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helnjk · 4 years

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Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork.

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf.

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true.

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together.

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store.

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that.

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave.

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above.

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?”

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.”

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley.

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships.

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence.

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?”

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet!

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said.

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!”

“So tell me about your shop!”

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work.

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!”

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend.

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?”

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him.

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on.

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!”

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.”

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother.

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes.

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop.

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!”

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.”

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over.

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws.

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand.

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.”

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment.

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you.

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!”

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything.

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation.

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!”

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!”

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.”

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop.

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around.

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.”

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.”

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt.

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted.

Weekends were usually spent together as well.

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee.

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project.

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.”

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure.

“That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!”

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him.

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back.

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup.

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly.

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.”

Friend.

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you.

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.”

It was now or never.

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression.

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.”

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.”

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?”

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost.

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well.

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips.

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return.

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks.

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly.

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.”

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully.

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.”

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

#george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagines #george weasley imagine #george weasley fics #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #george wealsey x y/n #tw meal mention #tw drink mention

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sophsicle · 3 years

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Chapter 26

The friendship of Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald began under a bed. Lily’s bed, to be exact. See, she’d been having a bad day. It was first year and everything was just…a little…much. She missed her mum and dad, back then she even missed Petunia, and Severus was there but he wasn’t there-there. He was in Slytherin. After the sorting Lily had briefly considered begging the hat to put her in Slytherin too. Especially after being placed in the same house as Black and Potter. There hadn’t been any posh kids at her old school but they were about as obnoxious and self-obsessed as she had expected. And Potter was so gaga for Gryffindor that she was certain it would be filled with people just like him.

In the end, however, Lily had not had the guts to ask anything of the sorting hat, so she had remained in Gryffindor. And mostly that had been okay—posh bespectacled prats aside. Her roommates were nice, her classes were fun, and she did rather like not living in a dungeon. But she was also…lonely. And out of place. And uncomfortable. There were so many things that the kids around her—even if they weren’t Purebloods—seemed to know, and it felt impossible trying to keep up with it all. Severus did his best to help her along but she could tell that he was sometimes a little bit embarrassed by her. That was the worst feeling honestly.

One afternoon, at the end of September, for no reason in particular, it had all just felt too much. So she’d crawled under her bed, trying to make the world smaller. Easier to manage. About fifteen minutes into her pity party Mary had walked in. Lily watched her feet, listened to the David Bowie song she hummed under her breath. Her and Mary had barely exchanged more than a few sentences but she was secretly Lily’s favourite roommate, if only because she was the one who reminded Lily the most of home. The posters she hung on the walls were all of people Lily recognized and they didn’t move or talk, plus, sometimes she would complain about things that Lily could relate to—like missing ballpoint pens and three-ringed binders.

She’s not sure, to this day, what compelled her to speak then. Surely the smart thing to do would have been to remain silent and hope that her new roommate wouldn’t notice her having a complete and utter mental breakdown. But being quiet had never been Lily’s strong suit.

“Do you have records?” she wondered out loud.

“Ah!” Mary shouted, her feet stumbling back into her bed. “Jesus Christ, Lily? Is that you?”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you play any but you hum them all the time,” she said in lieu of an answer.

“Where the hell are you?” Mary demanded.

“At home I have a bunch of records but my mum wouldn’t let me bring them, she didn’t know how safe it would be here and she was worried they’d get stolen, not that Wizards are dying for Muggle music but, of course, she didn’t know that. Still doesn’t know, I suppose—“

“Lily,” Mary said harshly. “Did you get turned invisible or something?”

“What? Oh,” Lily blinked. “No, I’m not invisible.”

“Then why the hell can I hear you prattling on but there’s not a single freckle in my line of vision?”

Lily scowled up at the bottom of her bed. “I don’t have that many freckles.”

“Uh-huh and the Giant Squid doesn’t have that many legs.”

“Did you just—“

“Where are you?” she was beginning to sound genuinely exasperated, but to be honest, Lily quite liked being a disembodied voice. It was freeing

“I’m under here,” she said eventually, and with great reluctance.

“Under—oh honestly,” some shuffling later Mary was kneeling on the floor and peering at Lily under the bed.

What the hell are you doing, is what Lily expected her to say. If it had been Petunia “freak” might even have been thrown in there somewhere. But the thing about Mary—the beautiful, fantastic, brilliant thing about Mary—was that she never did what you were expecting.

“I see,” is what she actually said, before sliding under the bed to lie right alongside Lily. “What’s happened then? You and your boyfriend have a fight?”

“Boyfriend?” Lily repeated confused, and then; “Oh—OH—no. Sev isn’t—we aren’t—we’re just friends.” Though her face blushed so furiously it burned.

Mary turned her head to look at Lily, brow arched. “Really? Then you two might want to stop making googly-eyes at one another all the time.”

“We don’t do that!” Lily said almost desperately.

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t infinity.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Whatever. So if that’s not why you’re under here, what is?”

Lily chewed on her lip, looking back up at the bottom of her bed. “I just think…I don’t know…that someone made a mistake.”

“Probably, but you’ll have to be more specific.”

At eleven Mary’s dry sense of humour was largely lost on Lily. Mary would later credit her wit to her childhood obsession with Monty Python.

“I just don’t think I’m supposed to be a witch.”

Lily didn’t have to turn her head to know that Mary was staring at her. “What do you mean “supposed to be” ? You ARE a witch?”

Lily let out a frustrated noise. “But I’m not really though, am I? I’m a Muggle.”

“That is literally not true.”

“Yes, but I know Muggle things and I like Muggle things and I don’t know anything about Wizards really. People like Marlene or Alice or, God, even James bloody Potter, those people are meant to be Wizards and Witches. It’s in their blood. It comes to them so naturally. None of this is natural to me.”

Mary continued to stare at her for long enough that Lily started to squirm. She had rather been hoping that out of everyone Mary would understand.

“Did you know that the Gryffindor Quidditch team is almost always Half-Bloods and Purebloods?” the other girl said suddenly.

Lily blinked, adjusting to this change in topic. “I—no, no I didn’t.”

Mary nodded. “And even when there are Muggle-borns they’re always seventh years, because it takes them that long to pick up the game,” her voice was determined. “Not me though, I’m gonna get it in three. I’m going to be the youngest Muggle-born Quidditch player ever on the Gryffindor team and you know why?”

Lily shook her head and Mary inched a little closer. “To piss them the fuck off.”

At that time swearing was still rather new to Lily so she actually gasped, and after several moments of shocked silence managed to stammer; “Them?”

Mary waved her hands above her as much as the bed would allow. “The powers that be, the system, the Man. The snooty Purebloods. Because I am every bit as much a Witch as they are,” her eyes locked onto Lily’s, “and so are you.”

After that they’d gone to the Great Hall and only eaten dessert for dinner and eventually Marlene had joined them and Lily had felt better and by Christmas she didn’t want to leave. But that moment under the bed, the moment her and Mary really became friends, had always stuck with her. Always made her smile a little. Made her feel better when someone in her class laughed at some bit of magic she didn’t know—something that was obvious—that little kids learned. I am every bit as much a Witch as you are, she’d think, channeling Mary as best she could. Because Mary never apologized for herself. Never felt embarrassed. Never backed down from a fight. She was unstoppable.

#Lily Evans #Mary MacDonald #jily #Marauders #jegulus #James Potter #regulus black #james x regulus #wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Harry Potter #hp fanfic #choices

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hale-13 · 3 years

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Dazed and Confused

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 21 - Panic (Thanks @spideyhoarder for the prompt!)

“I’ll be okay,” he croaks out hoarsely with weak smile. May gives him a look like she doesn’t believe him and Peter tries to make his expression even more earnest. He, actually, really doesn’t want her to go but he knows that they can’t afford her to miss this shift since she’s already used all her PTO on his Spider-Man related hospital stays. Things have been a little tight lately and, even though May is careful not to talk to Peter about money much, he knows that one shift could make or break them.

Words: 2301, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Helen Cho

TW: Vomiting, Fainting

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay baby,” May asked him for the fifth time, combing his wet bangs back from his forehead and surreptitiously checking his fever with the cool palm of her hand. Peter fights against the inclination to push his head further into her hand.

“Alright,” May says dubiously, looking torn and guilty about leaving him. “If you start feeling any worse I want you to have the desk page me okay? Promise me Peter.”

“I will,” Peter promised, crossing his fingers under his sheets. There was no way that he would pull her from work. Literally none.

“Okay,” May says still looking guilty and Peter hates it. Hates that its just the two of them now, hates that May overworks herself, hates that he makes her worry about him. She leans forward to pull him into a soft hug and Peter returns it, mindful of his strength and a little misty eyed – fevers always make him emotional. “I love you. Get some sleep; I left plenty of water and Gatorade on your nightstand and there’s soup in the crock pot for lunch. Eat some of it okay?”

“I will May,” Peter agrees, releasing her and pulling back even though he doesn’t want to. Even though all he wants is to cuddle up next to her on the couch and watch cartoons like he did when he was eight and sick and miserable. “You need to go or you’ll be late,” Peter says with a smile and May runs her hands through his hair one more time before standing from the bed.

“Love you,” she repeats as she leaves the room. He hears her grab her bag and then the sound of the door closing, her footsteps fading into the distance and Peter relaxes back against his bed with a sigh and glances at the alarm clock next to him.

Thirteen hours. He can make it thirteen hours.

———————————————

Peter can’t make it thirteen hours.

He gags again, leaning over the toilet to dry heave and feels tears of effort and frustration leak down his cheeks. God he feels so awful.

The fit subsides and Peter collapses back to lean against the tub. The cramped single bathroom in their Queens apartment smells like stale bile and Peter grimaces as it turns his stomach, grabbing his water bottle to rinse out his mouth. It’s only just after ten and Peter has no idea how he’s going to make it until nine in the evening, he can tell his fever is rising and he’s feeling so much worse. The Advil that he had taken that morning is doing absolutely nothing for him and Peter just wants to cry.

He should call May. He can’t call May.

He can call Mr. Stark.

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head vigorously to clear it and making his headache throb worse, the room spinning and leaving him dizzy. There’s no way he can ask Tony Stark, Iron Man, his hero since he was a kid to rub his back while he vomits and get him soup. It’s way too embarrassing.

“This is fine,” Peter says, pinching his eyes shut and swallowing convulsively against the rising nausea. “I’m fine,” he gags, leaning over again to dry heave.

Eleven more hours. He can do that.

———————————————

The subway is bright and loud and full of people. Peter sways with the movement and tries to remember how he got here.

He’s freezing, the thin hoodie jacket, sweats and beat up tennis shoes doing nothing to block out the October chill that’s seeping through the underground. He feels sweat beading the back of his neck and face, chilling him more and making him shiver weakly. The smartly dressed business woman sitting across from him is eyeing him with distaste and Peter hunches in on himself.

How did he get here? Where is he going?

May?

No. Not May. May’s working.

Then where…?

He lets his eyes slip closed. The swirling of his vision and the movement of the subway car are making him want to vomit again and he can’t do that. There’s nothing more pathetic than vomiting on the train.

Also it’ll probably get him kicked off. So.

He drifts.

Stark Tower looms over him and Peter sways, dizzy and confused. Why is he here? What is he doing?

The crowds of people walking on the sidewalk – on their way to lunch or meetings or whatever it is that business people do – swerve around him with irritation and Peter stumbles when one smacks him with their elbow.

Is it a lab day? What day is it? He’s so tired, he wants to sleep.

He has a bed in Mr. Stark’s penthouse Peter remembers. Mr. Stark got him a whole room once Peter started hanging around more often, surely the man won’t mind if he uses it for a quick nap?

The fluorescent lights of the elevator burn his retinas and Peter squints. When did he get here?

“Hello Peter,” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice echos through the elevator car. “You seem to have a temperature, do you want me to let Boss know you’re here?”

Does he want Mr. Stark to know he’s here? Yeah he does. He wants someone to take care of him – he’s so tired and he feels awful and he can’t do this alone what was he thinking?

“No,” his voice is quiet and broken from all the vomiting and from not drinking and it hurts to talk holy shit. He clears his throat once and winces, gripping tightly onto the rail that runs around the car and grimacing when he feels it warp. He didn’t mean to do that. He’ll fix it.

FRIDAY’s silence is telling and judge mental and Peter has things he wants to say about that, many things actually, but he doesn’t. He kinda feels like vomiting again so he needs to keep his mouth closed.

The elevator stops on the penthouse floor and Peter stumbles out, listing into the wall and panting as he exits. He’s got this – his room is just down the hall. He can make it.

The floor tilts threateningly in front of his eyes and he keeps both hands on the wall as he walks down the hallway. He’s so close. He can’t give up now. The door to his room is closed and it takes some doing but he gets the door open; the room is dark, the windows opaque and blotting out the weak morning sunlight. His bed is still in disarray from the last time he stayed over and it looks so inviting.

Peter lets go of the wall to walk in the room.

His vision tilts again and starts to grey and tunnel and he stops dead where he’s standing to sway in place.

Oh he’s definitely going to pass out.

“FRI…”

It’s all he gets out before the floor rushes up to meet him.

—————————————

“Penthouse FRI,” Tony says brusquely as he boards his private elevator, loosening his tie and popping the top button of his white dress shirt as he goes. There’s nothing he hates more than pointless budgeting meetings except for long pointless budgeting meetings that ruin his whole day.

The car starts to move and Tony goes to lean against the railing; the metal in his left hand is the smooth, burnished steel he is used to but the left side… He glances down and see the railing is warped and bent, clearly in the shape of a hand and he frowns.

“What happened here?” He asks himself, running his index finger over the blemish curiously. Oh well. He can easily ix it and he can look through the video footage later to see how it happened but his money is on the kid. The only problem with this theory is that if Peter did this he would have been falling all over himself to apologize and he’d be trying to fix it himself.

Strange.

The elevator opens to the penthouse and Tony steps out, pulling of his tie fully and allowing it to drape around his shoulders loosely. Something feels off and he can’t quite put his finger on what; whatever it is warrants further investigation but he wants to change first – his workshop jeans are calling his name.

The hallway is darkened as he makes his way to the room he shares with Pepper except for a square of light from Peter’s doorway. Tony frowns – he’s sure the door was closed this morning?

Quickening his pace, he approaches the door and peers in the room.

Peter’s laid out limp on the floor just inside the doorway, limbs sprawled out and face pale except his cheeks which are bright red with fever and his nose which is purpling and bloody from where he clearly hit it passing out.

“Shit!” Tony says, dropping to the floor next to the kid and rolling him onto his side in the recovery position. He’s positively burning, sweating through his clothes and matting his hair to his skull. “FRI how long’s the kid been here?” He asks as he checks Peter’s pulse (rapid and thready) and breathing (congested).

“Two hours,” she responds. “He didn’t want me to alert you he was here.”

“Update that protocol dear,” he snaps at her, moving Peter’s bangs out of his face. “And call down to Bruce and Helen in the MedBay to let them know the situation. Can I move him?”

“He should be safe to move”,” FRIDAY tells him, “Dr.’s Banner and Cho are preparing for you now.”

“This is going to be so bad for my back,” Tony grouses to the unconscious kid as he rolls Peter fully onto his back and slips one arm under his back and the other under his knees. He takes a deep breath and lifts, stumbling a little – the wiry and corded muscles Peter developed from the bite are heavy.

The elevator ride to the MedBay thankfully is quick and, soon, Tony is dropping Peter gently onto one of the beds and stepping back as Bruce and Helen converge on him, setting up monitors and sticking a thermometer under his tongue.

Bruce hisses at the thermometer readout when he pulls it from Peter’s slack jaw. “One hundred and four point one,” he declares, stripping Peter’s hoodie off and leaving the kid in just his sweats and a loose t-shirt. “We need to get him cooled down before he boils his brain.”

“How did he even get here?” Helen asks, confused, as she sets up an IV catheter and a bag of plasmalyte.

“Kid’s stubborn,.” Tony says sardonically as he scrolls through his phone for May Parker’s contact info – he’s willing to bet a few billion that she has no idea that he kid decided to go on a unapproved field trip today. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Probably the flu,” Helen says as she places the catheter and starts running the fluids. “It’s been going around and the strain is particularly awful this year.”

“Great,” Tony says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I’ve got to call his aunt.”

Tony just hopes that the tentative rapport he’s built up with May over the past few months will prevent her from gutting him when she finds out her kid was under his roof for two hours without him noticing.

—————————————————

When Peter wakes up he feels loads better. The ache in his head is subsiding and everything feels more clear, sharper somehow. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh, the nausea’s gone.

“You awake kiddo?”A voice asks next to him and Peter’s eyes shoot open in panic and, oh shit, Mr. Stark is sitting on one of the uncomfortable MedBay chairs beside his bed with a tablet in his lap and his glasses low on his nose.

“Oh shit,” he says again, out loud this time and his mentor chuckles at him, setting the tablet aside.

“Yeah you’re not wrong,” he agrees with a grin. “Once you’re better you, May and I are having a discussion about self-care.” Peter groans and closes his eyes, throwing an arm across his eyes dramatically and hears Tony snort.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes, coughing a little as talking irritates his throat and he swallows, trying to wet his throat. Mr. Stark passes him a cup of water and Peter takes it gratefully and sips it slowly, the coolness like ambrosia. “Uh… how did I get here?”

“You took the subway apparently,” Tony says with an eye roll. “Although I have no idea how you got here in one piece – your fever was over a hundred and four. Bruce and Helen say you ‘re lucky you have a healing factor or it could have been much worse. You have the flu by the way.”

“Great,” Peter mutters, picking at the tape covering the IV in his arm and letting out a yawn. He’s so tired.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony tells him, leaning forward to run his fingers through Peter’s hair and lower the bed some so that he’s more reclined. “May won’t be here for a few more hours.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter breathes, letting his eyes close. He falls asleep to the even breathing of his mentor sitting vigil next to him.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump21 #Prompt: Panic #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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litwitlady · 4 years

Text

Date Nights (4/5)

Read on Ao3.

‘Are you really going to chop down a tree?’ Alex eyes him warily from the opposite side of the Chevy’s bench seat. ‘There’s plenty of lovely trees that have been pre-chopped.’

Michael climbs out of the truck, reaching into the bed to grab his shiny new ax. ‘Yes. I am definitely chopping down a tree today.’ He settles the ax’s handle over his shoulder and sets off in the direction of the neatly planted fir trees.

Alex trudges after him, stepping carefully through the melting snow. He catches up easily because Michael keeps stopping at every single tree to assess its ‘curvature’. ‘This one looks perfect.’ He points to the tree behind Michael, and it earns him an exasperated frown.

‘The bottom is not bushy enough.’ Alex furrows his brow, and Michael motions around the tree like he’s going to hug it. ‘The circumference is lacking.’ He circles around the tree to further make his point. ‘I didn’t move your heavy ass keyboard out of the way for such a sad, puny little Charlie Brown Christmas tree.’

The ‘sad, puny’ tree is literally eight feet tall.

‘You mean when you moved my heavy ass keyboard with your brain and didn’t break a sweat?’ Alex smirks at him fondly.

‘That’s not the point.’

Alex snorts. ‘I’m going to go get some apple cider. Want any?’

Michael’s already moved three trees down, but he shouts yes over his shoulder and throws in a request for an apple cruller. ‘I’ll find the perfect tree, Alex! She’s here somewhere.’ He’s now nothing more than a disembodied voice.

The line for apple cider isn’t terribly long. Alex scrolls through his text messages while he waits, rolling his eyes at a vaguely threatening message from Isobel demanding their attendance at her pre-Christmas dinner in a few hours. He responds by telling her they’ll try to be there knowing exactly what her face will look like when she reads the word try.

He buys the largest-sized cider, pays for two crullers, and heads back toward the spot he’d left Michael. The tree farm is much busier now - kids laughing and running zigzags through the trees, chainsaws roaring, and couples everywhere arguing over which tree is best. It takes him ages to find Michael, deep down a row of giant firs and talking to a man Alex doesn’t recognize. The way he towers over Michael sets every nerve in Alex’s body on high alert.

The stranger has his back to Alex. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and olive-skinned. Like Michael, he’s got a cowboy hat situated on his head and dusty work boots on his feet. Alex doesn’t need him to turn around to know the man is unfairly gorgeous. All he needs to see is that familiar lopsided smile spread across Michael’s face and the way his eyes keep dropping bashfully to the ground. Out of habit and maybe a pinch of something far more complicated than jealousy, he assesses the man’s body for hidden weapons, but there’s no way to truly know what’s under his burly, fleece-lined coat.

‘Got the cider. Who’s this?’ He steps beside Michael and turns to the stupidly attractive bear of a man. Big green eyes and a smattering of freckles putting a scowl on Alex’s face.

‘Ah, this is Jamie Whitley.’ There’s uncertainty in Michael’s voice and that sets Alex even more on edge, hackles raised. He passes off the cider and crullers to Michael, ostensibly to shake Jamie Whitley’s enormous hands. But really he just feels better and more prepared with both his hands free. ‘Jamie and I worked as ranch hands together a couple of summers a few years back.’

‘Had a real shitty foreman. Seems like we were always in some kind of trouble. But we were also the best workers that man had. Maybe ever.’ His voice is gruff, smoky. The kind of voice Alex has always envied when he’s singing. Jamie beams at Michael while he shakes Alex’s hand, grip firm and unyielding. Alex assumes it’s a warning and squares his shoulders, unconsciously sliding a step closer to Michael.

Michael reaches out and squeezes Alex’s elbow. ‘Jamie, this is Alex Manes. My boyfriend.’ It’s the first time he’s heard Michael call him that to someone other than their circle of friends. He says it so sure and certain that Alex takes a deep breath and lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders.

Jamie’s eyes dart to Alex, obvious recognition flooding his features. ‘The Alex Manes?’ He narrows his eyes at Alex, sizing him up differently now that he has a name to go along with the face. ‘I used to hear a lot about you.’

‘I’m sure I deserved most of it.’ Alex’s jaw clenches, and Michael digs his fingernails into his bicep.

‘Well, it was a long time ago. People change. And this one always loved you, no matter what.’ He leans in to hug Michael goodbye, forcing Alex aside a couple of steps. Michael’s arms flail out to the side, hands still full of cider and cruller. But he smiles gently at Alex over Jamie’s shoulder, and Alex returns the smile, starting to feel a little silly. ‘It’s great seeing you again, Guerin. You look good. Real good.’

With nothing more than a nod at Alex, he disappears from sight.

‘So you two definitely fucked.’ Alex takes one of the crullers from Michael’s hand. He does his best to keep anything remotely negative out of his voice. But he knows he hasn’t been entirely successful.

Michael gulps at the cider. ‘On and off. But mostly, Jamie was a friend. It was after you left for Afghanistan. Your second tour.’

Alex nods. ‘That was a rough goodbye.’

‘They were all rough goodbyes.’ It’s said so low Alex almost doesn’t hear him. ‘Look, Alex.’ He stares after Jamie’s footprints in the snow. ‘That was weird as fuck and -- ‘

‘Hey.’ Alex places what he hopes is a calming hand on Michael’s chest. ‘It’s fine. And I should have been friendlier. I’m actually really glad you had someone. That giant man wouldn’t have necessarily been my first choice, but -- ‘

Michael laughs, still a little uneasy but his shoulders relax. ‘I found the perfect tree. She reminds me of you.’ He swallows his cruller in three bites and then grabs Alex’s wrist, dragging him through a few rows of trees.

They stop in front of the biggest tree on the lot. At least fifteen feet tall and slightly terrifying in its girth. ‘How exactly does this tree remind you of me? I feel like it’s going to eat us.’

‘Well, yeah.’ He elbows Alex playfully in the ribs. ‘Protective. Strong, slightly imposing, barrel-bodied. And beautiful.’

‘The shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes, Guerin.’ But he’s smiling and Michael is smiling and then they are kissing. Easily losing themselves in each other as is so often the case. Only barely managing to stay on this side of public decency before they are interrupted by two kids bursting through their tangled legs as they chase each other around the farm.

They both grin after the kids and turn back to Michael’s perfect Christmas tree. ‘You know, my ceilings aren’t tall enough for this tree.’

‘That’s okay. This is the patio tree. Once I chop this one down, we can start looking for our indoor tree.’ He grabs the ax he’s left sitting under the tree and rears back to take his first swing. Alex walks several feet away and watches Michael wedge the ax into the trunk, barely making a scratch. ‘Huh. Harder than I thought. I should probably just go find someone with a chainsaw.’

Alex snorts his agreement, taking the ax from Michael as he sets off to search for help. He reaches up to tug on one of the Douglas fir’s branches, a little overwhelmed at the idea of spending their first Christmas together. But good overwhelmed. Like the first time he’d left the ground in an A-10 Warthog, the sky opening up so vast and endless. The sun only a heartbeat away.

He loves Michael. And Michael loves him. These nine weeks of work they’ve put in to get them to this moment, where Alex can stand in front of a Christmas tree with pure joy in his heart rather than abject terror, are the best nine weeks of his life. Standing in front of this tree - their tree - he vows that come Christmas morning, Michael will know with every fiber of his being just how much Alex loves him. And Christmas will be theirs forever, happy and so filled with joy that even the Evanses will be sick with envy.

It’s not the most gracious thought Alex has ever had. But then again, he’s never been the most gracious person. And for once in his life, he decides that’s okay.

#malex #malex fic

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thedumbguywithaheart43 · 3 years

Text

BoomLord's weird adventure

chapter 20 what comes next

Boom waited in the main chamber as princess bubblegum was currently talking to the head of Spike who was popping his head through the hole in the ceiling."is Twilight all right I thought I heard screaming and I couldn't get here earlier because of all the panicking candy!"his expression was full of distraught. Bubble gum quickly started rubbing his chin and petting the side of his head which seemed to come down. Suppose dragons were similar to dogs in a way."she's perfectly fine Mr dragon uh I do apologize I never got your name."boom rolls his eyes. He's certain that he had brought up the fact that there's a dragon in the woods named Spike for a entire week. That's a very least Twilight paid attention to his conversations. Although they mostly talked about common interests such as their mutual curiosity of the Omniverse."my name is Spike ma'am."bubblegum nodded at the dragon."well it's a pleasure to meet you like my name is bonnabel but you can just call me bubblegum."bubblegum give him a warm smile before she finally noticed the waiting figure."oh hey boom is everything all right"Spike spoke up before her not at all noticing booms neutral expression."yeah everything's fine kiddo do you mind if I have a conversation with Bonnabel for a minute."the dragon nodded as bubblegum took a deep breath. She knew that he only called her that when things were serious. Spike retracted his head from the hole leaving the two alone."okay boom what's the problem."she walked closer to him as she spoke."you know the problem it's Lily. She must know what we're trying to do we can't stay in ooo as long as she's here."boom looked away as bubblegum began to protest."she tried and she failed boom and we have plenty of guards here if she were to try."boom cut her off."she would slice through your guards like fine cheese even with the new super banana guards they're no match for her saber or her skill in case you're forgetting who taught her to fight!"He found himself snapping at the princess. She flinched as he spoke unwilling to look him in the eye. His heart filled with regret."Bonnie look I'm sorry I don't mean to yell but I have a lot on the line here I lost a lot of friends because of this mission and now I have something I can't bear to lose not again."he looked away from her as she looked back at him. She understood almost immediately what he meant he could see the way he looked at Twilight. And to his credit he had a point about the banana guards. Most creatures would likely slice through them although she assumed at least Finn and Jake could hold her off. However she had seen first hand with a lightsaber can do ,it was unlikely they could stop her"okay what's the plan"she asked

2"we're going back to ponyville"boom spoke to the group who had now gathered after his discussion with PB. The looks exchange were mostly of joy especially from the young dragon."I'm going to miss this place it was so fun and delicious!"pinky wined as she truly enjoyed being in this place. Yeah I did the cake was so good it's literally heaven! Pinky we talked about this you can't just interrupt me in the middle of a narration. You always say that and I always do besides talking about the cake is way more important than whatever is happening. Pinky for the last time I need to narrate the goddamn story stop breaking the fourth wall and go back to your friends. Admittedly you're starting the bug me and I'm a disembodied voice. Well maybe if you were a bit nicer you would have a body. That surprisingly hurt like a lot Pinky. I think I need some cake first I'll have to finish this just head back to your friends for a minute okay I'm sure you'll get some candy or something on your way out. Fine besides I got to make sure that everyone's okay.

3 okay continuing where we left off the girls had in fact gathered."I know that it were not exactly in the most stable of situations but it's important that we all get back to ponyville soon as possible. Until princess bubblegum has everything ready we need to be prepared in case she comes back."Twilight took a step forward looking him in the eyes."exactly how much danger are we in right now you haven't exactly told us directly and I need to hear it from your mouth."her voice was Stern but even this aggravated tone was enough to keep booms head straight."you're in an incredible amount of danger perhaps more than ever in ponyville. This time your enemy doesn't just want to overthrow you or turn you into stone or take your power. If she finds you if she fights you ....you will die.. no last second rescues no mercy she will take your life and she won't even hesitate."everyone went quiet except Twilight who simply nodded."and that's why you're going to train us."boom couldn't help it he smiled."oh hell yeah I am ."Twilight couldn't help but smile back on as she gripped her sword."I know some of you might be a little hesitant with my techniques but know that everything I do is with intent to keep you alive now which one of you wants to go first?"

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coffee-randomness · 5 years

Text

Trembling

Here, have this medium! reader x Jason Todd of sorts fic no one asked for but I somehow ended up writing (to cope?).

Word count: 1431

Warnings: Mentions of death, ghost, violence, cemeteries, fire.

Tags: @0hmydeku @the-shadow-of-atlantis @insideoflit

The first time you felt the ground tremble under your feet, you were standing on a cemetery. No one else noticed the violent movement of the earth or the new figure standing amongst them, which was weird because it was dressed in a very bright and beautiful pink dress, contrasting with all the black. Your mother had passed away two days ago yet, you saw her with such vivity it brought tears to your eyes. She seemed solemn, looking down at the coffin that was being covered in dirt, a soft breeze that creep through your skin and rose goosebumps threading through her hair.

Remembering her laying in a bed and tainting a white cloth red with her coughs as nurses pulled you out of the room for the last time, you shook free from your aunt’s grasp and ran to her like you always did: bringing her flowers so she could tread her hair in the way you loved so much, bringing her drawings of her and your dad holding hands while he sat beside her, bringing her anything you knew would make her smile.

Your mother smiled at you and whispered about good and evil, of how you were both and she hoped you never had to hold so tightly onto one you forgot about the other. Then she turned away, leaving a kiss on your father’s cheek and you watched a faint glow enveloping her form before she disappeared forever.

It wasn’t until much later, on your fifteen birthday, that you understood what had happened that afternoon.

You were surrounded by your friends, admiring the precious cake they bought for you and you felt the chair, the dining table and the whole kitchen trembling so violently you were surprised nothing was falling or breaking. You held onto the edges of the table to keep balance, dizziness setting in your stomach, when you saw Amanda standing in front of you. She was covered in fire, half of her face bruised so bad you held back a scream and the whole room was starting to reek of burned hair and skin. However, no one stopped singing the happy birthday song.

“You need to let me spend the night here,” she said, eyes pleading.

Amanda was holding up the cake looking as happy as ever, yet she was burned almost to the crisp, two opposing figures of the same person converging in your vision. You thought that maybe this was a bad joke, that maybe Jason was hiding in some corner holding up a camera, stifling his laughter behind his palm like he did sometimes.

“Hey, are you okay?” said the other Amanda, worry leaking into her tone as she shook your shoulder.

The cake was now on the table in front of you, candles melting onto the frost. All of your friends were there, including Jason, who was looking at you with a mix of curiosity and fear, no camera in sight, just the lamenting figure of your worse for wear best friend and her perfectly normal, perfectly healthy counterpart.

You shook your head, prying your eyes away from the burned down Amanda. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Please, just don’t…” She stopped beside you, her sad expression bringing tears to your eyes. “Know you can avoid this.”

And just like that, she disappeared, the same mysterious halo that covered your mom all those years ago wrapping around her. You were left to celebrate your birthday with a bittersweet taste in your mouth, and when everyone started to go home, you held onto Amanda’s hand and begged her to stay, almost breaking down. She looked at you funny, still, she complied.

The next day, as your dad was driving you to school, you passed the ashes of Amanda’s house and you recall her panicked screams and sobs pressed against your shoulder, but she was there and your heart grew content and warm, knowing she was safe and alive.

Something odd happened the first time Jason kissed you, it had nothing to do with your crazy pulse or the dancing butterflies in your stomach, or with the way his thumb traced small circles in your heating cheeks as he leaned more into you, sighing. He pulled back, licking a smirk off his lips, eyes half-lidded with soft things you knew he would never say out loud, and smiled. You held his shoulders, feeling the mattress of his bed shake, the door opening and closing on its own.

There was a mask over his eyes, an unspoken secret, and a yellow cape hanging from his shoulders. It was brief, but it was there and it made you blink with confusion.

“Oh shit, I screwed up, I’m so sorry… I didn’t meant to, well of course I did, I just... ah fuck.” Jason stammered, scratching the back of his back and searching for apologies. “Look, I should’ve ask you first, I’m sorry I kissed you.”

You frowned. “Well, I’m not.”

“What?”

You cupped his face, ignoring the feeling of the leather that was not really there under your palm, and kissed him again. This time, as he pulled back, satisfaction was written all over his face.

“So, um…” He started, looking away from you. “Are we, you know?”

“Whatever you wanna call it, boy wonder,” you smiled.

Jason froze for a second, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Robin sneaking out of his opened window, a soft glow you were starting to get all too familiar with enveloping him.

“What, do you have a vigilante fantasy now?” he asked, trying to play it cool.

“Hmm,” you pretended to think, “I just think Robin’s neat.”

You shrugged and Jason laughed.

“Well, maybe one day I can introduce you two.” He pulled a strand of hair behind your ear. “Only if you promised not to leave me for him.”

The next time you saw Jason as Robin wasn’t that sweet. He was drenched in blood, beaten black and blue and standing at the end of your bed in the middle of the night, the near earthquake sensation having had woken you up. He said it was unavoidable and that he was sorry for never telling you outright who he was and what he did, and in a trembling whisper you could barely hear, that he loved you. Then he disappeared, the faint glow enveloping his form an odd color you weren’t able to pinpoint, and you cried your eyes out that night. And the ones that followed, with Amanda stroking your back and staying silent, because there was nothing she could say after watching you lost the only boy you had opened your heart to.

It felt as if the whole world was trembling down constantly. Anger filled your insides and somewhere deep inside of you, you swore to yourself you would never lost anyone like you lost Jason again. And, even though you haven’t dared to step on a cemetery ever since the afternoon your mother was buried, you talked to the disembodied forms that wandered in the night and learned all of the secrets they would whisper, sat in cold gravestones until the sun started to come from behind the clouds.

By the time the sound of bullets and motorcycles engines filled your dreams as the ground shook, you had already killed thirty men, scums that trafficked and sold and brought nothing to the world but suffering. The Fortune Teller, they called you, though you never quite liked the name until one night you stumbled upon a man wearing a red helmet and heard it straight from his lips.

“I have a deal for you,” he offered, voice jaded with something electronic that made it unrecognizable, and the ground shook enough to warn you.

A glimpse was enough to have you throwing away your careful demeanor, a boyish grin and ruffled pitch black hair.

“Jason?” you stuttered, trembling voice filling the empty space of your apartment.

“Damn, you’re as good as they say,” Red Hood whispered.

You saw him emerging from green waters, gasping for air, a literal zombie walking through the streets of Gotham. Brushing off death like it was a bad joke.

“Do you remember me?” you asked, hope filling your chest.

“As if I could ever forget you,” he answered and lifted the helmet so you could see his face.

Jason whispered your name, soft and filled with so much tenderness your breath trembled. Stepping back, you invited him in without any questions and it felt as if the world were a little more stable now that he was back.

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a-fire-emblem-geek · 4 years

Text

The Incredible Shrinking Unlucky Student Part 1

Monodora feels like the killing game just isn’t interesting enough. He whips up an interesting new motive, which involves a peculiar thing happening to a certain unlucky student.

The day had started out average enough.

Ayumu woke up, the morning announcement blaring in his ears.

“Good morning, everyone! Please meet in the cafeteria for a very important announcement!” Monodora spoke.

Ayumu grumbled, mustering what little energy he had to get out of bed. He didn’t sleep a wink last night. The thought of a killing game was far too scary for him to sleep like a baby. But no one here looked like that they could be a potential murderer, right?

Right?

He slipped into his outfit, briefly taking the time to attempt to get the one tuft in his hair to just stick down. When that attempt proved to be fruitless, Ayumu stepped outside, only to be greeted by Seishi.

“Ah, Mr. Fujimori, good morning!” Seishi greeted.

“Hey, Seishi! Are the others at the cafeteria?” Ayumu asked.

“Only a few people. Come on, we shouldn’t keep Mr. Monodora waiting,” Seishi responsed. The mystery novelist and the unlucky student walked down the hallway.

Once they got to the cafeteria, they saw that Misuzu, Kazuomi, Kasumi, Mitsunari, and Narumi were already there.

“Good morning, Seishi. Good morning, Ayumu,” Misuzu greeted.

“Hey,” Kasumi grumbled.

“I wonder what Monodora fucking wants...” Kazuomi growled, the karate practitioner resting his head in his hands boredly.

“Hungry? I’m about to start breakfast!” Narumi chirped.

“Why did Monodora wake us up so early?” whined Mitsunari as he spoke for his puppet, Uma.

“Uma, you always wake up at 11 am!” objected Mitsunari as he spoke for his other puppet, Shika.

“Hey, I need my beauty sleep, you know!” Uma yelled.

“Now, children, we shouldn’t fight!” Mitsunari himself repremanded sternly.

“Sorry, daddy...” both puppets chorused.

Soon enough, more people started piling in. First came Aruma, who looked rather... aroused.

“Sorry, everyone! I was having the most... hot dream ever...” Aruma spoke. “It involved-.”

“Enough of that shit!” Kazuomi growled. Nevertheless, the purple-haired animal trainer went to sit by Kazuomi.

Next came in Saiji with Nico and Maiko at his heels.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, everyone,” Saiji apologized with a polite dip of his head.

“You don’t have to apologize all the time, you know!” Maiko repremianded.

“So- Never mind,” Saiji stopped himself before he could be reprimanded again.

“I didn’t sleep. The thought of a killing game hung over my head like a hawk over a field of chickens...” Nico murmured. The poet, the undertaker, and the dancer sat together at their own separate spot at the table.

Marin and Kego came in a few seconds later.

“Good morning, everyone! Big sis hopes that you all had lovely dreams! Poka poka! （＾ω＾)” Marin beamed. Ayumu’s mood brightened upon seeing the cheerful weather forecaster.

“I was hoping that I could practice my sick beats before Monodora said that he needed to see us...” Kego mumbled.

Lastly, Mikoto came in the room with Akira not too far behind.

“Let’s see what Monodora wants now...” Mikoto grumbled. The mysterious girl sat next to the open chair near Ayumu.

“Eh, it’s probably for no good reason...” Akira concluded. The NEET took his own spot near Aruma.

Not too long after Akira sat down, Monodora popped out of literally nowhere.

“Goooooooood morning everyone!” The disembodied cat plushie head spoke. No one spoke. “Oh, come on! You youngsters are so rude!”

“You are literally keeping us here...” Akira pointed out. Monodora continued as if the dark blue-haired NEET hadn’t spoken at all.

“Anyway, I noticed that no one here was going to kill each other-!” Monodora started.

“That’s because we refuse to do that!” Seishi interrupted.

“Will you all STOP INTERRUPTING ME?!?” Monodora yelled. Once the room was completely silent, he continued. “I noticed that no one here was going to kill someone, sooo I concocted a little motive for that to happen!”

“We are not going to fall for it, Monodora!” Ayumu shouted.

“Ooooh, I think you will! Speaking of which, Ayumu... come here!” Monodora ordered. Seishi protectively wrapped his arms around Ayumu.

“He is not going to follow your orders!” The redheaded novelist yelled.

“If he doesn’t come up, I’m just gonna kill you all right now!” Monodora cackled. Ayumu gently pried himself out of Seishi’s grasp.

He got up, his legs shaking as if they were supported by jello instead of bones. Ayumu hesitantly stepped towards Monodora, his heart thundering in his ribcage like a boxer punching rapidly at a punching bag. Once he was close enough to Monodora, Ayumu found himself barely able to speak because his mouth was dryer than a desert. That was when a Monodora did something completely unexpected. He took out some kind of gun and shot it at Ayumu. The unlucky boy cringed as a tingling sensation encased his body and... nothing. Ayumu opened his eyes to see his body briefly encased in a yellow aura, which then disappeared after a bit.

“Well, that’s enough of that! Bye for now! Upupupupu!” Monodora promptly left.

A moment of silence filled the cafeteria. It was so quiet that you could easily hear a crumb drop. Finally, it was Kazuomi who broke the silence. “Hey, Ayumu? Do you... fucking feel okay?” the SHSL Karate Practitioner asked.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. I’m just... shaken up, that’s all...” Ayumu mumbled.

“Big sis hopes that nothing serious happens to Ayumu-kun... poka poka... (☍﹏⁰)” Marin muttered worriedly.

“Someone should just keep watch of Ayumu, just in case...” Mikoto suggested. “We don’t know what that beam did to him.”

“If anything at all, really,” Akira piped up. “It could just be a trick to make us think that something happened to Ayumu...”

“Guys, seriously, I feel fine!” Ayumu objected.

“I agree with Mikoto. Someone should watch Ayumu just in case...” Saiji pointed out.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Rokudou,” Seishi offered. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Fujimori.”

“N-not at all!” Ayumu stammered, his cheeks going as red as his eyes. Wait, why was he getting so flustered? Seishi was just a really good friend! Friends shouldn’t make other friends flustered. Ayumu shook off his romantic thoughts as he walked alongside Seishi.

The rest of the day continued as normal. Ayumu was always with at least one student: he was at first with Seishi, then with Saiji and Maiko, then with Marin and Kazuomi, and lastly with Mikoto. They never left him alone for a second. Once nighttime struck, Ayumu went back to his room, not feeling too different at all. He changed into his pajamas, got ready for bed, and crawled under the covers. For the first time since this killing game, Ayumu went into a deep sleep.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

The next day came surprisingly fast, but Ayumu found himself not wanting to leave his bed. The covers had a comforting grip on him, for they felt somewhat heavier than usual. The morning announcement broke him out of his tired stupor, and Ayumu climbed out of the covers.

Although it wasn’t obvious, Ayumu could tell that something was off. First of all, he found himself having to bend his legs a little less in order to get out of bed. Okay, nothing too strange. When he went to change clothes, he noticed that his clothes felt a bit... looser on his body. Maybe he lost weight? He hasn’t really been eating much since the killing game, no matter how delicious Narumi’s food was. But then as he could hear someone knock on the door, he noticed that the doorknob was a bit closer to his face last time.

Seishi was at the other side of the door, and he was immediately struck speechless the second he saw Ayumu.

“Uh... greetings... Mr. Fujimori...” Seishi sputtered out, still eying Ayumu up and down.

“Hey, Seishi...” Ayumu murmured awkwardly. The two boys left together.

As they walked towards the dining hall, Ayumu felt Seishi’s gaze heat up on him. Why was Seishi staring at him? Was it something on his face?

When Seishi and Ayumu got in, it became everyone who was staring at Ayumu. Some were scanning him up and down, others were whispering to the person next to them, and others gazed at him worriedly. He got his plate of breakfast from Narumi... noticing that the fork was slightly bigger.

As everyone ate, people kept glancing at Ayumu every now and then. That was when the unlucky boy snapped.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” He asked, nervousness in his voice.

“It’s nothing against you, Ayumu, it’s just that...” Saiji trailed off mid sentence.

“Something seems different about you,” Kego finished.

“Nothing really feels-.” Ayumu was cut off by a yellow aura encasing his body. A brief pulling sensation encased his muscles, and then the aura wiped away. Ayumu noticed that he could no longer touch his heels to the floor.

“W-what the fuck?!” Kazuomi stuttered.

“Is it just me, or did Ayumu get shorter?” Narumi asked, finishing her toast.

“No, Ms. Osone, we all saw it too,” Seishi replied.

“Did an evil spirit do this?!” Kasumi gasped.

“Calm down, everyone! Big sis is sure that it’s just a one time thi-! ⊙﹏⊙” poor Marin was cut off by the yellow aura encasing Ayumu’s body again, knocking him down a couple of inches.

Now everyone was freaking out.

“Is Ayumu just going to keep shrinking?!” Aruma yelled.

“D-definitely not! He has to stop eventually-!” Saiji stammered, rudely cut off by Monodora entering the room.

“Hate to tell ya this, prayer boy, but Ayumu isn’t gonna stop shrinking!” Monodora laughed.

“But if he keeps shrinking...” Akira mumbled, showing his own form of unease.

“Then he’s going to get too small for us to even see!” Misuzu finished.

“Correct!” Monodora cackled. “And he’s just gonna keep shrinking... and shrinking... and shrinking...!”

“Tell us what we could do to fucking fix this right now, you monochrome piece of shit!” Kazuomi yelled, seething with rage.

“Woah, woah, no need to get hasty!” Monodora laughed. The yellow aura encased Ayumu’s body yet again, which shrunk him down even more. “And the answer is simple, KILL SOMEONE! Bye for now! Upupupupu!” And with that laugh, Monodora disappeared.

“This is baaaaad!” Maiko yelled, looking at Ayumu.

“Oh, puh-lease, we are not going to give in to that c*cksucker’s motive!” Kasumi yelled.

“But... Ayumu...” Nico started. The yellow aura struck again, shrinking Ayumu down by a couple of more inches. Seishi looked lost in thought.

“Wait!” He spoke up. “There is a way! Mr. Monodora said that there is a chemistry room!”

“How’s that going to help Ayumu?!” Mikoto hissed.

“There are certain chemicals that Mr. Fujimori needs in order to stop the shrinking!” Seishi spoke.

“Then what are we fucking waiting for?! Let’s get them!” Kazuomi yelled.

“Wait, someone should stay with Ayumu! If no one watches him, we could step on him by accident!” Saiji pointed out, worry overtaking the voice of the typically cool and refined undertaker.

“I’ll do it,” Mikoto volunteered. “The rest of you, go!”

The other 13 students nodded, running off, leaving Mikoto alone with Ayumu.

————

Mikoto knelt down next to Ayumu, wincing as he shrunk further. Something in the back of the girl’s mind wouldn’t stop nagging her.

She failed.

She failed to protect Ayumu Fujimori, the Ultimate Unlucky Student.

Now he was going to shrink into nothingness if her classmates don’t hurry the fuck up.

“Uh... thanks for watching over me,” Ayumu spoke in an attempt to make conversation. Mikoto just nodded. Ayumu’s chest now lined up with the bench. “Mikoto? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ayumu...” she mumbled, clutching her leg in worry.

“It’s not your fault, Mikoto, in case you were thinking that,” Ayumu spoke.

“It kind of is. I was supposed to protect you,” Mikoto hissed. That’s when she realized her error.

“Protect... me?” Ayumu echoed. He was knocked down a couple of more inches. Mikoto’s heart raced. He was now about the same height as Kego.

“I wasn’t planning on telling you this, but... my Ultimate talent is the Ultimate Bodyguard,” she spoke. Ayumu shrunk down more.

“A bodyguard?!” Ayumu echoed, still shrinking.

“Exactly. And as a bodyguard, I failed.” Mikoto grumbled. Ayumu placed a hand on Mikoto’s, which was now about the size of her entire palm.

“Hey, Seishi is gonna fix this! He and the others should be back anytime soon!” Ayumu reassured her. Mikoto gave a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

“I hope so,” she mumbled, staring off into the distance.

—————

Seishi straight up wasn’t having a good time right now.

Ayumu Fujimori, the boy he grew to care for, was now in severe danger. He didn’t know how small he was going to be when the other 13 students came back, or if he was even going to be visible to the naked eye.

Was this... all part of his plan?

‘No, don’t think about that!’ Seishi reprimanded himself, approaching the chemistry room.

“What chemicals do we need?!” Misuzu barked out, immediately rushing inside.

Seishi told them the chemicals that they needed.

“Hey, Seishi, how do you even know this?” Kego asked, currently rummaging through the supplement shelves.

It had been when they were kids. Zen thought it would be a good idea to shoot himself with a mysterious gun to scare his brother. However, Zen wasn’t counting on the gun being a rapid-shrinking gun. They had managed to stop the shrinking with those chemicals, but Zen now currently stood at an inch tall. Serves him right.

Seishi hoped that Ayumu would at least be bigger by the time the chemicals were obtained.

Saiji had gotten the first chemical, handing it to Seishi who responded with a ‘thank you’. Mitsunari had found the second, which Seishi immediately took given Mitsunari’s puppets being on his hands. Lastly, Kasumi had gotten the last chemical. Seishi immediately mixed them together, his heart racing in his chest.

The 13 Ultimates ran out of the classroom. Seishi’s stomach churned with nervousness. ‘Hopefully, we’re not too late...’

#gtronpa #danganronpa rebirth #tiny!ayumu #giant!literally everybody else #kudos to whoever knows what movie the title is spoofing #the-littlest-geek... posting about something OTHER than giant Saiji? It’s more likely than you think.#in this story Zen and Seishi are different people #the incredible shrinking unlucky student

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corpse--diem · 4 years

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Dead Friendship Forever | Regan & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @corpse--diem SUMMARY: Former DFFs bump into each other in a cemetery with death on the brain.

Cemeteries were full of more life than most people gave them credit for. Mornings were her favorite, when the sun started to warm the world again. Erin had her biases and the added convenience of living across the street from one her entire life. But there were few places in this town that grounded and comforted her all at once like Strawford Park could. It made this place feel like home again if only for a few moments. Not even this place could silence the voices in her head--especially her uninvited guest--but it was worth it for what she hoped it would bring. Her feet slowed at a portion of the path that broke off into the middle of the cemetery that stretched into a sea of assorted headstones and greenery as far as anyone could see. Knew that if she took a left now and another left at the second tree further up she’d be at her parents’ plot. It probably looked like an overgrown, weed-riddled mess at this point. She could hear her mother’s scorning, teasing tone. How does someone kill marigolds, Erin? I picked these on purpose! You’ve got to try and kill them! A small smile lifted the corner of her lips and she stared hard at the path. She almost made that left turn. Almost.

Something stronger than nostalgia won control of her movements and she continued forward. Not today. Not now. There were enough demons she had to face these days without diving into that emotional baggage. Lifted her head when she heard footsteps not far and a jolt of panic stopped her again like a brick wall had just shot up in front of her. Shit. “Regan…” she started, a soft roll of her eyes. A taste of the anger from their last encounter months ago in the morgue flared up in her chest. Present, but considerably tame in comparison. Time had an effect on emotions like that sometimes. “What are you doing here?” Erin asked, wincing inwardly. Regretted the insanely obvious question as soon as she’d asked it. This was Regan, after all. “I--uh--,” she shook her head quickly, narrowing her eyes at the path just beyond Regan. Fuck. She could do this. Play the pleasant adult before moving on. Hopefully. “How are you?” She asked.

The moon is so wonderful tonight… I bet Ulfric is loving it. “What?” Regan asked aloud, even though she suspected no one would answer. “It’s daytime. And who is Ulfric?” That name sounded familiar, though. A scream that seemed to shoot out of a nearby headstone made her freeze in place, before sprinting away. Cemeteries used to be so peaceful and quiet. Even though they still had some kind of tranquility to them, some kind of indescribable comfort, it wasn’t the same as it used to be. Regan kept her eyes low, sweeping them across the grass in front of her to watch for signs of squirrels and birds. She almost didn’t see that someone else was going for a stroll of their own nearby. But then she heard her name, coming from-- “Erin?” Oh, no. The last time they saw each other flickered through Regan’s mind. The broken glass, the fear in Erin’s eyes. And even before that, Erin nearly drowning in a glass of water because of words that Regan had spoke. A shudder rolled down her spine. There was no way Erin wanted to be here talking to her right now, and she couldn’t even blame her for that.

“What am I doing here?” Regan looked around at the sea of headstones. A disembodied voice shouted something about the lake, and a whisper curled past her ear. She shivered, but did her best to ignore it. “I go for a walk here a couple times a week. I live right nearby, remember? I assume you’re doing the same thing.” Regan eyed Erin, studying the dark circles under her eyes and the slump of her shoulders. She seemed tired, and not in the way of being sleep-deprived. “Uh,” she sputtered, as Erin seemed to do the same. Small chat. That’s what this was. “Look, you don’t have to-- I mean, I know things aren’t-- I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want--” She pressed a cold palm to her forehead and sighed to herself. At herself. Looked back at Erin. “I'm... things have improved recently, by a little over five feet. Are you alright? You look tired, and just a little bit annoyed, both of which are reasonable.” She paused, considering for a moment. “Do you want to talk about--” Nope. She clamped her mouth shut. Bad idea.

Crap. Did this mean Erin was going to have to avoid certain cemeteries now to skirt around awkward interactions now? She hadn’t thought about it before literally, and even as justifiable as her anger was, the pettiness layered in there too. Was she still going to do it? Probably. The hurt in her chest was as real as her fury. “Yeah, right. I remember. Dumb question, sorry,” she said. Ugh. That night she’d accidentally stumbled upon the medical examiner’s door felt like a lifetime ago. Almost instantly, that macabre bond formed over anatomically incorrect skeleton cookies and wholly invested death chat. It was almost still a sweet memory. She’d promised Regan more than she’d ever bargained for that night too. “Five feet, huh?” It was petty again, she knew that, but a small genuine smile overtook her. Oh, Blanche was going to be pissed, but the words left her before she had the better sense to shut it down. “I heard something about you flying out of the window--I mean off the handle for a little bit?” She asked. Nope. She couldn’t do this. This conversation had gone on for less than two minutes and already she was snipping at her like a toddler who hadn’t napped.

A heavy sigh fell from her and she regretted her last comments already. “I’m fine. And I hope you’re fine too, Regan. I mean that. I’m glad you’re… better.” She shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. That’s a nice skull. Seriously? Her eyes snapped back open and she looked up. “What? No. What did I just--I don’t want to talk about skulls. I don’t want to talk about anything.” She shifted tensely where she stood. “Should you--should you even be here? What if you, uh--” she gestured with her hand towards her mouth. The scream.

Regan felt a sigh leave her mouth as Erin seemed to make peace with the fact the two of them were standing closer than a mile apart. She even did her best to ignore the curt comments. “That’s not amusing.” She wasn’t taking the bait. Blanche had thrown so much of it her way already; Bishop, too. But the sudden jerking of Erin’s head made Regan jump. “What? I didn’t say anything about-- I mean, I can talk about skulls if you want me to. But you just said you apparently don’t want to discuss them. Unless… do you have one with you? Can I see it?” Doubtful. On both counts. Erin looked like the only thing she wanted to hand over was a punch to the eye orbital. But there was a fresh skull nearby, wasn’t there? It flicked at her senses from a short distance away. Every second she stood there seemed like a bad idea-- maybe worse than inviting her to the morgue before. “I should probably, uh-- I mean, it’s getting dark out.” Regan motioned to the sky, which was slowly filling with the colors of an old contusion.

But Erin asked a question and, wait, what was she doing with her mouth? Oh. Oh. Of course. “We’re in a cemetery. If that did happen, it’d be much safer here than just about anywhere el-- uh, not that I-- I’m not going to scream at you.” Regan hissed air through her teeth. Lungs, don’t make me a liar. The pressure stirred, but didn’t try to escape. “It’s still, uh, I’m working on it. Trying to.” She hung her head down for a moment, kicking up a small bit of fresh grave soil. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the morgue. I never meant to hurt you. Really. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I still think everyone in this town is out of their mind, but I’m doing everything I can to avoid hurting anyone else.” She met Erin’s eyes, frowning. They had been friends, once. Maybe not close, but they’d connected in a way few people could relate to, and that was something special, wasn’t it? But looking at Erin, it seemed the wound from before was still very much open, and given how her lessons with Deirdre were going and the lack of progress being made, maybe that was for the best. “I’ll leave you to it. But if you did want a skull -- and not a human one -- there’s one buried a few inches underground there, I think.” Regan pointed past a few headstones.

Erin could see that Regan was trying, and she felt a twinge of guilt for being so short. Not too guilty, but enough to stop her from letting loose much more of her barely contained wrath. It wasn’t meant for the doctor, not right now anyway. But wait--she didn’t say anything about the skulls? Fuck. That must have been Kaden. Again. “Right,” she shook her head. That was getting old too. But even as Regan tried to comfort her about the screaming thing, some fear nagged at her regardless. Once you endured a Regan scream, even a scream-lite, you didn’t want to have to tolerate another one. And they were in prime death territory. Bodies were buried beneath their feet and completely surrounded them.

“No, no, that’s--okay,” Erin shook her head, turning down the skeleton offer. Another time, that probably would’ve been a pretty fun way to spend her morning but those days were past them. Not like she had much time to spare for light, fun things anyway. “I should--” I wonder if the wings also flutter during an orgasm. The loud, intrusive thought made her stop mid-speech and all Erin could do was gape like a fish over at Regan. And now she was thinking about it. And suddenly this all had become way, way too much. “I’ve gotta go. Now,” she averted her eyes, suddenly blushing red. In her haste to rush out of there, she brushed Regan’s arm and fumbled a little, mumbling a small apology as she tried to keep going.

Get out of here, Kavanagh. As each second ticked by, it became increasingly clear that Erin was either still angry, or still afraid, or both, and there was no way to change that. Not now, and maybe not ever. Regan tried to ignore the sting of it, of such a potential friend lost, but it was hard to leave it well alone instead of trying to dislodge it and figure out exactly why everything had to go so wrong. Just as Regan was turning away, and just as Erin seemed to want to do the same, Erin froze like something gripped her from behind. “Erin?” Regan turned back toward her, heels swiveling in the dirt. I’ve gotta go. Now. “Did I-- what did I--” But Erin’s face was burning red, probably the warmest thing in the cemetery. “What happened? Are you alright? Did you have a heart palpitation or--”

Erin’s skin against her arm. She really was warm, but something about the contact filled Regan’s insides with an icy dread, and the cemetery around them unmade itself, headstones falling into nothingness and grass turning into wooden floorboards. There was a flash of fury as Erin lunged toward the man with a baseball bat. It made hard contact with his temple and he was on the floor. Regan screeched, falling backwards. She could feel wet grass caught in her palms and her coccyx collide with the dirt, but she couldn’t see it. Instead she saw Erin scavenge his pockets. Gun catching the light. Erin rolled him into a body bag, her face hard and determined with not a hint of guilt or disgust or shame or-- another flash, this time of death all around her, dark and suffocating rather than familiar and comforting. Regan could feel it thick in the hearse, thick around Erin. Could feel the pull of the man from the trunk. “Of course you bled in the van. You had to ruin one last thing on your way out, huh?” Erin was talking. To the cadaver of the man she’d just smacked with a baseball bat. The man she’d killed. Regan repeated the words aloud trying to make sense of them, trying to pull them apart and understand just what she was seeing, but if Erin was a murderer, then there was no understanding. None to be found. The cemetery rebuilt itself and Regan squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push down both the nausea and the scream threatening to pry itself from her lungs.

Erin was still making strides to get away when she realized Regan had stopped talking. Regan didn’t normally just stop talking--babbling and nervous rambling was easily one of her more noticeable traits, and she had been in the middle of exactly that when she’d suddenly stopped. The glance back froze Erin’s entire being in place. Those fucking eyes. The same black ones she saw at the morgue. She was bracing for it--the scream. Hadn’t she literally just voiced her fears about that? Was this literally about to be the morgue all over again? She didn’t have time to be angry--her body was already slipping into an adrenaline fueled flight stance. Regan fell back, staring off at nothing again, though she knew that wasn’t true. She saw something. Oh fuck. Oh, here it came. Erin was turning to run now when Regan opened her mouth--

“Of course you bled in the van. You had to ruin one last thing on your way out, huh?”

It took a few moments but the chilling realization built up thick in her chest the longer she stared. Dale. Slowly, her face burning deeper than before. “What di-” she tried to ask but words scraped the inside of her throat. How could she know that? Where the hell did that come from? Had she seen something? No. No. That was impossible. She didn’t come any closer to her, didn’t try to help her up. Just stared, that itch to run needling at her thighs. “What did you just say?” Erin finally managed with a slight waver, nearly devoid of her previous anger. The chilling fear was rapidly rebuilding that one, though. “What the hell did you just say to me, Regan?” She snapped, stepping forward.

For a moment, Regan could still see it pulsing behind her eyeballs. Erin’s fury and fear. Erin killing a man. Erin shoving him into a body bag. Erin sticking him in the back of her hearse. As headstones and statues remade themselves in front of her, she tried to summon that dark room back like it had been a memory rather than a hallucination. It felt close, but before she could get ahold of it, it streaked away, replaced by the solid feeling of the ground underneath her. But it-- it didn’t matter. Erin would never-- she wouldn’t, right? But how well did Regan really know her? They were friends, once. They were. Was she capable of killing? One hard lesson learned from the autopsy suite: everyone was.

But trusting a hallucination? Kaden thought they were real. Visions, he’d called them, ridiculous though it was. Erin, too. And now here she was, in a situation where she probably hoped Regan would still refuse to put any stock in them. Regan laid her palms flat against the wet grass and looked up at Erin’s petrified face. The blood had drained from it, and she looked as lifeless as the skeletons under their feet. Erin was trying to say something, trying to stutter through it. And there was that look. Stony but fearful. The same one Erin had given her at the morgue that was etched into Regan’s mind like the sound of a funeral bell.

“I said-- why? You clearly heard me. Does it mean anything to you? I thought I saw, I mean, I did see you--” Regan gave Erin a hard stare. Was she looking at a murder right now? Had she known the words had been her own? As impossible as it seemed-- no, of course it wasn’t possible. But it was difficult not to look past it, to not factor it in, to not even consider it. And Erin was angry now. She was, wasn’t she? Slowly, Regan wobbled to her feet, bracing herself on a nearby headstone, just for a second. “I, uh-- sorry, I got lightheaded for a-- I’m going to go. Now. I’m going to go now. Right now.” One more look over at Erin before she started running. It had to be all in her head. But if it wasn’t, and if for just an instant she could set aside centuries of medical knowledge and publications and logic, then… then she needed time to make sense of the unthinkable.

#chatzy #chatzy: regan #chatzy: dead friendship forever #wickedswriting

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monsterlovinghours · 5 years

Text

More Than I Deserve

So here is the long coming second chapter of my self insert fic. @beetlejuicebeadoll this is for you, sorry about the number of times I said I'd post and didn't.

Tw: mentions of death, suicide attempt, depression. Chapter 1 is here.

The first few weeks in his new digs had been...frustrating. She just didn't seem scared of anything. Bugs crawling on her? She laughed and swatted them off, replying that she had lived in roach infested apartments and this was nothing new. Severed head in the cupboard? Nothing more than a gasp, a press of her hand to her chest, and a "very funny!" Shadowy figure standing in her closet, doors opening and closing on their own, disembodied voices and reaching hands clawing out from the walls? Acknowledged and dismissed, as if she were observing the weather. Not a single scream. Beetlejuice tugged at his hair, growling to himself. What the fuck was this weirdo afraid of?

Finally, when she had had the audacity to laugh at a dark figure skittering across her ceiling, he appeared in her room, hands thrown above his head and scowling. "Alright, I give up. What the fuck makes you tick? What are you afraid of?"

Molly had stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, lips pressed together as if to suppress a smile. "When you know the house is haunted, it isn't scary anymore."

He opened his mouth to argue, then sighed, dropping his head in defeat. "You make a good point."

"In any case, why do you have to try and scare me? Do you want me to leave?" Her voice held notes of earnestness, genuine curiosity. "Is it the house you want?"

"No! No, I don't want your house, goddammit." He folded his arms grumpily across his chest; this wasn't how a haunting worked. "This is just how these things go. This is what I'm supposed to do."

"Why?"

Beetlejuice paused, absently tugging some loose threads from the sleeve of his blazer. It was a while before he answered, his voice still carrying that signature rasp, and yet softer somehow. Pensive. "Y'know...I don't really know anymore."

Molly stood from the chair she had been reclining on, and reached for him. Out of instinct, he drew back, looking untrustingly down at her hand, and her heart gave an odd lurch in her chest. Still, she let her fingertips graze over the back of his hand, his skin as cold and smooth as marble. "Maybe you can just, you know, live here. Well, not live." To her relief, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Its okay for you to just be here. Honestly, I kind of like having you around."

He snickered. "Babes, you're so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown." His posture relaxed a bit as she laughed, and she took his hand between hers, warm palms pressing around his fingers. God, that felt nice.

"No, really. The house doesn't feel so empty now. It's a welcome change."

Once again, he chuckled, grasping her wrist and tugging her against his side, slinging his arm over her shoulder. "You're fucking weird, kid."

It did take some adjusting; after all, there was a bit of a learning curve when it came to dead/living cohabitation. But once he stopped pushing her out of bed because he was bored and she got used to the smell of damp earth on everything, it was remarkably pleasant. He was an oddly good conversationalist, having been around for longer than she could really comprehend, and would sit cross legged in midair, gesticulating wildly, his expression animated as he told her story after story. She didn't shy away from the fact that he had killed people; but then, by now, he didn't expect her to. "You're not trying to kill me," she explained, "so what does it matter? You're a demon, I expect human lives aren't as sacred to you."

"You know, you probably shouldn't be as chill with this as you are," he joked.

"Mm. Maybe. Death doesn't really faze me anymore."

The smile on his face faded slightly. "Lose someone?"

A pause. "Everyone." She looked up at him, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Why do you think no one ever comes by?"

All was quiet for a long, long moment. “Look, babes, I’m not that great with...y’know, human shit. Emotions.” With a sigh, he settled down beside her, legs kicked up on her coffee table. “But if you wanna talk about it, I’m listening.”

She lifted her head, a soft smile on her face that didn’t touch her eyes. “Careful, or I might think you have a heart in there somewhere.” Her gaze faraway, she spoke, her tone carefully measured and emotionless. “Where I grew up wasn’t exactly a great place. It was a small town, most people were dirt poor. We weren’t well-off, but we were comfortable enough. Grew up just fine. The neighbor kids weren’t as lucky. Their parents made meth and child abuse into an art form.” Absently, she picked at the chipping dark green nail polish on her right thumb, still gazing into the far distance. “When I was fifteen, my older sister had her high school graduation party at the house, and my whole family came. Like, the whole family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins. The whole gang. I was a little shit and didn’t want to socialize, so I snuck out and went for a walk. Didn’t feel like they’d miss me anyway. Turns out the neighbors were cooking up a big batch of fresh methamphetamine that day, and something went wrong. The explosion was so big it took out half the block. My house and everyone inside included.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. My whole family, vaporized.”

“Jesus, kid,” he said softly.

“It took me five years to really process everything, you know? At first it was pandemonium. The state got involved, since I was a minor, and no one could figure out what to do with me. Too old for foster care, not old enough to live on my own. I was checked out, barely spoke to anyone, and frankly didn’t care if I lived or died, so I literally didn’t give a shit where I ended up. I floated around for a while, until I was sixteen and could legally live on my own. Turns out Mom, Dad, and both sets of grandparents named me in their wills, so I ended up inheriting quite a bit of money. I bought a shitty apartment in a shitty little town and did nothing but marinate in a delicious stew of survivor’s guilt and PTSD for four more years.” There was bitterness in her tone; he could almost taste it in his mouth. She returned to picking at her nail polish, not even attempting to look up at him. “Then I started getting my shit together. Got my GED, took online university courses and got a bachelor’s in library science. Started going to therapy, started talking to people. Got a job. I relearned how to be a person all over again. I even got a girlfriend.” At last, she looked up at him, as if challenging him to say something, or perhaps gauging his reaction to her sexuality. When his expression didn’t change, Molly lowered her head and continued.

“She lived upstate, about a two hour drive away. We met online through a literature forum.”

“Pff. Nerd.”

Molly gave a soft huff of something close to laughter. “We hit it off, I took a leap and asked her out, and we dated long distance for two years. She was the first person I was ever in love with, the only person I’d gotten close to since my family died. Then around Christmas on the third year of our relationship, she was driving down to see me...and she hit black ice and went off the road. Killed instantly. I found out about it two days later because her brother found me on Facebook. Her parents...they didn’t know she was a lesbian. They would have made her life hell if they knew. I couldn’t even attend her funeral.” Once she stopped talking, the house seemed unnaturally silent, as if even small sounds were muffled under the weight of her suffering. “After that, I just kind of...shut off again. I figured I was cursed or something, that I wasn’t meant to be around people. I bought this house, found a job editing online articles, and that is the story of how I ended up being the town recluse at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.”

He was quiet; what could he possibly say? Throughout his long, long existence, he had seen worse things than the life she had described to him...but not many, and not by much. There hadn’t been a single human interaction in the time he’d been here, he hadn’t seen her leave the house except to take the trash to the curb once a week. Yet, she seemed...stable. At peace with it all somehow. There was a current of strength running through her, of fire-tested resilience that he begrudgingly admired. Beetlejuice glanced down at her and saw that she was staring expectantly up at him, as if waiting to see what he was going to say. With an easy smirk, he knocked her shoulder with his. “So...you’re into the ladies, huh?”

Molly was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing, awkwardly swinging her fist to land a glancing blow on his chest. “Really, you dick? I bare my soul, my whole tragic life story, and the only thing you take away is that I’m into girls?!”

Chortling, he dodged her second swing easily, darting forward to perch on the edge of the coffee table. “Can’t help having a one-track mind, babes. That explains why you haven’t fallen for my roguish charms yet.”

Scoffing good-naturedly, she relaxed back into the couch; he was relieved to see her posture ease, her body more relaxed after a break in the tension. “Oh, is that what you call it? Besides, what makes you think I’m only into girls, slick?”

He raised an eyebrow, all but leering at her. “Swinging for both teams, doll? I won’t lie...that’s pretty fucking hot.” He could practically hear her eyes rolling, but she laughed softly. It was quiet for a moment, then he reached for her hand. Ever since she had taken his in her own, he had slowly been testing the boundaries of how much touch she allowed. Hand-holding was fine, a casual arm slung over her shoulder was tolerated, but anything beyond that and she would flinch and ease away. Though, knowing what he knew now of her past, touch must be something she was unused to. Now, as easy as anything, his fingers meshed between hers, squeezing softly and holding back a sigh at the hot press of her living skin against his. “Hey, uh...thanks for telling me. Family shit isn’t easy to deal with.”

A beat, and then she squeezed back. "Thanks for listening." She smiled. "You know, for being a demon...you're pretty nice to me."

"Yeah? Well, don't read into it, babes, I'm just trying to get in your pants."

His eyes followed her as she laughed and stood, lingering with her hand in his for a moment before letting go and padding barefoot into the kitchen, a strange expression creasing his brow when her back was turned. Slowly, at the very roots, the tiniest flush of pink tinged his hair. This wasn't how hauntings were supposed to go. The dead were not supposed to feel, especially for the living. This was unnatural, topsy-turvy, wrong in every way, but even so, he was grateful that she had decided to try that summoning spell; after observing her in his time here and learning about her usual practice (what she called "green magic"), he knew now how outside the norm such a dark spell was. Yet she had called him, said his name with no hesitation. Hell, she had all but put out a welcome mat. For him. The pink in his hair slowly began to spread upwards as the barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth; not a smirk, a grin, or a disingenuous lopsided curl of the lip, but a genuine smile. Perhaps just being here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of death #chapter 3 is forthcoming

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years

Text

A Port in the Storm, a 5x02 ficlet

"I'm sorry Miss Luthor, he was insistent."

James hears the shake in the assistant's voice, and feels a stab of guilt for being as firm as he'd been. Only when Lena responds does he realize the assistant was in deeper trouble than this interruption.

"Figures this is the time you decide to do your job," she delivers shortly, her disembodied voice sharp. "I'll handle it. Please empty your desk."

"M-Ma'am?"

"Allowing personal friends into restricted areas of this building is at the very least a breach of contract, and at worst an attempt to aid and abet corporate sabotage," Lena snaps. "Now collect your things and vacate the building before I decide to press charges. You have three minutes before security throws you out."

James stiffens in place. He's never heard that edge in Lena's voice before. It sounds like someone else entirely. It's not until she turns the corner that he's certain it is her-- all tight jaw and burning gaze, Lena strides in with eyes a resolve that doesn't soften in the slightest to see him in her office.

"I'm busy," she tells him, moving towards her desk.

James' eyebrows lift. "I heard."

"What do you want, James?"

Watching her settle behind her desk, James tries summon some kind of satisfaction in his skepticism of Kara's report regarding Lena's forgiveness. It doesn't come. Instead he watches her gather her reports around her like a wall against the world-- or a wall against whatever she has going on inside.

"Kara told you."

Lena's features don't change, but her eyes flick up to his for the briefest of moments. Then her jaw tightens, and James feels a rush of loss-- if they'd been able to hold onto each other, for just a few more months, Lena might not be so alone.

"Come to warn me away?" she drawls, left eyebrow lifting archly. "If I hurt her you'll make sure I regret it?"

James tucks his hand into his pocket. "It's not Kara I'm worried about."

That takes her by surprise. She doesn't look up, but falls still with her gaze unseeing at the report in front of her.

"Come on," he urges gently, dipping his head towards the privacy of her empty balcony. When she makes no move to rise, he pushes just a little harder. "Let's talk."

"This is not a conversation I want to have with you."

James blinks. A flash of hurt lances through his chest. "Wow."

To his surprise, Lena softens a fraction. "I just mean--"

"Come on," he says again, this time propping the balcony door door with one arm. "Let's talk outside."

The softness hardens back into reproach that stares at him balefully. James receives it unflinchingly, and when he doesn't budge she finally sweeps from her desk and stalks under his arm onto the balcony.

Once the door closes behind them, James takes a moment to tuck his hands into his pockets once more.

"Look, I get it," he starts, shrugging. "I'm not that person for you anymore. I understand. But Lena-- if you don't want to have this conversation with me, you have to have it with Kara."

"James--"

"She's walking on air because she thinks you forgave her, lock stock and barrel. She deserves to know how you really feel so she can try to fix it, and you deserve to have your feelings heard--"

"Oh, please!" Lena scoffs. She pivots sharply away from the rail, pinning him with a glare that tugs her lips into a sneer. "No one was so concerned about my feelings until now, were they? They were more than happy to let Kara continue her charade as long as she wanted, feelings be damned--!"

"You know it wasn't our secret to tell," James says softly.

Lena blinks, and suddenly they're bright with tears. "And YOU--" her voice cracks, and she inhales a shuddering breath. "When you told me Supergirl asked you to break into my vault, you didn't say it was Kara--!"

"It wasn't--"

"I went to her, as a friend, and told her everything! Like a--" Lena breaks off with a damp scoff, eyes pinching closed in shame. "I'm such an idiot."

All James wants to do is fold his arms around Lena and hold her close. To give her a refuge in which to cry, to hide her hurt and grief from the world without having to bottle it up inside.

She turns away from him, straight-backed and rigid against the rail as she turns her face to city nightscape before them. After a moment, James moves to join her at the rail.

"Then I am too," he admits in a low voice. "You know, when I found out Clark was Superman, I-- I was floored, to say the least. It was months after I got the Pulitzer, for the photo I literally took of him, and I just..."

Lena says nothing.

"I was friends with Superman at that point, but Clark-- he was my best friend. I think the hardest thing about finding out was that... it made me realize I wasn't his. And that hurt. Because he was important to me."

From the corner of his eye, he sees the minute slump of Lena's shoulders.

"What I didn't realize until that moment, is that because he's Superman, Clark doesn't have best friends. He has Lois, and that's about it. He cares about people, and he might care more about me more than others, but there's something between him and the world that keeps him from really.... connecting."

When his thoughts turn to Clark's cousin, and the shy, frazzled assistant who'd bumbled into his office his first day, James finds himself smiling. "Kara's different."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't Clark's best friend," he returns simply, "but you are Kara's. And she was terrified of losing you. I haven't seen her so torn up since Myriad, when Winn and I pitched ourselves off the CatCo balcony."

Green eyes flash in surprise.

"Clark stands apart. Always has. But Kara pulls her strength from those around her. Those ties keep her grounded, and she needs them to do what she does. You are a big part of that."

Lena turns away-- it's a little too much for her accept at this point. But she doesn't shut down either. She studies her hands, where her fingers worry each with white-knuckled focus.

"You forgave him?" she asks softly.

James nods. "Yeah. I had to. I didn't have it in me not to. But I'm not sure he would have minded if I never spoke to him again. I mean, I've barely seen him once since I came to National City, so..."

A few years ago, it would have hurt to say it aloud. But now, a country and so many friends later, it's okay. He inhales deeply, letting the cool night air fill his lungs to hide the fact that if he had to choose a distance that hurt more, it'd be the one that separated them here on this balcony.

When he turns to regard Lena, he finds her chin low, her gaze studying her hands, folded together atop the rail.

With one hand he reaches over and gently covers one of hers in his. Her palm turns to meet his, fingers lacing in a familiar, gentle grip.

"It's okay to not be okay," James says quietly. "And it's okay to feel like you need to keep that to yourself. But she can't make it right if you won't let her."

"What if I don't want her to?" Lena asks.

He inhales quietly. "Then that's your call. But don't let her believe it's cool when it's not. It's a discredit to you and to her, and everything you've meant to each other."

Lena scoffs almost imperceptibly, and James tightens his squeeze.

"She loves you, Lena. Your friendship has pulled her through when nothing else could. She relies on you, and your heart, even when you don't agree. Especially when you don't agree."

He only wishes he'd had that with Clark. The quiet night curls around them, unbroken by further words until the air grew chill and Lena finally turns to face him, leaning against the rail.

"I hear you left CatCo," she says, officially ending the Supergirl conversation.

James grins. "Yeah. I did. Turns out not all bosses are created equal. But I'm okay with that. It's time for a change. Been time."

This time, Lena's gaze is softer, almost a smile. "Then I'm glad," she offers quietly. Then a smile does curl her lips, even if her heart isn't quite in it. "You deserve to happy."

James looks over at her, and this time, she meets his gaze with no anger, no mask. Just Lena.

"So do you."

#port in the storm #past gc #canon compliant #guess what should have happened #found another parallel #if only #supercorp adjacent #the implication is there #canon levels of supercorp #honestly #written and posted on mobile #forgive any errors

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anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Don’t Hang Up Yet, I’m Not Done (TAZ Balance AU)

Summary: Tres Horny Boys have the Red Robe’s phone number, continued. This time, Merle and Taako make some calls.

Warnings: Dissociation

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979621/chapters/45066238

A sequel to this fic, which was in turn inspired by this art by @mspainttaz!

***

The next call Barry gets is in the late afternoon several weeks later, and once again, something tells him exactly who’s going to be on the other end of the line before he even moves to pick it up.

(Then again, it’s barely been an hour since he gave Merle that cryptic nod, so it’s not exactly difficult to guess the reason for the call.)

“You saved my kids,” Merle whispers, sounding dumbstruck even now. “Why?”

“I — I just — why wouldn’t I? I had the power to stop innocent people from getting hurt. Of course I saved them.”

“Well, that’s real altruistic of you,” Merle murmurs. Bit by bit, his normal enthusiasm creeps back into his voice as he continues: “Not sure how you’re supposed to reconcile that worldview with making the Relics, though. Too bad I can’t cast Zone of Truth over the stone, ha!”

“Yeah, it’s a real shame,” Barry replies. “Anyways, you need to teach your kids to be more careful. Odds are I won’t be around during the next… freak accident.”

“Yeah, their passive perception stinks,” Merle agrees with a sad laugh. “Or at least Mookie’s does, as much as I love the little fireball. Mavis is a bright little thing when she’s not busy looking after her brother — she reads at a college level, you know! Probably gonna make a hell of a wizard one day!”

“Give it to me like you would under Zone of Truth, Merle — did you call me just to brag about your kids?”

“Don’t tell my boss,” Merle answers in a hushed whisper. “I’ll get my employee phone plan revoked!”

Barry struggles to stifle a laugh. “Merle Hightower Highchurch, calling up the enemy to have a friendly chat? What would the Director think?”

Merle laughs too, the irony lost on him. “You know, you’re a much better conversationalist today than you were the first couple times we met. What’s up with that?”

“Uh… I dunno, social anxiety? How’s life on the moon treating you?”

“It’s got its perks. Apparently the gravity is low enough up there that my spinal cord decompressed, so now I’m a millimeter taller — and trust me, I know it doesn’t sound like much, but we dwarves have to take what we can get!”

“I can imagine.” An idea occurs to Barry — it’s a long shot, but worth a try. “How about the gnomes — are there any gnomes up there? How are they doing with the gravity situation?”

“Well, Leon doesn’t ‘like’ me or ‘the crew I hang with’ so I don’t really talk to him. And Davenport, well…”

Barry very nearly short-circuits his Stone of Farspeech as sparks of magic course through his form and down his sleeves. “What about Davenport? How is he?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and Barry gets a bad feeling that he came across as a little too invested in Davenport’s well-being.

His fears are confirmed when Merle asks: “What, do you know him?”

“Just heard the name in passing,” Barry lies. “Never met him, but most names from the Bureau that I hear in passing end up belonging to pretty important people. What’s his — what does he do for your operation up there?”

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it before, but — if we could make this our little ‘Truth Zone’ here, for just a second — I’m not really sure why Lucretia hired him in the first place. All he can say is his own name, and he always seems kinda anxious about one thing or another — again, I never know what, since he can’t really talk.”

Barry doesn’t know how to reply.

“Damn good at cards, though! You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a good game of yooker these days — or even chess, for that matter. You play either?”

“No.” Barry’s pretty sure that Merle and Davenport are the only people in the planar-verse who know how to play the game they’ve dubbed “yooker.” And he doesn’t even want to think about that chess remark.

“Darn. Well, I should probably get going — I can’t miss karaoke night with the boys. We’ve been trying all month to get Lucretia to join us, and she finally let it slip that she hasn’t got anything going on this evening!”

“Oh. Well, uh… don’t let me keep you from that, then. Nice talking to you.”

After he switches his stone off, Barry adds in a whisper: “Wish I could join you.”

***

“Sup, Little Red Riding Robe?”

“Don’t call me that,” the Red Robe groans. From the other end of the line, Taako hears the faint rustling of papers — his call must have interrupted something. He doesn’t feel too bad about it, though.

“What, would you rather be the Big Bad Wolf?” Taako asks. “I thought I was doing you a solid and painting you in a sympathetic light!”

“You know what, fine. Little Red Riding Robe it is,” the Red Robe replies. The hostility in his voice begins to dissipate as he goes on. “Tell me, Taako — is this just another prank call?”

Taako chuckles. “Oh, you wish. See, I stumbled across a piece of info that might just interest you…”

He pauses, waiting to see how the Red Robe reacts, but he’s met with silence.

“I’ve got your number, Riding Robe, idiomatically and literally. So this afternoon I took a quick vacay to the Stone of Farspeech service provider’s offices, cast a few Charm Person spells, and figured out just what name that number was registered to. Pretty clever, huh?”

It might just be Taako’s imagination, but it feels like the silence grows a little more tense.

“Now tell me, who’s this Sildar Hallwinter guy?” he asks. “Is that an alias, or did you just mug a dude and take his phone?”

The Red Robe chuckles. “Huh. That’s some genuinely impressive sleuthing — then again, I should’ve expected as much from you, Taako.”

“Well, uh, to tell you the truth… it was technically Angus’s idea — you ever hear about him? The boy detective? Little snoop was going through my dresser and found the paper I jotted down your number on, and dragged me into this quest to track down your true identity.”

“And does he think this case has been cracked wide open by this new info?”

“No. He’s pretty sure Hallwinter isn’t your real name — and don’t tell him I said this, but I trust him on that one-hundred percent. He’s pretty good with this stuff.”

“What did you really call me about if you’re so sure, then?”

What if she’s just gone?

“Well, I —”

Who?

“I…”

I can’t remember her face, Taako!

Whose face?!

Please, Taako, just kill me!

“Taako? Taako, are you with me?”

He doesn’t feel like he’s with anyone. Even lying on his bed, beneath a pile of heavy blankets he doesn’t remember arranging, he still can’t stop shivering. He’s so cold, and so, so alone.

He clutches the Umbra Staff close to his chest, close to his heart. It’s the only warm thing he can feel.

“Please, Taako, can you say something?” the disembodied voice continues. It sounds like it’s trying very hard to stay calm, and mostly succeeding. “Tell me what’s happening? I have Merle and Magnus’s numbers — I can call them if you need someone to come help —”

It also sounds very familiar, but trying to place it makes Taako feel like he’s teetering over the edge of a void, about to lose his balance and plunge into darkness.

“W-who is this?”

“It’s me, Taako, it’s… it’s the Red Robe.”

Taako’s eyes finally land on the Stone of Farspeech at the corner of his bed, and hesitantly extends a hand towards it. It’s not quite as warm as the Umbra Staff — but it’s certainly not cold, either. He pulls it closer, wrapping his fingers around it.

The Red Robe lets out a short, sad chuckle, which the speaker garbles a little bit. “There are some who call me Little Red Riding Robe. Or Sildar Hallwinter.”

“Sh-shit.” Their earlier conversation returns to Taako quickly, as he tries to sit up in bed. His teeth are still chattering slightly when he tries to speak. “I — I dunno what just happened. I just b-blacked out —”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. It’s not your fault.” There’s a pause. “Hey, do you think you can you tell me a little more about Angus? He seems like a bright kid —”

“He is. B-been picking up magic real fast too. He’s a nosy little shit who never stops asking questions to all two dozen of his adoptive moon parents and I’m so glad Lucretia hired him.”

“He was right about Sildar Hallwinter being an alias, you know. Did he say what tipped him off?”

“He’s got contacts in the police force planetside like you wouldn’t believe. There was hardly anything in any of their files about Sildar, so we talked to Johann and he told us that name never got fed to the Voidfish. From there, Angus just figured that no real person would have that little info about them floating around.”

“Huh. That makes sense. Did Merle and Magnus come along for this adventure, or was it just the two of you?”

“Nah, Magnus was hanging with Carey and Merle was napping. I could hear him snoring from a room away.”

“What about the Director? I’m assuming you didn’t mention this to her?”

“Oh, hell no. She’d throw us straight in the brig if she ever learned how long we’ve had your number without telling her.”

“Yeah, I figured. I trust Merle and Magnus are doing well?”

“Yeah, they’re… well, actually… okay, look. I probably shouldn’t be telling you of all people about this, but something’s been off about Magnus lately. I thought I was imagining it at first, but now I’m pretty sure he’s trying to avoid the Director — which is actually kinda hard these days, since she’s been overseeing our training more and more. And he’s been really awkward around Johann, too. I’ve never seen him like this, and… I’m kinda worried.”

The Red Robe goes silent for a moment. “Well… what happened in Refuge must have been hard on him. I’m sure he’ll feel better soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s pretty tough…” Part of Taako feels guilty for revealing so much to the Red Robe, but part of him doesn’t want to hang up. Magnus and Merle are already fast asleep — what if he blacks out again, and no one’s on the phone to talk him out of it?

Then again… is that what the Red Robe is aiming for? To gain Taako’s trust, and act so supportive that Taako can’t help but reveal sensitive information during a late-night, emotionally vulnerable ramble?

No, Barry wouldn’t do that. If he wants information, it’s just because he’s worried about you.

“Well, this has been a great chat, Riding Robe,” Taako says with an exaggerated yawn. “But I’ve got to get to bed. You never know if tomorrow will end up being a long day of saving the world.”

“You do that,” the Red Robe tells him. “And remember, you can always call me back if you need to.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. G’night.”

***

Magnus’s body is gone, and it’s Barry’s fault.

(Strictly speaking, it’s the fault of the Animus Bell. It taunts him even now, tucked safely away in the possession of the Reclaimers, calling to him and promising to ensure his family survives when the Hunger comes. To bring Lup back from whatever worse-than-undeath fate she met. But Barry recognizes enough of his own voice in his Relic to know that it’s lying.)

Barry made the bell, he put it out into a world that was not his own, and both that world and his family paid dearly.

I’m going to find a way to get your body back, Magnus. I promise.

“I think we deserve some answers from you,” Magnus slowly declares, still holding his detached mannequin arm in his remaining hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem angry — just tired.

Oh Magnus, you don’t know the half of it, Barry thinks. He doesn’t say anything, but he nods to Magnus and then holds out his hand, creating an illusory Stone of Farspeech in his skeletal palm.

And one by one, without exchanging any words between each other, the three Reclaimers hand their stones over — first Magnus, slowly and solemnly; then Merle, with a guilty look on his face; and finally Taako, hesitant as he begins to raise his hand but resolute by the time he plucks the stone from his ear.

Barry flicks his hand, and the devices shatter.

“I’ll buy you new ones soon,” he promises. “But let’s get you those answers first.”

#taz #taz balance #barry bluejeans #merle highchurch #taako taaco #magnus burnsides #taz balance spoilers #rosalia writes fic

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

Text

Losing, By A Head

“Sup, guys! I’m back from shopping!” the voice of Tiashar called out, strangely distorted. “I got groceries and junk!”

Cocoa slithered through, doing her best to form legs and giving up when surface tension proved too wobbly. “That’s great to hear, Miss Tia- oh MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY!?”

Tiashar, or more accurately, her disembodied head, did its best to shrug. It was ensconced in a head jar, which was itself plugged into the control unit of a small hovering robot armature; the overall effect was of a glass ball in a very compact exo-suit, complete with a pair of noodly robot arms. Attached to the back was a truly massive bundle of groceries, but Cocoa wasn’t paying attention to that. “I had a bit of a exciting time at the store.”

“Dear lord!” Now Doctor Suiha was strutting in at high, very distressed speed, and she loomed over the jar. “What happened to you! How are you still alive?!”

“Come on, doc-to! I’m tough stuff. Cutting off my head is just an impediment,” Tiashar said. It didn’t sound like she was bragging; she spoke this in the same way someone casually mentions they can wiggle their ears, as though it was a pretty mundane thing to literally lose your head and keep functioning.

“You are missing your entire body!”

“Eh, it’ll grow back.” Her tone grew concerned. “At least... I hope it does. Cursed swords are a nuisance.”

“How did this happen!?” Cocoa said, aghast.

“And how are you still... unfunctioning?!” Suiha demanded. “You’re not even plugged into that! There’s no life support systems engaged, at all!”

Tiashar blinked. “Come again?”

“Those devices can preserve someone’s life, even if they’re only a head; breath for them, give them nutrients, engage in rest, but you need to be... plugged in. I don’t know how you’re even controlling it. You’re just... floating in there!”

“No wonder Nevvy was so upset when I just floated off,” Tia mused. “But I had to get groceries home. We got ice cream! That needs to get into the freezer pronto!”

“You are MISSING YOUR BODY.”

“And I don’t want to miss my ice cream, too. Bodies regenerate, or mine does. Ice cream does not. I mean... I could make my own.” Tiashar wiggled the feather, fin-like growths she had made in imitation of eyebrows. “But it tastes different from real store ice cream. Also making ice cream in my boobs gets them really cold and it makes hugs awkward when people squeeze too tight.”

“HOW DID YOU LOSE YOUR HEAD, EXPLAIN NOW PLEASE,” Cocoa said very tensely.

“Oh, right. Well on the way to the store, I got caught up in a deathmatch kart derby. I couldn’t just ignore that! And Edhitha was there...”

“Ah,” said Cocoa, understanding. She recalled the red gleam of a messed-up looking blade the curvaceous transasari liked to employ, that had a very nasty effect on people in general, but it was most prominent with Tiashar. She didn’t know the details, but Edhitha’s weapon of choice was an ancient, cursed blade with powers that specifically exploited otherwise minor weaknesses in Tiashar’s physical bodies.

Tiashar’s head floated in its container, the stump of her neck glowing faintly, bits of skin sizzling at parts of her tried to regenerate, but the magic comprising it eaten up before it could happen. “You know,” she said conversationally. “I’m really glad I worked out a way to convert pain sensations into other sensations, because otherwise this would really, REALLY hurt.”

“And... how are you doing? From a medical perspective?” Suiha asked anxiously.

Tiashar sniffed, somehow, in the liquid. “Well, pretty much my entire body can function as whatever organs I need; I just have to... shuffle things around a bit, grow some stuff here and there. It works as fine on my head as anywhere else but it’s not comfortable. Not one bit!” She sneezed, looking pained. “You ever try to grew a fully functional stomach, reproductive system, digestive tract and all these little fiddly things that I forgot what they do, I installed them way too long ago? My ovaries alone are bigger than my head. Fitting them in was not fun, and that was just limiting myself to a dozen.”

“...I thought your insides were bigger in the... inside,” Suiha said faintly. Tiashar’s head didn’t look any different; if she was somehow compacting all those organs into her head, there was no evidence of it.

“I mean, yes, but it’s complicated!” Tiashar shrugged again. “Now, ice cream! In freezer, please!”

“Where’s Nevnir, anyway?” Cocoa asked, as they put it away. “I thought she was with you.

----

Meanwhile.

“GIVE MY MOM’S BODY BACK OR I WILL KILL YOU, RESURRECT YOU, KILL YOU AGAIN, AND KEEP DOING IT FOREVER, YOU GLOWY NIGHTLIGHT THUG!” Nevnir roared, from the top of a monstrously huge vehicle that was a mash-up of a tank, a couple buses, and apparently the side of a building. Several dozen cannons, each big enough for a human to fit into, continually fired from their dozen-plus barrels, shooting sixteen rounds of bunker-busting explosive rounds per second.

The world turned to dirt, explosions and noise, and Edhitha just laughed, standing on the shoulders of what was very clearly Tiashar’s body, minus its head and blindly running under Edhitha’s direction. “Too bad! It’s mine now!” She crowed. “Maybe I’ll make it do a little dance outside our base! I’ll train it to...” She paused, wondering what the most insulting thing Tiashar would see could be. BEneath her, the mindless behemoth body bounced over fences and shells bounced off its body; not able to hurt it, but Nevnir was trying to knock it down. It was producing a LOT of mountianous jiggling, particularly from her massive butt, and had little other effect. “I’ll make her do rude gestures at people! And make them FEEL BAD ABOUT THEIR CLOTHES!”

Nevnir gasped in horror and filial piety. “How dare you! you SCOUNDREL! SEE I’M SO PISSED I’M EVEN TALKING LIKE HER SINCE SHE’S NOT HERE TO TRASH TALK YOU!”

“Mm. Your ma doesn’t really do trash talk. More like... scrapyard talk, but its the kind of scrap where it’s honestly very pretty and was probably shaped by an artisan.”

“I’M NOT GOING TO TELL HER YOU SAID THAT, EVEN IF THAT SOUNDS FLATTERING!”

#/#//#///#////#/////#fics #my writing #twitchy!ocs #twitchy!tiashar #twitchy!cocoa grace #twitchy!nevnir #twitchy!suiha #twitchy!edhitha #tbh this kind of trolling sounds more Jord's deal #the distinction may be that Jord would probably give it back when she got bored #or forget about it and let it wander off #edhitha would commit to the bit #twitchy's oc storebox

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lillaxtrigger · 5 years

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Young Hope: Chapter 27

The twinkling night sky glistens over the metropolis of Townsville, the Spicer manor lighting through the darkness as the sound of applause escapes its walls. Within the living room of the abode itself, a small crowd of friends and family applaud and cheer surrounding the oldest son of the estate; Kingsley holding what looked to be a gold medal in the palms of his hands. The cheers of the small crowd dying down, the boy genius reads the words engraved in the medals reflective gold; saying: “1st place in the Townsville national gadgeteers competition.” After reading the engraving aloud, Kingsley turns back to the welcoming crowd behind him, announcing to them all that: “An award that I couldn’t have begun to imagine winning these past few days. I can’t thank everyone enough for their love, their smart thinking, and their endless support. I sincerely mean it when I say I couldn’t have won this without all of you. Thank you.” “I was all you, Kingsley. You earned that reward.” Persi compliments. “You did such a fantastic job sweetie.” his mother applauds. “Way to go, Spicer.” Cayenne simply cheers.

Despite the almost overwhelming ovation the boy genius gets, only one among the cheering circle outright refuses to join in; Kingsley younger sister glaring through the crowd with her bleak and contemptuous gaze. Chloe’s sour mood only worsens when she witnesses their father approach her smiling brother take the golden medal from him and claim that: “Beating out the entire gadgeteers expo on the first try ain’t something any genius can do. How bout we put this somewhere everyone can see.” Venturing out to the bookshelf on the side of the living room, the father perches the golden reward right in the middle of the shelf; taking center stage next to a collection of various other award owned by his son. “Aw dad, that hunk of gold ain’t nothing. Its the people that helped me along the way that matter more.” Kingsley’s cheesy line causes the crowd to erupt in a whale of applause and laughter, the cheering proving to be the last straw that his red headed sister can take before taking her leave in a bitter huff; her mother being the only one to notices her departure.

In her stomping huff through the living room, Chloe fails to catch the emergency news broadcast playing on their television; the reporter warning that: “-advise everyone to stay inside their homes for the night. The coma epidemic that has been plaguing the entire city this past week is still ongoing and a plausible source has not been identified. Again, our station advises everyone listening to stay in their homes and lock any and all ways in.”

Reaching the front door of their home, Chloe readies to head out; her hand on the knob right when she hears her mom grab her attention with: “Where are you going, honey?” “I’m...I’m going over to Serena’s for a bit. I promised to help her out with her potions.” “Alright, sweetie. Are you going to be okay?” “I’ll be fine mom. I just need to go.” the red head states before making her exit. As she watches her only daughter close their door behind her, the mother can’t help but let out a worrying groan; knowing full well that Chloe is not as fine as she claims to be.

Strolling down the lonesome darkened streets of Townsville, the young red head can’t help but rant aloud to herself about on: “Stupid Kingsley and his stupid rewards and his stupid accomplishments. Its not like I don’t have any kind of rewards that I earned over the years, no. It’s always just about Kingsley, isn’t it. Of course everything I do just winds up getting swept out of the spotlight. I win the national spelling bee, he wins the science fair project. I take home the gold in the school athletic olympics, Kingsley gets all the praise for his portable fusion reactor. I get an actual A+ on my science test, my brother gets rewards on teaching the whole damn class on fission experiments! It’s not fair! It’s just not fair!” Despite her self pitying cries ringing through the entire block, not a single soul around is there to hear her plea; her screaming eventually dying down into apathetic silence. “You’re right. It certainly isn’t fair.”

The unexpected voice echoing nearby suddenly makes the young girl jump, Chloe’s gaze swiftly scanning through the immediate streets in attempting to find who has shared their sympathy; alas finding nobody else around. “Just keep it together, Chloe. You’re probably just hearing things. Nothing but your own imagination.” “Oh contraire, my young budding rose; I’m no mere illusion conjured by your young adolescent mind. Nay, you’ve been humbly graced by a being from the very heavens themselves; here to free you from your woes and ease your mind.” Despite shaking in her shoes, the young lady stands still in the midst of this new disembodied voice; questioning on with: “Why are you so worried about me?” “Because, dear Chloe; your brother isn’t the only special one in the family. You boast so much more potential than you realize. So much so that it could surpass your own brothers feats, leaving you the shining star in everyone eyes.” “Really...how?” “All that you need is already is already around your little neck.” The voice in her head revealing such, Chloe pulls out the amazon crystal tucked underneath her dress; its pink glow permeating through the surrounding darkness. “My crystal?” “Indeed. That little trinket you have holds underneath its silky smooth shell the awesome power of the gods, awaiting for you to unleash its raw energy into this world.” “It has that much?...I was only able to fly and make such small things with it.” “It can do far more than just that. That stone can do far more than you can possibly imagine. Such potential around your neck could surpass even gods, much less, your own brother. I can show the kind of woman you could truly be with such power under your control, all you have do is open your heart...to me...” Such a golden promise echoing in her head, the red heads entire body ceases to tremble as she stares upon the glimmering sheen of her amazon crystal; the consuming shadows around her fleeing from its growing pink light.

As the afternoon sun bakes down the rooftop of the blue boys abode, both Tore and Mally stand at their mothers own bedside underneath; their eyes locked to her motionless, sleeping body. The dark purple dressed witch doctor slides her hands across the moms body, gliding her finger towards her eyes to open them; the mothers pupils bleak and soulless. “Hmm...this definitely isn’t good. How long has she been like this?” Serena questions. “Mom’s been in bed for a day and half straight. I thought she was just tired, but she been out cold this morning too. We tried everything to snap her awake; shake her, cold water, smelling salt, nothing worked.” Mally explains. “We thought she might’ve been hurt on the inside or something; but no matter how much I heal her, she just won’t wake up.” Tore adds. “We tried phoning for every hospital in town, but they’re too busy to even tell us to fuck off.” “I doubt any of them would be much help anyway. Her body isn’t the problem here.” the witch doctor informs. “Its her soul, isn’t it?” all of them hear from behind.

All in the room glance to the door to find the purple merc leaning against the doorway, Roy staring to the mothers unconscious body. “Roy! You’re back!” Mally exclaims. “How’d your date with Roxy go?” Tore asks. To his blue brothers question, the merc can’t bare to make direct eye contact with either of them; his gaze drifting to the corner of the room. “Oh...that bad huh?”

Fixing his eyes back to the three, the purple merc continues to asses the situation at hand by claiming that: “Her souls isn’t there, is it?” “That’s right on the mark. Even with her body at its healthiest; without her soul dwelling within her, she’ll never wake up.” “No problem then, we just find her soul and put it back in. Should be easy enough.” Tore simply states. “If only it were. You say a day and a half has passed since her souls been taken. If it doesn’t get back to her with two more, then her physical body shall become malnourished and she’ll eventually… she’ll eventually die.” The witch doctors harrowing warning sends the trio in a frightening scare; all three of them gazing upon the comatose body of their literally soulless mother. “Roy, can you tell where mom’s soul flew off to?” the blue boy questions his purple brother. “I might. A few sweeps around the city might give us the clues we need.” “The hell are we standing here like idiotic asshats here? Let’s get lookin!” Mally declares. “First, we need to contend with a couple of migraines ready to bust through our door.” Roy warns. “What migraines?” Right on questioning such, all of them hear a loud crash echoing out from the living room; the sound of wood breaking filling the house before somebody scream: “Knock knock, fuckers! We in the house!” “Cayenne! Why’d you break the door down!? We could’ve just knocked!” “Those migraines.”

Racing into the living room, everyone discovers both Kingsley and Cayenne standing before them; chunks of the front door scattered beneath their feet. “Hey guys, you couldn’t have come at a better time.” the blue angel greets. “Mind if I kindly ask what kind of drugged enchilada dipping sauce you ate urged you two to reduce our front door into an example of cheap wood craftsman ship?” the merc question. “It was me.” Serena points out. The trio glancing to the witch doctor behind them, they find Serena with her phone out; claiming that: “I told them to meet me here.” “This is perfect. We could really use your help, I-” Before the blue boy could finish asking for their aid, Cayenne pushes Tore aside as she approaches Serena; soon questioning her if: “Chloe said she was crashing at your place last night. You seen her?” “What? I’ve just been sorting through potions in my basement the other night. I didn’t hear her say anything about coming over.” “Did something happen to her?” Mally asks. “She went out during a little party we had last night and hasn’t come back home since.” Kingsley informs. “You try reaching her through her cell?” Tore wonders as he rises, dusting off the splinters stuck to his clothes. “We’ve tried everything. Phone, voicemails, e-mail, social media accounts; nothing comes up. She’s never been off the radar on her social for this long before, my parents are going insane; they launched a full blown police investigation just to find her.” “And you sure she’s just not passed out in a ditch crying somewhere, cause a full night toiling in your own overblown teenage drama bullshit can do that to a kid?” Roy wonders. “It doesn’t matter what happened to her now. All that matters now is that you hustle your asses outta here and help us find her. Got it?” the spice queen demands. “Yeah, not to sound like a veiny throbbing cock here; but fuck that. We got our own problems to deal with.” the merc turns down. “Sorry guys, but Roy is right. We don’t have the time. We gotta save our mom before she withers away.” Mally adds. “Its alright guys. We get it. Hope you guys can save her in time.”

Out the broken down doorway, Tore, Roy, and Mally all glide out towards the west side of the city; leaving behind them their three visitors. As they stroll away from the broken down door frame, the witch doctor turns her attention to the boy genius and asks if: “Now Kingsley, do you happen to have anything on you that your sister might’ve worn before she disappeared.” “Uh, yeah. Gimme a sec...” After confirming such, Kingsley digs through his jean pockets to pull out a lone diamond earring; claiming that: “This is what she was wearing the night before the party. Its one of her favorite earrings.” “Kingsley, why did you bring that with us?” Cayenne wonders. “I figured bringing it to police could help them track her down. Couple of sniffs from their German shepherds noses would’ve gotten them running after her trail in no time.” “I can assure you that my magic is far more efficient then any dogs the police may use.”

Taking the small accessory from the genius, Serena clasps the earring in the soft palms of her hands; a soft pink glow leaking out from the cracks of her fingers. This enchanting glow soon ventures ahead through the suburban air, the trio witnessing the pink trail drifting towards the city ahead; the witch doctor declaring that: “This aura trail should reveal to us the path Chloe had taken in the last 24 hours. Hopefully, she hasn’t strayed into a bad part of town and-” Before Serena could explain any further, she feels herself rising from the concrete pavement; glancing to her side to witness the spice queen sweeping her off her feet. Ascending from the roadway herself, Cayenne grabs hold of the boy genius beside her; tossing both him and the witch doctor on her back as she declares that: “The hell we standing around like a couple of jack offs here for then? Lets getting moving!” All three of them left on the clock, the spice queen whisks both of them away from the calm suburban neighborhood and towards the deep urban jungle of downtown Townsville.

The trio flying past the countless towering skyscrapers, the boy genius is left stuck on his phone; quelling the incoherent blubbering sounding out on the other end with: “Mom...mom...mom…please calm down. I’m sure if the police are too busy to help us, then I’m sure we can handle it ourselves. We already have Chloe’s trail and are following it as we speak...Yeah...Yeah...love you too...Bye.” As Kingsley puts his phone away, the spice queen underneath him grabs his attention with: “Think that might take more time then you think.” “Why?” the boy genius questions as he gazes to the skyline ahead of them. Before the airborne trio, they discover another of the red heads aura trail venturing out in a different direction; Kingsley questioning the witch doctor with them if: “Uh Serena, this wouldn’t happen to be part of your spell, would it?” “It certainly looks that way. Maybe Chloe took a little detour.” “Doesn’t matter what the hell she’s doin; we just gotta pick one. Thinkin that the new trail can get us to her faster?” “I don’t think so. For all we know, it could be a route she took before hand. Lets stay on the one were following just to be on the safe side.” Kingsley claims. “Whatev.” Their course fixed, all of them keep to the aura trail they were following; the trio continuing to glide deeper into the urban jungle.

Following the red heads pink aura eventually has them reach Townsville’s city square; Cayenne stops in the middle of the air right before the square, causing her two passengers to nearly fall. “Ah, Cayenne! What happened? Why’d you stop?” her best friend questions. Once getting their grips back on the spice queens back, both Kingsley and Serena gaze out to the site that caused her to halt in her tracks; their collective jaws going agap. Woven throughout the entire city square like a bright pink spiders web, Chloe’s trail venture in and out its countless twist and turns; rising and falling across both its streets and skyline. “Chloe flew this much in just one night? That-That’s insane. What was she even doing going through here like this?” “The fuck is this clusterfuck? How the hell are we supposed to figure out where she went with this horseshit?” Cayenne barks. “This is quite the troubling predicament! I’m not sure any spells I can do right now can sort through this mess.” Serena admits. “You got any that might?” the boy genius questions. “I could whip up a concoction that would be more than up for the job, though it may take some time for me to brew.” “Just give us a call when its ready.” The boy genius suggesting such, the witch doctor leaps off the spice queens backside; dissipating in a wave of sparkles. After Serena leaves them, both Kingsley and Cayenne continue forth with their search; following one of the many aura trails woven through the city square.

Flying out from around the neighboring corner, Tore, Roy, and Mally continue their own search through the depths of the urban jungle; the purple merc concentrating as they glide across the city skyline. “You getting any kind of read yet, bro?” Mally questions. “Nrr...Still nothing…I’m starting to think whoever took moms soul might’ve dragged it outta town by now.” A frustrated growl escapes from their orange haired sisters teeth; the skater claiming on how: “We don’t have that kinda time! If they really did ditch town, then we’ll never find them like this. We need a lead or something to give us an edge in this investigation.” “More like a whole damn police report.”

While both of his siblings continue flying forth, Tore breaks right in front of the massive TV screen beside them, the screen broadcasting the news network as its reporter states how: “The coma epidemic plaguing the city this past week has exploded last night. Cases of over 6 dozen people left comatose in their homes coming in from every corner of the city.” Before straying too far ahead, Mally glances back to discover their blue brother left staring to the city square television; grabbing her purple brother with: “Roy, hol up. Think Tore might be falling behind.” “Dammit, again? Swear to Hera, if he thinks he sees a crack in the road that looks like a third world country again; I’m gonna smack him into it.” The duo retreat back towards their brother’s side, finding him captivated by the massive monitor perched over the town square; the black winged merc claiming that: “Christ sake, man; we’re on the job. Get yer sorry blue ass in gear and-” “Hang on, Roy. Look.” their sister implores; pointing to the oversized TV itself. As all of them gaze upon the ongoing news report, they hear the reporter herself continue her story with: “Hospitals all over town are crowded with all the countless comatose victims coming in, and the increasing numbers not giving them a single break. Even as the police are unfortunately still at a loss on who might be behind these escalating attacks, the boys in blue vow to not to rest until they catch the culprit responsible. I’m Jessie Blankman, signing off.” After the news broadcast comes to a close, a commercial for pine scented baking soda comes on; Mally talking over the commercial by questioning if: “You think all that might be related to our moms soul getting snatched?” “Could be a good place to get a lead at least.” the blue angel claims. “It ain’t like we got anything else to go off of.” the purple merc reminds them. A destination in mind, the trio rocket away from the jumbo sized monitor and further above the skyline; gliding north away from the city square.

“Yeah, no. You guys ain’t getting in.” Out at the front entrance of the hospital itself, a lone police officer prevents the trio from barging inside; standing against the entrance doors. “What!?” Tore shouts. “Fuck off!” Roy bark. “Why not!?” Mally questions. “Its cause the staff and police in there are way too busy taking care of all the comatose patients coming from all over the city. So unless any of you have sustained any life threatening injuries or know any victims inside for visiting hours, I’m afraid I can’t let you all in.” “As a matter of fact, officer, we do know somebody inside and we oh so desperately want to see them in their hour of need.” the blue angel dramatically feigns. “Oh really, mind giving a last name?” “Of course, dear police woman of the law. Its...uh...” While attempting to conjure from the bowls of his mind a plausible last name, the blue boy gazes around for whatever he could for reference; first catching a passing truck with buttered corn on a kob. “Corn...” The next to enter is field of vision be an open manhole, several worker attempting to redirect traffic as one of them accidently falls in. “hole...a...” He manages to craft the final piece of his faux last name by glancing to a sign on the wayside, finishing with: “Sign...” Turning back to the officer with a smile, the blue angel takes in a deep breath and claims to her that: “You’re not really buying this, are you?” “Obviously not.”

“Even if you don’t believe that bullshit, we actually do have somebody that has medical treatment.” Roy suddenly protest. “And that would be-” Before the police woman could finish questioning the merc, everyone proves shocked to witness the young purple teenager slug himself right in the kidney; the self inflicted punch causing Roy to double over in pain. After coughing out pint of blood from his mouth, the merc looks up to the officer as he moans and wheezes if: “Now you mind letting us in.” The officers shock swiftly deflates before the downed purple merc, the police woman dead face demanding that: “Please leave before I have you all arrested.”

Along the opposite side of the hospital behind the dumpster, Tore has his hand firmly placed along his purple brother’s side; a soft white glow enveloping the part of his waist as he screams: “What a big blue bitch! Practically spilling out my own insides on the hot concrete and she won’t ask if I was alright. Outta have her sorry sexy ass fired for turning down somebody in need like that. Fuck her with a barbed cattle prod.” “Since just busting through the front door is obviously not an option, how else are we supposed to get inside?” Mally ponders. “I don’t get it. Can’t we just sneak inside through the roof?” the blue angel wonders. “And have a ton of people wonder who we are. And why we’re there? Face it. There’s way too many staff on hand right now to sneak inside reliably.” “Not to mentions it would eat too much of our time up. Unless we happen to have a police uniform on hand, getting through would be next to impossible.” Right in that moment does the sharp sound of a brief siren horn penetrate their ears; all of their eyes drawn to the nearby corner. Peeking beyond the hospitals brick corner, all three of them find the back of a lone cop car parked along the side of the building; housing only a single police officer inside. “Guess we found our uniform. Now we just have to find a way to get it.” Tore claims. “I think I might know how.” Roy claims with a devious grin. “Does it involve beating the crap outta that cop?” Mally questions. “Yees.”

From the comfort of his heated cop car, the lone policeman peels back the paper lid of his steaming cup of noodles; the aroma of vegetables and pork filling the inside of the vehicle. He digs his fork into a bit of the soft noodles dwelling within the cup, pulling them up towards his mouth as the steam escapes from within. Mere seconds before he could savor their flavor, a desperate plead for help penetrates the shell of his cop car; the officer hearing somebody cry out: “Officer, help!” Glancing to the side, the policemen discovers an orange haired girl right outside his window; hearing her further plead on how: “My brothers bleeding out behind the hospital. I can’t carry him by myself.” Hearing this, the upstanding officer swiftly puts his cup of noodles away and rushes out the door; promising the girl that: “Don’t worry. I’ll help you carry your brother inside. Where is he?” “He’s around the corner! Hurry!” Claiming such, the kind officer follows the young girl out beyond the corner of the hospital; rushing out to the other side as he informs how: “Hang on, son. The docs inside will patch you right...uh...” Perplexing the policeman, he finds not a single soul awaiting behind the corner; not even so much as a body to discover. “Hold on, where is you broth-” Just before the officer could finish questioning the girl, he soon feels the brunt of the purple angels knuckles punch him square in the face; the blunt strike proving more than enough to knock the man in blue clean out.

Hog tied and stripe of his uniform, the unconscious officer is tossed right in the dumpster; the blue angel shutting the lid and turning to his siblings to ask if: “So, you think he’s gonna be okay in their while we “Borrow” his clothes.” “Ah don’t worry. I’m sure the dozens of diseased ridden rats and cockroaches’ll keep him plenty busy.” Roy claims as he dusts off their freshly pilfered uniform. The merc then tosses the blue uniform over to his blue brother and demands that he: “Now get dressed, you’re sneakin in.” Catching the uniform in his arms, Tore wonders: “Me? Why can’t either of you do it.” “Reason Mally can’t do it is cause nobody’s gonna reliably believe that a cop would be that damn short.” This passive aggressive comment gets the purple merc a hockey stick to the head, alongside his sister claiming that: “I’m still growing, asshole!” “And the reason you can’t?” Tore persists. “Agh! Cause strolling around as an officer with one arm is just asking to get ya stopped constantly with: “Oh, how did you lose your arm?” or “You must have been some hero willing to sacrifice your limb to save someone else.” Like “Bitch, I ain’t got any of yo time for your curious bullshit! I’m on the fuckin clock! Move yo sexy ass’s aside; I got shit to do.” I’d just be that kinda Saturday night show on repeat the entire god damn time.” “Alright, fine. Just gimme a couple minutes to get dressed and get in there.” Requesting this, the blue angel ascends to the roof of the hospital with the uniform in hand; parts of his clothes fluttering down to his awaiting siblings.

Coming out from the doorway leading to the rooftop, the blue angel enters the polished white halls of the city’s hospital; tucking in his blue hair underneath the signature police cap. Passing by a hallway mirror, the officer impersonator stops to take a good look at himself in uniform; realizing that he pulls off blue like a beast. Still, that ain’t much of a surprise. We’re talking about the guy that combos with a blazer pretty damn well. Wonder if this uniform comes in white. Interrupting his self reflecting be the harsh sound of a child’s cry; the disguised angel’s eyes drifting off to the nearby door. Glancing through the doors window, he discovers a woman and her child at the beside of a comatose patient; the little boy left sobbing in tears from his fathers unconscious body. A saddening site that further drives the blue boys determination, though urges him to look somewhere else to let his siblings inside.

While venturing away from the occupied patients room, the disguised boy in blue hears a sudden voice underneath him filtered by static; Tore glancing to his belt to find the police radio going off and broadcasting another officer that says: “Officer Barbrady, come in. Do you copy?” Despite his initial nervousness, the indigo angel detaches the radio from his pilfered belt and opens communications with: “Uh...Y-yes ma’am. Just stationed at the Northwest hospital; attempting to interview the families visiting the comatose patients.” “Good. Stay stationed there to keep us updated on how many vacancies are left. Lord know’s there are only so many they can take.”

“Right, I’ll keep you updated with all that. B-Barbrady out.” With her fellow officer hanging up, the police woman puts her radio away as she gazes to the site of the break in before her and her crew; a pair of paramedics carrying an unconscious man out of their home via a stretcher from the broken doorway. Passing the pair of medics carrying the poor man away, the officer takes a good look at the door lying on the porch; taking note the untouched hinges along its side. A peculiar site indeed, especially counting no signs of blunt force or evidence of tools; almost as if somebody was inside and slide the hinges right off and put them back on. The question in mind being why exactly somebody would go through this much trouble just for a break in. As the police woman ponders such, she turns her attention to the other officers exiting the home; questioning them if: “You guys find any else to report? Any prints inside yet?” “Aside from the victims prints, we got nothing. You think with a seamless break in like this, they’d at least steal some loose change from the couch cushions; but absolutely nothing was stolen. No money, no tech, no jewels, no valuables; not even a single cent.” Hearing all this, a small growl escapes from between the police woman's teeth; the officer then claiming how: “That’s over the 50th case like that this week. We practically got the entire city’s force spread thin over this epidemic. Worse off, the docs back at the hospitals ain’t reporting anything wrong with them. It’s just not making any sense.”

Watching their investigation from along the roof of the building across the street, both the spice queen and her boy genius bitch witness something that the police fail to see; the site of their red headed sisters trail leading inside the very home they stand in. “And that would be the forth broken in house her trail has lead us towards. You wanna start assuming the worst or should I?” Cayenne questions. “It’s just not making any sense. What’s Chloe doing breaking into random people’s houses like this?” “You mean more than usual?” “Cayenne, I’m being serious here. We haven’t got a clue what she’s doing flying around town like this to people houses owned by people who’ve been rendered comatose; not to mention the site of police wherever we follow the trail not leaving the best impression.” “Kingsley, chill. I’m sure she’ll pop up on our radar sooner or later. Serena’s already workin on something that can trace her out.” “I’m not even sure we have that kinda time.” “The hell else are we supposed to do beside fuck off with dicks in our mouths?” “Hmm...We might have better luck if we go back home and get better equip. A couple of gadgets in the basement might help us out.” Claiming such, the boy genius rides upon the spice queens backside and take off into the city skies; both of them gliding out back towards the direction of the Spicer manor.

Back inside the white halls of the hospital, the boy disguised in lawful blue peeks inside another patient room; finally discovering one with a patient with no visitors. A rather pitiable site seeing this poor man rendered unconscious without so much as a single visitor by his bedside; but nonetheless making his room the perfect point of entry for his siblings to fly right on inside. The lone mans room proving the perfect entry point; Tore checks around to see if the coast is clear; darting his eyes around the halls for any unwanted witnesses. Finding the halls clear of anyone, the boy in blue rushes inside and shuts the door behind him; soon passing by the bedridden patient and right to the window. Looking beyond its glass, the blue angel glances down to find both of his siblings in waiting; unlocking the frame and sliding the window up.

On the ground floor underneath, both Mally and Roy patiently await for their blue brother to give them a way inside; all the while the orange girl persist on asking her purple brother on how: “So you not even gonna tell me how you lost Roxanne so fast? Cause last I heard, you guys were doing alright at the least. What the hell happened between you that night?” “And I keep having to mention that I don’t wanna talk about it. Seriously, can you at least give me the courtesy of a week to let the scars heal before prying right back in?” “I’m just wanting to figure out how it all fell apart. You were so excited to see her when you left and when you got back, you looked so dead inside. Why?” “What part of “I don’t wanna talk about it.” can I not get through your fucking helmeted skull!?” the merc aggressively questions, his tone taking the young girl back a bit. “Al-Alright, fine. You win. We’ll drop it.” “Egh...Sorry about that. It’s just been a little hard on me to get past; especially since it was about her-” Before the merc could continue to explain, both of them hear their blue brother overhead, announcing to them that: “Hey there kids. Wanna break into a hospital? Get yer 99 cent asses in here pronto.” Flying up to the floor their brother stands with the skater at his back, Roy and Mally climb through the open window; soon finding the comatose patient whose room they broke into. “Nice work, bro.” As the merc passes by his police disguise brother, Roy can’t help but correct him on how: “And my sweet ass is definitely worth more then a fuckin dollar, asshole...Its at least a hundred.”

Coming to the slumbering gentlemen’s bedside, the purple angel takes a quick scan through the man’s comatose body; repeatedly poking and slapping the poor guys face. “You think its like how mom was left?” Mally asks. “Yep, this poor bastard is just like how she was. Dead asleep and without a soul to speak of.” After inspecting the slumbering patient, the merc takes a glancing out the door’s window; his senses picking up a good few people inside the neighboring room gathered over what he finds to be an empty bed. Its probably a safe bet that its a family weeping over the condition of their loved ones; it be pretty damn stupid to believe them to be crying over literally nothing; a pattern that the merc can sense all through parts of the entire buildings. “And if the rest of the patients are anything like this guy, then we might have ourselves a good lead.” Turning back towards his two siblings, Roy goes on to explain how: “Whoever is flying around reapin souls outta people in the middle of the night like some vampiric asshole fresh of the cusp off discovering his crazed soul fetish is the same mofo that ganked our moms very own soul.” “Great, have any idea who it might be?” the skater questions. “Eh, not sure. Only really know a handful of people that can casually pluck souls outta people like a picking fermented apples from the orchard of a drunken fruit farmer.” Taking a turn to peek outside himself, the boy in blue witnesses staff roll in another comatose man through the white halls; a family of a woman and two children tailing the mans bed. A small smile forms between his cheeks as he declares that: “We might be able to find out. Time for this uniform to work its magic.”

Inside the room that the slumbering man had been left within, the doctor tending to the patient turns away from the comatose victim; gazing to the wife and claiming to the family how: “We have no idea what kind of ailment is troubling your husband, ma’am. All the tests we’ve done on the other patients like him have come up completely negative. I hate to say this, but I can’t accurately tell how long your husband may be in this coma for.” Hearing this news causes the wife to look to her two children, streams of tears welling in their eyes. “I’ll give all of you some privacy.” the doctor offers as she leaves the room. The door behind them shutting, the daughter of the two children gazes up to their mother and asks: “Mommy, will dad be okay?” “Oh, daddy will be alright. We just need to give him time to sleep.” “How long will it be until he wakes up?” the brother of the two kids question. “I’m...sure that it won’t be long until he gets right back up and gives us all a big hug.” the mom claims with trembling breath.

From giving her two children this false hope, she hears the door behind them open once more; the family glancing to the doorway to witness a lone blue haired officer coming inside to greet them all with: “Afternoon there, ladies and gents. How are ya’ll holdin up?” “Wait, who are you?” the woman questions. “I’m...with the Townsvilles police department, here under investigation on what’s been causing this comatose epidemic sweeping this fair city’s citizen. You think you’d be comfortable answering a couple questions?” “Oh...yeah, of course.” Once wiping away the tears in her eyes, she looks down to her two children and asks them if: “Kids, can you go to the cafeteria to get some snack so mommy can talk to the nice policeman?” “Yeah, mom.” Upon their mothers orders, the two stroll out the patients room; leaving the woman and the faux officer alone with their unconscious father. “I know how hard it must be talking about all this so soon, but-” “It’s fine, really. Maybe talking about this with somebody like you can at least give my family a little piece of mind. To know that someone out there is at least doing something to fix all this.”

Claiming such, the woman pulls a seat from the edge of the room as the false officer does the same; both taking their seats as the blue hair policeman first starts off with: “Obvious question outta the way: What were you and your spouse doing the night he was struck with a coma?” “M-My husband and I were in bed around 3 in the morning. I was feeling parched and my husband happened to have gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom; so I asked him to grab me a glass of water while he was up. While I was trying to drift off back to bed, I hear the sound of a strong wind blowing across my house; followed by the sound of breaking glass. I thought that maybe the windows broke, so I got myself up to find my husband so we could fix it. When I raced into the kitchen to go grab him however, I found him passed out onto the floor with bits of water and glass. As I looked through my kitchen for what might’ve happened, I look over to the door and I find it pried right off its frame with the hinges still screwed on. It still perplexes me how he wound up like this last night.” After retelling the events that transpired the night her husband was struck with a coma, a harrowing sigh escapes from her lips; further claiming on how: “The kids haven’t been taking it well either. I just don’t know what else to tell them. They love their dad so much, he means the world to them.” Despite his eyes drifting away from the woman’s last comment, the faux officer gazes back to the wife and presses further with: “I don’t wanna cause you any further distress then you must be already going through, but did you happen to notice anything peculiar when you checked on your husband? Something leaving the scene perhapes?” “You mean aside from the door being taken off?” “Clearly.” “Well, there was one thing that I caught the minute I found my husband. When I saw him on the ground, I notices something shining just outside my window. I go outside, thinking that somebodies out there; call the police and get a give them a good description. But the moment I get out, the light was already too far in the sky to see who it might be. All I could make out was a bright pink glow.”

From within the dark corridors of the Spicer abode, a bright pink glow reflects off the kitchen tile as it escapes into the black recesses of the manor; the darkened halls swiftly filling with light as the front doors crack open. Behind the wooden door stood both the boy genius and the Spice queen, Cayenne gazing to the shadowy halls ahead and wondering aloud: “The hell are your lights out for?” As both of them stroll further through the darkened halls of the manor, the son of the abode calls out to his parents with: “Mom, Dad. Any of you home? Did the police call yet?” The young boys call falls on deaf ears however, Kingsley’s voice echoing through the shadowy halls of the manor. “Think they might’ve just fucked off?” Cayenne wonders. Pulling out his phone, the boy genius takes a quick glance to his messages, claiming on how: “I didn’t get any texts. Maybe Dad’s in the basement.” As the duo venture further through the darkness of the manor, both of them turn on whatever lights they can; all the while repeatedly calling for both of the boy geniuses parents. “Mom, Dad! Where are you?” “Mr and Mrs. Spicer? You can put the explosives away, its just us.” In hopes of covering more house, the duo split apart, the spice queen heading towards the kitchen while the boy genius heads for the basement. Cayenne finally glides inside the darkened corners of the manors kitchen, gazing into its shadows to attempt and find a light switch; her eyes drawn to a lone hand breaking from the void. Curious of whose hand it is, the spice queen enters further in the kitchen; a horrified glare forming the further she comes in.

Creaking open the basement door, the light from the hallway above leaks into shadows below; the boy genius standing in the doorframe as he stares down into the black void of his underground lab. “Dad...you in here?” Kingsley calls out to his father, his voice ringing down the steps. With his call baiting no response. The boy genius prepares to descend the steps into the darkness below, carefully climbing down each step at a time. He doesn’t even get to a quarter of the way down before his ears catch the call of his friend crying: “K-Kingsley!” Hearing such, the boy genius himself swiftly climbs back up the bright hallway; soon sprinting across the halls as he shouts: “Cayenne, what’s wrong!”

His urgent question yielding no response, Kingsley hurries through the halls of his manor; following the source of the spice queens call towards the kitchen. The young man finally reach his rough and tough friends side, finding Cayenne left completely paralyzed in horror as her gaze is locked to the shadows of the tiled floor. Gazing into the kitchen himself, the young man is meet with a nightmare of his becoming a reality; a deep and primal glare of incredible dread forming across his face. Before the two teenagers lie Kingsleys own mother, struck motionless upon the kitchen tile and rendered completely unconscious. This dreadful site fresh before him, the young man sprints back towards the basement; Cayenne glancing to her departing friend as he retreats from her side. Rushing through the basement door, the boy genius jumps down the darkened steps in a single bound; landing right at the very bottom. “Dad!” he cries out as he flips the light switch. The lights above flood the entire basement with their glow; illuminating the underground lab and revealing yet another site that conjures the young mans horrible nightmares before him. Kingsley’s own father lying motionless across the workbench; the tools at his side falling to the polished marble floor.

Along the back of the hospital, the blue angel tosses his pilfered police uniform inside the very dumpster they left the hog tied officer in; glancing to his purple brother as he review that: “So all the info we managed to cope outta the victims families all say the same damn thing. That somebody shining a bright pink light around is going around and harvesting souls as fast as a farmer on the cusp of a nuclear winter.” “So we just gotta find and beat the shit outta this bitch and we’ll get everyone’s souls back; even our mom’s.” Tore claims. “If only it were that simple. We still don’t got any clue whose behind this soul stealing spree. All we have to go by is that the thief likes bright pink. Not exactly the best lead to go off of.” Mally reminds them. “Actually, I think I might have a hunch of who our culprit might be.” the merc testifies. “Really?” his sister questions. “Who you think it is?” his blue brother wonders. Just before their purple brother could answer them, the trio hear somebody’s phone go off; the orange skater pulling out her mobile device and checking her messages; claiming that: “Got a texts from Kingsley. Saying we need to come to his place ASAP.” “What for? Don’t they know we’re busy?” Roy questions. “He doesn’t say. Must be important enough enough to type in all caps though.” “The hell are we waiting around for. Let’s move!” Tore declares. Just as the trio take off towards the direction of their friends manor, a dump truck turns the hospital corner and pulls up to the dumpster; the truck grabbing hold of the dumpsters side and pouring its contents in the back, the unfortunate tied policeman tumbling right alongside the miscellaneous garbage.

Resting upon the Spicer’s living room couch, both Kingsley’s mother and father lie peacefully next to each other; all the while their son beside them gazes upon them with a mix of wayward panic and fear. “So, both of them were like this when you came in?” Mally asks. “Yep. Completely out when we got here. Tried everything to wake them up. Even smacking Mr.Spicers face around a couple times. Not even a wink.” Cayenne confirms. “I..I just-I...I don’t know how all this could happen so fast… Just last night, everything was going so well. Surround by friends and family after winning the biggest inventors show in town, I was the happiest I could ever be… Now...and now...my family is practically falling apart before my eyes. And I don’t know how to make it all better. I don’t know how to fix any of it!” In the midst of the boy genius’s panicking episode; his best friend grasps the boys backside; urging him to: “Kingsley, relax. I’m sure we can get through this.” “Who-Why would someone do all this!?”

Approaching the comatose couple, the blue angel gazes upon their still, motionless bodies; opening the fathers eye to find his pupil bleak and lifeless. Once taking a look at the two, Tore turns to his purple brother and questions if he: “Think its the same?” “Exactly the same. Like our mom and all those other patients at the hospital, both of their bodies are completely devoid of any trace of a soul left.” Pulling away from the boy genius, Cayenne turns over to the merc himself, questioning the purple bastard if: “Hold the hell on here people. You tellin me you three know what the fucks going on with this comatose bull?” “Sure do. Whoever stole our mom’s and everyone else’s souls just paid both of Kingsley parents a little visit here.” the skater explains. “And we might have a pretty good guess who might be behind it.” the blue angel adds. “Who you think it is?” Hearing Cayenne question them such, the trio gaze upon one another with worry in their eyes; Mally breaking from their stare and warning that: “You guy might not like hearing who we think it is.” “Please...just tell us.” Kingsley pleads as he pulls himself away from his parents bedside. The spice queen can’t help but look to the boy genius with concern, asking him if: “Kingsley, you sure your up for this.” “All I know is that there isn’t enough time for me to be sure. We need to act now if we wanna start fixing all this. Even if it may seem impossible, we need to keep going.” Her friends little speech makes the spice queen crack a small smile, Cayenne turning to the trio and demanding that: “You heard the man. Lay it on us.” When pressed to continue, a small hiss escapes from between the purple mercs teeth; finally claiming to the two of them that: “We...We think that the culprit might be your little sister.”

This shocking speculation reaching their ears, their determination is swiftly cut short in but an instant; their pupils shrinking to the size of peas. “What?...” “That...That’s….That’s fucking horseshit! Don’t fucking joke like that!” the spice queen screams, seemingly on the verge of lashing out at them at any moment. “Were...being serious here, Cayenne. All the friends and family of the patients I’ve talked to at the hospital gave almost the same story; that shortly after finding their loved ones comatose, they saw a bright pink light leaving the scene.” Tore explains. “I can’t make any sense of this. What would drive her to suddenly go around and take peoples souls, especially from our own parents?” “You two notice anything off about her before she went MIA?” the merc questions. “Well, mom did say Chloe was acting strange before she left, like she was trying to hide the fact that she was upset about something. She didn’t say anything that night cause of the party and thought she needed some time to herself. God, why didn’t I notice anything? I was so busy celebrating with my friends and family that I didn’t even realize she wasn’t with us! What kind of big brother am I!?” the boy genius self deprecates, tears welling in his eyes. In the midst of the boy genius’s potential breakdown, Cayenne grasp his side and urges him to: “Kingsley, relax. I’m sure we’ll find her. There’s still time to salvage all this.” “She’s right Kingsley, we don’t got time to break down and cry here. All of us need to work together if we wanna sort all this out.” Tore explains.

“Mind if I cut in this little moment to remind everyone that we still don’t got a way to tell where our little cherry coke culprit is at and we basically still have next to nothing to go off of?” Roy interupts. “Aren’t you the one with the senses and social decency of a dirty bloodhound? Why can’t you just sniff them out yourself?” the spice queen rudely counters. “That usually be the case, especially with how much power that little necklace of hers is carrying. And yet despite that, I can’t feel a thing. Can really only think of two reasons why; either she got the hell outta dodge and fucked off outta town.” “Or?” Tore wonders. “She found some a way to cover her tracks. And judging from the little soul harvest that happened last night, it’s probably more of the latter than the former.” “So what does all that mean?” the boy genius questioning. “He’s full of shit is what it means.” Cayenne rudely claims. “Still, even with all the people she’s been reaping, I doubt she can carry them all on her at once; especially given the rapid rate she’s collecting them.” the merc continues. “You think Chloe might be stockpiling them somewhere?” Tore wonders. “If that’s true, then how come you can’t find where they’re all that?” Mally adds. “Could be cloaking them all the same way she’s cloaking herself. Don’t know how though.”

“Alright, I had just enough of this bag of prepackage zebrashit. What the hell makes all of you so sure that Chloe doing all this instead of being in the hands of child trafficking psychopath?” “Oh, I’m sorry. You happen to know anybody else that can glow a bright shade of neon pink...No? Well then, may I courteously invite your spicy mouth to taste the jalapeno chili sliding out of my rectum?” “How bout I make you taste something else, you purple prick!?” Before the spice queen could throw a single punch to the merc’s smug ass face, the blue angel gets between the two of them; Tore confessing to the spice queen that: “Look, we don’t know if its Chloe for sure. But given the increase in coma cases since last night, it just something we should keep in mind.” “Imma about serve both of ya’ll a fresh hot can of whoop ass stew if you don’t shut yer damn mouths.” Its then that the entire confrontation is put to a sudden stop when all three of them hear the orange skater go off on them; screaming to them that: “All of you just shut up! We’re all on the clock here and we can’t waist the minutes giving each other piles of crap. If any of you wanna help us get everyone’s souls back and save potential hundreds of live, then can all of you kindly stop flinging yer shit like a bunch of fuckin monkeys!” Hearing such a booming outburst come from the orange skater causes everyone to grow completely silent; the spice queen can’t help but give her a little applause.

To his guest’s loud outburst, the boy genius takes a glance back to both of his comatose parents lying upon the felt of their couch; affirming to all of them that: “She’s right.” Kingsley gazes back to the rest of them with a determined glare, continuing to back Mally’s statement with: “If were actually gonna get anywhere in this mess, we need to stop fighting with each other and combine both of our investigations into one. We won’t rest until we find Chloe and who’s been taking everyone’s soul.” “Guess we know who’s callin the shots here. What you think we should do?” the blue angel wonders. “First thing we should do is try and gather more info on all this. A clue or two to point us in the right direction.” “Didn’t you say something earlier about the police investigating Chloe’s disappearance?” the skater reminds. “The boys in blue are workin on it, but I doubt they’d be much help. And I doubt they’ll be so ready to hand over their confidentials to a bunch of random ass kids.” Cayenne confirms. “Not unless you pull in a couple of favors from the inside.” the purple merc corrects. “From a merc job of yours?” Tore guesses. “Somethin like that. Caught wind of a little scandle involving Townsville’s boys in blue a couple weeks back. They might help us if they don’t want their shit to get leaked. The kinda shit that makes people wanna punch you in the throat and beat the juicy red organs outta you while gasping for air. Calling in a couple of those kinds of favors should get us hooked up with all the info we need on both cases.” “Sorry but, are we really gonna go so far as to blackmail the police to get what we want?” the boy genius questions. “Yes.” the spice queen bluntly states. “I-...Tsk, alright then. Guess I’ll stay here and read what I can from it all. It might be best for the rest of you guys to go around and ask our friends for anything they might’ve saw.” “Sounds like a plan.” Mally claims. “Gotcha, Captain.” Tore salutes. “Right behind ya.” Cayenne states. “Hopefully we can muster enough clues out’ve it all to fix this whole mess before it all comes tumbling down on us.”

Throughout the entire police station, the few officers within scramble through the insides in efforts to manage the oncoming calls and reports; the sound of footsteps and voices ringing inside the entirety of the station as they man the phone lines and carry in new documents. Taking the brunt of all this stress be the very captain of the force himself, glued to his private desk as he looks over the constant cases coming in; taking a couple of ibuprofen pills with his coffee in between his hefty breath. Come on, Captain Blanks; get a hold of yourself. Everyone in the city is hauling in coma reports and counting on you to get to the cause of this epidemic. Hopefully, we can find whose behind all this; for the sake of the city’s sanity...and ours.

In the midst of his constant work on the tablet, the intercom beside him sounds off; somebody on the other end informing the chief that: “Captain Blanks. There’s a private call directed to your office that’s attempting to get through. He says he’s a friend of yours.” “Are you kidding me, Jackson? Do we look like we got time for any kind of prank these teenagers have up their asses? Turn them down!” “Uh, the caller’s saying he want to talk to you about something called, uh...The Strawberry Jamboree of Mildreds farm.” Hearing this bizarrely specific phrase is all it takes to instantly send a freezing chill up the captains spine; the man left standing stiffly silent as the tablet in his hands drops to the floor. “Uh...Sir…Are you still there?” the receptionist questions. “Put him through.” “What?” “Now Jackson, and close the other lines!.” “Y-Yes captain!”

Once the captains receptionist hangs up, the cap’s own trembling hands grasps the neck of the private phone beside him; putting the phone up to his ear and hearing the caller greet the captain with: “Hi, Blanky babyyyy!” “What the fuck are you doing calling me at a time like this, Roy? You realize how busy we all are?” “Chillaz, big guy. I’m just calling in to cash in a little favor we settled on, that’s all.” “I seriously don’t have a single second to spare for you to fling your bullshit at me. The entire police force is up to their necks in constant comatose cases coming in from all over the city and we’re spread out thinly enough as is. I sure as hell don’t need another headache on me to worry about right now.” “Well ain’t that just a big coinkydinky for us all, ain’t it. A couple of my pallies and I are busy looking in the same exact thing; comatose people and all. You know we all have loved ones going through this shit, so you can probably understand. Which is why I’ll be needing to cash in that favor we agreed on a couple weeks ago on the farm; preferably in the form of whatever documents and evidence you guys managed to gather on the whole case. Sound cool?” “Are you being real with me? You’re just expecting me to drop everything we’re working on to sneak out confidential reports and documents with our ongoing case just to hand it all over to some random asshole on the phone? You know what that’ll make me look like?” “Can’t make you look any worse if the news outlets hear about all your little “guests” you took over at the strawberry farm.” “How the hell do you think I can haul out countless documents and reports from a hot ongoing case without getting my blue ass caught?” “I don’t fuckin know. Just copy a bunch and send it my way; it ain’t my problem. But it will be your’s if the entire state catches on with what kind of fertilizer their grocery bought strawberries are grown with.” “Nrrgh! Fine, just gimme a little time to work, kay.” “Thanks, blanky babyyy! Tell yer girl I said hi!” Their little negotiations ending with the purple merc giving a little smooch, the captain hears the line disconnect; the line ringing in his ears as a cold shutter runs down his spine. The captain slams the phone back on his desk as he waltzes out behind his desk; opening his door to face the sectritary on the other side and demanding: “Jackson, grab all the documented files we have on the comatose case, pronto.”

Standing to the face of a house stationed along the suburbs, the orange skater roughly knocks upon the front door; hearing from the other side a familiar voice urging her that: “Hang on a second!” After hearing this, Mally witnesses the door fling wide open to reveal the ice dragon herself; a slightly offput glare forming upon the skaters face when finding her snacking on a lone strawberry. “Oh uh, you. Nnn...Maylord, right?” “That-that’s not even a...” After stammering this, a small sigh escapes from the skaters lungs; continuing past the ice benders excuse to guess her name with: “Just look, I’m tryin to get around a little problem I have going on here. You happen to have heard anything from Chloe in the last 24 hours or so.” “Mind I ask why you wanna stalk her that badly? You that thirsty for cherry red coke?” The icy manipulators accusing questions causes the skater face to glow beat red; defensively flustering aloud that: “No-I-wh-Ju-It’s-it’s just for business reasons, okay!?” “Yuh huh. Sure.” Opal sarcastically agrees as she readies to shut her front door. Before the ice bender could slam the door shut, the orange skater jams her foot in the door frame; admitting to Opal that: “Fine. It’s cause Chloe went missing! She didn’t come home last night and Kingsley and the others are trying to find her.”

The ice bender hearing her sudden visitor claim such, she opens her door for the skater once more; letting out a little sigh before answering her with: “Alright. I might have seen something up with her.” “Like what?” “Well, I was walking back home from the mall last night after getting a pair of cute shoes for only half off last night; figured since I had most of my winter gear on, I might as well take a little stroll along the scenic route cause I haven’t had a good walk in forever.” “Is this gonna take long?” “I’m getting to it. Anyway, I take a little stop over to this small part of downtown; the place with the cute little ramen shop that do the chocolate fortune cookie. I figured why not grab something to eat since I mom wouldn’t be home until ten.” “So where does Chloe come in?” “Patients dammit. Before I could go right in, I look over and see her right across the street all by herself. I figured that she might just been lost or going home so I thought why not grab a bite with her; it’ll give us some time to catch up. As I was walking towards her however, I notices that she was talking to herself; all while holding out that little pink gem of hers from around her neck. And as soon as I found her, the red head just flew off without so much as another word. I’ll be honest, it kinda creeped me out a bit.” “You happen to catch which way she was going?” “If I remember correctly, I saw her heading out towards the east side of town. Don’t really know why’d she want to go there really. I hear its kind of a mess over there.” “Alright, thanks a bunch Opal.” the orange skater claims. Having finished questioning the ice bender, she starts to take her leave from Opal’s home; but not before glancing back to point at her strawberry and warn her that: “By the way, don’t eat those strawberries; they’re made out of dead people.” The sudden warning causes the ice girl to cough up whatever pieces of strawberry she has in her mouth; the pieces falling to her front step as she panics with: “Pffth, ah, cak! What!?”

In front of another home far deeper in the bowls of the city, the spice queen herself gives the door a less than gentle knock; a little green eyed girl cracking its wood open as she gazes to her bigger cousin. “La prima? I didn’t expect you to pay us a visit. Usually its the other way around when our papa needs a babysitter. May I invite you in.” “Hate to rush ya, Bianca; but I don’t got a lotta time on my hands. You all happen to know what’s going down to coma epidemic around here?” “I don’t know about-” “Yo Cayenne, I got somethin! Get yo ass in here!” they hear echoing from inside. “Ty, me hermano! What did I say about shouting in the house!?” A nervous giggle escaping the young girl, she glances back to her older cousin and offers how: “May I offer you some pizza while your here. It came just this momento.”

As Bianca invites the spice queen inside, Cayenne’s eyes venture upwards as she walks into the living room; an impressed whistle leaving her lips. “Holy shit, Ty. I figured you were all over this shit, but god damn.” Standing before the spice queen be an entire wall covered in, documents, notes, records, statements, and plenty and plenty of photo’s; all weaved in a web of countless strings. “Hell yeah, bitches! I’ve been lookin all this from top to bottom like some cracker browsin the wine section at Wal-Mart. I got me some juicy conspiracies here on how all this a ploy by the government for testing some kind of new military weapon on their hands like a bunch of damn guinea pigs.” “Yeah, that’s great Ty, but-” “In fact, the only reason they though of settin it off here is cause they wantin to see how many homies get hit with it. They seein if they can get anyone with super power to fall fo it too, hoping to snuff us out if we catch on to them.” “Ty, I need you to-” “But I’ve been on to those motherfucka’s since this shit started. Right behind them trackin every move they do, takin pic, doc, notes, whateva I got my hands on.” Once realizing she could get her little cousin to stop his indulgent theory ranting anytime soon, the spice queen takes a seat right on their cousins couch; a frustrated sigh leaving her lips as she sits down. Her littler cousin, Lequan soon comes in the living room with a whole box full of steaming pizza and takes a slice as he sits next to his older cousin; the spice queen soon taking a slice of her own as she waits how the storm of verbal diarrhea gushing from Ty’s mouth. Might as well, it ain’t like he’s gonna be stopping anytime soon.

A massive stack of countless files slams itself down upon a wooden desk; the impact of which makes the entire table tremble to its legs. The boy genius is left utterly bewildered by how tall the collection of police reports and documents that the purple merc had promised. “Uhn...not to sound ungrateful for this frightening amount of information to work with here, but mind if I ask which strings you had to pull to get all this?” “Mind if I ask you if your sexy twink ass really wants to know what dark secrets bellow underneath your city’s police forces that they’d kill to keep outta the public eye, or do ya wanna close those cute little blowjob lips of yours and get started on going through all these reports and documents that your precious purple pal got for ya?” It takes the boy genius a good few seconds to think of a response to the merc’s lewd question; constantly opening and closing his mouth until he finally requests that: “Heya, how bout you take the time to search through the city with the others a couple times. I’m betting they could use someone like you to help out.” “Alright, I get it. But just so you know, I’ll be waiting.” the merc claims as he leaves the boy genius with the huge stack of reports. As soon he hears the sound of his front door shutting, Kingsley lets out a spine curdling shutter; quaking in his shoes as he wonders aloud: “It must be a real story on how Mally wound up getting a guy like that as her brother.”

Facing another house nesting in the suburbs, the blue angel frantically beats the face of the homes front door; Tore watching as a small orange haired demon cracks the door open with a less than patient glare. “Heyo Alex! How ya doing, ya little demon? I was wanting to ask you if-” Before even hearing whatever nonsense the blue angel has to spew out from his mouth, the little demon slams the front door right in his visitors face, walking back toward his living room as an annoyed growl leaves his lungs. Seriously, there’s only so much irritating bullshit that a demon can handle at once; and that big pile of it just outside is something no demon should have to deal with. Better off digging through actual manure than delving into whatever kind of migraine inducing nonsense that blue idiot wants subjugate all of us through.

Before Alex could put that potential headache behind him, the sound of breaking glass soon reaches his ears; turning back to find the blue nuisance delving straight through the window. Witnessing his indigo intruder arise from the carpet in a mess of glass shards and blood, the orange haired demon backs away against the wall as the blue angel lumbers over; hearing the bloody blue dumbass ask: “Think I could I could ask ya a couple questions, buddy?” With his blue intruder slowly approaching, Alex forms a sharp blade from his trembling arm and warns him to: “St-stay back, you dimwitted oaf! I’m sharply armed.” “Oh, guessin your two busy to help Kingsley out, huh?” As soon as the demons ears catch the sound of the boy genius’s name, Alex’s frightened demeanor takes a complete one eighty; a sharp gasp escaping his mouth as his blade arm returns to normal. “My Kingsley needs me?” “Um...well, he’s trying to find-” Before the angel could finish explaining, he feels his demonic host grasp the collar of his glass coated blazer; exclaiming that: “What in burning depths of Satans own boiling bathhouse are we standing around like some brain dead urchins here for? If my Kingsley needs me, then there’s no time for us to gawk around! To the manor we go forth!” Declaring such, the little demon races out his front door faster than the angel’s eye could catch up; Tore watching as Alex takes off towards the setting sun in the horizon. Glancing back inside, the blue boy discovers the demons own mother sitting in the living room; staring upon the angel that crashed through her window. “Hi, Ms Utonium. Nice to see your son eager to help! Bye!” Once giving his short greeting, Tore charges towards the neighboring window leaps right through its fragile glass; crashing through as he yells out: “Yeet!” After witnessing the young man casually break through both of her front windows, all that Alex’s mother could muster was a frustrated sigh; pinching her forehead as her gaze drops to her glass shard covered carpet.

Back within the Spicer abode itself, Kingsley continues studying through the dozens upon dozens of police reports and document scattered across his desk space; the constant noise of paper sounding through the house as he scans through the files. The boy genius suddenly stops filing through the reports when inspecting two of them at once; noticing an odd and sudden change in the case reports. This doesn’t make any sense. According to the documents filed before the other night, the reports that came in had the witnesses describe something else leaving the scene; something leaving behind a rainbow like trail while fleeing. Why the change in color? Maybe to throw people off? The suspect might be changing, but something in most of the reports have been consistent all the way through. The vast number of comatose victims that have been coming up from all this have been primarily men, very rarely do any woman seem to have been effected. A rather specifically bizarre demographic to target; could be something to keep in mind when sussing out a suspect. Something else to note is which direction the culprit escapes towards; most of the witness reports claiming that they see them escaping out towards the east. Roy did say something about how they might be stockpiling them somewhere; a likely place they’d store them all in the east side of town. Even if given little clues on whose going around and reaping out people souls, there could still be a way to figure out where the culprit might be keeping them all. With all this, at least we all can wake everyone from their coma’s; hopefully we can do it in time before those not on life support don’t… This thought dwelling in his head, Kingsley takes a glance back towards the living room; both of his comatose parents lying peacefully on the couch next to eachother. No...It won’t come to that. We will wake everyone before they die. Even if it takes every ounce of effort that all of us can spare. This motivation ringing in his head, the boy genius turns back to his report littered desk and pulls out his laptop; bringing up an entire detailed map of Townsville right on screen.

The twilight lit sun shining at his side, the purple merc glides across the sunset kissed skyline; all the while pondering aloud on how: “It just don’t add up here. How can this soul reaping shit stain even hide from my senses. Hadn’t had much trouble tracking people down before. Think you can quit with the “thou must not interfere with the holy plan” bull of an excuse and actually help us out for once, Hera?” “I’ve told you countless time that there are rules that a goddess like myself must abide by. Though that doesn’t mean I can’t relay helpful advice to my messenger.” “And?” “As embarrassing it is for me to admit, I’ve had just as much luck as you have attempting to find this soul snatching suspect...or Chloe for that matter.” “You too, huh? Think they might be some kind of undead robbing people of their lives and eating them like screaming chunky beef stew.” “Believe me when I say that I’d notice somebody like that roaming around. Raising the dead is practically a steep taboo. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise to say how it doesn’t work out as well as people wish. No, I’d wager it be somebody whose capable of high level concealment magic. How else could they hide themselves from us?” The goddess in his head claiming all this, the merc’s gaze drifts towards the streets below; a discomforting groan escaping from his line. “A bit nervous, are we?” Hera wonders. “It’s just the small bits that are getting to me. The fact that I can’t tell where the culprit or the victims are, the sudden and unexplained abductions, the mentions of powerful magic; all if its just screaming to me in loud and weird profanity on how all of this feels eerily familiar.” “You think you have an idea on who might be behind all of this?” These familiar patterns ringing in his head, it quickly dawns on him who exactly fits the bill for it all; Roy’s purple eyes suddenly shrinking as a chill runs down his spine. “Roy?” Before the goddess in his head could speak any further, the purple merc turns a complete one eighty and rockets straight back towards the manor he flew from.

Slumped on the couch at her cousins place, Cayenne is about on her last straw having with Ty’s constantly spewing conspiracy bullshit; hearing the young boy continue on and on with: “That’s why they hopin to use these weapon to take over the African government to line their pockets, the crackers up top tryin to cut my brotha’s from right underneath them.” “Come on...” the spice queen utters. “And once they done with my homies, they gonna go for the Chinese next. Hoping to get their hands on the market and squeeze out as much as they can from their hoods.” “I really don’t give a shi-” “The last part of their plan involves finally makin this whole thing public and reveal what they been doin the whole time. Scarin everyone to do as they say and finally take over the-” “Ty!” His cousins sudden outburst finally gets him to stop rambling on, at last giving the spice queen the time to say that: “I ain’t here to listen to your constant conspiracy ranting. I’m being serious when I say I need actual tangible evidence on this case. Not one of your overblown theories; practical facts.” “Oh ho, you say my conspiracy game is bullshit; but I manage to snag me a couple a good pics. Including one with the bitch behind all this. Saw her sorry ass leavin a scene of the crime just last night.” “Wait, “Her”? Ty, what did you see?”

“Right so check it. I was going around town under one of my investigations into this shit. Trackin the patterns of which homes she was hittin.” “You mean you just stumbled on it?” “While going through one of the neighborhoods, caught myself a little pink light landin nearby, went to check it out. Wind up flying to the next street over and found the glowing girl leaving just as fast from one of the homes. As the pink bitch was flyin off, I pull out my phone and got me a pic of her.”

Gazing upon her cousins phone, Cayenne finds on the screen a sort of blurry photo of a shadowy figure surrounded in glowing pink trail through the night sky. “This it?” she wonders. “I...Well...Th-the hell did you expect in the midst of the action. This line of work ain’t about quality. Lucky I wound up getting what I did before the bitch flew off. Took off faster than a damn Lamborgini going down the hood at night, just racin to get outta there.” Inspecting the photo closely, Cayenne is able to make out some specifics of the runaway culprit; looking around to be a young teenage girl with long hair reaching her mid waist. Though she can’t make out much else from the womans figure underneath the shadows; she can tell that the source of the bright pink glow seems to be emanating from around her neck. These details fail to paint a hopeful picture for the spice queen, the voices of the merc and his two siblings claiming who the culprit may be ringing in her head. “Ty. Could you make out anything else? Like something about her hair?” Cayenne seriously question. “Well, seein as I got your attention. I was think that we could figure out what those CIA bitches be up to-” Interupting her cousins words, Cayenne grabs hold of Ty shoulders and brings him face to face; firmly questioning him: “What color was the hair, Tyquell?” “Damn girl, chill! It was red, kay. The hell’s the big deal for?” Having confirmed a wavering fear in head, Cayenne puts her cousin down and almost immediately sprints for the door; breaking down the door just as Bianca heads inside. “Aw, prima Cayenne leaving already. I was just finished making churro’s for us.”

As the spice queen speeds through the sunset kissed skies, she pulls out her phone and quickly attempts to call her best friend; hearing the dial go off on the other end. “Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up.” Unfortunately for her, Kingsley fails to answer; his phone going straight to voicemail. “God dammit, Kingsley! Why won’t you answer!? This is something you need to hear.”

Dwelling within the dimly lit recesses of the Spicer abode, the young boy genius’s phone is left on silent as he peruses through the dozens of documents littering his desk. On the screen of his laptop lay the map of Townsville, with several lines and points decorating the east side of the city. “It has to be somewhere around there. The reports all mention what direction the suspect is going, all them pointing towards a general direction. But where are they putting the souls, they have to hold them somewhere big enough to fit all of them; somewhere nobody would bat an eye to...Wait...” Its in pondering such that he glances to the papers once more, taking another look at the report to read on the exact directions the witnesses claimed the suspect was heading. It all then dawns on him; rapidly sliding over to his laptop and gliding the mouse to the east part of the map as he claims that: “I know where they are.”

Just before he could circle the location he has in mind, the side of his bedroom wall suddenly busts inward; enveloping the entire room in a thick cloud of wall dust. As he coughs up the puffs of dust, the boy genius races out towards the direction of his door; reaching his arm out to its handle as he sprint. Just inches from the doorknob, a wayward pink beam blasts off the handle; keeping Kingsley from escaping. With nowhere to run, the boy genius gazes towards the light permeating from the dissipating clouds; witnessing a single floating figure slowly glide in. “No...No…Why?” Kingsley utters as he backs against the face of his shut door, the approaching figures bright pink light blanketing his own. Above the brightly lit stone hanging around the intruders neck formed a sinister grin; her red lock flowing along the sides of the young girls pink dress.

#Young Hope #lillaxtrigger

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