#maybe all of us are just hooded figures surrounded by monitors

[pbpsbff]

turns on anon SHAMEFULLY...

anyway UAH APPRECIATE IT!! yeah i dont blame you for not responding fast im just!! a particular sort of specimen (rejection sensitive) so thats nothing for you to feel. responsible for

we just straight out of the petri dish idk!! AND IM NOT >13 DONT WORRY i saw that and was like oh god what if im accidentally 13 . so thats how my night is going

thank you for taking the time to make me feel like LESS!!! of a fool i appreciate it a ton, i have a veeeery hard time of knowing when im overstepping 👊 good to know that im not coming across as some hooded figure rubbing their hands together like a nasty little fly on the other side of the screen with several monitors surrounding them

WHAT IF I'M ACCIDENTALLY 13??? PARDON????

[permafrown]

"you wouldn't catch feelings for a car"

—  A pretty red sports car and it's mysterious "racer", Knock Out, catches Omen's eye. Little do they know, the attraction's mutual!

SHIP ; knockomen (Knock Out x Isa "Omen" Camille)

MEDIA ; T.ransformers Prime

WORD COUNT ; 1.2k

CW/TW(s) ; THERE'S NOTHING SCARIER THAN A 9-5 JOB ! 👻 OOGA BOOGA, jk there's none, other than like street racing which is illegal

NOTE(s)? ; mind my constant use of "The Co-worker" I did not want to find a name for him. Title is a reference to "you wouldn't download a car"

Isa leaned over the register counter, foot tapping on the ground as they went over the mental checklist of tasks they had to finish for the night. The gas station they called a job had only recently emptied just enough for them to leave the front area, despite being almost already three hours into their shift. Three hours of straight customer service? They can't help but shudder in disgust.

Their eyes flicker towards the parking lot monitor. One car pulls in. Then two. Then three, and more until the entire front lot was filled up.

They spoke too soon. (Much to their dismay.)

"Uh oh," they mutter to themselves as the doors fly open, and several groups of people walk in, chatting amongst themselves. They were all similarly dressed, they noticed. Motor jackets and jeans paired with boots and dark undershirts. Must've just gotten out of an event of sorts. they figure. But this late? It's almost one in the morning. Judging by the some of the people wearing sports caps, maybe it was car related?

They grip at the microphone attached to their radio, pressing down. "We've got a group." Isa informs their co-worker, and, the only other person working the store. It was actually pretty tame for a large group. Nontheless, they figured they should call for the extra help sooner rather than later.

Their co-worker bumbles out from the kitchen just as a line starts to form, joining them at the counters and ready to strike up a conversation with any of the people he could find the time to.

Isa listens in to the excess chatter as they deal with their own store patrons. They get down to the last few customers, and their co-worker utilizes the opportunity to ask a man what had brought all the people in tonight. Two words explained it all -

Street racing.

"Ohhh," Their co-worker says in awe, nodding his head. "That makes sense."

Isa wasn't entirely off the mark with their earlier assumption.

"Gotta get up to something out here, right?" the brunette chimes in, moving behind the other cashier and towards the large window beside the registers to gaze outside at the gas pumps filled with cars, now that their lane was empty.

They weren't what they would self-describe as a Carhead, but even they could recognize the front of the store was loaded with stunning vehicles. There were trucks, sports cars, even a beetle or two, interestingly enough. It's the kind of spectacle their grandpa would appreciate.

Most of the cars were darker in color, with the odd bright paintjob here and there. One of the ones pulled up by the gas pumps caught their eye.

The red one! Of course it's the red one.

It was a sports car, a sleek one, at that. That's all they could really garner, but damn, was it gorgeous! The front window was heavily tinted, and the hood seemed to be two complimentary shades of red. A dark red middle surrounded by a brighter, more vivid tone.

"What's up with that one?" Isa jerks their thumb, turning their head to the two behind them. The man leans over the counter to get a glimpse at the automobile in question.

"Some new showoff in town. Calls himself Knock Out." He clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Nobody's ever even seen the guy outside his vehicle, just stays in his fancy shmancy European car all the time. Damn good racer, though, I'll give him that much."

Isa raises their eyebrows at the new knowledge. The man and their co-worker finish up the transaction with a two-way 'Have a good night!' and then he joins them at their side to ogle the crimson-colored car.

"Can't say I blame the guy," Isa hums, circling back to what the guy had said. "If I had a car like that I'd show it off all the time, too. And I've got the racing skills to back it up?" They lean their head into their palm, a dramatic sigh escaping them to emphasize their swooning. "It'd be so over for everyone I'd come across."

"Do you think Knock Out is the name of the car or the guy?" Their colleague questions idly.

"Both, probably." Isa gasps in excitement. "Like a Double Knockout! Ohh, that's awesome."

They pause for a moment, realization dawning on them. "Hey, do you think he knows we're staring?" They ask, continuing their tradition of ping-ponging questions off of one another.

"Probably." Their colleague doesn't skip a beat. "Especially from where he's at, as in like directly infront of us."

"Not to mention, the way your glasses make it super obvious what you're looking at. You might as well have your face pressed against the glass and stare intensely." He gestures to his eyes to the window for emphasis.

At the mention of their eyewear, Isa idly pokes at their red frames, mumbling. "Damn."

Almost as if hearing the conversation, the red car flashes it's lights at the two.

"Oh, he knows." Isa grimaces. Their livelier associate moves over to the nearest intercom, pressing the button so all those both inside the gas station and outside could hear what he had to say.

"We love your vehicle! We think it's very pretty!" He says gleefully. Isa promptly turns away from the window to save themselves from embarrassment. "We is crazy," they mutter under their breath.

The pumps start to clear out, and their co-worker throws in a final "Drive safe!" before he steps away from the intercom.

There's few honks audible from outside in response. They can only assume it was Knock Out, and a couple of other cars, probably, saying goodbye.

"Did you notice that guy didn't actually get any gas?" The other one points out after a moment, tapping the register screen as he goes to pull up the previous transactions. "See? There's no receipt for the pump he was at, and it's not like he stole any gas from what I can tell."

Isa quirks a brow. "Ehh, maybe he was just waiting on the others?"

The two shrug at one another, and get back to work.

No more than fifteen did their co-worker come to them with another interestimg question related to the night's earlier events. "Hey, if you had a Street Racing name, what would it be?"

Isa stops filling up the coffee beans for a second to consider his question. "Omen, probably." They decide right then and there. "Mystery of the night!" They gesture grandly, immediately falling back to their nonchalant demeanor.  "...Or something like that."

It felt like a fitting nickname, with the way they skulk around in the dark of night, bringing trouble with them in this hypothetical scenario. Like a harbinger. It didn't have a bad ring to it.

"Omen.." Their co-worker repeats, the two nodding their heads at one another for a good eight seconds. "I'm gonna start calling you that."

"Alright." They glance around. "Sure."

The next weekend, Omen set out on a mission. They tossed on their favorite sweater, cargo pants, and tennis shoes, and took into the night in search of the site of the elusive street race. It surprisingly, wasn't all that hard to find. It helped that they had seen, nontheless heard, a few speeding cars on their late night walks here and there, so all they had to do was follow what they remember, keeping heading in that direction for a bit, and.. Bingo!

They stop on the sidewalk atop a hill, spotting a crowd of people and a line of cars. At the starting line, someone stood holding a flag, waving it around as they yelled about something Omen couldn't hear in their current position. Race rules, probably. More importantly, they could easily spot that red sports car from the other night. They came at just the right time.

They make their way down the hill, joining the crowd. They make sure to hang back just enough as to not to be crazy obvious, but where they could still see the cars. Their eyes immediately shift to Knockout's car, now noticing the sick yellow rims the car he sported and the decal on the side they didn't get to see previously. A grin tugs at their features. There's barely noticeable movement that catches their eye. They shift their gaze towards the vehicle's sideview mirror,

And they see their distant reflection.

They instinctively gasp a little. Just then, a whistle blows out, indicating the race starting. All the participating vehicles speeding off into the night, leaving nothing but dust in their wake, and the audience eats it up, bursting into cheers.

By the third lap, everyone's holding their breath in anticipation. And then, they hear the sound of an engine roaring through the street. One blink, and they would've missed it, but crossing that finish line with virtually zero competition

was Knock Out.

The crowd roars, and Omen feels a swell of pride in their chest, a giddy giggle falling from their lips. That's the joy of audience participation, huh? They think. They finally understand a slight bit of the hype their family would experience during those Sunday football games, if this was anything to compare it to. It felt good.

Stepping away from the crowd, Omen begins to walk back home, stopping at an empty park to collect themselves before they make their way back home.

They sit perched on one of those metal tables off to the side of the actual park, legs propped up on the bench as they take out their phone to inform their friends of their 'nefarious late night activities', one leg bouncing as they excitedly recount the experience, typing furiously while the lingering excitement still courses through them.

They're so caught up in their wonderful storytelling that they completely miss the sound of a car pulling up to the road beside the park, just across from where they sat.

"There's my not-so-secret admirer," A voice calls. Omen yelps, dropping their phone onto the concrete below as they frantically look around, eyes landing on the only possible source - Knock Out. They were expecting to see the windows rolled down and some smug driver grinning at them, but all that greeted them were those ever-familiar tainted windows.

"You wound me, sunshine! I thought you'd atleast stick around to congratulate me on winning the race." Omen could practically hear him pouting.

"How did you even know I was there?" They ask, embarassed by the sound that came out of their mouth.

"Oh, that's easy. I'd never forget a face like yours, sweetheart." He hums. "Not with those spectacles. They're a dead giveaway."

Ah. Smooth. Omen thinks, resenting the way that little flirtation made their heart skip a beat. The thought also crosses their mind that maybe they should stop wearing such a bright red. "T-Thanks, I think."

They shake their head, clearing their throat after to prepare their next question. "More importantly, how.." Omen furrows their eyebrows. "How are you talking to me right now?"

"Through a microphone, obviously."

"That's a very crisp microphone." They note. The engine on Knock Out, the car, purrs, as if the automobile itself were obviously pleased by their observation. "Only the best for someone like myself, of course." He goads.

Omen giggles a bit at this, sighing afterwards. "Yeah, that tracks. That's awesome."

"Oh, hey! You came to check out the race too, huh?" A voice calls from behind. Omen whips their head, and sees their colleague from that night approaching. He looks at Omen, and then at Knock Out. "Knock Out, right? I see you've met Omen." He says cheekily, gesturing towards them.

"Omen, hm?" Knock Out rolls the nickname on his tongue, or, atleast that's what Omen would assume he was doing if they could see him. "Pleased to finally have the name of my biggest fan."

"That's not-" They stammer out, but before they can finish their sentence, their co-worker was already delving into a different conversation topic with the driver. Oh, he was gonna talk Knock Out's ear off. No doubt asking him all sorts of questions about this that and the other. They huff softly.

Three minutes into nonstop conversation, and Omen decides it's their time to go. They hop off the bench, slinking off without a word to get ready to head home for the night.

They see the sideview mirror angled towards them again, and they toss up a heart with their hands, mouthing 'Good luck, Goodnight,' before continuing off. They almost feel bad for leaving him with such a chatterbox, but hey, maybe it'll be an ego boost to have his own paparazzi, or something like that.

They get a good distance away before they hear their co-worker finally shout "Goodbye!" their way, and they toss up a peace sign without looking back, and keep moving. There's a a private grin on their face the entire way home as they think to themselves,

God, what a pretty car.

[hintofelation99]

Superman: Green Lantern, you’re going with Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin on beta team.

Spoiler, whispering to Black Canary: They lost a bet and now they have to go on a mission with Green Nightlight.

Superman: Beta will be taking the plane to an island in the Pacific Ocean. We have evidence that it is home to one of the Light’s meta gene research labs. I’m sending you all the coordinates and relevant files.

Green Lantern: So basically I’m going on a mission with Nightwing is an airhead who’s energetic and cuddly and does a lot of flips. Red Hood who is a brutish asshole that only knows how to use a gun. Red Robin who is a depressed insomniac that shuts down at the slightest touch or hug. And Robin who hates and tries to murder anything that moves and is not Nightwing. Right?

Flash: I mean… not really, but sure?

Green Lantern: This is gonna suck.

—————

The group planning to infiltrate a small Light hide out.

GL: So, how are we getting into the super high tech evil lair?

Nightwing: I hacked the system and turned off all the alarms.

GL, rolling his eyes: They still have cameras

Nightwing: Which is why I disabled the cameras and put a video loop on the monitor.

GL: But wh-

Nightwing: I also put trackers in all the guard’s uniforms so that we would always know their locations. And in case something goes wrong I have an EMP ready to go off.

GL: Wait, you did all that?

Nightwing: Yeah… I got bored last night. Figured I make the mission a little easier.

—————

Jason and Green Lantern surrounded by enemies, Jason runs out of ammo.

Jason, putting away his guns: Fuck!

GL, rolling his eyes: Don’t worry, I can get it from here.

Jason, picks up a rock: Nah, I got this.

Proceeds to take down fifty guys with his fists and some rocks.

GL: Holy fuck man?!

Jason, finds a stick: What?

Starts whacking people with his stick, takes down the rest of the surrounding enemies.

GL: How did you??

Jason shrugs: It was a good stick.

GL: …

Jason keeps the stick.

—————

GL frees a bunch of kids being held prisoner. All of them are incredibly traumatized and freaking out.

GL: Ok, I can take care of the pris-

Red Robin sits on the ground, softly talking to the kids.

GL: Red Robin what are you doing??

Red Robin is surrounded by the kids, most hug or lean on him for comfort. He had started singing a soft lullaby but stops when he hears GL.

Red Robin: I’m helping the kids? I thought it was obvious.

Red Robin holds one kid’s hand and rubs another’s back.

GL: I thought you don’t like being touched?

Red Robin just looks at him confused: No? I just- I’m not from a very affectionate family, so sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming. But I don’t mind it at all. It’s actually sort of nice to be around people who are so… tactile.

GL: Oh… huh, I guess I misjudged you. Maybe you aren’t a depressed insomniac who can’t handle touch.

Tim: Nah the depressed insomniac part is completely accurate.

—————

Red Hood and Red Robin split off from Robin, Nightwing, and Green Lantern to investigate some abandoned looking buildings. Suddenly an explosion come from that direction.

Robin, into his comm: RR and RH come in.

Robin starts running towards the wreckage while speaking into his comm. Nightwing and GL follow.

Robin: RR and RH report.

Robin reaches the collapsed building just as RR and RH limp out, RR is helping support RH.

Robin: What happened?

Red Robin, panting slightly: Bomb. Some burns and scraps. Debris fell on Hood’s leg. Probably broken.

Robin is by their side with a med kit helping patch them up. Nightwing goes to get the bat plane.

Red Hood: And I lost my stick!

Red Robin: And he lost his stick.

Robin finishes taking care of the wounds, or at least does all he can do while in the field.

Robin: Green Lantern watch over them for a moment I have a personal matter to attend to, if any harm comes to them while I am away I will murder you.

Robin leaves, after several minutes Nightwing arrives with the bat plane.

Nightwing: Where’s Robin?

GL: I don’t know, he left to ‘attend to a personal matter’ I can’t control-

Robin, walks up holding a stick.

GL: What the fu-

Red Hood: My stick!

—————

After the mission beta team reconvenes with the league in the watchtower for a debrief.

Flash: So, Green Lantern, have any new found respect for the bats?

Green Lantern looks into the med bay where Jason is in a hospital bed, waving his stick dramatically. Damian is curled up by his side asleep. Tim is laughing at Jason’s dramatics, wincing slightly as Dick gives him stitches.

GL: Maybe.

[thefanficmonster]

Tell Me It’s Not Too Late

(Sequel to Switchblade)

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: When is it considered ‘too late’ when it comes to expressing feelings? Is there even a time limit? Is the chance only momentary - is it a second that passes you by with no possibility of returning? All Corpse can do is hope that’s not the case. Cause if it is.....he’d rather not think about that.

Requested - sort of, but not in a typical way. Thank you to all the readers of ‘Switchblade’ that wanted to see the story have an ending that’d lead to a new start. Here it is, guys! Hope it lives up to what you expected. Love you all to the moon and back. 💖💖💖

I end my stream after almost three hours of constant scares. I sigh, slipping the headset off my ears so it’s hanging around my neck. I don’t feel that fulfilling feeling that I’m always met with upon ending a stream. I look at the countless scratches and little holes on the surface of my desk - evidence of the fear and frustration I experience while playing certain games. Not all of them are caused by that, however - Coming home after possibly the most humiliating night of my life, that desk and a few other pieces of furniture suffered my wrath and are now decorated with stab wounds that were a result of uncontrollable rage, hurt, self-hatred and self-pity. It took me a while to put an end to my hazardous, switchblade wielding rampage throughout my house, but the tears didn’t stop until the early morning hours.

I didn’t care that my feelings weren’t reciprocated. That was and is the least of my troubles. The most amount of hurt comes from the fact that I ruined something wonderful for myself. Corpse is the only person I’ve felt this close to all my life and now, due to my own poor decision making, I no longer have him. He no longer wants to be a part of the shit-show that is my life. Especially not now that he knows how messy things get when I show my forever-hidden feelings. I can’t blame him. I know I’d be running for the hills if I were him. He deserves a person who knows what’s going on in their life. Who has themselves and their surroundings figured out. Not someone who has an irregular streaming schedule and catches feelings for her best friend, ruining the friendship altogether in the process.

As I stand up from my chair, accidentally hitting the handle of the switchblade on the edge of my desk. I look down at it and how tightly I’m holding it. I seem to not be able to let go of it. Almost like I see it as my last bit of link to Corpse. The remnants of the connection I felt between us.

Maybe I should return it.

No, that’d be weird. I’d either have to go over there and give it back or send it via mail which is worse. It just feels like a harsh gesture - mailing something so meaningful as though it’s as worthless as the bills people get in the mail. I can’t send it through others, I don’t want anyone else getting involved. The more people know, the more real it is.

I’m aware I’m being both overdramatic and irrational, but you have to understand how much pain I’m in. I can’t guarantee the pain will go away or even lessen if I let this switchblade go, but it’s the only thing I haven’t tried.

Only problem is - I can’t let it go. I can’t find it in me to destroy it or throw it away. A part of me is willing to take the suffering of keeping it just cause it wants to hold on to that little connection it resembles. It’s evidence it existed to begin with. I believe it’s worth the pain. The hurt will go away eventually, but the memories are forever. I’ll look back at the time I had an amazing person such as Corpse to call ‘best friend’ and I’ll have something to prove to myself that it wasn’t a fever dream.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.“ I mumble as I finally uncurl my fingers from around the damn thing and put in down on my desk.

I take the headset off and proceed to head out onto the balcony to light what I call a ‘stress cigarette’. I’m not a regular smoker, but when everything just caves, I prefer to resort to a quick puff rather than grabbing a drink. I can say no to a second cigarette but not to a second drink. That second will then turn into a third and so on. And I don’t trust myself when drunk. I don’t personally know, but I’ve been told I’m rather unpredictable.

For the first few seconds while I’m standing there I don’t notice the pouring rain by some strange miracle. I can only focus on the chill of the breeze and the fresh breath that’s finally entering my lungs. I take a moment to breathe in the cool air before I start mixing it with the cigarette smoke. 

With my eyes closed, I hear more than I feel the rain on me. Storm noises always distract me from the actual storm, they calm me down. However, the sudden loud thunder causes me to open my eyes in a matter of milliseconds. I frown, slightly upset that I didn’t catch glimpse of the lightning that the thunder probably followed.

I’m not upset for too long, though. A lightning flashes right opposite me, creating the most mesmerizing of pattern you can see in the night sky during a storm. It’s so bright, it allows me to see my whole, usually unlit garden perfectly in that second or two it graces the sky. 

Wait

My balcony has a clear view of my entire front yard and all it takes a glance to the left to be able to see the front doorstep. 

Don’t freak yourself out, it’s just a trick of the light

I stay quiet and as still as a statue as I await another flash of lightning, my heart speeding past the point of a healthy pulse and into the realm of a near heart attack. The storm seems to be on my side because maybe a minute later another lightning bolt cuts through the black of the night. 

Sure enough, there’s a person standing outside my front door.

Fuck, what do I do?!

The person doesn’t appear to be moving. They are standing just as still as I am, facing towards the house.

I thank the universe the lights inside the house are off. I turned them off cause I wanted the ultimate scary experience playing that game. The only light is the faint glow of my computer screen which is, thankfully, barely visible. I slowly start backing up towards the sliding glass door, never taking my eyes off the figure that I can just barely make out now that my surroundings have fallen into darkness again. If it weren’t for the lightning I would’ve never been able to see them.

I manage to get back inside, soaked as though I just got out of a pool, without making a single sound. Just to be safe, I shut my monitor off. I grab my phone to use as a flashlight in one hand and the switchblade just finds its way into the other, my fingers curling around it tightly, more on instinct than to use as a weapon. I know I probably won’t be able to stab whoever’s out there.

I tiptoe my way down the stairs where all the lights are also off. I flick the blade out as I hesitantly and shakily make my way to the door to look through the peephole. I let out an unsteady exhale as I look at the the figure who is now standing further away and seems to have one arm in the air, curled at the elbow.

Just as I’m about to pull away from the door to dial 911 another flash of lightning illuminates the yard, the figure along with it. 

Can we go back to it being an intruder?

It’s no intruder, surprisingly - to my dismay. 

I turn my phone’s flash off and reach for the switch next to the door, flicking the light on before opening the door and walking out. 

“I NEARLY STABBED YOU WITH YOUR OWN BLADE!“ I yell in a desperate attempt to be heard over the waterfall of rain.

I can finally see him properly thanks to the light in my hallway. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. He has his hood up but his black locks are sticking out in every direction from under the soaked material, not being protected from the droplets whatsoever. I read the shock in his eyes, almost like he didn’t know I lived there. He doesn’t make an attempt to approach or walk away from me so we just stand there, in the rain, staring at each other as though it’s the first time we’ve seen one another.

I snap out of the trance he has put me in, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the situation as I step towards him, grabbing onto his wrist, “Come on, we look like drowned rats.” I don’t give him time to react as I drag him inside, closing the door once we enter. “OK, from the top now: Why were you embracing your inner serial killer on my front porch?” I keep blabbering, diverting my gaze to anything but him. “Fucking hell, I could’ve stabbed you! You could’ve gotten really badly hurt! I -...”

“You know, I wish you stabbed me.“ He finally puts an end to my sorry excuse for frustration, I’m aware I look and sound miserable. His voice drags my eyes straight to his, fixing them there. “I know you can’t kill a cockroach on your own, and I know you most definitely wouldn’t even scratch a person, but I wish you had hurt me. Inflict fifty stab wounds on me and you still won’t hurt me as much as I hurt you.“ His hand swiftly pushes the hood off his head, grabbing onto his drenched locks as an expression of pain paints itself on his face. He’s the one diverting his gaze now, “I know what you mistook my silence for and I want you to get that out of your head.“

I wince at the pang in my chest, barely restraining my hand from flying up to rest over my heart, “Don’t humor me, Corpse! I’m not a child and this is not a game!”

“I’m not humoring you. I’m telling you...“ he makes a step towards me, grabbing hold of my ice cold hands, “I’m telling you I’m an asshole that freezes up when it’s least acceptable. I’m telling you I’m the worst at expressing how I feel. I’m telling you I can’t open foil. But you already knew all that. And you still liked me.“ He breaths in, refilling his lungs before continuing his rant, “I know you can be very chaotic. A real handful. A fucking tornado. But I love you. I love you as every natural disaster you represent. And if you could humor me...“ One of his hands releases mine, coming up to push a strand of hair away from my face, resting his hand on my cheek. “...by giving me one more chance. You always let me try multiple times when I stumble over what I’m trying to say. Can you do that, for me? For us?“

I let out a dramatic sigh, rolling my eyes. “If I say yes will you stop showing up like that on my doorstep?“ Of course, my primal instinct is to act tough and cool when my heart rate is once again going at the speed from back at the balcony. The skin of face and neck is red and burning hot. My eyes are rimmed with tears, I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Yeah. I’ll start coming in through the chimney instead.“ He visibly relaxes, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips. He lifts the hand that’s still holding the switchblade, prying it out of my grasp. “No sharp objects, please.”

He drops it in the pocket of his hoodie, finally leaning down to erase any last bit of doubt I have left. This kiss teaches me a lot of things.

Love isn’t linear - nothing about it is linear. Not falling in nor falling out of it. Feelings aren’t digital or binary - it’s not always as black and white as we might want to believe. Feelings don’t just come and go. They are always present, but it depends on us weather they’re suppressed or expressed. We fear the latter cause we fear vulnerability and change. But we also crave the positive outcome we have a 50% chance of getting. It’s a fifty-fifty game, but here’s the thing: if you never express your feelings it’s a zero-a hundred chance that you won’t receive the outcome you’d like.

I took the fifty over the zero chance and regretted it for a day or two. It gave me closure if nothing more. It let me stand under the spotlight and carry my pride on my shoulders despite the tears in my eyes.

My feelings being reciprocated is just another benefit. But no longer being able to call Corpse ‘best friend’ cause he’s now got a bigger and better title is the positive outcome I have been dreaming of. 

He makes it all worth it. He is worth all of it. 

And if I had to go through all that again, you can bet your ass I would.

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

you+me+the Devil, m | myg, jjk | summon

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The Devil and his right-hand demon are forcibly yanked from Hell to encounter a power they've never seen before, a power that everyone thought was only a rumor. In chains and unable to break free, they are asked to give up part of their souls. And they do. For science. But, mostly, to fuck.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language - if you're religious, maybe skip this one; world building; short graphic descriptions of sexual acts; supernatural and horror (and it gets way creepier during the smut, you have been warned); non-idol!AU - Hell!AU; Devil!Yoongi x chaos!reader x Devil's right-hand demon!Jungkook and switches between their POVs; they don't have your best interests at heart and neither do you.

--

you and me and the Devil makes 3 prologue | the summoning | the collection | 666

-

there’s not a word for what i wanna do to you

One second, the Devil, also known as Min Yoongi, was frowning as he gazed up at his right-hand demon Jeon Jungkook, pondering the whereabouts of the missing soul-shards. The next second, the volcanic ground below him exploded, multiple giant red-black rings adorned with symbols and images creating a circle, expanding a larger and larger surface area, crackles of red lighting and tendrils of black smoke shooting everywhere. It consumed everything, bleeding into every nook and cranny of the throne room, saturating the air with summoning intent. It was happening far too quickly for the Devil to stop, the ground splitting and black chains shooting out, surrounded by a deadly ice-silver signature of the kind of magic you don’t bring home to your mother.

“Fuck–!”

That was Jungkook.

“Ah.”

That was the Devil.

The black chains snapped around their bodies and bound them in an instant. Jungkook snarled and fought with all of his power, black wings flaring out that were instantly crushed and shredded by the enchantment, his curved black horns protruding from his head and being forced back by the power. In contrast, the Devil merely sat there. Yoongi knew he couldn’t stop it, not this kind of magic, if it could even be called that, so he didn’t try. He let the chains wrap around him and shackle him. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tried to trace the source, tried to find the purpose. In order to defeat an enemy, you must be informed. Yoongi lived by this philosophy, which was why he was the Devil.

He could not trace it.

That was very disheartening.

But he didn’t need to worry earlier, because the red-black summoning circle was closing in, and he would find out very, very soon who it was. He had nothing to worry about.

Yoongi was the Devil, after all.

-

You inspected your nails.

Matte black, pointed. You had just done them. You liked to look nice for your guests.

“Hm, the Devil works hard, but I work harder,” you chuckled.

-

This was not what the Devil expected.

Yoongi expected a dark cave, a crowd of hooded figures, lots of candles. Maybe a Bible or a Koran. Devil worshippers, Satanists, cultists, or whatever they liked to call themselves. He fully expected to fight, to kill, to maim, and to fucking enjoy it, because he was the Devil and he served no one.

That was the whole fucking point of leaving Heaven in the first place.

He did not expect this.

You.

“Oh? A new development.”

Yoongi had seen many things in his time. He thought he could no longer be surprised.

He was wrong.

You stood over the two figures chained to the ground, peering curiously at them. A plain black dress with a flared skirt and a lace high collar. Long-sleeved with small ruffled cuffs at the end. No socks or shoes, just long, beautifully sinful legs and pretty feet. Pointed, matte black fingernails at the ends of lovely hands. A single nail was on one of your full dark lips, small amused smile dancing on that pouty mouth.

Your nail pressed into your flesh.

Yoongi wanted to shove his dick into that mocking smirk.

Sharp, distinctive eyes. Unforgettable. Yoongi would not forget the eyes of the fool who summoned him anyway, but your eyes… They were different. They held no malice. No innocence either. No, your eyes were the greatest mystery of all.

They were an enigma, revealing nothing to the one who could tell everything.

Yoongi did not like this. He did not like how him, an all-powerful being, one who could poison the minds of all other beings, was being confronted with a human who seemed very not human.

You were holding something on the crook of your arm. He narrowed his eyes. A black plush goat-man with horns and an upside-down red pentagram stitched on his head. It had little leather hooves for feet and hands. Black leathery wings as well. Another common misconception of the Devil. As if he wanted to be an ugly goat for all eternity. Hmph. But there was something about the way you held it that made Yoongi think it wasn’t an homage to him.

No, you held it close to your breast, next to your heart, squeezing the plush goat-man’s little arm lovingly.

It made him ache with longing.

They were in a bedroom, on the floor next to the bed. Black sheets, fluffy blankets with white stars all over them. Black walls with posters all over them, cute animated characters, haunting imagery, various musical artists, sinful and innocent, a vast plethora that told him nothing of true intent. Modern, sleek furniture. A high-end desktop with multiple monitors. A nice flat-screen television. Many soft plushies of adorable and strange characters, stacked on shelves and in corners, both popular and niche.

Who was this person?

With every passing second, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

Jungkook was beside him, disheveled and disoriented, chained down with black. The demon sat up, growling in his chest, trying to exert his power.

“Who do you think–”

“Ah, little Satan, they shouldn’t talk until I allow them, isn’t that right?”

The Devil was not a fool. You were not talking to him. You were talking to the little goat-man in your arms. Yoongi heard a choking sound and he turned his head to see a very large black ball gag ramming itself in between Jungkook’s teeth, snapping closed with a black chain strap behind his pretty head. Jungkook looked livid, trying to bite through it, but Yoongi doubted he could break it.

You smiled at him.

Yes, indeed, Yoongi was liking this situation less and less.

In some ways.

Seeing Jungkook in a ball gag was a pleasant image.

“I didn’t expect it to turn out this way. I was aiming for him first,” you said to Yoongi, lowering the little goat-man and holding him by a hoof. Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to rip apart the plush or be it. He decided that wasn’t important right now.

“Ah, well, this might be better,” you mused nonchalantly. Jungkook was still fighting his restraints, but neither you nor Yoongi acknowledged it. You crouched down, a delicate flash of inner thigh and black velvet panty in his view. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. You cocked a brow, smirk widening. “Two birds with one stone, no?”

You set the little goat-man in front of him.

Sat down, spreading your legs to squeeze the little goat-man with your inner thighs.

There was no question now.

Yoongi wanted to both be the plush goat-man and rip him to shreds.

“I’ll let you speak to me, Devil. You seem polite.” Conversational, calm. Not condescending, which somehow made it worse. At least if you spoke to him with hostility, he would know how to turn it against you.

“You have magic that doesn’t belong to you, human,” he said softly, a raspy renounce in his voice. He festered it with sweetness and warning at the same time, accenting it with a discerning stare.

You grinned.

Even he, the Devil, was unsettled.

“Nothing belongs to anybody. You only borrow it for a short while and then the powers far beyond even you take it back.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop and race at the same time. As he suspected. This was not the work of his father or some a wayward demon. Magic, power, illusionism, these were all words to describe things that could not be described. Entropy holds no bounds and there is no meaning behind it. It exists only to cause anarchy. For some reason, perhaps simply chaos alone, you, a human, was in possession of something even he could not control or understand.

Shit.

He stared into your eyes and they reflected his expression back to him. He tried to search for it, the desires within the heart, the small tendrils of pain that asked to be soothed, the soul begging to be freed. An ordinary demon could be fended off by a strong-willed human for a while, but Min Yoongi was no ordinary demon.

He was the Devil, even if he was bound by your chains.

You tilted your head at him, hair curling around your cheeks and lashes.

Yoongi could take even the weakest flame of desire and stroke it into a blazing fire. Even the holiest of saints could not fight him. Everyone wanted something, even if it was, disgustingly, in the name of his father. And humans, well, they were the masters of wanting things they couldn't have. Easily manipulated, even by each other. The Devil hardly needed to do anything at all. It was only a matter of whether or not Yoongi cared to do it and, most of the time, he didn't give a single shit.

You tilted your head the other way, smiling.

Yoongi did not find a maze or a barrier preventing him from the soul. He found the soul within seconds. It was there, all right.

The Devil just didn't know what the fuck he was looking at.

Why was your soul just you sitting there in the abyss, looking up at him with the same smile you were giving him right now?

And why did he feel nothing emitting from it?

He pulled back, looking into your eyes again. He did not like this.

You leaned forward and touched his horns.

His eyes widened as your fingertips brushed against the large curved black-red horns against the sides of his head. He hasn't even realized they had protruded. How? His horns were a sign of his power, a symbol he used for fear, for appearance, and for the moments of when he was exercising a great deal of his influence. Your fingertips brushed against the second set, the ones that bloomed upwards into wicked black-red spikes. Both sets? His soul-search had him reflexively procure both?

Shit.

He started into your eyes, seeing himself reflected back. Min Yoongi was the Devil. Emotion was no stranger to him. He harnessed it all, consumed himself in the passions and wonders of emotion. There were ones he felt less, simply because of who he was. For instance, there was not much that made him afraid.

You smiled.

Fear. He could feel it rise within him.

Yoongi grinned back.

Was this what he thought it was? He had heard of such things, rumors and whispers, even amongst the angels themselves. The hidden truth that Heaven and Hell belonged in a specific dimension or realm, Order. That there was another realm, the mirror, the reflection trapped, the unknown.

Disorder.

His kind, the high-above, and those between angels and insects, the humans, none of these belonged in the realm of Disorder. There were rumors that Order was merely a concoction of Disorder and that their realm could collapse any moment, erasing all of existence without a trace. Entropy was waiting for them all.

Yoongi understood now.

This was chaos.

The Devil was a master of desire. And a master of deliberately doing exactly what he shouldn't. He should not be tempted by a glimpse of chaos. His father would warn him to stay away from it.

His father could fuck right off.

Yoongi leaned forward, still bound, his horns disappearing. The chains clanged around him, his power rattling underneath. He wasn't doing it to fight them. He wanted to feel it. To understand what could not be understood, to touch the untouchable, because it was there, there right in front of him and he wanted it, he wanted it, and the Devil feeds off desire, even his own.

He wanted those lips.

You backed up.

The denial only made his desire stronger.

You left the plush goat-man sitting there right in front of him.

-

Jungkook was pissed.

Absolutely furious, jaw and head aching from this ridiculously large ball gag, fuming that he had no idea what was going on and that a single human was doing this bullshit. There was no way you were working alone. There had to be other beings behind this. He couldn't figure it out right now, but he would and he would tear them apart, right after he fucked your pathetic human body and tore you apart.

You must be a fool, thinking you could shackle him, Jeon Jungkook, the right hand of the Devil himself, the epitome of pure sin and free will.

He continued fighting the magic, trying to exert his strength, rattling the black chains, ice-silver lashes beating him back down. He tried to release his wings, but they were ensnared, pain shooting up his back. Jungkook cared not for pain. He had felt pain for millions of years. A few seconds was nothing. He tried to release his horns, but he could not, as if the very air neutralized him.

He was enraged.

Maybe would simply kill you so he could spend an eternity torturing you for your insolence.

Then the Devil's horns appeared.

How did he–?

Then you touched the Devil.

Jungkook wanted to scream.

He did, deep in his chest, muffled rage, jealousy, hate, all at once, and both of you ignored him, your fingers grazing Yoongi's horns, fucking smiling, looking unflinchingly into the Devil's eyes, and Jungkook wanted to erase you from existence, destroy every single shred of your soul for not groveling at the feet of Min Yoongi.

The horns disappeared and your hands hovered around Yoongi's head, fingers splayed out around the black hair like a shining halo.

Ironic.

The Devil leaned forward.

Don't you fucking kiss her, hyung!

But you moved away, backing up, gaze lingering on Yoongi before closing your eyes and reopening them slowly, a gradual shift to Jungkook's face.

He snarled at you through the gag.

He had you now. Eye contact and Jungkook could exert at least part of his power, the soul-search to find your deepest desires, your hidden gems, the calamity within that would call to him. He would find it and manipulate it, bend you to his will, turn you into his puppet. Play with you until you begged to die, only to find yourself in his arms once more, his plaything for all eternity.

All he had to do was find it.

You slid to your hands and knees, crawling to him. He felt it inside his chest, his own desire, watching the curve of your back to ass, his cock twitching at the sight, his mind conjuring images of your pretty body on a leash. Jungkook didn't have preferences when it came to bodies. A body was a body. In his hands, all bodies became prettier. You already had the base and he already had the wrath to want it. You stopped in front of him, the black skirt of your dress flaring out. He could see parts of your bare body.

Legs, knuckles, knees.

A small, amused smile on your lips.

Eyes that Jungkook searched valiantly, looking for malice, for innocence, for desire, for the darkest shadows and the lightest light.

Why couldn't he see anything?

This must be part of your magic. No matter. Jungkook had other ways. He was creative and cunning. You would break under his hand. He wouldn't stop until it was done. He was a demon that saw things through, even to his detriment.

His jaw was suddenly released from its prison, ball gag disappearing, fading into ice-silver smoke. He coughed, snapping his teeth, glaring at you.

"You dumb bitch," he hissed, violent resonance in his voice, oppressive and intense. "Do you think you humans are above us with your tricks and schemes? Kneel before those who invented such things."

You tilted your head.

Yoongi chuckled beside him.

Jungkook's brows furrowed. What–?

Your body trickled down like liquid, laying against the dark wood floor, looking up at him. Jungkook froze, maddening desire rising, infuriated at your face looking up at him, plush dark lips parted, hands on your chest, fingers spread out and molded to your flesh under the plain black dress. Sinking in, making him clench his jaw.

Your smile like a Cheshire Cat, eyes reflecting his rage.

Jungkook wanted to straddle your face and shove his cock into that smirking mouth, bulge your throat and cheeks with his girth.

"Is he always like this?" you asked, still not looking away.

"He pretends to be nice when he wants something out of you," the Devil answered calmly.

"Isn't that you?"

You still didn't look away from Jungkook. Why couldn't he find what he needed from your eyes?

"I'm always nice."

"That means you always want something out of someone."

Yoongi laughed, raspy and deep, the sound echoing in the bedroom, filling it up with his sound. Why couldn't Jungkook find it? His rage began to become infested with something else. Your eyes reflected only him.

Like a mirror.

No matter. The demons had other ways.

"Come here," Jungkook purred.

"I wouldn't do that."

That wasn't you. That was the Devil.

Your body lifted as if it was on a string from the center of your chest, fingers and black fingernails trailing against the dark hardwood, head tipped back, the line of your neck hidden by the high collar of lace, shielded from his hungry gaze. Legs curling up, skirt pooling around your thighs, his rage molding with carnal need, festering with something else.

Fear.

You rose to your knees, in prayer position in front of him, almost as if you were about to reach out and touch faith. Jungkook furrowed his brow, watching your presence near, wanting it, ready to coax or rip your desires from your lips themselves. It didn't matter if he was bound, it didn't matter if his black suit was torn up and ugly, it didn't matter if he was bleeding from his efforts to escape this magic.

You were still a human.

He was a demon and he would taint you.

Closer, your lids lowering, entranced by his spell. Jungkook smirked. Too easy. Humans were so, so easy. He craned his neck, lips parting, the palpable lust of his breath exhaling. So close to those pretty, dark, fuckable lips.

"You're really falling for it, hm?"

Jungkook paused. His eyes shifted to Yoongi. The Devil had turned his body to watch, clad in a tailored black suit. In contrast, Yoongi's was unmaimed, as he hadn't fought his restraints. The Devil had black hair like him, parted slightly, with shadowy dark brown, cat-like eyes that glinted with something sinister. Pale skin, almost luminescent. Exposed neck, elegantly laid black silk tie, unlike Jungkook, who preferred not to wear one. Lips that demanded you to plead for your life.

A body that made Jungkook want to sin for him.

That was the power of the Devil.

His eyes shifted from Yoongi to you, who had stilled in front of him. Hands beneath you and knuckles pressed to the floor like an obedient pet. What was Yoongi talking about? He had you right where he wanted you. And yet, he hesitated.

Then you spoke.

Delicate and calm, with no resonance. Human.

"I thought demons had free will?" you whispered. "That not even the Devil could control a demon."

Or was it?

Jungkook watched your lips form the words.

"If he is powerful enough, that is."

-

Yoongi didn't bother warning Jungkook anymore.

The Chaos knew what it was doing.

Clever girl.

-

Jungkook growled, leaning back a little, letting the passion of emotion course through him, wrath, lust, pride. Fear. All of it. Drawing from it, his power pulsing, singing through his muscles.

"Come here, human."

You had to crawl into his lap, his thighs against your thighs, hardness against softness, bringing your lips to his, sudden and sweet with your legs, knuckles, knees. Jungkook smirked, white teeth and canines flashing, urging you to him.

"What a good little girl,” he breathed softly. “I can be anything you desire. All you need to do is tell me."

Your eyes locked with his.

"A kiss, please."

He groaned at the small plea, finally getting it out of you, finally, and he would make you regret doing this, sow every seed of desire within you and reap it all, turn you into his pet on a leash. All he had to do was kiss you.

Jungkook kissed you.

He pressed his lips to yours, ravenous to consume what you had, eager to claim his offering.

You smiled against his lips, a small, amused smile.

It was instant, his hunger to your plushness, the rush euphoric and wild, immediate lust and power dominating him and now he could taste your tongue and fling open the doors, clawing for the soul within, the moment so close he could taste it, taste your moan sliding into his throat, his favorite treat, intoxicating in the way you sucked in his breath to fill your longs.

Jungkook arrived at the last gate, tearing through the door. Looked down into the abyss, triumphant.

You looked back up at him from below.

A small, amused smile.

A nothingness like he had never felt before.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open and widened, staring into the reflective glass of yours, his chest constricted. He had never felt this. Your lips still on his, tongue flicking, taking his breath, and then he felt a strange kind of compression, like everything was being pressurized, tighter, tighter, suffocating, and he gasped in your mouth, recoiling.

The kiss broke, your eyes still on his, lips shiny with his saliva. Your hand was outstretched, hovering in the air, fingers coated with black tendrils mixed with ice-silver, right above his chest.

Your eyes, void of anything but himself.

“What…” Jungkook breathed, hard cock straining against his slacks. “Are you?”

He didn’t understand. You were only a human. Only a human who had done a very stupid thing, summoning the Devil and his right-hand demon to your bedroom. Just a stupid, foolish human. You tilted your head. Lowered your hand and placed both hands on Jungkook’s thighs. He tensed. You pressed your fingers into his slacks, kneading the firm flesh underneath.

Where was your fear? Your malice? Your innocence?

Where was your desire?

He could only feel his own, rising, rearing its beautiful head, teeth bared and ready to strike as your fingers drummed against the fabric of his pants. You had tried to take something from him in midst of the kiss.

Part of his soul.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed, forceful and direct.

You stopped moving your fingers. He wanted to scream in dismay.

“Only a small thing.” Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “A token to remember our fateful meeting.”

Now, only now, did Jungkook not like this.

You removed one hand from his leg and Jungkook clenched his jaw, watching it rise, nearing his heaving chest, the black chains spreading apart, links snapping with ice-silver sparks, but he was still bound, still chained, and he did now know why and not knowing infuriated him. You stopped, right above his heart, the heart he forgot was there sometimes.

The true irony of this world was that angels gave up their hearts to serve the one above and demons kept them to serve themselves.

Jungkook felt it again, the compression of his insides, making his breath hitch and his teeth grind, the sensation unbearable. Your expression remained the same, the small, airless smile. Eyes reflecting his terror.

“I could take it just like this.”

Not a threat, only a statement. Only a testament to the power within you, a power that Jungkook was beginning to think wasn’t something he knew or understood. The Devil could take souls. He could reap them, he could tear them, he could wring them dry. But not like this.

“I will give you a choice,” you murmured, hand retreating, releasing him from the uncomfortable pressure. “Because everyone deserves a choice, don’t they?”

The chains were lessening, slowly slipping off Jungkook’s body.

“I’ll let you give it to me willingly.”

Your hand on his pants caressed the fabric.

“If you have the power to take it,” Jungkook snarled. “Why not take it?”

Your other hand found his other thigh, squeezing lightly, sparks of heat flying through his veins. The chains slid off him, clashing into the hardwood floor and turning to ice-silver liquid that faded to nothing.

“I do not want to take.”

You stopped your touches and Jungkook wanted to scream.

“It will feel better for you if you give.”

He raised on eyebrow. “Considerate of you.”

You smiled wider. He stared into your eyes and only saw himself.

“What do you think, Jeon Jungkook, the Devil’s right-hand man?”

He felt the tendons on his neck tense, expression twisting into anger. You shouldn’t know his name. You were a human. You would only know if he told you directly. Someone else was behind this. Someone who wanted to kill him and the Devil, thereby putting Hell itself in imbalance.

“How do you know my name?” he seethed.

“You told me.”

What?

“When you looked into her eyes, you told her your name,” confirmed a deep, cavernous voice.

Jungkook started, whipping his head to the Devil beside him. No longer chained, simply sitting lazily on the ground, one knee raised to rest an elbow on it. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Getting soft, Jungkookie?” the Devil taunted.

How…? Was he so absorbed in his own lust and deceiving you that he did not realize? He looked back at you. Your eyes lowered to his slacks and then back up to his eyes.

“Pants can always come off.”

Jungkook raised a hand, running it through his black hair, jaw set. “You are too greedy, human. Do you even know what you’re doing?” he sneered.

Your hands jerked down a few centimeters closer to his crotch, making Jungkook hiss. Your tongue slid out, feathering against the plush dark mauve of your lips. His cock throbbed with need, demanding to abuse the mouth presented. You leaned forward, putting more of your weight on him, welcome weight that Jungkook wanted all over him. He was a demon, after all. He was no stranger to carnal desire.

“I do,” you murmured softly. “You and me and the Devil makes three.”

Jungkook sharpened his gaze. “You couldn’t handle that, human.”

You said nothing.

You simply removed your heat and turned to the Devil, where Yoongi held the little goat-man plush by a single hoof, dangling it next to his lap, making your crawl into it to reach the doll. It was almost an innocent gesture, the way you took it and tucked it into your lap before looking up at Yoongi’s face, lips parted slightly, nearly curious, childlike awe decorating your features.

Jungkook growled like a hurt animal.

Your eyes shifted to him, looking at him under lowered lashes. Dismissive, vacant gaze.

“Yes or no, Jeon Jungkook?”

“Yes.”

The thin black string between you and him darkened, searing with ice-silver, a contract made. He didn’t even know the terms. He didn’t care. No human could outsmart him. And you, you must have been human once.

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t know if you were human anymore.

-

Yoongi watched your eyes return to him. The little black goat-man plush was tucked between your legs, pressed against your core. Slowly but surely, he was understanding. The original vessel was human, now tainted by someone, something, or simply bad luck. It made you something else entirely. You were a creature from the realm of Order polluted by the realm of Disorder. How long could this last? Would you die eventually from it? When you died, what would be left? Was the soul still there? Would he be able to collect it? Contain it? Study it?

Yoongi didn’t know the answers to these questions.

He wanted to know.

“Your turn,” you whispered to his chin, warm breath against his skin. “What is your answer, my Devil?”

Yoongi chuckled. “A shard of soul is all you ask for?” he purred. “What for?”

You tilted your head. “I want to complete my collection.”

The Devil doubted that. He doubted you wanted anything. Something was driving the entropy in a direction, a purpose given to the original human you long ago, and now you did it because it was the only thing left in the shell, a memory of a purpose, the human determination so strong that it could not be killed or erased, even though this body was now only a container for the power within.

The Devil had spent a lot of his time lately doing nothing. Nothing fun, nothing exciting, nothing worthy of his attention. Yoongi already knew everything there was to know about humans. He cared not for those above. But this.

This was new.

This was different.

This was something he wasn’t supposed to know.

He raised his hand, fingers tracing your jaw, staring into the eyes of Chaos. The Entropy. The Vessel.

You.

“I’ll be part of your collection, little one,” Yoongi purred.

And you will be mine, he vowed as the black string between you and the Devil glowed, ice-silver magic contaminating it with the power of Disorder.

-

part ii the collection. if you get in bed, someone will fall in love

--

masterpost

[junicai]

shivers.

| order no. | 2/21

| summary | Aria suffers the consequences of her own actions when she takes it upon herself to continue filming when sick.

| word count | 1.4k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. February 2020

Music videos are an extension of the song they portray. They are designed to emphasize and carry out any underlying messages that the songwriters have embedded in the lyrics - to give them more meaning, and to make them easier to spot and understand.

Rain rooms were a common enough feature in shooting a music video; especially with the rising popularity of heartbroken ballads in the western media. These songs were typically sung by crooning women, clad scantily in sheer white fabric that clung to their figures wetly, drenched by the water that rained from the ceiling above.

Aria was no such exception.

The thin, flimsy material of the cotton dress she’d been given to wear for this shot was going to provide her little to no barrier against the frigid water that was going to be pouring down her back in a little over three minutes.

With a final pat of a large blush brush dusting over the apples of her cheeks, she was set free from the make-up chair and ushered towards the set. A singular table was set against a grey backdrop, the ceiling dry for the time being.

With her hair roots suitably shook up for volume by a stylist's nimble fingers, Aria made her way to sprawl herself as daintily as she could over the fake wood while still trying to retain a modicum of her own decency.

With her head flung back, and her eyes closed, a shutter sounded, and the skies opened.

In reality, it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, nothing more than to just get her used to the feeling, but Aria resurfaced gasping, sitting back up with eyes squinted closed as she had to refrain herself from wiping the water away - less she rub the mascara into her skin.

"God that felt like I was being waterboarded."

Her comment sent a wave of laughter around the room, giggles coming from the corner where the cameras were set up.

A small tremor ran down her spine, but Aria hid it quickly with a cough and a shift in her sitting position. Her now wet dress stuck uncomfortably to her legs, and she grimaced at the cool feel on her skin.

"Ok! Let's run it again." The director's call came from the opposite side of the room, where she was stood behind a monitor, watching carefully.

Aria nodded dutifully, and moved back to her sprawled position again; this time taking more care to not lie in such a way that left her face overly exposed to the downpour.

They took the clip, six, maybe seven times.

The first few were stopped midway due to positioning changes, and the next one because she coughed lightly after choking on the water when it ran into her mouth by accident.

By the time filming came to a close, Aria was cold, and wet, and miserable. She had started shaking profusely the second she'd slid herself off the table, bare feet meeting the tiled flooring and toes curling at the biting feeling.

Her lips had taken on a blue tinge beneath the red rouge that had rubbed off over the duration of the last hour, and her fingertips mirrored that colour as they moved frantically up and down her biceps to try and put some heat back into her frigid skin.

Aria was still quivering lightly in the oversized jacket when she stepped out of the van and back into the dorms, toeing off her shoes at the entrance before immediately making her way into the kitchen.

A warm cup of tea to cradle between her icy fingertips sounded perfect, exactly what she needed. But unfortunately, her plans were thwarted by a rather tall man leaning against the counter top.

Johnny took one look at Aria's now almost purple lips, and raised an eyebrow.

"So do we need to go find someone who's been wearing blue lipstick? Or is that just the latest trend that I've missed?" He teased, pushing himself to wrap Aria in a hug.

She sank willingly into his embrace, curling up against his chest in an attempt to chase the warmth that he offered. "N-no, I'm just. C-cold. That's all."

Johnny tilted his head down to look at Aria without pushing her away. "You feel like a little icicle."

"M'cold." She whined, increasing in pitch when Johnny stepped away from her. "No! Come b-back you're warm."

He chuckled at her when she pulled the collar of her jacket up to her nose to retain the whisper of body heat that he'd given her. "Two seconds, Ari. I'm just going to get Tae."

Aria's head snapped up. "Why?"

"Because we've had conversations about not speaking up when you're uncomfortable during filming before, but apparently we're going to need to have another one. And, he can make better tea than I can."

Aria winced. "C-can it not, not wait? Til, t-tomorrow maybe?"

Johnny's eyes softened when he looked at her small form. She'd pulled the hood over her ears to hide her still damp hair prior to entering the dorm, but the small beads of moisture on her forehead were telling of a growing fever that came inevitably from being doused in freezing water for an hour.

"I'll see what I can do, kiddo. No promises though."

With that, he disappeared into the hallway, and Aria wandered her way into the living room where she plopped herself onto the couch and tugged a cushion into her lap to cuddle.

Stupid body getting cold and getting her in trouble. Stupid. Should have just warmed her up again. Stupid homoeostasis, or whatever it was. It was stupid.

A hand landed on her shoulder, stroking softly. "Hey, ice baby."

Aria tilted her head back towards Yuta's gently smiling face. "M'cold." She repeated, scooching over on the couch to make room for the man to sit down.

Yuta opened his arms in invitation, and Aria went willingly, burrowing herself in his chest. She sighed lightly at the warm comfort that his hoodie material offered, and pressed her cheek against his arm.

A clink of a mug alerted to Aria that there was someone - no, two people - in the kitchen, and soon after, Taeyong emerged with a steaming mug of tea in his hands with Jaehyun trailing after him, arms laden with blankets.

"T-thank y-you," Aria's teeth were chattering at this point, and Taeyong looked on in worry. A back of a hand was placed to her forehead, and he winced.

"Hyuck, would you mind grabbing the red pill bottle from the cabinet under the sink? The one that's full, Doyoung restocked it a couple days ago."

Donghyuck moved back into the hallway with an affirmative, and Aria looked up to Taeyong. "I don't, m'not sick. Just c-cold. I'll be f-fine."

Mark slid into the open space on the other side of Aria, placing a hand on her leg. "Love you, and everything. But shut up."

He received a thin glare from Yuta for his words. "She's sick, don't be rude."

"I said I loved her!"

"And then you told her to shut up!"

"M'not sick."

Taeil emerged from the doorway waving his hands with Donghyuck following quickly behind him. "I have medication for the invalid?"

"M'not sick!"

Yuta hushed her, tucking her head back into his chest. "We know, baby. You're not sick. But you're going to drink your tea and take a fever reducer and then go to bed okay?"

"But-"

"You can sleep in my room!" Jungwoo chirped up from the oppisite couch. Honestly, Aria didn't know when he had arrived, didn't know when half of the people in the room had arrived, but all of a sudden, she was surrounded by all the members of 127.

Aria shrunk back slightly with all of their eyes on her.

"M'not sick." Her voice was weak; a final hurrah.

"Here." Doyoung handed her the mug of tea that had cooled slightly. "Drink your tea."

[farfromsugafanfic]

Heartbreak Weather

Genre: Weatherman!Jin, Metropolis/loosely based off comic books, Rivalry, soft Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jin/Male Reader

Warnings: all the sexual tension lol, hurricanes

Synopsis: The rival weatherman at Channel 5 just so happens to be Kim Seokjin who you just so happened to have had a thing with in college. Sort of. When a hurricane brings the two of you back together again, the forecast calls for love and dredged up feelings.

﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

"Will you please turn that off?" you asked, taking a sip of your coffee. Normally, you took it with a little vanilla-flavored creamer, but much like that morning's coffee, you were bitter.

"Aw, why? Seokjin looks so cute in his turtleneck this morning," one of the writers said, fawning over the Channel 5 weatherman. "Maybe you should start wearing turtlenecks. It might boost our ratings." 

You rolled your eyes as the red light came on indicating that you would soon be on camera. You set your coffee to the side and stepped in front of the green screen. 

"Good morning, Metropolis," you said. "You can expect some light rain on your commute today. It should clear up by lunchtime though and it will be partly cloudy for the rest of the day. You watched as the map viewers saw at home shifted as you shifted the topic. "As you know, a hurricane is forming a few hundred miles off the coast. We are currently predicting landfall early next week. I will be traveling to Diamond Beach as the storm approaches to give you the most recent updates. Thanks for watching Channel 4 News, now here's Andrea with traffic."

The red light switched from you and onto Andrea's camera on the other side of the studio. You let out a sigh and walked back to your desk away from the main set. 

"You went to school with him, right?" the same writer asked, still watching Seokjin on the screen. His station gave him more screentime because he was so well loved in the city, often they pan to him coming back from commercial breaks and whenever there was a view question or poll. 

"Yeah," you said. There was only one university near Metropolis that offered a robust meteorology program and most of the city's weather people came from it. You and Seokjin had gone through together, even graduating at the same ceremony. 

"Wow, was he still so stunning in college? Like, I don't think I could've focused if he was in my classes."

"Depends on who you ask."

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

5 Years Earlier

"Having trouble focusing?" you asked Seokjin as you noticed his dark eyes were no longer looking down at the computer screen. 

"Hmm, it's a bit hard when you look at the screen like that," he said, smirking and turning around to lean against the desk. "Tell me, what's a guy gotta do to get you to look at him like that?"

"Be a warm front." You watched as a warm front moved towards the city while a cold one moved simultaneously from the other direction. 

"What if I'm a hot front?" He turned to face you, his hip still leaning against the desk, but his body was close enough that it brushed yours as he moved. 

"Seokjin, stop." You clicked a few more times and turned to flip through your textbook. "It's a storm for sure. A thunderstorm or tornado. Shit, it could be anything, how are we supposed to figure this out."

"Its the weather, not heart surgery. We can be wrong fifty percent of the time and still good at our job."

"But, if we're wrong fifty percent of the time, we'll fail this class."

Jin sighed and crossed his arms as his eyes lingered down your body. "Listen, Y/N. We both know that you're going to stress about this for twenty minutes and then figure it out like you always do. Now, come on, let's take a break."

"And do what?" you asked, letting out a breath between your teeth, not tearing your eyes away from the screen.

"I don't know. I have a few ideas though" His breath was against your ear and his body heat radiated against your own. 

"Seokjin, this can't happen."

"Why not?"

"Cause I need to focus on school. I'm here on a scholarship. I can't risk distractions."

Jin sighed and looked down at the weather map on the screen. "It's a thunderstorm," he said. "The currents aren't strong enough for a tornado and based on the patterns, its the most logical." 

You quickly wrote down the answer and his reasoning, realizing that he was right. How he surmised the answer so quickly, especially when he was barely paying attention baffled you. 

"All right, now, come on," he said. "I'm taking you out for lunch and you can't deny me that. I know you're hungry."

"Fine," you said, shutting your textbooks and allowing the computer's screensaver to come on.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Just hours later that same night, you found yourself looking up at the ceiling of Jin's bedroom. Soft cotton sheets wrapped around your torso and they felt softer than even the best sheets you'd ever owned. His shirtless form was turned away from you and you resisted the urge to reach up and run a hand through his dark hair. He'd let it grow long recently, the ends of his hair beginning to grow onto his neck.

"Stop staring at me," Seokjin said, you could hear the smirk in his voice. He turned around to face you. His eyes were calm and soft like the sheets, but you couldn't help but feel the sadness. The knowing.

"How'd you know?" Your voice was small.

"I could feel it. Your eyes hurt, you know?"

You did know. You knew how much it hurt Jin to see your eyes wander down the shape of his torso. That the way you always reached to push his ill-fitting glasses up the bridge of his nose hurt. That knowing he couldn't reach out and sneak his fingertips underneath the hem of your sweater.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, it's okay."

"It's not, Seokjin. We need to move on. Forget about each other. It's best for our futures."

"You know that's not true."

"Seokjin, we both want the same things in life. We'd be competing with each other for every job. We'd rush to get the story before the other. It wouldn't last."

"We don't know that unless we try."

"Seokjin, I don't want to give myself the chance to hate you."

You got up from the bed and buttoned your shirt, pulled on your trousers, and tied your shoes. Seokjin watched you, didn't try to stop you as you headed towards the door. Gripping the doorknob, you walked out and back down to the sidewalk below. 

Following that day, you didn't see Seokjin again. Sure, he still sat a few rows in front of you, he still presented in class, you glanced over his name in the paper when it was announced he was taking over the weather position for Channel 5. You saw him on billboards and on Reddit posts. Yet, you never met allowed your eyes to meet his again. Unless it was through the warm, freshly printed Metropolis Daily.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Nearly no one was heading east towards Diamond Beach. Westbound traffic was full of cars heading into the city to weather the storm, while eastbound only consisted of a few cars. Mostly media and others who couldn't drop everything and run from the hurricane. 

You could just make out the Channel 5 van ahead of you. Focusing down on your laptop which was tracking the conditions minute by minute, you tried not to focus on the fact you would likely run into Seokjin. 

This certainly wasn't the first time a hurricane or tropical storm caused you and Seokjin to collide like convergent fronts. Every year you found yourself at Diamond Beach trying not to watch his broadcast from a few meters down the beach.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Two Hours Later

"Hello, this Y/N Y/L/N reporting for Channel 4 news. Hurricane Roke is expected to make landfall later tonight. Most of Diamond Beach and the surrounding areas have been evacuated as Roke is currently a category four storm. I will be monitoring the storm and providing updates through Twitter throughout the night and I'll be back on the beach at 5am. This has been Y/N Y/L/N covering Hurricane Roke. Now, back to the studio."

You felt Jin's eyes on you as you gave your report. He was about two hundred feet down the beach. He wore a similar coat to your own and even with his hood pulled up you could feel the way his eyes cut through you. 

Once the red light on your camera went off, the one on Seokjin's came on and he began his report. It was nearly identical to yours, Seokjin adding his own flair and charm. Like you wished you could. 

Seokjin finished his broadcast and your filmographer began to pack up. "I'll see you bright and early in the morning?" she asked, her hair catching in the wind and obscuring her face. 

You nodded and helped her pack up the camera and other supplies, working quickly to prevent it from getting damaged from the wind or rain. Walking up the beach and back to the hotel felt like it took forever, especially with the heavy filming equipment. 

Your filmographer had already checked in earlier and headed to her room, carrying the camera and filming equipment. You kept the portable meteorological tools, already anxious to set it up in your room. Jin and his filmographer came in just as you got to the front desk. 

Giving them your name, you handed them your ID and the company credit card. The receptionist furrowed her brow and glanced up at you. 

"It looks like your room was accidentally double booked," she said. "I apologize, but due to the current situation, would you mind sharing?"

"Uh, sure, that's no problem. Who am I sharing with?"

The woman squinted at her computer. "Kim Seokjin."

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

"You're not even going to look at me?" Seokjin asked as the two of you set up your computers. He'd let you have the desk while he took the counter of the kitchenette. 

"Not until I get this setup."

Seokjin sighed and pulled out his phone. Service was already finicky, but he managed to pull up Spotify and got music to play. It was soft, as not to disturb your neighbors in the packed hotel. 

You smiled as you heard the familiar tune "Dancing Queen". Jin was a fan of older music and the two of you used to listen to ABBA's Greatest Hits when studying together. 

"You still listen to this?"

"Of course," he said. "It makes me happy."

It made you happy too and when you finished setting up your computer you peaked out the window. The storm was still a couple of hours from landfall, but the trees were already swaying wildly. 

"It's going to be a big one," Jin said, glancing at you and catching your eye. It was the first time you'd truly looked at each other since the day you'd left him on his own. It felt like a lightning bolt skewered you in half. 

"Yeah," you said, sitting down on the bed. "It is."

You traced the seams of the comforter with your index finger. The song switched and this time it was "Can't Help Falling In Love With You". 

Jin finished setting up his computer. Your screen and his looked nearly identical showing a map of the coastline and the storm approaching. He sat down beside you, closer than you would've thought an acquaintance would sit. 

"We should go to bed. Early start tomorrow." His voice commanded you to look at him. "Let's not fight over the bed." Placing down the two extra pillows down the center of the bed, he went to the bathroom to change.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

The storm was in full force when you made your way outside. The four of you: you, Jin, and your two filmographers tried to get onto the beach, but the sand cut your skin. Various debris already littered the beach. Mostly seaweed and tree branches, although you noticed a few shoes and patio furniture from the nearby condos.

"The hotel said we could report from outside," you said. "It'd be safer."

Jin chewed on his cheek and glanced out at the beach. The two filmographers began to set up their cameras and you did you best to ensure your hair didn't fall into your face. You stood away from the wind, finding it hard to breath with it blowing onto your face. 

"Seokjin! Stop!" His filmographer yelled, abandoning his equipment, he rushed towards the other man. You turned to see that Seokjin had taken off towards the beach, seemingly want to report from there no matter the circumstances. 

You looked over at your coworker and she gave you a curt nod, ensuring that she would watch over the equipment. She dragged both cameras inside the lobby one at a time. Giving her an empathetic look, you took off running towards the beach, hoping to catch up with Seokjin before he got entirely soaked. 

When you came to the edge of the beach, you saw that Seokjin was already halfway out, his filmographer not far behind. You sighed and continued out, knowing he was determined to give the report from as close to the middle of the storm as he could.

The filmographer neared the middle of the beach, fearing going any further. When you caught up to him, you stopped to catch your breath, even though it was nearly impossible with the wind. Your breath was swept away as soon as you drew it in. 

"He's crazy," the other man said. "I have no idea why he's doing this." 

"He always has to go the extra mile," you said, rolling your eyes. "Even if it's stupid and dangerous."

Seokjin turned back to look for his camera operator, only to see him halted halfway up the beach. Seokjin was three-quarters of the way up the beach now, reaching dangerously close to the rough tide. He noticed you still running towards him and smiled before a gust of wind knocked him off his feet.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤

Your chest constricted when you saw Jin get thrown off his feet. He landed a few feet away in the sand. You ran as quickly as you could, falling to your knees beside him. 

"Are you okay?" you asked, looking him over. 

His eyes looked up at you, obviously taking in your features. Yet, his lips said nothing. 

"You crazy bastard! What the hell were you thinking? Rushing out here like that? You of all people should know how dangerous that is." You could barely catch your breath between words as you placed your hands on his arms to help him sit up. He didn't budge, however, his eyes just locked on your face. 

"What are you doing?" you asked, sighing and dropping your hands from his hands, looking down to meet his eyes for the first time.

He smiled when you finally met his eyes and leaned up to connect his lips to yours. It was brief due to the circumstances, but it felt like lightning coursing through your veins. 

"I ran cause I knew you would chase me."

[karajaynetoday]

forever and always | calum hood

I couldn’t find the original credit for this gif but possibly here? It’s a deactivated blog though if anyone has the proper credit please let me know!

I don’t know how or why, but I woke up this morning thinking about this concept and I had to get it written to make my peace with it, in a way. Shout out to @spicycal for reading through the draft for me, and sending love to anyone this resonates with. It’s a very emo Calum one-shot that includes pregnancy loss (if that’s not something you can read, feel free to give this one a miss), but I promise it has a happy ending. 

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy loss/stillbirth, and references to COVID-19 (the pandemic circumstances i.e. quarantine, not actually having the illness)

(This is a fem reader insert)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Calum ducked his head down to meet your gaze, brown eyes swimming with concern.

You were sat together on the couch in Ashton’s living room, surrounded by a lighting set up, having a quiet moment while Andy and Ryan were setting up their cameras in front of you. 5SOS were preparing to release their next album, and to reflect on the past ten years’ of the band, they had decided to film a documentary alongside the album process. After much deliberation, KayKay, Sierra and Crystal had agreed to take part, because they were just as much a part of the band’s journey as the boys’ families were, and their support and influence on the music was obvious. For you, though, it was a little different. You and Calum had successfully hidden your relationship from the public eye for the last four years. It was some sort of miracle, honestly, especially given the last little while where you’d gotten careless and slipped up by holding hands and showing affection in public. If any fans or paps noticed, they never said anything, and it gave you and Calum a sense of relief that no one knew your name or true identity when you were spotted with him or the rest of the band family in public.

Relief, but you had to admit that it hurt a little too. You’d seen the hate and vitriol that the other guys’ partners had experienced, and you knew Calum was just trying to protect you from all of that, but every time someone made a joke about him being the only single one in interviews, or asked him what he looked for in a girl, or the fans ran away with relationship rumours whenever he was photographed within breathing distance of a potential love interest,  it made your chest feel tight. At the end of the day, though, Calum always came home to you, and that was what truly mattered.

To say that this was a big moment, publicly announcing your relationship with Calum, and revealing that you’d kept it hidden for years, was an understatement. But you knew it was important to both of you to finally share it with the world. Not just because you loved each other and wanted to show it, but because the events of the past year had broken and rebuilt you all over again. As individuals, as a couple, and even for the band as a whole. You knew that the hope you’d held, and the pain that tore you down, and the healing you’d been through came across in Calum’s contributions to the new album, so it felt right to sit down and use your own voice to convey your feelings about it all.

You broke out of your deep train of thought to nod in response to Calum’s question, and press a quick but reassuring kiss to his lips.

“I’m sure if you’re sure.” You whispered, as Calum threw his arm around your shoulders and squeezed to let you know he was in support of whatever you wanted to do.

“Okay guys, we’re ready if you’re all good to go?” Ryan spoke up from behind the camera, trying not to unsettle you two and the moment you were clearly having. A deep breath and a brief smile from you and Calum let Ryan know he could start recording, and Andy sat down out of frame and pulled his notebook of questions into his lap.

“So, shall we start from the beginning?”

Your heart swelled, as you began to remember.

--

Ashton had full on wingman-ed Calum when you first met them both at a bar downtown. He was dating KayKay at the time, so he’d made it his mission to find Cal a hot date, or a lover, or a lifelong companion (“Any of the above will do, as long as you’re not a shit person”, he’d told you as he tried to pitch Calum to you). The pitch had worked, and you’d joined them for a few drinks and rounds of pool, before exchanging numbers with Calum at the end of the night.

From there, it was coffee dates, and brunches, and then dinners and nights out on the town. Soon it became days or nights at each other’s houses, which became entire weekends, then it was trips away or secret visits to see Calum on tour, and before you knew it, you’d been dating for the better part of the last two years and Cal asked you to move in with him. He knew it was a sacrifice on your part, not only dating someone who was away for months at a time, let alone someone whose hand you couldn’t hold out in public for risk of being photographed, but you also knew that you and Calum loved each other more deeply than you’d ever loved before. You understood he’d be burned in the past with public or semi-public relationships, and seeing his band brothers go through them made him hesitant at best. By moving in together, you’d see each other more, and you’d also get to shower each other with the love and desire that was building more and more within your soul with every passing day.

--

“So that’s the story of how we met. Mate, honestly, I was head over heels from day one.” Calum laughed, kissing your forehead quickly.

“I’ve had the privilege of observing you two and your love for one another for a few years now, and I have to say it’s a beautiful thing. You just seem to know each other inside out, and I love that soulmate aspect of your relationship.” Andy mused, flashing you a warm smile.

“Now, in terms of influence on this upcoming album, I know the past 18 months have been a rollercoaster for us all, but you two especially have been through a lot. Do you feel comfortable talking us through that a little bit?” Andy was careful with his words, not wanting to upset you or make you uncomfortable.

You squeezed Calum’s knee, before swallowing thickly and thinking back to the time period Andy had mentioned.

--

When 2020 began, you held so much hope and excitement for the year ahead. Watching Calum and his brothers play the Firefight Australia concert was incredible, and you were so thrilled for them to be releasing their latest album that truly felt representative of the four individuals who had come together to craft it. But then the pandemic began, and you were ordered into quarantine. Each day felt heavier somehow, with more sad stories on the news, and more frustration building up amongst your loved ones. It broke your heart to see Calum and the boys not able to release the album in the way they’d originally hoped, but Cal himself was both an optimist and a realist, and constantly reiterated that it felt like the right time to release it anyway, because maybe it would bring a bit of joy and serenity to people that needed that in their lives amongst all the chaos.

You’d quickly fallen into the routine of home isolation, waking early to get your work hours done, so you could spend your afternoons with Calum and Duke by the pool, or hiking a nearby trail, or bingeing Netflix on the couch. It was strange to have so much time together, but it was also so warm and comforting that it didn’t take you long to get anxious at the idea of Calum ever leaving again for tour or promo. That was a while away, though, so you tried your best to make the most of the time you had, and take it one day at a time.

You couldn’t remember the first day you woke up feeling nauseous. Sometime in June, you supposed. A few days of vomiting and fatigue that made you feel like you’d been hit by a bus, and you had a telehealth appointment with your doctor to try and figure out what was going on. Given your symptoms, they’d asked you in for tests right away. A week or so later, you were back sitting in the doctor’s office awaiting the results, extra nervous because the COVID-19 restrictions meant that Calum couldn’t come in with you. You’d thought about FaceTiming him into the appointment, but there was something in the back of your mind telling you that you wanted to have a moment to yourself to process the news, whatever it was going to be.

When your doctor looked at you with a smile and told you that you were pregnant, all you could do was gape back at her in shock. It shouldn’t have come entirely as a surprise; you and Calum had spoken a few times about the vision you had for your future, and the uncertainty and restlessness that quarantine had given you made foregoing protection seem right, somehow (lovesick logic, or something like that). But it happening so quickly was unexpected. Your shock was soon replaced with tears of happiness, and you were already bursting at the seams to get home and tell Calum the news.

He was speechless at first, too, but then again Calum always was a man of few words. You’d kept it to yourselves for a little while, only discussing it in quiet whispers, or soft touches onto your non-existent bump, or sending links of cute baby things to one another via WhatsApp message. A few weeks later, you had your first scan, and this time Calum was allowed in the room. You could see his eyes light up when he heard the strong heartbeat on the monitor, and later he’d tell you how he immediately wanted to voicenote it on his phone to listen to while he was away on tour, or even mix it into a song.

Seeing that tiny blob on the screen and hearing the heartbeat honestly made your entire year, and from then on you couldn’t resist sharing your happiness with others. Video calls with yours and Calum’s parents, more happy tears and cheering from the soon-to-be first time grandparents.

The restrictions in California had eased a little, so you invited Ashton, Luke, Michael and their respective partners over for dinner one night. You’d prepared some cute greeting cards, one for each couple, thanking them for all of their support over the years with helping to protect your privacy with Calum, and slipped a copy of the baby scan with “see you in February” written on the back inside the card. Once everyone was settled onto the couches in the living room, waiting for dinner to be ready, you handed them out and sat down in Calum’s lap, taking a sip of your drink to try and hide the excitement on your face.

It was so amusing to observe the reactions that were representative of each couple. Michael and Crystal gasped and cheered, immediately pulling you and Calum into tight hugs. Ashton and KayKay were more reserved, but whispers of love and encouragement and happiness into your ears were so lovely and cherished. The tears in Sierra’s eyes, and the comfort of Luke’s squeeze of his arms around your waist said more than they could ever put into words.

The emotional celebrations soon turned into teasing jibes, and Ashton’s pitch for a new line of 5SOS baby merch. (“Come on guys, a baby-sized bucket hat? Tiny hoodies? Wildflower plush toys? A lullabies album? I’m telling you, there’s a whole WORLD of opportunity for us opening up right now!”), and you couldn’t help but feel both overjoyed and overwhelmed at how much this little baby was going to be surrounded with love and support for every day of their life.

The months carried on, and your once invisible baby bump grew and grew. You and Calum cleared out a spare room for the nursery, and got lost in furniture shopping and paint swatches and reading every parenting book you could get your hands on. There were doctors appointments, and birthing classes; lists of potential baby names on the fridge, and consulting your dog trainer on how best to introduce old man Duke to the idea of a new arrival.

As December approached, and you started getting into the festive spirit, Calum began returning to the studio as he and the guys toyed with some potential new directions for the next album. All of them had studios built into their homes, so they could meet and work together in relative safety, which was reassuring. You were standing over the kitchen sink one day, rinsing out the pan you’d used to make eggs for breakfast, when a searing pain in your abdomen had you groaning in discomfort and gripping onto the kitchen counter for dear life. The pain eased momentarily, and then came back stronger, and you managed to grab your phone from the counter and dial Calum’s number frantically as you gasped for breath.

The next few hours were a blur; Calum raced home to find you curled up in pain on the kitchen floor, Ashton and the paramedics were quick to follow him inside. They put you in an ambulance and took you straight to the hospital; you and Calum were gripping each other’s hand so tightly that your knuckles were white with stress.

The doctors determined you were in pre-term labour, and soon enough you were in a delivery room panting and pushing and crying out to Calum for comfort. It was all so terrifying and overwhelming but he was doing his best to ground you, brushing his fingers through your hair and holding your hand and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. When you finally delivered the baby, a hush fell over the room, and you could tell from the look on the faces of your doctor and nurses that something wasn’t right. 

The silence continued, and your heart broke when you realised that the baby hadn’t started to cry like you’d expected. The nurses had moved the infant over to another station, suctioning their airway and connecting them up to all manner of tubes and wires, but after a few moments your doctor told you the news. It was a baby girl, but her heartbeat wasn’t there. She’d come into the world and gone out again, just like that.

--

“I know a lot of people struggle to talk about stillbirths, and losing children, and it’s such a deeply personal thing so I get it. But it’s also grief, and loss, and emotions that you feel whenever you lose anyone you love. If there’s one thing I wish we could do more, as people in general, it’s discuss how we feel, and normalise having emotions, because it brings you closer and makes you feel less alone.” You spoke softly, blinking away the tears that had started to well in your eyes.

Andy nodded gently at you, before a quiet “Cal?” with an encouraging flick of his head.

Calum cleared his throat and glanced over at you before speaking. 

“I think that’s a huge part of why we wanted to be here today and talk about not only our relationship but losing Matilda in particular. It’s a sensitive topic, I know, especially for men, but holding back and bottling up your emotions isn’t good for anyone. Without her support in getting me to open up, or having the boys to listen to me cry and help me get some of my feelings out, in words and on this album, I don’t think I’d be in as good a place as I am now. It’s dark to think about, but important not to ignore, I think.”

“You’re so right, Cal. And Matilda is always going to be a part of our story, and we’re never going to forget how much we loved her and how much closer together she brought us,” You began, pausing briefly to squeeze Calum’s hand that had settled on your swollen stomach, “And when our little rainbow baby arrives in the next few weeks, I can’t wait to tell them about their sister, and how much she would’ve loved to meet them, but now she’s watching over them instead.”

“Exactly. We’re always going to have had Matilda, and then this little one, and however many others we decide to try and bring into the world. But it’s the love that builds you and the loss that breaks you that makes us who we are. Forever and always.” Calum’s voice was emotional, but also firm and calm, as he looked down at you and kissed you intently, his hand never leaving its spot on your bump, where your little rainbow baby was kickly softly at the sound of his voice.

“Forever and always.” You agreed, inhaling deeply and feeling a sense of deep peace and content wash over you.

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[kafka-ish]

brother | r.t.

can boys and girls be friends without attached feelings?

word count: 2.1k

warnings/included: angst(?), college AU, fem!reader

a/n: based off of this song

-

Richie Tozier sat in the parking lot of USC’s Law Department. Become a Lawyer his mom said. You’ll make a lot of money his dad said. It only took two weeks into his freshman year of college for Richie to figure out that he actually hated the judicial system and to hell with it. He was about to light a cigarette even though he pledged to quit months ago: the last day of senior year.

He and the rest of the Losers were hanging by the quarry. Beverly was sitting on the hood of Bill’s car, slathering sunscreen on her sensitive skin because she burns easily. Ben sat with her, his arm itching to wrap itself around her pale shoulder. Bill, Eddie, and Stan were playing cards and Mike had to monitor them for cheating. Richie would’ve joined, but he didn’t want to get up from his position that overlooked the quarry’s water hole. He was laying down on the rocks, eyes closed and shades on, in place of his usual glasses.

“I think I’m gonna quit smokin’,” he announced with a certain proudness that his voice normally did not hold.

“O-oh yeah? How l-long’s that gonna luh-last?” Bill looked up from his cards, giving Eddie a chance to sneak a peak.

“I saw that, Eddie!” Mike Hanlon called from above and Eddie flinched.

“Cripes. Warn a guy before you yell first.”

Four months. It lasted four months, Big Bill, as Richie took out his BIC. He had to mess with it a few times to get the flame to startup. He always preferred matches, but the black lighter with flame stickers he kept in his shirt pocker was cooler.

A yellow-orange heat finally flicked the contraption to life when, at the same time, his Nokia 232 buzzed against the gearshift.

Four months and one day.

The small flame died in Richie’s hand that was now pressing his phone to his ear with no hesitation.

“Rich the Dick Tozier speaking, how can I help you?” Sure, it wasn’t the most professional way to answer a phone call, but who was anyone to call Richie Tozier a professional guy?”

“Hey, Richie!” It was y/n. y/n the girl who sat in front of him in his English class. y/n the girl who wore parkas in fucking California because it’s for the fashion and you wouldn’t understand. y/n the girl who got drunk off her ass at the first party of the year—which, ironically, was where they met.

The parties in college were spectacularly different from the parties Richie would go to in high school. More so, the parties in California were more… insane. Wild. The booze was exponentially more expensive—nothing that Bill would ever think of getting at his own. And the girls could closely be mistaken for a Hollywood child star.

Nothing like the parties in Derry Richie thought to himself as he drunkenly swept through the halls of a fucking Mansion. He didn’t realize his feet were working properly until he looked down, seeing as he was standing on all fours—all twos. How he was still standing up remained a mystery to him because he must’ve had ten shots of vodka that was worth more than his entire being and future.

Before him, when he entered the billiard room, stood a girl even drunker than him (somehow). She stood on the pool table, laughing above the crowd of frat boys who were yelling to take your damn shirt off already! And c’mon don’t be a prude. They surrounded her like dogs fighting for the last strip of steak until Richie stepped in.

“A little drunk to be standing on the edge like that.” He took a swig from his red solo cup. “Here, sweetheart, lemme help you down.” He offered her an unsteady hand only to be brushed away like a speck of dust on a grandfather clock.

“I can help myself,” y/n said. She got down from the pool table by sitting on the ledge first, then letting each foot touch the ground one at a time. “See?” She steadied herself using his shoulder and looked up at him with a smirk that let him know they were going to be friends.

And they were friends.

y/n was overjoyed when she found out Richie was in one out of her five classes and Richie was just happy to be able to talk someone’s ear off without them rolling their eyes or giving him the side-eye.

“Hey, y/n/n,” Richie said, mimicking the same enthusiasm from across the speaker. “What’re you up to?”

“Besides calling you?” Richie felt himself beginning to laugh but it felt wrong to do so. As cheery as y/n sounded, there was something off.

“Are you okay?” Richie blurted out, but he couldn’t help himself. It was in his nature; always looking out for y/n; always taking care of her.

“I’m fine, Tozier.” She laughed but he could tell it was fake. The way her voice was still summer in the crisp of fall was fake. The whole call was fake. “You just love checking in on me don’t ya.” Another giggle left the speaker—covering the cracks in her voice, or a sob.

“No, really.” His hand left the phone—his shoulder and cheek propping the device up against his ear—and reached for the gearshift. “How are you?”

Static. But Richie had been over at her place thousands of times before—not needing to ask for her address or pull out a map for directions. And Richie was right (he was always right) when he burst through the wooden door of y/n’s small, but somehow spacious, Los Angeles apartment.

“y/n, I know you’re in there,” Richie said, followed by three curt knocks. His shoulder slumped against the door and he sighed. “y/n, don’t make me go all big bad wolf on your little ol’ door.” He looked down to see the welcoming mat where guests were supposed to wipe their shoes off.

There’s No Place Like Home

A short laugh bounced off the walls from inside and Richie took that as his queue. His hand had a firm grasp around the bronze doorknob, refreshing from the California air. He jangled it, only for the structure to not budge, like it didn’t give a damn that he had to get inside.

“Dammit, y/n/n, get off your goddamned high horse and open the door.”

Richie was never one for words, but at these, the lock broke in and in slipped Richie. It was as if the door had heard his cries and complied—feeling sorry for the boy. But the mysteriousness of y/n’s apartment door didn’t matter when Richie’s eyes caught y/n’s figure—or lack of one. She sat on the leather couch which was a moving present from her parents (“We know how expensive it can be; being a young adult with college expenses. Wow, to think, my baby’s all grown up.”), wrapped in a blanket, burrito style. Even fro six feet away (approximately), Richie could see the tears welling in her eyes and the snot spilling from her nose.

“Richie Tozier, can you ever learn to take a goddamn hint?” y/n’s voice was far too weak to show any sign of malicious intent. He stood in front of her, tentative but also caring. He wanted to help. He just didn’t know how.

“I am taking the hint.” Richie sat down next to the bundle of blankets. He sat close, so close that if y/n’s feet were on the floor, his knees would’ve touched hers. She could smell his mint deodorant and cheap cologne; or maybe she was just so used to having him next to her, that was what she knew he smelled like. y/n smelled like this month’s body wash. Orange blossom. She must’ve taken an extra-long soak today. She always did when something was wrong. “I know you want me here, toots. Otherwise, you wouldn’t’ve called.”

Richie was right and at the moment y/n hated him for being able to read her mind.

She was about to tell him off but a strangled cry left her lips instead. Richie didn’t need to ask what was wrong to know what was wrong. Besides, it would be cruel—condescending—to put a filter over his voice the way you’d talk to a terrier or a baby and ask what’s wrong?

It was clear what was wrong. Judging by the two-hour-long bath she had taken beforehand and off-brand, empty Ben & Jerry’s container on her coffee table: her piece of shit boyfriend had just dumped her. Richie never liked Brandon, y/n’s so-called (now ex) boyfriend. But it could’ve been the other way around, too. His over-gelled head was always stuck in his Levi 512’s and the only time Richie saw that pompous smirk leave his lips was when he walked in on him and y/n kissing. Gag. But y/n had the right to be upset about getting dumped—even if it was by a perpetual twerp who never passed up the chance to brag about his perfect SAT score (wake up, buddy, we all got into the same college).

Richie sat waiting for a reply he was never going to get because y/n was too busy blowing her nose into the sleeve of her robe.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Carefully, Richie unwrapped y/n from the cocoon, similarly to how a cautious child unwraps their presents. “You don’t need Brandon. You don’t need anyone.” It was true. She didn’t need anyone, and if anything people needed her. “You’re y/n.” He spoke the two words with such sureness—confidence. She was y/n, and if that’s not enough for them to see, then they’re delusional.

“How do you know?” She asked. Even if it was just a college boyfriend—her first college boyfriend—it still hurt like hell. The thought of being not wanted. Knowing it was her; that she couldn’t just fix whatever her lover didn’t like that ended up pushing him off the edge. He just didn’t like her.

Of course, she didn’t love Brandon. She didn’t love the way his hair was always stiff and she couldn’t comb her fingers through it the way she did Richie’s. She didn’t love him finding an excuse to say hello to the next blonde he saw whenever they went to parties together. She didn’t love Brandon, and Brandon apparently didn’t love her. But if Brandon didn’t love her, then who would?

Maybe the answer was staring her down right in front of her, or pressing against her shoulder as Richie bent down to pick up the empty ice cream carton. “You are y/n, right?” Richie asked in attempts to bring her spirits up.

And he did.

y/n’s eyes crinkled as she smiled and she chocked on her breath at the laugh she tried to hold in. “Do you think I’m an impostor?”

“Who knows?” Richie sat back down. His shoulder brushed her covered one and his head fell back to look at the ceiling. “Plastic surgery is pretty popular these days. Especially in La City of Angels.” He turned to face her now—a tear-free y/n that stared back at him. Her eyes were much lighter than before and her skin looked like it had just been kissed. By who?

“You’re an angel,” y/n said unexpectedly. Well, this was a turn of events. Richie managed to suppress his cough—a usual reaction that’d take place when he was surprised.

He pulled on the collar of his band-tee (Rock On, AC/DC!) because it was all of the sudden hard to breathe in this small LA apartment of y/n’s. He felt his pulse quicken under the skin of his wrist and neck. A line of sweat was forming beneath his browbone. Oftentimes, it was hard to differentiate if California was undergoing an unforeseen heatwave or if Richie was just drawing a fever. But summer had passed and Richie hand’t gotten sick in years, even if it was just a head cold.

Richie sat there, speechless, and wondered. He wondered why, out of all the nicknames in the world, he hasn’t called y/n baby yet. It was always babe or honey, but never baby. Why was that? Hypothetically, he could call her that. He could call her a lot of things—like his. So why didn’t he? Why had he never asked y/n out?

But it occurred to him, as y/n tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, that y/n was hurting. She needed a friend and nothing more. A brother, per se. He could sense her lean in. For a kiss, perhaps? But Richie was quick to dodge and cup her face in his large palm. An intimate action, sure, but their relationship was far from it.

“Look, y/n/n.” His breath hit her face. It was warm and felt like home. “You’re hurting right now.” His thumb rubbed along her jawline. “We’re just friends, right?”

“Friends,” y/n echoed back to him. And while she wasn’t completely convinced with the words coming from Richie Tozier’s mouth, she’d agree with him for his sake.

[iriswc1995]

Ash In Ordina

Chapter One:  ‘Home’

The screech of the railcar grinding to a halt startled her awake.  Ash peered from under her hood, instinctively grabbing the hilt of her sword.  The car was empty save for her and a few wandering ghosts.  It was difficult to see through the smeared windows.  It was utterly dark outside.  She sighed, wiping crumbs from her eyes and standing up.  After a moment, the doors hissed open, and she stepped through.

The ‘station’ was hardly more than a platform of corrugated metal, dripping with rust, that bridged two sides of the yawning darkness below.  Orange lights gleamed like eyes on the distant walls that did little to reveal the vastness of the dozens of floors extending above and below.  Ash made her way across, combing fingers through her matted hair.  Past the station, a blue light illuminated a lone figure leaning against the wall of the corridor.  He had a boyish face, a mess of dreadlocks, and perpetual bags under his eyes.  His left arm was a cybernetic prosthesis, which he waved as she approached.

“Heya.  Glad you made it.”

Ash nodded and pulled her coat closer around herself.  “Lead the way, Cygnus.” 

She followed a few paces behind him through a labyrinth of oily hallways, trying to stay alert.  There was never much in a given Tower to distinguish one area from another, save the occasional worn sign.  What was different was the layout, and the people.  Smells of dirt and skin and cooking meat surrounded them as they entered a crowded intersection crammed with dingy shops.  This district had working traffic lights to dictate the constant flow of activity, which the pair pushed their way through as hastily as possible.  A thin stairway led to an auxiliary floor, where Cygnus cut the chains on a gate that led to maintenance.  Ash perked up a bit.

“Home sweet home?”

“Not yet.  Watch behind us.”

Complex webs of pipes and wires guided them through the dark, claustrophobic maze.  Cygnus didn’t say much except to warn her about a gap in the floor or the sound of footsteps approaching.  Ash stayed relaxed.  She trusted people who lived behind locked doors or in cramped spaces more than whoever was patrolling outside them.  As much as she would trust anyone besides Cygnus, at least. 

The arrival of more ghosts, pale and eerily indistinct like clouds of water vapor, signalled their exit from maintenance and back into a populated area.  Cygnus slowed his pace as they entered a long living hall, lined with apartment doors and people who were either hunched over or entirely prone along its sides.  A nearby sign read ‘District 17, Floor 3.’  Ash squinted.

“I thought you said you’d found somewhere isolated.”

“Again, we aren’t there yet.  We’ve still got a bit to go.  Are there ghosts around or something?”

“No more than usual.  I hope you got some food, by the way.”

“Two large pizzas, right?”

She chuckled.  They carefully wove through the carpeted halls of the district.  Thousands of people could live in a single Tower, and the corporation heads tended to cram in a lot more than that.  Ash wove disdainfully at buzzing flies and ignored the hands reaching out for her as they passed.  It’s crazy the kind of thing that the city can make into a routine, she thought bitterly.

Then, her sword vibrated in its sheathe.  Ash slowed her pace and looked around, flicking the hilt with her thumb to reveal an inch of the blade.  A familiar surge of adrenaline pulsed through her.  Her vision reddened, beginning to switch focus, blurring the halls around her but sharpening the humanoid figures, including the wisp-like forms of the ghosts.  The sword was a slender katana Ash had held on to for almost ten years, and it was unlike any other piece of equipment she’d found.  Glancing to the left, Ash saw a small group of wisps huddling together, but these ones were bright red instead of pale. Though they were partially obscured by a wall, she saw them suddenly begin moving downwards as a single unit, presumably down an elevator shaft.

“Ash?  What’s up?”

Cygnus had stopped a little ways down the hall.  Ash looked around for another moment before running to catch up.

“Nothing, for now.”

“We can’t stop for every skeleton bird ghost you see flying around.”

“That was one time, dude.”

He smirked and continued walking.  The apartments fell away behind them as they climbed another set of stairs.  Ten minutes passed before Cygnus stopped in front of a door that was dirty enough to look like it had merged with the floor and ceiling.  Wires drooped haphazardly above their heads, some of them still sparking.  He typed in a code on the number pad and the door lazily forced itself open.  The lights inside flickered on.  It was a laboratory, full of old computers lined up on desks.  Every surface was coated in dust, and the shelves were lined with boxes that had long ago been combed for anything useful or valuable.  What few tools littered the floor were rusted nearly to pieces.  In one corner of the room was a set of monitors that looked newly-cleaned, hooked up to several smaller devices that no doubt belonged to Cygnus.

Ash sighed and stretched her arms, immediately settling into one of the darkest corners of the room.  A small sleeping bag was already rolled up here; Cygnus knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to be using any chairs.  She started to unroll it as Cygnus sank down at his desk and started typing away.

“Where’s my pizza?”  Ash asked.

A moment later, Cygnus tossed over an almond nutrient bar.

“Fuck yes.”

She tore into it without hesitation.  It had been a while since it’d felt safe enough to rest.  Their last hideout had been compromised so completely that they’d come a long way to find somewhere new, as far as possible from the patrols of Ordainers.  An hour passed quietly, save for the tapping of keys and the rhythmic scrape of Ash sharpening her sword.  She wasn’t even sure it ever needed it, but it was something to do.  Surviving in this city consisted much of filling the silence.  Ash stood up and sheathed her sword, leaning it against one shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a look around.  I saw something with Red earlier.”

There was the heavy sigh she’d braced herself for.  Cygnus stared hard at the empty space beside her.  “Ash.  We’ve been here all of five minutes and you’re already wanting to find trouble?”

“I’ll be more careful this t-”

“Every time, she says that every time and what do I do?  Not much, just get walked all over.”

“You know that’s not what it’s like.”  She walked over to Cygnus’ desk and put a hand down on it, waiting for him to look at her fully.  He finally did, resting his cheek on his hand.

“It always starts like this.  That’s all I’m saying.”

“This is important.  I saw red ghosts.  Something serious could’ve happened nearby, maybe a Dissonance.”

“Ugh.  Fine.”  He sat back, firmly rubbing his brow with his non-cybernetic hand.  He always did that when he was annoyed.  It was charming enough to make Ash smirk a little.  Even when he was stressed, Cygnus always thought about things carefully.  He took an earpiece from the desk and handed it to her.  “Call me when you’re back.  If the cops are chasing you again, don’t lead them back here.”

“Mhm, I won’t.”

“I mean it.  I’m not getting in another gunfight.  Good luck out there, I guess.”

----

Charred metal and snapped wires made her surroundings smell like a welding shop.  Sickly white lights illuminated the elevator shaft at the end of hall, right where Ash had seen the red specters.  It looked like it had been out of order for a long time, and wherever the car itself was stuck certainly wasn’t on this floor.  Ash braced herself; before taking a running leap, wrapping her arms and legs around the steel cords suspended in the shaft.  After getting a decent grip, she let go with her hands and allowed herself to slide downwards with the cords braced against her shoes and coat sleeves.  Several minutes passed, and when Ash felt her muscles start to ache, she picked another opening in the shaft to leap outside again, now on a much lower floor.

She stared down a hallway that was so ill-maintained it was listing partially to one side.  The floor was a mess of rubble and detritus, but the power still worked enough to illuminate the hall with the flashing signs and video advertisements that lined the area.  Ash stepped carefully through the neon-painted darkness.  It seemed like this had been a major thoroughfare of some kind at one point, but had gradually fallen into disuse as people migrated to higher floors.  Sometimes it was almost surprising how decayed certain areas of the city could be.  It was less so when Ash remembered that most Towers were so large, a missile could hit one part of it without people who lived on the opposite side noticing.

A red blur suddenly darted through her vision at an intersection up ahead.  Another ghost.  She walked up to where she had seen it and focused her vision, unsheathing an inch of her blade again.  Ash had seen ‘ghosts’, for lack of a proper term, ever since she’d first claimed this sword, which she called ‘Red’ for simplicity’s sake.  From the very start, it had been obvious it wasn’t a normal weapon, and it only became more intriguing as she learned its exact properties.  In addition to greatly enhancing her strength, it had the ability to sense an afterimage of beings who had died but, as far as Ash could tell, not yet fully passed on to whatever comes next.  The red ones in particular were those who had died fairly recently or in an especially brutal manner, still clinging to the memory of blood running through their veins.  

However, the sword also left a murky redness in its wake that could be followed by Distortions - or anyone else with a means to track it.  The perfect weapon for finding trouble, or for trouble finding you.  

Ash made her way down a spiraling concrete staircase while checking the gun at her hip, making sure it was loaded and ready.  While bullets were typically ineffective against the Distorted, she always had it ready in case she ran into a less paranormal opponent.  

Emerging from the staircase, Ash entered a room so colossal that a layer of cold fog obscured the opposite wall.  She blinked a few times, hesitantly stepping inside.  It seemed like an old hanger of some kind for transport shuttles or private vehicles.  Monolithic pillars supported a dizzyingly high ceiling, through which soft footsteps would echo like rolling thunder.  Much of the hangar was flooded, knee-deep, with what Ash hoped was just dirty water as she waded through it, alert for any sign of movement.  

She caught some when another ghost darted into a nearby office building, a crimson haze trailing behind it.  

Ash followed, running up the stairs to the railway where it had vanished.

A few kicks to the thick iron door broke it open just enough for Ash to cut through the lock with her blade.  It had been a while since she’d seen this many red ghosts in such a short time.  This had to be a Distortion, a group of Harvesters, or maybe some kind of turf war between rival gangs.  

The dark, brutalistic hallway of the office was eerily silent.  Ash stepped inside.  Her breathing slowed, hand tightening around Red’s hilt.  The only sound was the water gently dripping from her cloak.  One of the doors on the side of the hall was leaning open.  Ash peeked around the corner.  

The stench hit her like a solid wall.  Rotting flesh.  A single light flickered on and off above a sizable office space with desks, computers, cubicles, all in disarray and coated with dust.  Stretched between them and along the ceiling were dark, ragged curtains that almost resembled party streamers.  Whole cubicles were wrapped in them.  Ash covered her nose and stepped inside, looking around.  A stench this awful meant the deaths were recent.  It smelled like a big  pile of corpses - Ash lamented how well she could recognize that.  Flies and moths danced beneath the broken light.  On the chairs in front of each desk, an old suit and tie was draped, presumably the uniforms of the staff who worked here.  All of them were drenched with blood.  That accounted for some of the stench, at least.  But there were no bodies.  

Ash’s eyes flicked back and forth, her hands shaking.  One of the curtains stretched across the entrance of a cubicle to her left.  She experimentally nudged it with the hilt of her sword.

A sickening squish.  A few drops of blood.  Ash’s stomach turned, her eyes widening.  Then, a voice.

“ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ~ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ~”

Scratchy and inhumanly shrill, the voice was shockingly close.  One of the ceiling panels near the flickering light gently peeled aside, until an impossibly long, sallow-skinned arm slithered from the darkness.  The panel thudded to the floor.  A horrifying visage, an absurd  facsimile of a human face, stretched and twisted, with bulbous eyes and stained teeth, smiled down at Ash.

“ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ɪꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀᴀᴀᴀʏʏʏ~”

Ash drew her sword and leapt upwards, cutting at one of its arms, but like a skittering spider it retreated into the darkness.  The muffled tapping of fingers filled the room before it slunk to the ground a short distance away, fully emerging this time.  Its entire body was similarly twisted and elongated, and other than a vague humanoid shape and a head of patchy black hair, its overly-tight office suit was the only human thing about it, which only served to accentuate its monstrous, distorted nature.  Ash gritted her teeth, pointing her blade towards it with both hands clasped around the hilt.  This thing was disgusting, but it didn’t seem to have an overly adverse effect on her sanity.  Hopefully that meant no mental hazards to watch out for.  Its stance was spindly, off-balance.  Mindless.  She could win if she could corner it.  She slowly circled her prey, simply ripping through the curtains of flesh with her body mass.  The creature jittered and spasmed, lunging towards her with a clawed hand.  She ducked, and slashed upwards, but it was too fast again, skittering across the rims of the cubicles.

“ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴏʜ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴡᴇ ꜱɪᴍᴘʟʏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴄᴀʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ!”

Ash took out her gun and aimed towards the creature.  It continued moving in its frenzied pattern, and she aimed for a moment before firing three times.  Two of the bullets connected, blood coating the wall behind it.  As expected, it only flinched slightly, and began scuttling towards her again.  Her eyes gleamed in the dark as she grabbed a nearby chair and twirled her body, throwing it as hard as she could.  It thudded against the creature’s torso, and at the same moment Ash charged forward, cutting a red line across its waist.  It let out an ear-piercing squeal, and a flailing arm caught Ash’s head, sending her sprawling.

It jittered in place for a few moments, a cacophony of screams and squeals, before suddenly charging directly for her.  Ash tried to get to her feet, but its hand locked around her throat and carried her forward with its weight.  Her spine thudded against the door she’d come through and they came fully through the wall.  They careened over the railing, spiraling two dozen feet down to the hangar floor and splashing into the murky water.  Ash’s head swam with color.  She coughed, gagged, tried to reach for Red... its gnarled fingers were still locked around her throat.  It picked her up out of the water, reaching high above its head.  Its face wore a warped smile.  

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ~ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ~ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ, ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋᴅᴀʏ!  ꜱᴛʀᴇᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀʏ ʜᴏᴏʀᴀʏ~ ᴡɪᴅᴇ, ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ɢᴏ~”

Fingernails dug into the back of her neck and tore outwards, beginning to peel the skin from her spine.  In doing so, its grip loosened slightly, and she swung back and forth to gather momentum before kicking it in the face.  One of its eyes popped, oozing dark pus, but it didn’t blink or flinch.  Ash’s lungs screamed for air.  This was bad.  She was too weak.  Her gun wouldn’t work.  Red was down in the water somewhere.  Out of reach.  Could she try to draw strength from it, even while she wasn’t holding it?  She had never tried before.  Seemed like now or never.

She closed her eyes and focused.  Focused on the red haze.  The smell of rust.  Sharpening instincts.  New sights and scents.  The world condensing to the head of a pin.  The tip of her blade.  Blood.  Thirst.  Strength.  Survival.  

Crimson haze ebbed from Ash’s form.  A guttural growl emerged from inside her, the raw sound of a desperate animal.  The creature continued laughing, and began slamming her against the ground, again and again.  Pain stabbed through her head, through her back.  But if pain was wood, she was a fast-catching fire.  She couldn’t muster as much strength as usual, but this had to be enough.  Her throat screamed for relief, but she forced her hands away from the creature’s fingers and grabbed its forearms instead.  She started to pull down, blood trailing from beneath her squeezed eyelids.  She felt the creature’s misshapen bones start to bend.  It squealed, shaking her back and forth, but she didn’t let go.  She pulled harder.  Harder.

SNAP.

Its arms broke at the wrists; its hands going limp around her throat.  She fell to the floor, sucked in a breath, and quickly dived, swimming between its legs as it screamed.  Her hand trailed along the concrete, searching.

“ᴅ-ᴅ-ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ!  ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴡ!  ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ!”

She felt it, and picked it up.  Holding her blade aloft, she swept it into its sheathe and sprinted at the creature.  Staggering, arms hanging limp, it turned to stare at her.

“ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴅ-”

“Shut up.”

Warped guts exploded from the cloven rift in the creature’s midsection, the inertia of the blow forcing it backwards.  Ash twirled her blade, kneeled, and stabbed behind her, piercing what was left of its torso up to the hilt.  Blood rained down on her.  A few deep breaths later, she felt the creature’s weight begin to lessen.  She stood up fully as it dissolved into blood and flecks of pale ash that began to disintegrate in the dark water.  

Ash slashed the blade through the water to clean it before resheathing it, sighing and rubbing the back of her head.  She watched the pool of viscous remains spread further throughout the hangar.

“If someone else were here, I’d say something badass, like ‘party’s over’ or something.  But there isn’t anyone else here, so.”

She heaved another sigh and rolled her shoulders, starting to sluggishly wade towards the exit.  Hoping Cygnus would be able to stitch up her neck so she wouldn’t need to find a surgeon again, she began the long climb back to her new home higher in the Tower.

[otpnessmess]

Of Casual Encounters And Late Nights Pt.2

Here it is! I don't know if it's as long as you wanted but it's almost double the first chapter. I hope you like it!

First Next Ao3

-

A week went by where Jason managed to avoid meeting Ladybug again while investigating, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard of her. Akuma attacks were as frequent as ever and gave him an opportunity to learn more about the terrors that had been plaguing Paris for years now apparently. He sent all new info on it to his family,  who couldn’t believe none of it had reached them up until that point. Bruce was feeling particularly flabbergasted among them.

“You mean to tell me there’s been a terrorist in Paris for years, one that’s been destroying the city twice a week, and we knew absolutely nothing about it?” He seemed to be going through the seven stages of grief before excusing himself to call Diana.

Meanwhile, Jason’s brothers piled up in front of the computer screen wanting to hear more about the heroes and their work. Tim was looking up information on the internet while Dick asked questions nonstop about their powers, and their suits, and if he had had the chance to talk to them yet. 

“They sometimes stay back after the attacks, but their powers have some kind of time limit so those are rare occasions, or so I’ve heard. They’re all proficient fighters and each have their own set of powers and weapon. Ladybug’s powers are the most impressive by far” 

The mention of her name threw him right back into the memory of the night they first met. Despite resenting not being given an opening to talk to her more then, Jason had to admit leaving had been the right choice. He wanted to stay in the shadows as long as possible, and dealing with the police on his second night in the city wouldn’t have made that easy for him. Adding to that, even though he was quite stubborn and didn’t want to accept it, he felt curious about the spotted heroine. She was sassy and clever and, if the two battles she had this week were anything to go by, her abilities to strategize rivaled Tim’s.

He came back to the present with a jolt when Dick whined about him not paying attention, eliciting a snort from both him and Damian, who also looked at the eldest with a sneer. “You’re 29 Grayson, no one that age should be making those types of noises.” Jason would rather die than saying it out loud, but sometimes he did miss the dumbasses that were his brothers. 

“You know, I don’t think we would have believed this was real even if someone had told us about it. I found a... Ladyblog? It has videos of almost every attack from the last 4 years as far as I can see, and these look every bit as outlandish as I expected them to. There’s this one where apparently the whole city was flooded.” Tim pulled up the video in the peripheral monitors for the others to see and, lo and behold, there was the video from the day Ondine had drowned Paris. Faint screams could be heard in the background as the person recording managed to get to the roof of a building just in time to see the people still left on the street be swiped by the giant wave. From then on it was all silent. “This is horrible, so many people must have died during this. How did they manage to recover? I’m sure the news of Paris underwater should’ve popped up SOMEWHERE.”

“They didn’t because it didn’t last more than an afternoon.” Jason ran a hand through his hair impatiently. The whole week he had been aching to go out as Red Hood but couldn’t risk meeting Ladybug and it was making him jittery. “That’s what Ladybug’s power is. She just….reverts everything. I haven’t been able to find out how yet, but I’ve been told it must be magic or some shit.”

“Reverts everything? Just like that? Like….turning back time?” Dick looked confused trying to come up with a rational explanation

“I don’t think so. Everyone except the victims remember everything that happened. It’s more of a cure, if you will. She fixes everything, makes a new Eiffel Tower appear, brings the dead back to life, you know, no big deal.” Jason couldn’t help but chuckle at their faces. “I know, if anyone tried to tell me this before I saw it myself I wouldn’t have believed it either.”

A moment of silence on his brothers’ end was interrupted by the return of Bruce. “Diana is positively furious right now. Apparently someone received a message from these heroes years ago and thought it was a joke, so they dismissed it. Diana asked to see the message and just unleashed hell on the poor guy after watching it. It seems her mother was a former Ladybug and she grew up knowing about the magic of the ‘Miraculous’” He said the word in a way that made his sons think he was as confused as they were “The League is planning to make a trip to Paris as soon as possible to assess the situation.”

Now that brought a frown to Jason’s face. “I know I’m usually the reckless one here, but listen to me for a moment. You’re just planning on barging in here, with an angry Wonder Woman, and a probably scared shitless League, to battle a guy who makes you his minion if you show the tiniest hint of a negative emotion? Imagine if Diana got akumatized. You must really want the apocalypse to start huh?” 

He scanned their faces and wasn’t surprised to see skepticism and some smirks too. This was so not typical of him. Jason was a shoot first, ask second kinda guy, and he used to enjoy killing a little too much for it to be healthy. But he remembered what Ladybug had told him about resorting to the least amount of violence possible, and he was honestly worried about what could happen if three dozen superheroes just showed up one day to a fight. “Listen, as far as I can see, Ladybug and her team have things covered here. Give me some time to gather more information and maybe I can find a way for her and Red Hood to have a meeting. I’ll ask her if she still wants our help. But until then, you should refrain from bringing anyone here. Unless you want panic to run rampant among the citizens because the whole Justice League came.”

Snickers could be heard coming from Tim and Dick. Even Damian was trying not to show his amusement at the situation. “Who would’ve thought Todd actually had a brain. We should go if only to check whether he’s been replaced by a clone or something”

“Oh fuck off Demon Spawn, I can be smart too if I want to."

Their father seemed to be mulling over his words before sighing and nodding. “Alright. I think we can go along with what you said for now, but I want you to keep us updated regularly, and to inform us if something out of the ordinary happens. If you need us there, we’ll be on alert. And I expect that meeting with Ladybug to happen sooner rather than later. Also don’t forget why you’re originally there, we have to gather more information on what the Penguin is planning."

“You got it Brucie.” He made fingers guns at the screen with a click of his tongue. “Expect it to be at least a week until I have some big news for you, but I’ll try to make it happen as quickly as possible. And worry not about my mission, I’m almost done with it. Now my dear family, if you’ll excuse me, it’s already 2am and I would like to pretend to be a tourist at least for a day tomorrow. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

He quickly ended the call and face planted on his bed. This was going to be a long mission. One week in and he was already exhausted. He wasn’t lying when he said he was close to finishing the mission he was originally sent to Paris for, though.  He had infiltrated the goons quickly and efficiently, and managed to hear about a drug shipment due to arrive in a couple weeks together with a human one. As soon as he got the information as to where he’d call his family and they could resolve the problem easily. For now though, he couldn’t help but want to keep them away a bit longer. Be it because, even though he loved his brothers (not that he’d ever tell them), he wanted some time alone, or be it because he wanted more time to try and figure out Ladybug, he still wasn’t completely sure.

If you asked him, he would deny it to his dying breath that he was interested in the heroine, but something about her made him want to get closer and know more about her. In spite of the great amount of knowledge the public had on her, she was surrounded by an aura of mystery and something else that Jason couldn’t pinpoint, which had him turning in his sleep ever since that encounter in the alley. It also didn’t help that she seemed to be around the same age as him, her suit doing her great favours in all her red and black. Alright. Maybe he thought she was a bit attractive. Very attractive? 

“No. Nope. Not going there.” He got up and decided to ignore that part of his brain as of now. For no particular reason whatsoever. It was only normal to want to know more about the person protecting the city. Call it a professional interest, thank you very much.

The dark haired man decided to take advantage of having an expensive suite for once and took a long bath while doing some more research on Paris. He was indeed planning to walk around the city the next day after all. When he was done, Jason headed to the bed and fell asleep promptly. Dreams full of back alleys and superheroes. 

-

As luck would have it, it didn’t take long for the both of them to meet yet again. Only maybe not in the way the Gotham vigilante would have hoped for. Set on at least enjoying this pseudo-vacation he was gifted, Jason left his hotel the next morning to visit the most popular places in the city. The Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc of Triumph and the Champs Élysées were the places he had chosen to visit during the morning and early afternoon, but, even though his main goal was to distract himself from the tasks at hand, he couldn’t will away the questions roaming around his head. 

How was he going to contact Ladybug? He wanted to do it as Red Hood, but he didn’t want the heroine of Paris to distrust him since he was pretty sure his reputation would precede him. He was known for being the most ruthless of the batfam, the only thing keeping him from killing criminals once he was done with them was Batman’s No killing under any kind of circumstances rule (which if you asked him was a special kind of bullshit, some of them did deserve to rot in hell in his opinion), and he wasn’t sure if Ladybug would be as willing to hear him out as she may one of his brothers or father. However, his only other option would be to approach her as Jason Todd, one of Bruce Wayne’s adopted sons. He didn’t even know whether Ladybug would care about his family name. This wasn’t his city. And on the off chance that she might have recognized him… He was still a mere civilian. One that had, on top of that, to explain his connection to the Gotham vigilantes without giving away any of their identities. Jason knew his hands were tied. Red Hood had to be the one to try and get the attention of the spotted hero. Knowing there was no other option didn't make him happy about it though. 

Once he was done with this line of thinking his brain decided to go back to the Penguin. He was trying to instill one of the worst types of businesses in Paris and he couldn’t wait to put a stop to it. As much as he knew drug trafficking to be terrible, he was of the opinion that people who engaged in (as well as profited off of) human trafficking should have a special circle of hell destined for them. Preferably in the very depths of it.

Jason was very much aware that, for as long as he remained in this city, negative emotions had to be controlled and dissipated as quickly as possible to avoid an akumatization. Especially those of someone with the skills and knowledge he had. He had a lot of the latter in strange topics, most of which he acquired growing up during his training. And albeit he wasn’t sure whether it would actually be useful to Hawkmoth or not, he would rather not put it to the test. All of this, however, was sent to the back burner for a second as Jason's thoughts strayed towards what he would like to do to the Gotham villain when he captured him. 

Being so busy imagining the 30 different methods of torture he would like to inflict upon the Penguin had made him completely disregarded his surroundings, however. Coming back to his senses, his brain pointed out they were standing at the door of what seemed like a very nice patisserie, just in time for his stomach to growl, his lunch seemingly having been digested some time ago.

‘Maybe something sweet is exactly what I need right now’

-

Some days had passed since Marinette met Jason,  and though he was still burning in the back of her mind, she had way too many things to worry about during the day to remember him often. At night, however, the questions she had originally asked herself the first night continued to plague her, and since Tikki told her not to worry about it too much, the designer saw wise to keep her train of thought to herself. She wasn’t even sure why her brain seemed so fixed on this stranger she had only met once. Sure, he was involved in a fight, and seemed to be a foreigner, but it wasn’t that uncommon for petty altercations to break out around the city while she patrolled. Also this was Paris, for Kwamis’ sake. One of the biggest tourist capitals of the world. There was no reason why this Jason guy should’ve stuck to her mind as he did. Yet here she was. In the middle of her afternoon shift at the bakery. Still thinking about him.

A chime coming from the door brought her out of her stupor. But as she looked up, ready to greet the new customer, she suddenly froze, and her brain could only supply her with the word green. 

Green eyes she had only got a quick glance into a week ago were now in front of her and the color was even more intense as they reflected the sunlight rays that entered through the bakery’s windows.

-

There you have it peeps and pals! I'll try to update sometime again this week in between Daminette December.

Tag list:

@18-fandoms-unite-08 @bamagirl513 @j-a-n-e--d-o-e @dawnwave16

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

1- The Scientist

Masterlist Last Next Ao3

Pairings: Logince (not yet established at this point

Warnings: slight gore, let me know if I need to add anything

A Welcome to Nightvale and Sanders Sides crossover fic suggested by Local Carlos Stanon! 

Characters: Roman - Cecil Palmer 

Remus - Kevin 

Logan - Carlos the Scientist 

Janus - Steve Carlsburg 

Patton - Lauren Mallard 

Virgil - Intern Maureen 

Thomas - Dana Cardinal 

Remy - Tamika Flynn

Emile- There is no Emile because everyone in Nightvale and Desert Bluffs need therapy and there’s no one to give it to them.

A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.

Welcome to Nightvale.

“Hello listeners,” Roman said smoothly. “I have a quick notice from the City Council before we get to the important news.” He leaned forward, closer to the mic that hung from the low ceiling in the radio station. “The City Council would like to announce that you should not know about the Dog Park. You should not think about the Dog Park. Again, dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. There is a possibility of seeing Hooded Figures through the electrified fence that surrounds the Dog Park. Do not approach the Hooded Figures. Do not approach the Dog Park.” Roman’s voice doubled in volume as he spoke, filling the station and the homes and cars of his listeners. He sat back in his chair as he completed his report. “The Dog Park will not harm you.

Listeners, a new man has come into town. Who is he? What do he and his beautiful, perfect hair want? He says he is a scientist, gesturing to his coat. Well…” Roman smirked knowingly. “We have all been scientists at some point haven’t we? But why now and why here, in our little town?” Roman cocked his head to the side, placing his elbows on the desk in front of him. “Of course, we will soon discover what he plans to do with the lab he is renting near Big Rico’s Pizza.

And now, traffic. 

There is a cactus in the desert. There are many cacti in the desert, but only one that matters. You will wander the desert. Searching. Searching. Searching. The sun will beat down on you, slowly melting your skin, your organs, your bones. The freezing nights, solidifying your remains until you are a shambling mess of what you once were. And still you wander. Searching for something that isn’t there and perhaps never was. You don’t remember why you’re in this desert, what you’re searching for or how you got here. How did you get here? 

An update on the new visitor to our town. The...” Roman paused, savoring the word, “... scientist’s name has been revealed to us through the use of the Secret Police’s monitoring systems.” Roman shuffled some papers on his desk, looking through them until he found the right one. “A quick reminder to speak as loudly as possible when having private conversations. You don’t want the Secret Police to miss anything important after all. And do your best to have interesting conversations. Maybe discuss owning a writing utensil, or acknowledge the existence of angels. Brighten your agent’s day. 

Returning to the scientist. His name is Logan Sanders, and he is perfect in every way.” Roman sighed wistfully. “His lab coat is crisp and clean. His perfect hair is complemented by his blindingly perfect smile. Logan called a press conference today, which of course, I attended. He told us that our little town is the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S. by far. The perfect, beautiful Logan told us that he and his team of scientists were already busy studying a house in the Desert Creek housing development that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists, like it's just right there when you look at it, and it's between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist, according to Logan and his team of scientists.” Roman shrugged. He was well aware that his audience couldn’t see him, but he shrugged anyway. There was something nice about the motion of shrugging, so he shrugged. “Existence is a tricky thing.

“He said more, but I was busy watching him. He smiled and grew animated talking about something scientific. Everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.

A quick reminder to parents out there; keep an eye on the color of the helicopters while your kids play in the Sand Wastes. Are they blue? That’s the Secret Police, your kids are safe to play. Are they black? Probably the world government. Return to your homes and cower in fear. Are they red with orange stripes? Return to your home and cower in fear.  Do they have images of hawks and falcons all over them? Well, no one knows what those helicopters mean best to-

just a moment listeners, I’m receiving a call from—” Roman gasped excitedly— “Logan!” He flapped his hands energetically. “While I take this, let us go now, to the weather.”

***

“Welcome back listeners. Now I don’t want to take up time from our final story or our sponsors, (we have to pay the bills somehow), but I just have to tell you about the call from Logan,” Roman gushed. “I gave him my number at the press conference and told him to ‘Call anytime. Like literally, anytime.’ He looked at me strangely, but he took the slip of paper and he called me! Just now!

He said that I need to tell you that the sun didn’t set at the right time today.” Roman laughed. “I told him that the sun doesn’t have a schedule. But he persisted, telling me that it was important that I inform my listeners that the sun did not set at the correct time. So here I am. Informing you. I asked if he had anything else to say to me and he muttered something about needing to write some numbers on his new whiteboard and hung up.” Roman shrugged again. “You win some you lose some am I right?

And now a word from our sponsor. 

You are a human. Probably. This message is for humans. If you are human you are made of up to 65% water. Therefore, water is required to make you human. Without water, you are not human and should not be listening to this. Stop listening. Stop it. Now. Brought to you by Clorox. Humans are not the only sentient beings composed of water.

The NRA is selling bumper stickers as a part of their annual fundraiser. They sent one to the station for some publicity, and as we are a community radio I’m happy to read one for you now. The bumper stickers read, ‘Guns don’t kill people. People kill people. Guns have nothing to do with it. Stop blaming guns for your actions. They don’t like it. There, there guns, the mean people can’t hurt you anymore.’” Roman sat a little straighter, and leaned towards the microphone. 

“Someone took my advice to discuss the hierarchy of angels and they are now being taken to a reconditioning facility somewhere deep beneath the desert. Thank you for making your agent’s day,” Roman said smoothly with a smile. “As always, you are reminded that you should not know about the hierarchy of angels as they do not exist.” He nodded at the camera in the corner of the room and at the car that never moved from outside the station. 

“Stay tuned next for silence followed by wallowing in your own thoughts.” Now came his favorite part. 

Until next time. Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.” 

*

Not far away, a scientist stared at the radio. He hadn’t turned it on when he arrived this morning. In fact, he hadn’t even known there was a radio in this lab. This morning someone introducing himself as Roman had suddenly blared out of the radio, scaring Logan half to death. Somehow, this stranger knew that he had come to town and… Logan felt his cheeks get hot as he remembered what Roman had said throughout the day. 

Logan had done some rudimentary tests around town to see if there was anything of interest. He found a surprising amount. The screams at the post office, the ghost cars, the house that doesn’t exist, and the pit behind the Ralph’s which wasn’t so much scientifically interesting as just weird. He also met a very kind Faceless Old Woman who was secretly living in his new apartment. He called a press conference (you could just do that here by thinking about having one) and explained what he found out about the house in the Desert Creek housing development. No one had seemed… concerned. Which was, in itself, concerning.

After the press conference, Roman had slipped him his number, explaining, (with a wink that made Logan glad his skin was too dark to show a blush), that it was his personal number, and that he was welcome to call whenever he wanted. Logan left the conference feeling dazed and wandered back to his lab.

He started unpacking. He needed something easy to do while his mind churned away at the strange town he had found himself in. And of course, there were chemicals to place in their exact spots, whiteboards to set up, computers to plug in... all the usual work that went into getting a lab ready for work. He hadn’t paid much attention to the radio, but he stopped his work when he heard his name. How did Roman know his name? He tried to remember everything Roman had said. Something about the Secret Police. Secret Police? Monitoring him? That’s how they learned his name?

He glanced down at his watch. He almost went back to work before he realized that it was nine o’clock. Logan glanced out the window to see that the sun wasn’t even close to setting. He pulled out his phone and looked up the time of today’s sun set. 8:33. 

Logan furrowed his brow. He pulled out the piece of paper he had carelessly shoved into his coat pocket. Beneath the hastily scratched numbers was a barely legible name "Roman Palmer." He punched the numbers into his phone and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this Roman?" Logan asked.

Hey all! This crossover is happening due to the amazing Local Carlos Stanon! They proposed the idea and I had to write it. This will consist of a series of oneshots, hopefully deviating from the original material a bit more than this one. Please. Please. Please listen to Welcome to Nightvale and talk about it with me! It’s an amazing podcast with very queer characters (in both senses of the word).

If you need a warning added, would like to be added to my tag list, or have any questions or requests shot me an ask or message!

Taglist: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @thefivecalls @dragonleesupporter @emo--nightmaree @7-slights-at-virgil @lokiamorstuffs @underthesea73 @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @callboxkat @k1ngtok1 @somehow-i-got-an-account @silverobsidion-speaks  @a-fandom-trashdump  @averykedavra @k1ngtok1 @potatsanderssides @sign-from-god-complex

(Some of these are from @the-taglist-repository. Just ask if you’d like to be removed.)

[zwiezraczek]

Criminal - Chapter 3

Billy (viliain) x Female reader (cop)

Prologue/Chapter 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3:  He lies, he bluffs, he's unreliable CHAPTER 4

SUMMARY: You always wanted to become a police officer. And you became one of them, brilliantly and they offered you your first case. “The Ghosts” case. The case of fleeting people and one sneaky bastard parkouring around the town to annoy you. You swore to yourself to catch him them.

WORDS: 1.9 k

NOTE: So here we are with chapter 3! I’m keeping the rythm for the moment which is absolutely great haha! I hope you still enjoy this series! 💕

TAGLIST: @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @natsficrecs​ (leave a comment to be a part of it!)

Three years ago... You were panting, you were struggling. You could feel your heart race as your legs moved automatically to catch him. You were running out of time, and you knew that if you wouldn't catch him now, you would have to wait much longer for another opportunity just like this one. And you did. You waited for three years to fail again.

You had managed to find a flaw in their code, leading you right to them and their next spot: the jewelry shop. You ignored what for, but they were supposed to be there. They had to be there. This highly surprised you, because this group wasn't usually going for this kind of burglary, but most into more complex missions involving darker places of this world. But little did you know at that time that their smaller missions often leaded to a bigger deal, and after a few months you discovered that the diamond they had stolen from there had engraved information on its surface, allowing them to blackmail an important Russian drug dealer who leaded them elsewhere, and what they did in Russia was transmitted to the local agents before coming back there, a few months later – with information about the dismantle of a large network dealing with child abuse. And as much as you refused to admit it later on, they had done a great job out there.

You couldn't afford a whole team with you, mostly because you were a new leader on that case and because you had little – to no – evidence. They couldn't risk it all. They should have. As soon as you arrived in front of the shop, everything became blurry. People were laying on the ground, their hands behind their necks as a group of people seemed to scream behind the window-glass. Bingo. You knew that it meant you were right, and you hoped that the dozen of policemen with you would be enough to catch them. All of them, how ambitious of you.

But when you entered the place with your team, they began to run away. All wearing masks covering their faces, and you just tried to imagine which one of them was witch number. You had to split your team up, They were four, so you had four groups of three policemen following them. With your colleagues you followed Three – now you knew it was him – but around a corner, you spotted a shadow. You couldn't let that opportunity slip, because you knew they had a parkour expert in their team, you studied them for two years and you wouldn't be at peace if you wouldn't check if it was him, if it was Four. You hurled to your colleagues that you had to follow someone right there, and ordered them to follow the man – who escaped somehow.

You held him, you were sure about it. You could bet on it. You followed him, quietly, listening for some noise around. And he made noises, maybe too much noises for somebody hiding. Still lurked in the dark alley, you moved calmly, your hand on your gun while stepping carefully. And then, you understood: he wanted to put you right into their trap. Because probably they knew. They knew you would be there, waiting for them and they put on the show just for you. As you walked down the alley, still focused on your surroundings, you saw the face of your nemesis. You saw the blond locks from under that hood, and you almost smirked.

“If you want me,” you confidently said, “come and get me!”

He seemed to think for a while, still hidden before emerging from one of the smaller alleys. “Want you in which way darling? Don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed,” you could hear amusement in his voice, his cockiness displayed right in front of you. He was teasing you because he knew where the trap was, and according to his words, you were near it.

“You're always this cocky, Four,” you asked trying to regain your composure but you truly couldn't. His words, this innuendo, was too much for you. Nobody talked to you like this, not even your previous boyfriends, nobody and especially no criminal. You felt your cheeks red and hot, but you couldn't flinch. You slowly reached out for your gun.

“The cute cop is clever,” he congratulated you as you began to slowly boil inside. “Yeah, always that cocky if you want to know, you can lean to know me better, cutie.” He slowly began to walk backwards, looking you right in the eye, at least trying for this distance. You couldn't let him win this fight.

“Another move and you're under arrest,” you warned him as you took your gun in your hands and pointed it at him.

“Catch me if you can, cutie,” he shouted before he began to run.

You shot in the air. You missed him. You missed the opportunity to catch him, to catch them.

~~~~

You woke up. You heard the buzzing next to your head, your heartbeat on the monitor. For fuck's sake, he sent you to the hospital. You remembered falling, falling for a long time, and then opening your eyes and seeing him. But your head hurt, and you couldn't really tell if it was him, or if it was your own imagination. But Four's face was in front of your eyes as you awoken for a moment, before Jake found you, half unconscious because of the fall. You were lucky, you really were. He had pushed you strongly and firmly for there, and if not your amazing suit you probably wouldn't be alive and well.

Well, apparently you weren't that well if you were in a hospital's bed right now. It wasn't surprising to find Jake in front of your room, talking with other police officers or calling someone, you couldn't really figure out what was happening. And when he entered the room, he smiled as he saw your eyes opened.

“How are you feeling, y/n,” he asked you with a soft tone.

“Tell me that you caught some of The Ghosts,” you said, not thinking about anything else than them. You had dreamed about it, about your first real encounter with them, you remembered vividly these images, maybe a bit too much. And you remembered a 'lovebird'.

“We lost them,” he said after a longer pause, you closed your eyes in defeat. “But we were really close, but they were better organized than we thought.”

“Of course they were,” you whispered trying to collect all your thoughts. Of course they were. “What's the next move according to the boss?”

“It's been four hours, y/n,” he said with a smile on his face, “you got up from some kind of strange sleep after your fall, and now the boss wants you to rest. He said that we'll talk about this tomorrow, with you.”

“Who were these guys outside,” you asked and he winced.

“Well... They gave me some news after the searched the backroom, and they found a secret room in there, there was someone in there before we went in with our troops, there was probably a transaction and they left in a hurry when we arrived.”

“That's great news,” you said a bit too joyfully and your head began to spin for a moment. “We know who the guys were? What they wanted?”

“We're looking for information, we should know more about all of this tomorrow. Now rest, y/n,” he said and put his palm on your hand as you smiled.

You would catch them again, for sure.

~~~~

According to the doctors, you had no injuries. Well, no major injuries because you were lucky. Just a small concussion, but nothing too serious. And so, you could come back to work on the next day, with a happy face. A happy that quickly disappeared when your boss told you how pathetic this whole mission was. How you weren't able to catch a gang of six hooligans, six worthless hooligans. Hooligans that destroyed a Russian illegal network, you thought, no biggie after all. Their number was apparently the whole reason for all of this, and how pitiful he, your boss, looked right now when the news spread that the police wasn't able to catch a small group of terrorists. What a shame.

Honestly, if he had wanted this case to be solved according to his beliefs and plans, he should have taken it in the first place, and not handing it to you, a new recruit, five years ago. And now, this was your playground and you had your own methods. Methods that didn't seem to pay out for the moment and the boss told you that. He wanted effects, he wanted something and quickly and you had to think about it because now you fooled them once, they wouldn't let you fool them again.

You had to think, and quickly.

And quickly, you realized that for the moment you couldn't do much for this case, for your Ghost case. Especially with this headache. You began to rummage through all your files, the papers on your desk and the information you gathered for the past five years. Without any success. At least, you had thought so. Between two files, you found an envelope, freshly stamped, from yesterday apparently because you never saw it, nor opened it. Curiously, and wanting to take your mind off this case, you opened it.

“Dear cute cop,

Wanted to thank you for yesterday. Nice move, really. I didn't remember that you were able to do such things, like the last time we saw each other I tried to lure you into bondage but I failed, which was miserable. Well, you were badass yesterday, nice try at catching me – next time, pick your fights better, believe me.

So yeah, the whole team and I wanted to congratulate you for fooling us, really nicely done. One's impressed – and scolded Three but that's another issue – and wanted to know who are the informatics geniuses behind all of this for... Purposes I guess.

It was really nice to see you again, lovebird, I hope you'll find us more and more. I can't wait to compete against you the next time – when you'll take some parkour classes or whatever!

Kisses from the Squad and Four

P.S. If you want to reply, don't tell anyone about this letter, and leave yours at these coordinates. Want to hear from you, lovebird!”

You couldn't believe what you had just read. Four, and The Ghosts sent you a letter. This was probably the best day in your whole career. And he, Four, offered you the opportunity to reply. If you were a good conventional cop, you would tell your boss that you had something in your sleeve, but fearing how badly it might turn, you decided to keep it to yourself, with a smirk. You would dismantle The Ghosts alone, with Four's help.

You took a pen, and a piece of paper and began to scribble.

“Dear Four,

Thank you for this letter, I will absolutely accept your offer so...”

And you continued, with a smile on your face. You had to trust your guts.

[brawlstarsimagine]

JEALOUSY | Yandere! Leon X Female! Reader (18+)

This oneshot contains NSFW, 18+ themes! If you are below the age of 18 or is still innocent, then I suggest you to not read! Unless, you are curious... then what can I do to stop you? 💁

⠀ There you are again. Being too close to someone when Leon told you not to. Leon quietly watches you, he can feel his heart wrenched at the sight of you talking with another man. When he saw you smile, anger and jealousy crept into his heart, making his fist curled into a ball. He tried to calm himself down, he can’t be selfish. No, not towards you.

⠀Crow seemed to notice this. Being the provocative little shit he was, he whispered to Leon’s ear as he smirked, “Go, get her, tiger,”

⠀Leon got provocated easily. His brain quickly accepts Crow’s provocation. He became invisible as he ran towards the man you were talking to. As he arrived close enough to the man, he threw a punch to the man’s face. Strong enough to make his knuckles redden and to make the man’s nose bleed.

⠀Your eyes widened at the view. You didn’t know Leon was like this. The Leon you knew was the cheerful and fun one. He was completely different from the aura until the look in his eyes. Everything about him now scares you. But, you can’t just stand still and watches the fight goes on. You needed to do something.

⠀“Leon! W-what have you done!?” you shouted, helping the poor man to get up on his foot.

⠀“I don’t like it when someone is taking control over what’s mine,” he cooed, he gave you an adorable pout, even though what he meant was completely different and violent.

⠀“He was just asking for directions!” you defended the poor man before you whispered to him, “Please go. I will take care of this,” The man nodded before running off, getting himself to safety.

⠀Suddenly, Leon stopped him by gripping the poor man’s shirt as he growled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

⠀“Leon! Stop! Please! He was just asking directions, nothing more! Don’t hurt him!” you shouted as you gripped Leon’s wrist, you wanted to fight him but he might be upset to you. “Aren’t you ashamed that you hurt someone when you’re the one who should be protecting them? You’re a brawler, Leon! A legendary one even! Think straight!” you added, trying to pull himself back.

⠀Crow smiled devilishly at the scene in front of him. He didn’t bother to help. He thought that sometimes Leon needs to take control over his little girlfriend too. He thought maybe his little girlfriend needs to be taught manners as well. Sometimes, the legendary brawlers can go violent, too. They’re actually the most violent amongst the other brawlers which made them the most feared and the most respected ones.

⠀(Y/n) was just a trophy road brawler and wasn’t actually interested in Leon. In fact, you had a crush on Brock instead. You liked him for how he treated you not like a love object. He treated you like a woman, he also respects your decisions. Not like Leon, who was madly in love with you, treating you like a love object. He is in love with you but his jealousy always get the best of him. You realized he was isolating you from everyone slowly.

⠀When he confessed his feelings to you, you actually rejected him. You said that you liked someone else. But, he held your wrist, his aura threatening you as he told you to reconsider your choice. You knew you had no other choices, besides, everyone serves for the legendary brawlers. They were treated like kings around here. Only Sandy said that he doesn’t need to be treated like that.

⠀So, you accepted Leon. Not in love, but in fear. And from that, Leon treated you like a love object. Even though he spoils you so much, you still hold your feelings to Brock.

⠀Here you are, defending the man who’s innocent and had nothing to do with Leon. This time, you disobeyed him. You want all this madness called, ‘love’ to stop. You stared deeply into Leon’s eyes — that is hiding under the hoodie’s shadow.

⠀Leon suddenly smirked, he flee his wrist from your grip before he gripped your wrist. The man quickly ran away as Leon’s grip on him slipped. But, Leon didn’t mind. His attention was now on you. Everything around him seemed to blur and his focus was only on you.

⠀“Well, (Y/n). Who are you to give me a speech like that?” he asked, he slightly tilted his head.

⠀“I-I—” he cutted you off by lifting you up in a bridal style. “W-where are we going, Leon?” you called out to him, but he ignored you and continued to run.

⠀Crow knew where all of this is heading to, so, he decided to gave the two of you some private time. He smirked as he holds his blade as he thought, ‘Maybe I should get a doll for me too,’.

**

⠀You were pinned against a wall by Leon. His arms caged you, not letting you escape easily. You were writhing underneath him, you had a smaller figure than him which he thought was adorable. Without a warning, he placed his lips on yours. He swiftly grasped your butt, making you gasp. He took the chance to slip his tongue in.

⠀Unfortunately, you didn’t have the chance to fight back so he quickly got the dominance. His tongue traced every millimeter of your mouth. Your hot breath fanned on his face and God, he was addicted. He gripped your wrist, pulling you closer to him. After what seemed like forever, you pulled away, a trail of saliva formed between the two of you.

⠀His hands trailed down to your chest. Your mind yelled at you to stop him but your body obeyed him. Your body likes this but your mind doesn’t. You let your mind take control of you. Your hand — shakily — pushed his hand away from your chest. He noticed that, his stare at you — which once was filled with lust — was now filled with disappointment.

⠀“(Y/n), do you not want to be mine forever? After I did this, no one can take you away from me anymore~!” he exclaimed, his tone was joyful but you know this boy was upset that you stopped him from what he desired to do.

⠀“Besides...” he trailed off before he leaned closer to your ear, whispered, “You should respect and obey me. You know I’m way more valuable than you, right? Treat me like a king,” His aura darkened again. He always did that to get something he desired.

⠀Suddenly, a feeling of pain stinged your neck. You gasped, Leon just bit you and you didn’t realize it. But he didn’t stop there, he continued to bit down your neck, leaving a lot of love bites. He wrapped an arm around your waist — to keep you close to him — while he places his other hand on the back of your head, his fingers played with your (h/c) hair.

⠀The amount of love bites he left on your neck was a lot and was visible. You were worried of what will everyone think about it. After he’s satisfied with the amount of love bites he left, he pulled away. The hand he once put on the back of your head was now trailing down to your chest. This time you obeyed him, you knew if you disobeyed him after the warning he gave you, he will not hesitate to leave some bruise on your delicate skin and maybe a little mind breaking.

⠀He carried you to his bed before he slowly began stripping you, teasing you. You pouted which made him let out a chuckle. Once he was done, he left you with nothing but your (f/c) bra, (f/c) underwear, and your white stockings that were pulled up your knees. His eyes admired your body as his hands began to caress your inner thigh, making you wet as ever. You didn’t want to do this. No, this all felt wrong to you. But to him? Your choices don’t matter, whether you like it or not, you have to face it.

⠀“(Y/n), sweetheart, you have such a delicate skin,” he purred which sends shivers down your spine but you decided to ignore him by looking away, ashamed that your body enjoyed this.

⠀He unclipped your (f/c) bra, tossing it away. Embarrassed, you covered your breasts with your little soft hands. Your cheeks flushed red as this was your first time being half naked in front of someone. The sight of you being embarrassed and half naked in front of him excites him. He loves seeing you like this, vulnerable and easy to be controlled.

⠀“No need to be shy with me. From now on, I’ll be seeing you like this often,” he cooed, convincing you to put your hands away which you slowly did.

⠀His hands caressed your breasts before he pinched your hard nipples which made you let out a soft moan. Leon heard this and he was obsessed hearing the melodious sound you made. He bent down a little, sucking your nipple. You quivered at the sensation. His hood fell down from his head, revealing his caramel-colored hair and his beautiful shamrock eyes. You were surprised at how attractive he was and began to wonder why he hid it. You were distracted by his looks which made you didn’t realize that he pulled down your (f/c) underwear.

⠀“Keep staring. Might as well be aware to your surroundings and keep your panties monitored,” he said as he shoved your underwear in front of you face, chuckling.

⠀You gasped before you exclaimed, “H-hey! Give that back to me!”

⠀“I’ll give it back to you. But, after we’re finished with this,” he said as he winked, your cheeks flushed crimson red again, nodding obediently. “Good girl,” he patted your head softly.

⠀“Here. Sit on my lap,” he commanded, patting on his lap. You obeyed, crouching towards him before sitting on his lap.

⠀There was a large mirror in front the two of you. You can see yourself clearly in the mirror. But oh dear, you were embarrassed to see yourself naked, sitting on a man’s lap you don’t even love. You felt like a whore, you felt like he just used you for his sexual desires. Before your thoughts began flooding you, he snapped you back to reality with a surprising move.

⠀He suddenly slid two fingers inside you without warning. A moan escaped your lips as he did so. You never touched yourself nor being touched by anyone so it hurts for the very first time.

⠀His pumps was slow and careful, but after awhile, he began to increase his pace and he gets even sloppier. The feeling of pain you once felt subsided and slowly becoming pleasure. Your mind was clouded with lust and your own sexual desires. Your moans filled the room. Leon was satisfied with the reaction you gave to him. Seeing you like this was like a dream to him. He is a pervert but only towards you.

⠀He whispered sweet things to you. Trying his best to pleasure you, even though he was getting more horny each second. Your eyes rolled upwards as you felt a tight knot building inside your stomach. He noticed that. When he saw your face, he knew that you were about to climax. This time not only increasing his pace, he added two more fingers inside you, making you surprised at the amount of pleasure you were getting.

⠀“A-ahn! L-leon! T-too much...” you trailed off. “I feel s-something weird! I-I think I’m going to cum,” you added when you feel your walls began to flutter delicately inside of you.

⠀His free hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at the mirror as he whispered to your ears, “Go on. Look at how filthy you look. Look at yourself in the mirror, (Y/n). Aren’t you ashamed that you liked this?”

⠀“I-I—” you were cutted by your climax, your juices sprawning around you and on his fingers.

⠀He grabbed your face forcefully before placing his fingers inside your mouth, forcing you to taste your own juice. You licked some of your juices off his fingers which made him smirk in satisfaction.

⠀“Now that I’ve pleasured you. It’s your turn to pleasure me,” he cooed, pulling down his pants and his boxer.

⠀He was actually bigger than you think he is which left you thinking. How is that going to fit inside me? He’s going to break me! Leon looked like he knew what you were thinking, so he lifted you up by the waist before pulling you down again, but this time he inserted himself into your womanhood. You moaned loudly as your womanhood engulfs his manhood.

⠀“N-no! Stop! Pull it out! I-it hurts!” you yelled which made Leon shuts you up by biting your neck.

⠀“Shh... Lower down your voice, will you? You don’t want someone to hear us and see you like this, right?” he said which made you nod. God, he really knows how to take control of you, he knows how to calm you down and he knows more about you than yourself.

⠀As the pain subsided, he began moving, slowly and gently at first. Blood trickled down your womanhood, indicating that you were a virgin.

⠀“(Y/n), you’re still a virgin? What an innocent girl,” he whispered to your ears, sending shivers down your spine.

⠀You moaned, the feeling of pleasure overwhelmed you which made you feel a sense of euphoria. Slowly but surely, he picked up his pace. He grunted, pushing himself deeper inside you. As he did so, your lips parted, letting your tongue out as your (e/c) orbs rolled upwards.

⠀“F-faster...” you whispered, your body was exhausted, too exhausted to even form a sentence but your body craved the pleasure he gave to you.

⠀“I thought you didn’t want it?” he teased you, though he does increase his pace.

⠀His thrust became sloppier each second, but it gets faster and rougher everytime he hits your G-spot. You moaned, the feeling of pure ecstasy and pure bliss crept inside you. Your petite body began to tremble as you felt the knot in your stomach again. You knew he was coming too when his body began to tremble too. You panicked. You don’t want to be pregnant before marriage and mostly because you’re only eighteen, you’re too young to be a mother.

⠀“I-I’m close,” Leon whispered shakily.

⠀“N-No! Don’t! Pull it out, p-please!” you squeaked weakly, Leon doesn’t seem to care. You knew that you will get no reply but at least you tried, right?

⠀“I want you to take all of my cum, I want to fill you up with it!” he roared in determination before he released his semen into you, making you moan loudly.

⠀His semen began dripping out of your womanhood as he pulled his manhood out of you. He smirked at the view. Once again, he grabbed your face, forcing you to look into the mirror. Oh dear, you look very filthy, you were ashamed of yourself, of how your body liked this. He whispered something to you. Although, you didn’t hear it as you were slowly losing your consciousness. Even though you tried to stay awake as hard as you can, your body collapsed from the exhaustion.

[roswelldetails]

Episode 203:  Good Mother

Sorry so late this week!! I had a deadline for work that kept me away from this early in the week, and Tumblr has been mean tonight. Kudos to @tasyfa for helping me with some of the transcripts while I was stuck working!!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

Determined to regain control of her life in the aftermath of Noah’s death, Isobel (Lily Cowles) makes a risky choice despite its potential consequences.  Meanwhile, Alex (Tyler Blackburn) and Michael (Michael Vlamis) work together to unravel the mystery surrounding the night Nora’s (guest star Kayla Ewell) spaceship crashed in 1947. Elsewhere, Liz (Jeanine Mason) makes a surprising confession when Cameron (guest star Riley Voelkel) shows up looking for answers about Max (Nathan Dean).  Heather Hemmens, Amber Midthunder and Trevor St. John also star. Jeffrey Hunt directed the episode written by Deirdre Mangan & Carina Adly MacKenzie (#203.) Original airdate 3/30/2020.

DETAILS:

Aliens in the crash are always portrayed as wearing all white.  

There's also a silvery gleam on the faces of Nora and Louise following the crash.

Harlan Manes (first introduced in the alien autopsy scene in 1x07) and Hector Valenti (first mentioned in the pilot by Jesse Manes, but visually introduced here) are shown as having both a partnership and a difference in perspective, with Hector being more sympathetic to the aliens from the start - it mirrors what we know about Jim and Jesse's relationship.

Mysterious alien figure in white hood (probably played by Nathan Parsons, but unlikely to actually be Max (see @latessitrice meta) touches Nora's shoulder and she looks pained, then attacks and burns Hector alive, before disappearing into thin air.

Nora is shot in her shoulder.

Liz sent Alex to find Michael at the cave. 

The pods "regenerate cells at the same rate as they degrade" keeping them in stasis.  The theory of the electrical current is that it will speed up the regeneration so instead of stasis, Max might improve.

Searching for info about Nora led Alex to a sophisticated firewall, which meant that someone was trying to hide information about her.

Jenna's fake energy drinks are called "Speed Demon"

Mimi DeLuca says she was "nowhere" (and then she looks up at the stars). She was wearing the same nightgown and robe as when she disappeared (white...like the aliens in 1947), but instead of bare feet, she had on a pair of elaborate blue and white cowboy boots 

Jenna told Sheriff Valenti that Mimi recited the plot from the film Starship Troopers during the car ride into town "like she lived it", with all the voices, but did not provide any information about where she’d been.  Sheriff Valenti implies that this is typical behavior from Mimi.

Michael says he's been parked at the pony for a few weeks.  Maria says that Mimi was gone for a month. That means that another 2 weeks have passed. (I.e., Max has been dead for 6 weeks now.)

Maria says that they found her mom on I-40 (by the Roswell sign).  Also in 2x01 Rosa indicated that she and Liz were on I-40 when they saw Flint - Rosa put together that it was the most direct route to Area 51...however, I-40 does not go through Roswell.  In fact, it is over 100 miles from Roswell to I-40 (north on 285).  However, it is the most direct route to Area 51 from Roswell.

Isobel points out that Mimi DeLuca waking up in the desert with no memory is similar to what happened to her when Noah took over her body.  Michael doesn't believe that they are the same situation though.

Rosa is about to drink spiked coffee when Liz brings her the art supplies.  After Liz leaves, she pours it out without drinking it.

Isobel is packing up all of the photos of her and Noah (most look like vacation photos).  She hesitates on the photo of them with Max at the wedding that we previously saw in 2x01 at Noah's funeral.

Isobel's baby is now 7 weeks (consistent with the other time frames) and is now the size of a blueberry.

Isobel drinks the rest of the alien death serum and immediately gets cramps/pain in her womb.  And then Max's hallucination appears.

Isobel tells not!Max that she has been microdosing with the serum for weeks (2 weeks, based on the timeline) and it hasn't worked.

Not!Max does tell her to call Kyle (i.e, her subconscious knows she should, but she's not listening).

Michael tells Jenna that Max is in Mexico (at first).

Mimi is "hydrated and healthy" and she never felt unsafe.

She thinks she was only gone for a night, coming to see Maria when Jenna found her.

Maria asked Mimi whether Jenna lent the boots to her and Mimi declared they were hers

Liz is surrounded by monitors with alienesque symbols on them (or maybe just The Science!) See photo:

When the alarm sounds Liz looks at her computer screen and reacts - likely a security camera.

When Alex arrives at the Bunker and sees the binder left for him, the computers are on and there is a map showing.  See photo: 

I tried to figure out what city it is on his computer screen, but no luck. If anyone figures it out, send me an ask & let me know & I'll blast it out!

The 3-ring binder left for Alex, which looked approx. ¾ full with paper documents, was marked on the front:

CAULFIELD * A4N

352-6553 NMG

The text was white on a dark green background that appeared to be a printed label that had been affixed to the front of the binder. The body of the binder was light grey, with a partially shaded circular diagram in the lower center of the front that appeared to be part of the binder itself rather than a later addition like the label.

The Post-It note left on the binder for Alex said, "What side of history do you want to be on?"

There was also a marking on the spine of the binder: CF-143-3453-C78. This is probably a file or record reference, with CF standing for Caulfield. The reference would be visible when the binder was housed on a shelf, allowing easy identification.

When Alex flipped open the binder, the visible portion of the top page read as follows:

HEADQUARTERS

509th BOMB GP (NH)

ROSWELL ARMY AIR FIELD

ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Forwarded.

A07-06 (95)                                8 JULY 1947

AFTER ACTION REPORT

Serial

[blacked out text with underscoring] [TOP SECRET stamp]

From:        Lt. Colonel Payne Jennings, Roswell Army Air Field

Subject:    Engagement with enemy combatants, recovery of unidentified craft, night of 14-15 June, 1947, twelve casualties.

[offscreen] is a fine that concerns the events and

[offscreen] following the discovery of a flying saucer,

To:        Chief of Staff, U.S. Air Force

[offscreen] dentified rancher notified

[offscreen] [blacked out text] that he found the instrument on

[offscreen] operations were coordinated with

[offscreen] with the intent of detaining or

[offscreen] while assisting in the inves-

[offscreen] reached the crash site

[offscreen] ing object’s entan-

[offscreen] balloon. Ship

[offscreen] of foreign

[offscreen] place

Liz explains The Science to Jenna:

"3 years ago I hypothesized that if I introduced a rare protein to destroyed stem cells they'd regenerate.  And I was right. My team in Denver brought dead cells back to life. Rat cells, but, I mean, still, the applications are immeasurable… until our study got shut down.  They said it's for ethics reasons, but I think it's because it threatened big pharma. Then a few weeks ago, Kyle found that the pods contain a sort of alien cousin to my regenerative protein.  When Max healed Rosa, his electric charge amplified the process. If we can replicate that, then, we can accelerate his recovery, so, I am testing out pig hearts to see…" discussion about pig hearts/human hearts/different kinds of smart…

Liz says she has a few hours before she has to "record the electromagnetic charge interval"

Jenna says that Liz reminds her of Charlie.

Charlie used to rant about gene therapy

Jesse says he requested no visitors until "his brain starts to follow his orders".

He keeps periodically hitting the morphine drip with Alex in the room, though he was ignoring it before Alex got there.

Jesse describes the opening scene of the episode. And then tells Alex "Tripp was never the same".

Rosa's art:

Among the quotes on her collage are:

Body drie up from ...

What did she say

You're no listening

Control her Take her power

I am the Mesa the mighty

Nothing but a muddy trickle

You can't hold us

Sandia

Between them... Damn... One day she'll…

East

Rosa hears Max call out to her (while awake) "Rosa! Help! You're the only one!"

Jenna says that her dad brought her and Charlie to Roswell when they were kids.  That they were obsessed with the crash and aliens and the X-Files and it was the perfect trip.  It's why she came to Roswell after leaving the military.   "It was like trying to go back in time, somehow."

"Time Travel really messed with you.  I am eight years older than my older sister.  She used to be my hero. She was kinetic, disruptive, cool.  Now that I'm an adult I'm pretty sure she's bipolar, and she needs help.  And if I try to save Max I'm letting Rosa twist in the wind, so, hence the wine ready in my drawer."

Maria is going through a box labeled "Mom's Stuff" in the Pony when she sees Rosa.

"I'm turning into my mom.  I lost time at the gala...Michael's hand...I'm seeing things!"

What Valenti says about Noah's death:

"The M.E., Dr. Holden, listed Noah's cause of death as cardiac arrest due to lightning strike. (note: cardiac arrest = heart attack.  Same way Max died.). No other abnormalities were listed. But that's not consistent with the crime scene photos. You see these ligature marks on his wrists and ankles. …. These marks are consistent with zip ties.  And these with struggling against police-issue handcuffs. Like Max's.".

Isobel blames it on their sex toys.

What Max said to the grocery clerk "¿Tienes carne sin preservativos?" (Meat without a condom).

About Max's nightmare:

"You remember when I used to come in and sleep on your floor?"

"You used to have a nightmare.  You were alone in a cold, dark room and there was something… You couldn't get up.  You were…"

"Chained to the floor.  I'd wake up all freaked out and run to your room."

Rosa's nightmare:

"I need your help, Rosa."

"Look, I'm not gonna help you die.  I have been drinking so that I don't dream."

"I know that."

"It's like you're getting stronger. I hear you now when I'm awake."

"You're right.  Something is making me stronger. I feel things. That's why I'm calling for you.  Something is wrong with Isobel. Even in the pod I sense it. She's dying. Please."

Liz thinks that Max was able to reach out to save Isobel because the electricity is making him stronger in the pod.

Maria confessed to her mother that she had thought she might be getting sick too, Mimi said Maria would not get lost because she was protected, and reached for the resin pendant with the anti-alien pollen flower that Maria was wearing as usual. When Mimi seemed to go to sleep, Maria removed the necklace and placed it on her mother. 

Flashing back to the night of the crash, Nora seems to be tying down the tarp on the back of the truck when Tripp approaches her.  He feigns an offer to assist her and then grabs her and orders his men to move in so that they can take her and the truck back to base.  Louise appears and black-canary-screams to push them away (sound waves, I presume). She is shot in the stomach/chest. Nora pulls her into the truck and drives them away.

The newspaper clip Michael found is dated October 12, 1948, two days before Nora was captured. 

Newspaper transcript:

Last scene - Nora is clearly driving the truck with her powers, as she has both her arms around Louise. They approach a cabin and we're introduced to Roy Bronson, who offers to help.

Roswell Town Fair Charms Locals and Tourists

Photo caption: Smiles abound demonstrate a good time had by all.

Saturday Festivities Drew Healthy Crowds

Second column under photo:

...well as celebrated hometown war heroes, and, of course, Mrs. Benjamin Booker (Carol) whose strawberry Chile pie has won the Roswell Pie Contest four seasons in a row.

Children delighted in activities such as sack races.......

Top of 3rd column:

...ice creams.

Meanwhile the annual pumpkin chunking contest was the main attraction as expected! Pumpkin chunkers arrived from far and wide with their pumpkins and their pumpkin-lurching apparatuses. The prize for best pumpkin chunked went to the Long Family. Their farm foreman Roy Bronson credited his friend and neighbor, a young woman who declined to be named, for the Long's pumpkin chunking victory.

When asked what he'd do with the prize money, Bronson declared that he would "purchase ingredients (for his lady friend) to cook up a nice pumpkin pie".

MUSIC:

Dame - Holy Moly

Tommee Profitt feat. Fleurie - Hurricane

[hollerace]

Mrs. Wahlstrom--Feb 5, 2021

How do you get into a fight the first time you see someone? When you’re the ripe old age of six? That’s the way it happened with Lloyd Tichey and me. We had just moved in to Midfield Avenue. I saw a kid across the street, playing between the two garages that took up the block. I crossed the street to inspect and got pelted with a clod of dirt for my trouble. I found a hiding spot and armed myself. After a brief fusillade, I poked my head out; so did Lloyd, who said, “My mom’s got iced tea.” Within first sips, our friendship was cemented. Lloyd was younger than I, not by much. He was a bit taller (who wasn't?) and better at sports and games. The surrounding streets were our arena, with plenty of kids and fewer cars. Were moms really allowed to drive? Not in our neighborhood. It didn’t take us long to confront a common enemy. Mrs. Wahlstrom lived next to me and anointed herself the personal enemy of kids having fun. She appeared regularly in attempts to quelch our enjoyment. Some of the games could attain high volume levels, particularly kickball. The sport was similar to baseball. An inflated ball would be rolled to the “batter.” You can figure out the rest. Four bases, hits, runs, enjoyment. Wacky Wahlstrom, as we called her, used her porch as her pulpit. Fortunately for us, she was a native Swedish (we guessed) speaker. Diatribes, accompanied by boney, croney finger-points, began with, “You keeds,” followed by screechy, unintelligible syllables, accented with various avian screeches, hoots and gabbling. Since she was a grownup, we didn’t sass her back, nor did we listen to her admonitions. Occasionally, a ball would find its way onto her porch. The nearest kid would race up there to retrieve the precious piece before she could confiscate it. Lloyd Tichey (pronounced “Ticky”) feared her least. He would march right up to Mrs. Wahlstrom and face her down until she surrendered whatever she had just nicked from us. One time, during a game break, I opined, “I wonder if there was ever a Mister Wahlstrom?” Several theories ensued. Lloyd’s stance was, “There was a guy, once. He musta killed himself.” We howled. Lloyd had an older brother, Barry, who was in my grade. He was quiet, virtually tacit, forever riding his bike down to Birch Creek to fish. An even older brother (Jimmy, I think) lived elsewhere. He was wild-eyed with bushy uneven hair and given to loud forms of addressing anyone. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, TIMMY?” he would shriek as he raced from his car to the house. I never knew how to answer him. Mr. Tichey was a dapper, tanned, mustachioed man who travelled for work. His wife always looked furrowed; she seemed to worry a weathered washcloth in her hands as she walked about the neighborhood. She was followed everywhere by Baby Myra, a rotund little girl whose face needed constant swipes by her mom’s accessory. Their house smelled of cabbage. All the kids looked to Lloyd for leadership. He was a skilled organizer of games--a natural arbiter. If there was ever a problem, Lloyd seemed to rule. For a time, Dark Mark Longuiel, who lived down by The Field, started hanging around our street. He readily disagreed with anyone, and always seemed champing for a dispute. He even got mad at Ellen Botsford, who was far and away the prettiest girl who played with us. (Yes, we needed no Title IX; we just naturally went co-ed.). Lloyd Tichey got in his face. Harsh words, no blows, no Mark. As we grew, street play lost its popularity. We rarely saw Mrs. Wahlstrom. Once, when she was inching her ancient DeSoto down the driveway at a glacier’s pace, little Martin Botsford yelled, “Hey, Wacky Wahlstrom!” Lloyd immediately shut him down. “Leave her be,” he said sharply. Little Martin was already growing into quite the pain. But the little old lady seemed to fade into her dun, once-burgundy house. “She must have eighty Wiffle Balls in there,” remarked Lloyd one time. He remained an untitled leader in the ‘hood, but I was his consigliere, so to speak. Lloyd would ask me Big Questions. Many of these were about the aforementioned Ellen Botsford.

We were approaching the age where kickball dimmed in intergender activities. Most summer evenings, we played a game of Chase. This was a sort of an offshoot of the classic pastime, but much more hiding was effected as opposed to any seeking. I was just emerging from one of my favorite lairs, behind Crabby Creiner’s shed. I just happened to spy Lloyd Tichey and Ellen Botsford sneaking out of Muldoon’s lot, which provided excellent leafy cover. They were holding hands.

Wait! What? Suddenly, the rules of every game changed. Such manual interlocking was a brave, new world to a pre-shaving Catholic boy, at once exciting and terrifying. But Lloyd and Ellen? No way! No wonder all the questions.

I guess I liked some girls. There was a brief crush on Lisa Longborg, who was our eighth-grade lunch monitor. A veritable amazon at five-seven, she would camp at Sister’s desk while we ate on days too wet for recess. I would invent reasons to approach the desk while she sat there, imperious over her bologna-on-Wonder (pencil-sharpening was a good one), managing to sneak glances at her ever-burgeoning mammarial development. I wasn’t the only boy to attempt this ruse.

There was also the exotic, raven-tressed Ann Marie Pandolfo, whose glamour faded for me when she ironed a Paul Anka image on the back of her coat. This also garnered the disapproval of The Good Sisters.

I barely had the chance to recover from this tectonic shift in my life-views when another tremor hit. Lloyd announced that his family was moving up to Northfield, a suburb some ten miles north of town.

It seems Mr. Tichey had earned some sort of promotion at work, enabling his brood to improve their lifestyles. I was forlorn at first, then resigned.

The school year was bearable (Lloyd went to the public school), but that first summer loomed dusty, empty and stifling. There was the LAG (Lark Avenue Gang) for fun, just a couple of blocks away. Games of Chase still took place. Again I hid alone, noticing that more and more couples were pairing off.

My father even drove me up to Northford once to visit. The streets had no sidewalks or phone poles, with names like Chipshot Road or Rolling Mews Lane.

The Ticheys had a big, split-level ranch, a bigger yard. As neat as it was to see Lloyd, the entire scenario loomed disjoint, foreign. Even Baby Myra seemed clean, and the  house didn’t smell of cabbage

.I didn’t realize our city was slowly draining. People, stores and services were migrating. And a friendship faded, tattered pages of memories from a book hidden away on a musty shelf.

Not long after, I went off to Campion Prep; Lloyd ended up at Northfield High. I found the drums and Lloyd did the same for basketball. Our teams never played each other, for my school kept  an urban schedule. But the Despatch would cover Lloyd’s games, where his star would shine brighter as we neared graduation.

No sports legend, I even took Ellen Botsford to the movies once. She later ditched me for a Campion U. guy who had a sleek Honda bike. Who could blame her?

When I returned home after my freshman year at Sacre Coeur College, I fielded an odd phone call. It was from Mrs. Tichey. Her voice trembled as she told me how Lloyd had joined the Marines right after graduation. This unnerved me. I had thought for sure that a hoops scholarship awaited him. I asked for a way to get in touch. She gave me an FPO address. I wrote to him in vain.

Two summers later, I was rehearsing nightly with a local band, awaiting our maiden visit to a recording studio. One evening, a long Cadillac convertible pulled up to the house. Inside was Lloyd Tichey, in civilian clothes, but looking every bit the cut-and-pressed Marine.

Surprised, I hopped in, and we drove down to Lady’s, the seawall where Park Terrace met the Sound. It was his father’s ride, but Lloyd produced some cold Schaefers.

“I’m sick of this Honor Guard, shit, Timmy,” he began. An influential state senator from Northfield had arranged for Lloyd to secure this light-duty post at the governor’s mansion in Hartford.

“But, Lloyd,” I said, “this keeps you out of the war. Easy going.”

“Bullshit. Anyone can carry a flag. I’m a Marine; I want to fight.” I saw this was no time to voice my concerns over the Viet mess we had gotten into. His anger blossomed: sharp eyes, tightened features. I felt the tension.

We drank in silence. We both knew an argument was futile. As he dropped me off, we shared a brief hug, something we had never done as kids.

Our lives, like two opposing streams, changed courses, each divining its own path, surging forward in separate worlds.The ne

xt May, I read in the paper about Operation Georgia in Viet Nam. What made me notice was that the 9th Marines were involved. Lloyd’s unit.

I didn’t get a phone call. Reading the article in the Despatch galvanized my spine. I didn’t care about the heroes in Quang Nam province. But the article did include that a Lloyd Tichey of Northford wouldn’t be returning home. His remains, however, would.

I gleaned that there would be full military honors at Quantico, but not until a viewing was scheduled here in the city.My mom had sold the house by then, but on the day of the wake, I drove down Midfield Avenue. Why? An unseen force directed me down our old street. Maybe I wasn’t that surprised to see a cab pulled up next door to my old house.

I parked and walked over to the cabbie. “What’s the fare?”

“Some Mrs. Wallstorm. Goin’ ta Wolke’s funeral parlor. Sposta wait.”

I tipped him and told him to grab a better fare. Soon, she appeared on her porch. Hunched over like a question mark, she made for the stairs. I hustled over to help her. How old could she be? She seemed ancient when we were kids. I cradled her elbow as she descended.

“I gotcha, Mrs. Wahlstrom,” I said. She finally looked up, peering at me through veiled, powdery crinkles. I was afraid her arm, impossibly frail, would collapse under my grip.

“Oh,” she said, “leetle Teemy. We go see Lloyd, no?”

We drove the mile or so in silence. Every other time I had listened to her, she was yelling at me. This, somehow, seemed more appropriate.

My buddy, Juice Staley, worked at Wolke’s, so he procured a wheelchair for my passenger, who seemed grateful. We briefly stood beside the closed casket, bedecked with Old Glory. We were greeted by a forlorn Mrs. Tichey, looking uncomfortable in a dress. No husband in sight. She was propped up by Myra, now a young woman. I could see Mrs. Tichey’s washcloth lingering on a nearby chair. Jimmy, no longer wild-eyed, comforted Barry. The scene was fraught with an uncomfortable confusion.

 No one seemed to recognize Mrs. Whalstrom, and I saw no fruit in explaining who she was. Some folks, obviously from the suburbs, entered to pay respects. This eased my tautness. Mrs. Wahlstrom gave me a look that said, “Enough,” and we made our way out.

We passed a Marine officer, all gussied up in his dress blues. He said, “Folks, you might want to stay. We are having a color guard, and an armed salute…”

Mrs. Wahlstrom, still in her wheelchair, was having none of this. “YOU GO TO HELL, MEESTER! ALL YOU KNOW IS FIGHT! FOR WHAT? TO KEEL YOUNG BOYS LIKE LLOYD!”

The man bristled and said, “You best get her out of here, you damned hippie,” he said. I answered with a mock, left-handed salute.

All Mrs. W. could manage on the drive home was, “I guess I told heem!”

At her house, she said, “You come in for tea, Teemy. You must.” How could I refuse this?I had never dared to venture through the door before this moment. I was a bit frightened as I did so. “You seet, Teemy,” she said, leading me into a living room. I rested, cradled in comfy cushions bedecked with lace antimacassars. I could smell the furniture polish and soak in the patina of age that seemed to settle on everything.

Then, I shot out of my seat, drawn to an opposite wall. It was covered with decorations, almost a shrine. There were dreamed newspaper clippings (“Tichey Scores 38 in Tourney Win”); pictures of Lloyd as an All-Stater. Handshakes, trophies: a celebration of Lloyd’s career. Looking further, I could see clips from my Who’s Who in American Colleges honors. Even that shot from an old Billboard when they handed out those Sesame Street gold records.

I stood there, in awe (was it joy? terror?) as she brought in the tea. She sensed my questions as we sat.“

I had no keeds, Teemy. You and Lloyd--good boys. Noisy but good. So I follow you, like you was my own boys.”

As the murky, late-afternoon sun slithered through the blinds, I could hear the thump of a ball and the shouts of youth. I fought tears mightily.

Somehow, it all made sense.