sends Ruth flying across the room and smashes into the wall. She lies on the ground motionless. The Gimp goes to finish the job.

AMY

Ruth!

The Gimp suddenly turns its gaze on Amy. It tilts it's head as if to admire her beauty. Marcus steps between them.

MARCUS

Fuck you, you fucking freak!

The Gimp roars at Marcus. He has stepped between an alpha and it's mate. The Gimp picks up Marcus and slams him on the ground. It picks him back up and proceeds to smash his head into the wall over and over and over and over again until there's nothing left.

There's only Amy now. She tries to run but The Gimp pushes her into a corner of the room. It towers over her, the spikes protruding from it's jacket piercing into her skin. The Gimp strokes Amy's cheek with one of it's massive hands, spreading blood and bits of Marcus's brain across her face. Violated doesn't begin to describe what Amy is feeling.

Before the harassment can go on, a knife is driven into The Gimps back, crying out in pain. Ruth has reentered the fight. She's bloody and bruised, but alive.

RUTH

Get the fuck away from her!

The Gimp whirls around, and grabs Ruth by the wrist. Her bones can be heard breaking under the pressure. Then, in one swift motion, The Gimp sends Ruth flying through the window. She rolls off the roof, cutting herself on the glass, bounces off the roof of the van, and unto the cold wet ground.

The Gimp grabs Amy, and drags her towards the stairs. She screams and cries for help, but no one is there to save her. The fire has spread to most of downstairs as The Gimp leaves the way it came. It's work has been done. A monument to agony and suffering. Amy pulls and punches at The Gimps arm, but it's useless.

The Gimp takes Amy to the back of it's car and pops the trunk. It forces her into the boot. Right as it's about to lock Amy inside–

RUTH

Let... her... go.

Ruth, bleeding, crippled, and barely able to stand, limps towards The Gimp. It doesn't matter if she can't win, she's not letting this thing take the one thing she cares about. The Gimp watches Ruth's valiant attempt at walking, seemingly amused. It pulls out it's pistol and unloads the clip into Ruth. The bullets don't stop until Ruth hits the ground.

AMY

NO!

Amy bursts into tears as The Gimp slams the trunk closed, plunging her into darkness. Her muffled cries are heard as The Gimp gets back into his car, and drives away. The house is consumed by fire, and the bodies inside are reduced to ash. Only the corpse of Ruth remains. Lifeless, bloodied, the victim of a force greater than herself. All witnessed by the watchful eye of a lone raven.