#so yeah she's a demon whatever. she's blue in her monster form whatever

[heartsingsa]

ON THE SUBJECT OF JAGNA.

The sad thing about Jagna is that during her life she was very helpful and kind, she was a really good healer and herbalist, a good mother to a young boy whose father died before he was even born, a witch practitioner who really just conducted blessings and followed the beliefs of peace and harmony with nature as the source of life. She was still a Slavic woman at the end of the day, so there was plenty of feral in her, especially given her personality, but her first choice was never to do any harm. And then she let someone into her life who ended up betraying her for riches and status, turned the people she cared for against her. They killed her son in front of her and then drowned her, and if that wasn’t enough, she ended up getting turned into something that’s commonly considered a monster.

The thing is, it takes a lot of strength not to give in the monstrous urges, and requires a lot of mental gymnastics and strength of character. That’s not to say she’s innocent, there were times when the instincts won over, particularly with the man that betrayed her and the wizard that tried to steal her powers and conduct experiments on her, among few other casualties. But she prefers to just keep herself to bogs, and lakes, and the fog. People seek her out sometimes, because she’s powerful, but they’re always afraid of her despite presenting herself to them in human form. She’s used to fear, threats, or at best a simple distrust that comes just as soon as they know what she is, without bothering to know who she is.

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Day 4: Apologize

I fell way behind with Soma week because I got slammed with work and this monster of a fic took me too long to write.

Summary: 

Maka comes to realize that Soul had never felt fully comfortable around Crona, and in ignoring this entirely - she unknowingly hurt her closest friend.

Special thanks to Tori @chichirichick (she betas all of my dumpster fires, bless her) for proofreading this mess of emotions and also to Zi @azroazizah for coming up with the concept for this fic. 

**Disclaimer** This story is not about putting blame on Crona, but instead about acknowledging the fact that Soul went through trauma due to their actions and it was never taken into consideration by Maka before inviting them into their friend group. I'm not saying Crona didn't deserve support, but it's also completely valid for Soul - a victim of Crona - to not feel entirely safe around them regardless of their tragic background and circumstances. If Crona is a big comfort character for you and you feel you would likely be upset by this concept, then I recommend not reading it altogether. We all interpret things different and we're all entitled to our own opinions, and I'm not going to get in arguments with people over this.

It’d been a while since the Spartoi team was all together again.

After the fall of Asura, they really had no purpose to join forces as a team. No big baddie to unite them in ass-kickery. 

The skies were blue again. There were still Kishin eggs to take down, and a shaky new diplomatic relationship with the witches to maintain as well. 

Things were more or less … normal. Boring, even.

The only big difference Blackstar could discern was that nobody seemed to have time to just hang out and be friends anymore.

Kid was over his head with his new responsibilities, and while he was doing an admirable job filling his father’s shoes; there was a steep learning curve and his perfectionist tendencies only made it more challenging to overcome. He upheld a calm and collected demeanor in the public’s eyes, but Liz and Patty spent most of their time holding him together behind the scenes. 

Soul and Maka were a different situation entirely.

It was odd enough to adjust to the recent change in the nature of their relationship. They claimed to be the same as they’ve always been - just Soul & Maka. Only, they grew much closer after the hardships they had endured both in the book of Eibon and on the moon.

They had been close to begin with, but this was a different kind of close. Stolen glances, hands reaching for each other when they thought nobody was looking. Blushing for almost no damn reason. 

Something was going on between them - he could be sure of that.

More recently, however, Maka had been particularly obsessive about solving the dilemma of Crona’s entrapment on the moon. She was driving herself to a slow-burning insanity, considering every moment that she hadn’t rescued them yet to be a personal failure.

She’d been spending much of her time in the restricted section of the library, consuming every piece of relevant research for hours on end. Soul often stayed up there with her doing the same, or at the very least keeping her silent company when he was too burnt out to read anymore.

He’d also spent much of his extra time with Stein, training to perfect his sound-wave abilities into his own form of wavelength attack.

He’d been giving his all ever since making deathscythe status to hone his strength and better serve Maka. He’d even been able to hold his own for a surprising amount of time in the sparring ring against Blackstar, and that was a feat in and of itself.

All of the focus on Crona’s rescue had appeared to be wearing on him, though. 

Soul may have accepted Crona into his friend group for Maka’s sake, even empathized with them - but he had never fully trusted the demon sword meister. Although Soul was outwardly friendly towards them, Blackstar noticed the way his friend had watched them like a hawk before they turned back to Medusa. He was always ready for a scenario like that because he had never felt entirely safe around them to begin with.

Not that Maka had bothered to even take Soul’s feelings into consideration before forgiving Crona on his behalf.

She couldn’t have possibly been that dense. She had to have been actively ignoring the signs of Soul’s discomfort because she couldn’t handle acknowledging them.

And now she was doing the same thing all over again even with Crona as far away as the moon. It was obvious that Soul was doing what he always did - shoving his own feelings aside in favor of Maka’s. The loyal mutt of a boy valued her wellbeing far above his own, that was for certain.

He just seemed so exhausted of it all now. Searching tirelessly with Maka for a solution that may not even exist took up much of his time and energy.  

He never had the time to shoot hoops or play video games like he used to, and Blackstar was far above begging for his attention. He stopped even bothering to ask him.

Just for one night though, by some divine luck - everybody was willing to clear their schedule to have a late night dinner at the most beloved and heart-attack inducing burger joint in town. 

Every member of Spartoi was crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant and their chatter was loud enough to fill the whole section. 

There were multiple conversations happening at a time, but Blackstar was zeroing in on Soul who had his chin resting on his palm and that stupid, dopey look he got on his face when he was proud of Maka. Yuck. Keep it in your pants, loverboy.

Maka was next to Soul, his arm stretched out behind her on the booth, while Ox engaged her in a fiery debate over god knows what across the table from her. Judging by the redness in baldy’s face - Maka was on the winning side. He really couldn’t understand Soul’s hard-on for a bossy know-it-all personality, but whatever floats his boat he supposed.  

He decided he’d seen enough of that look on his best friend’s face and crumpled up a straw wrapper, dipping it in his soda and sticking it at the end of his straw.

He blew on the other end, sending the sticky wad of paper flying across the table. The projectile hit its target directly on the cheek.

“Fuck’s sake dude, how old are you?” he grumbled, reaching over the table to grab a handful of napkins to clean his face off with.

Maka snatched some of his napkins for herself, rubbing it vigorously into the flecks of cola that stained her uniform. “You got my shirt all wet, idiot.”

Blackstar simply threw his head back to cackle obnoxiously. “I just thought I should break up your lame little debate team fight before Ox over here pops a blood vessel. You know he can’t handle losing well.”

“I wasn’t losing!” Ox hissed under his breath.

Maka only met her opponent’s glare with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Maka! What had you stopped to talk with Professor Stein about earlier today?” Tsubaki cut in, obviously attempting to diffuse another argument between the two competitive brainiacs.

Maka’s expression relaxed into something a little more neutral, seemingly caught off guard by the question. Debate-mode successfully disarmed.

“Oh. Well… I just had some questions about my black blood research for him.” 

Blackstar didn’t miss the way Soul tensed up beside her at the mention of black blood. His face was void of any distinct emotion, but something was off in his body language. The way his shoulders squared as if he were instinctively bristling.

Anyone with a shred of social awareness could have deduced that black blood, Medusa, and Crona were not Soul’s favorite topics. It wasn’t unusual for him to shut down and discontinue any contributions to a conversation when any of these things were brought up. 

Unfortunately for Soul, all of those subjects were constantly on Maka’s mind since she began her obsessive pursuit for a solution to Crona’s ordeal.

“Oh? And what did he have to say?” Tsubaki pressed, completely oblivious to the tense situation she was potentially triggering.

“As you’re already aware, there’s not really any official research on the black blood that exists. We’ve been digging through countless books - gathering as much information about madness and Kishins as we can, but it can only get us so far. It would be so much more useful if we could get our hands on a physical sample of the substance itself.”

Soul’s eyes widened in concern, but only for a second before he slipped his usual poker face back on. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously despite the veneer of calm he displayed.

“Anyways,” she continued, turning to look at Soul, “I was going to talk to you about this later, but maybe some of the black blood still remains in your system? I know we believed it was all gone, but surely there’s some residual amount of it lingering behind? Something we could maybe isolate, extract and create a concentrate of? Stein said it was unlikely, but technically possible. We have to try for Crona, right, Soul?”

He was no longer wearing his mask of apathy. Unmistakeable, visible discomfort was etched into his facial features and he was clenching his hands, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Everyone at the table was hushed and the tension was palpable.

“He doesn’t have to try anything,” Kid’s voice cut sharply through the silence, golden eyes flashing sternly at her.

A soft gasp escaped her and her eyebrows shot up, clearly taken-aback by the sudden burst of hostility from her boss and close friend. Her eyes darkened seconds later, determination setting in.

 “I think that’s his decision to make, and I’d like to hear what he has to say,” she turned her attention back to Soul, hope still shining in her eyes.

He fidgeted with his necktie, loosening it and clearing his throat. “Yeah, s’fine. Whatever you need, I guess.”

Maka’s face lit up into a bright smile that turned Blackstar’s stomach and she pulled Soul into a brief hug. “I knew we could count on you, Soul! You’re the best partner ever.”

“Whatever, it’s no problem. Just try not to drain me of all my blood, alright?” he chuckled weakly, avoiding her eyes in favor of staring a hole in the middle of the table.

She gave an easygoing laugh in response, and went back to conversing with Tsubaki as if she hadn’t just pressured her partner into volunteering himself as a guinea pig for the sake of someone who had literally sliced him open from shoulder to hip and infected him with black blood to begin with.

Is she fucking serious?

Blackstar was practically vibrating with fury from the interaction he’d just watched, and Tsubaki’s normally soothing hand on his shoulder did little to calm him down. When he glanced at Kid, he instantly knew the death god had shared his frustration with Maka’s obliviousness. 

It wasn’t long before Soul abruptly stood from his place at the end of the booth, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Soul? What are you doing? The food hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Maka blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m not feelin’ too great - gonna head out, sorry guys. Could you just bring my food back in a to-go box?” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning on his heels and making his way out of the diner in long strides.

Why does she look so shocked? Does she really not understand that she’s been hurting him?

After that, the night passed by in a haze for Blackstar. He hardly spoke for the rest of the meal due to the fact that he was using all of his mental capacity to keep his impulse to stand up and loudly call his friend out in front of everybody in check. 

The only thing truly stopping him was the knowledge that Soul would likely be embarrassed and more than a little pissed off if he’d made a big scene over something that he wasn’t even willing to talk about.  

So he waited - held his tongue until he could lash out in private.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Blackstar watched her rise from her seat gathering her to-go boxes carefully and giving him a nod of acknowledgement before she headed out.

His eyes bore into the back of her head as she left, and Tsubaki’s hand clamped gently on him for the second time that night. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle concern.

“I think you should leave this between them. If Soul wanted all of this out in the open, he would have had that conversation with her himself.”

A heavy sigh settled in his chest, “You know how he is. He’s the suffer in silence type and he always does her bidding. If nobody says anything, then nothing’ll change. I just want to talk to her - not like I’m gonna beat her ass or anything … unless she gives me a reason to.” 

“Blackstar,” she chided, fully aware that he would make good on that threat.

“I know, I know. I won’t be long, see ya at home,” he said, throwing up placating hands before stuffing them in his pockets and striding in the direction Maka had gone. 

            _______________________________________________

Maka set her walk home at a leisurely pace, dragging her feet slightly as she watched the sunset bleed into the sky above.

It wasn’t that she was trying to prolong seeing Soul, or that she wasn’t worried about the way he’d acted back in the diner - like something was eating at him. 

She was pretty positive that he wasn’t physically ill, which only left the option of it being an emotional issue. 

And getting Soul to talk about emotional issues was like trying to pull teeth from a temperamental bear. 

She had to figure out a way to go about this delicately, and she had to figure it out soon because their apartment block was fast approaching.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the presence of a familiar soul behind her. His steps had been so quiet, she wouldn’t have even been aware he was stalking her from behind if it weren’t for her exceptional soul perception abilities.

“I know you’re following me, Blackstar.”

In moments, he was stepping out in front of her. “Wasn’t trying to hide. I need to talk to you,” his voice was uncharacteristically stern.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Blackstar had some kind of problem with her since dinner. He was deathly quiet and glowering at her for most of the night; very unusual behavior from someone who never shuts up or hesitates to start a fight. 

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, already preparing to defend herself against whatever absurd argument he wanted to pull her into.

“The whole situation with Crona - have you ever once thought about how Soul feels about it?”

Whatever she had been expecting to come out of his mouth - that wasn’t it.

“What? I mean, I know how Soul feels. He wants Crona to be safe, just like I do. What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not talking about what he thinks about Crona being stuck in the deathdamned moon, Maka! I mean have you ever thought about how he felt when you forced Crona into his life to begin with? After being sliced open?” 

Maka’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her mouth opened and closed a few times, baffled by the question. 

“Soul understands why I welcomed Crona as a friend. He trusts me,” she answered, hoping her voice conveyed the confidence that she couldn’t find in this moment.

This entire conversation was throwing her off.

“Yeah, okay. He accepted your decision because he trusts you, or loves you or whatever the fuck. We all know that - but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean he felt safe. He just stuffed his own feelings down, because he knew it made it easier for you.”

Her throat tightened as her own conflicting emotions overcame her. He had no idea what he was talking about. Soul was fine. He’s always been fine. 

“Did he say that to you? That he didn’t feel safe?” she choked out. 

“Soul? You think he tells people things? About his feelings?” he snorted. “No, he doesn’t have to tell me shit. It’s clear on his face every time you mention Crona, or Medusa, or that fucking blood.”

“Maybe you’re just making assumptions about how he feels!” she shouted back, gripping handfuls of the front of his shirt.

He leaned in, completely unfazed by the rage burning in her eyes. “You ever noticed how when Crona was around, he was always watching them out of the corner of his eye - twitching every time they made some sudden move. You ever noticed how quiet and withdrawn he’d get around them? Or any time they were brought up? You didn’t - because you didn’t want to.” 

“Shut up! Y-you’re making something out of nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I should just give up and forget about Crona? That they don’t deserve to have a friend?” 

Some of his aggression was fizzling out as he released a heavy sigh, placing his hands calmly over hers, still clenching in his shirt. “I’m not trying to say that you shouldn’t have helped Crona, or that you shouldn’t keep trying to help them now. I’m only telling you that even if Soul has forgiven and moved on - he’s still a victim of Crona’s actions. He suffered trauma from that, even if he’s too fucking stubborn to admit it. Just acknowledge that maybe he needs a break from thinking about them - all of that shit that happened - every now and then. Get your head out of Crona’s ass long enough to check if he’s okay too.”

She stumbled over wordless sounds as her hands went limp and released their vice-grip on his clothing. She was trying desperately to think of a way to refute the awful things he was saying, but Blackstar wouldn’t give her the chance. 

“If you gave him even half the thought you gave to Crona - maybe you would have noticed it like everybody else has. I just want you to think about it for a bit, that’s all,” his voice softened towards the end, shoulders sagging slightly as he turned away, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his confrontation.

The heat of tears prickled behind her eyelids and she clenched her fists tightly to her sides. 

She wanted so badly to swing around and scream at Blackstar’s retreating figure that he was wrong, that he had no idea what he was talking about and of course she thinks about her weapon.

But the longer she allowed his harsh words to sink in; the more she could feel the sting of truth settling into her heart.

Had she really been so blind? 

             _______________________________________________

Soul had been laying on his back in bed, hands resting on his stomach and eyes pointed at the ceiling, unmoving for some time. He wasn’t entirely sure how many hours, but he knew his playlist had ended long ago - no music played from the earbuds that were still jammed in his ears.

He couldn’t explain the heaviness in his heart. The anxiety that often set in whenever Maka mentioned Crona or the black blood. It was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? There was no point in allowing himself to wallow in all the negative emotions that punched him in the gut at the mention of their name. It was selfish to feel those things - it was his job to give Maka his full support. His own feelings were irrelevant.

It was just harder on this particular night. Sure, she droned on about those sore subjects often. Their research revolved around it anyways. He’d just hoped that it could have been different just for one night.

He’d secretly been ecstatic when Maka begrudgingly agreed to shelve her research just long enough to get a late dinner with all of their friends. A break had been long overdue. 

Things had been different between them, after all. They’d been sharing a bed, and they’d even shared a few kisses in the small, rare moments that they’d spent alone together - focused only on each other. They were chaste kisses, but he’d greedily take whatever he could get. 

As she became more frantic about her lack of results in helping Crona, he may as well have not even existed to her. 

He’d just needed that one dinner to pretend things were normal, to pretend as though he was on a date with her and she was willing to spend time with him and think about literally anything aside from her latest fixations. Instead, she’d asked him to play part in some unsound experiment - to prod for things that he hadn’t wanted to find again. It had only been made more uncomfortable by the scrutinizing presence of all of their friends. 

He’d felt used.

Soul perked up at the familiar sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut. He was immediately ashamed of the pavlovian response he had to the sound of his meister returning - the little flip in his heart that made him feel like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the sound of its master.

Just keep to yourself. She doesn’t need to interact with you in this useless state of self pity. You don’t deserve her comfort.

Self-loathing curled in his gut and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on a water stain in the ceiling.

Suddenly, light flooded into his dark room as his door was hesitantly opened. He reflexively brought himself to sit up on his elbows only to meet a teary-eyed Maka.

All self-indulgent angsty thoughts instantly evaporated from his head, and he was ripping his earbuds out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up.

She made purposeful steps across his room, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him back onto the bed with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Soul,” she warbled mournfully into his sweater. 

“Huh? Sorry ‘bout what? What’s going on, Maka?” he tried to nudge her into looking up at him, but she adamantly refused.

She took a few shallow breaths before rubbing her wet cheek against the quickly-dampening fabric and looking up at him with dewy eyes.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you - have I? 

Was that a trick question?

“I-I don’t get what we’re talkin’ about here,” he stuttered uselessly, attempting to compensate for his lack of eloquence by brushing his fingers comfortingly through her soft hair.

“I never asked if you felt okay with Crona being around you. I never asked you if you forgave them at all - I just brought them into your space, your home. I just wanted them to have a chance at a normal life so badly - I ignored your pain, and I’m so sorry,” she rushed her confession out like it had been a breath she was holding in.

He had to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. It wasn’t that he found anything that she said humorous - it was just so strange that she was addressing this out of the blue. She’d seemed completely unaware as usual back at the diner, where had this even come from?

He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten to respond and instantly regretted the prolonged silence he’d left her in. “Maka, it’s fine,” he insisted, “I get why you forgave Crona. I admire you for it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were okay. I should have at least checked on you, or asked you about how you felt - or literally anything,’ she mumbled numbly from his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, lifting her cheek from its resting place against his sweater, “Sure, I didn’t feel the most comfortable around Crona. I think it was pretty awkward for both of us to be near each other. That doesn’t mean I dislike them, or didn’t want you to be their friend. You can’t beat yourself up over something I hadn’t bothered to tell you.”

His words hadn’t brought the comfort that he’d hoped they would, and her brows remained stubbornly crinkled. “If it had been me - if I was the one who’d been cut by that sword, would you still say that you don’t dislike them? That you’re okay with us being friends?”

It was a question that he instantly knew the answer to, but he was reluctant to say it out loud. He finally caved, bringing his eyes back to hers, “No. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive them if it was you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding her head in grim acceptance of that truth. She had likely known that would be his answer already, but hearing it must have been difficult.

“But I love that about you. You have so much compassion. I only care for the few people that I’ve decided I love - I don’t have room in my heart for others like you do. I’d like to be more like you,” he whispered reverently, taking her cheeks in both of his hands and briskly wiping away all of the moisture he could reach with his thumbs.

“I should’ve had more compassion for you,” she lamented softly under her breath, eyes downcast.

“You’re not a fuckin’ mind reader, Maks. It was my choice not to bring anything up.”

She nodded slowly, but the way her grip tightened on him only confirmed his suspicion that she wasn’t going to forgive herself for it.

Minutes passed before a word was spoken, but Soul eventually cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t expect you to ever stop being friends with Crona, or to give up on rescuing them. I don’t want that. I don’t mind helping you like you’d asked earlier tonight, too. If that’s what you need from me, then I’m here.”

She brought herself to her elbows on top of him to get a better view of his face.

“I know. I’m not going to give up on them. But It matters to me that you’re happy too, and if that means you need a break from all that, then I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for that.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a hushed tone, distracting himself with a piece of her hair twirled between his fingers.

“And I don’t want to use your blood for research. It was wrong of me to even think of asking you that. We’ll find another way,” she assured him, voice tightening with emotion, “I definitely got carried away with all of this. It wasn’t healthy, and I really am sorry I’ve pushed you away in the process. We can’t solve this thing if we don’t have time to properly take care of ourselves. You’ve been working so hard with me, and I think we need more actual quality time together.”

“Yeah, I could get on board with that. I kinda walked out on dinner tonight, so how about we do something - just you and me tomorrow? Movies sound good?”

“Movies sounds great,” she hummed in agreement, hands idly playing with his hair.

As much as he would have preferred for her to continue her ministrations, he stopped her movements to grasp her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest above where she knew his scar was. He pressed down on her hand lightly.

“I’m glad it happened. I’m glad they gutted me, ‘cause I hadn’t understood what you meant to me till that moment,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She only exhaled shakily, hand tightening against the evidence of his devotion.

“I just hate that it took a lecture from Blackstar of all people for me to realize that I’d been hurting you.”

His eyes widened a little at that new piece of information. Blackstar was the one that brought all of this on her mind? He could’ve sworn it would have been Kid if anyone. He couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Blackstar had been so concerned about him, but he was also somewhat irritated that his friend had distressed Maka as much as he had.

“Blackstar, huh? Remind me to have a conversation with him about mindin’ his own business,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“No, don’t. I’m glad that he said what he did - I needed to hear it,” she urged him.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to make my girlfriend cry from guilt over bein’ friends with someone,” he muttered, but his face immediately burned a bright red as soon as he’d caught what he’d called her.

She was a similar shade, holding her breath as well as his gaze with a tortuously difficult to decipher expression on her face.

“That is, uh- I mean… fuck.”  

Very articulate. Great job, Soul.

He hadn’t needed to agonize over whether or not he’d just fucked everything between them for long because her face soon melted into a warm, genuine smile.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“I’d like that. If that’s w-what you want,” he wanted to kick himself for the voice crack he just experienced. Not cool in the slightest. 

At least she got a good giggle out of it. The melodic sound squeezed something in his chest and he swallowed nervously as a response.

She brushed back his bangs, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his forehead. She peppered a trail of kisses down his cheek until she reached his lips. 

This kiss was far from chaste. She cradled his cheek and jaw as she slanted her mouth sweetly over his, pressing fervently, constantly moving against him and eliciting a breathy moan from him that he would never admit to making. 

When she tried to separate, he followed her, bumping noses for a moment and giving the corner of her mouth a few more enthusiastic pecks before backing up and allowing her room to look at his face. 

“Girlfriend sounds nice, actually,” she smiled broadly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“Glad that’s settled, then,” he laughed easily, not even bothering to feel any embarrassment over the flush of his skin or the lightness of his breath.

He crushed her to his chest, and they stayed like that for a while, just listening to the other’s loudly beating hearts until they were lulled to sleep. 

He’d have to thank Blackstar with a game of basketball later.

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: The Armputation

Yeah. Yeah it’s time bitches :) you read it right we’re chopping that shit off

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: amputation (omg wow), noncon surgery/body mod, body horror, slight gore

Erebus had sensed something was off when Neteri failed to bring him dinner one night, and when the guards appeared at his door the next morning instead of her, he knew what it meant.

It was time for another procedure.

He understood why she didn’t tell him it was coming, but having hardly any time to process that something was going to be drastically different about his body within the next hour wasn’t the best feeling. Before he knew it, he was on the table again, this time with his shirt off, that silly little rat drawing on the ceiling staring down at his restrained form. Maybe he should give it a name? That was something to focus on, and it’s not like he could see what Neteri was up to at her workbench with his head strapped down. After debating a bit, he settled on Zander, after a big black dog he’d played with sometimes as a kid. He missed seeing dogs. And cats. And birds and the sky and trees and flowers-

“Morning, Erebus!” Neteri seemed far too chipper for someone who was about to…do whatever she was going to do. “How are you feeling?”

“Not...great. Because I’m here. I don’t want to be here.” Even though I deserve to be.

“Yeah that’s expected. But nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Do I get out of this if I say yes?” She laughed and stroked his face.

“You’re fine.” He felt himself grow more and more nervous with anticipation as she rubbed something cold all over his right shoulder. Right there, she was going to cut him open and, and...what was she getting from her workbench? When she came back into view and he saw what she had, he felt his stomach drop. The knife she was holding was the most horrific looking instrument he’d ever seen. It was large and curved, and the fact that she was going to use it on him made it that much worse. 

“What,” he gulped, “what are you going to do to me?”

“Well...do you promise not to freak out?”

“Uh...no. You do realize that makes me more worried, right?”

“Oh, yeah I guess so. It’ll probably be better that you know the full plan beforehand anyway. So,” she put down the knife and clasped her hands, “I’m going to be replacing your arm.”

“Replacing my...with what, exactly?” 

“Another arm, of course. This one, to be exact.” She motioned to a box on the counter. “It’s from a lust demon.”

“Wait, you’re going to cut off my arm?!” Neteri nodded matter-of-factly as Erebus’s heart rate skyrocketed. He didn’t deserve that...did he?!

“I thought that was implied in the ‘replacing’ part, but yeah. Off with your right arm, on with this one.”

“You can’t just do that! That’s-you can’t just amputate my arm!”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d freak out.”

“Of-of course I’m freaking out! You want to cut off one of my limbs, for Drottkia’s sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but I’m going to give you a new one right away. So at the end of the day you’ll have the same number of arms you started with. It’s honestly not worth getting that worked up about.”

“Yes it is! You’re going to just-just attach someone else’s arm to my body! What in the world makes you think that’s not-” his voice cracked, and he realized there were tears streaming from his eyes. He didn’t want this, he was so, so afraid, and no matter how much he struggled and pleaded it was inevitable. 

“Shh, shh. That’s enough now, you’ll be alright,” Neteri said as she wiped away his tears. He hated the way she comforted him, as if she wasn’t the source of all his problems. She reached for something out of his line of sight, and he didn’t manage to get a good look before she shoved it in his mouth. It was just a wad of cloth, but it silenced all of his further protests. He struggled uselessly against the tight leather straps, but he could hardly move at all. There was nothing he could do as she picked up the knife again. There was nothing he could do as he felt the cold blade touch his skin. 

There was nothing he could do but wiggle the fingers of his right hand one last time while he still could. 

The knife sliced through the flesh of his arm in one swift stroke, pain exploding out from it so quickly that Erebus could hardly register it. He barely had time to scream before he felt her place another tool on the wreck of his arm. And when it started moving, he knew exactly what it was. That was a saw, that was a saw, she was sawing through his bone, the vibrations shaking him to the very core. All of a sudden, there was a quiet thud and the sawing stopped, causing a suffocating panic to descend over Erebus, threatening to crush him.

It was gone it was gone his arm was gone the arm he’d used to write and eat and draw and plant flowers and hug his mother one last time and hold his father’s hand as he died was gone and the horrific new one couldn’t replace that, not at all, not at all, but it was too late because it was gone. He heard her pick it up and take it away, leaving a gaping hole next to him on the table, a space that had always been filled before by his arm, but his arm was gone and there was nothing there, nothing at all.

But when he felt her set something else down in that empty space, and his stomach twisted. It was the arm, the one that wasn’t his, the one that was going to be attached to his body, that was going to be his. After fiddling with it a bit, she pressed it up against the stump, the cold demon flesh meeting that of a warm human. She started to stitch them together, and Erebus couldn’t help but whine at both the sting of the needle and the horror of what was happening to him. But once the stitching stopped, the healing magic started, and that was far, far more painful.

Erebus screamed into the gag as he was assaulted by waves of relentless agony, ebbing and flowing as each nerve and blood vessel was joined together. It felt like every pain sensor in the arm was lighting up all at once as the connections were forged, every imaginable anguish being played out in a single moment. And when the bones started to fuse, oh he could hardly breathe, it was like fiery splinters were stabbing up into his shoulder, as many pinpricks of agony as there were stars in the sky, and there was nothing, nothing in the world besides that stabbing pain and the hum of screams in his throat. But all at once, the intensity of the pain evaporated as Neteri’s magic ceased flowing. 

Erebus cautiously opened his eyes, looking at Zander the rat for a moment before turning his gaze to Neteri as much as the strap over his forehead would allow. He was shocked to see that she was clutching the edge of the table for support, breathing heavy as blood dripped steadily from her nose and ears. With a shaking hand, she pulled the gag from his mouth, her unfocused eyes meeting his tear-filled ones.

“Are you...okay?” she gasped between breaths. Erebus paused. He was absolutely, positively, nowhere near okay, but he knew what sort of answer she wanted.

“I’m...it still hurts, but not as much as before you, uh, started...connecting it.” Erebus replied, his voice painfully raspy from screaming. 

“Can you...can you move your fingers?” He hesitantly complied, and was relieved to feel the unfamiliar digits wiggling, even if it felt a little off. She nodded, looking between his hand and the place where she’d attached the arm. “Okay. Hang in there just a bit more.” She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the wound again. Her magic sparked to life, and Erebus could see it was hurting her, too, before he was consumed by his own pain. But it wasn’t long before the magic sputtered out again. Neteri nearly collapsed on top of him, catching herself at the last moment.

“I think...it’ll be good...good enough for now. I’m sure it’s not perfect...I promise I’ll fix it later but I...I need to stop or I’ll...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry if...hurts...I know that...really painful...and you shouldn’t...more than necessary.” Opening her eyes, she pulled something out of her pocket before moving out of view. A few seconds later, the pair of guards from before came into the lab, shock flashing on their faces for a moment as they took in the bloodstained scene before them. Neteri came around the table, clutching something small and blue in one of her fists, seemingly a little more steady on her feet. She stood between Erebus and the guards, looking one of them dead in the eye.

“Take him back and give him something to take care of the attachment site, but I don’t want anyone else touching him, is that clear?” She jabbed a finger up at his face, her other hand clutching Erebus’s left arm tightly, either for support or out of possessiveness. “He is mine, and he can care for himself until I’m better.” She turned to the other guard. “I’ll probably need your help with a few things…”

Erebus let the guard take him back without a fuss after he was freed from the table. Trying to escape in this condition would just be dumb, and it’s not like there was much point in running with that spell on the brand. He was left alone in the cell with a roll of bandages and something to help fight off infection. But before he took care of the new wound, Erebus needed to wash off the blood that practically coated the right side of his body. There was so much of it on the arm...no, it was his right arm, that the skin looked completely red. 

But as the blood was washed away by the little rainstorm, Erebus realized that that really was its color. Honestly, with the bright red skin, pitch black nails, and the prominent stitches attaching it to his body, the arm made him look like some sort of...monster which is what he was inside, wasn’t he? He watched in horrified fascination as the limb he didn’t recognize as his own moved as he wanted it to. Well, for the most part. It was sort of shaky, and he couldn’t make a fist or straighten it out all the way, but that was hopefully something Neteri could fix...

And despite everything, a small part of him couldn’t help but hope that, for her sake, Neteri was okay.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump​ @unicornscotty

[oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co]

The Lovelorn Monster

Welcome to my first Modern AU, which I wrote for @lovelyrita1967  It’s a Geraskier Romcom with extra suffering and gore! Also, it’s a Christmas fic as @booichiboo requested. 16k, M.

You can read it on AO3.

Summary: It's been many months since the mountain incident. Jaskier is alone on Christmas day. His lovely, old house has somehow become a monster-infested hellhole. Now it seems there might be a way to kill two birds with one stone. Only deciding what actually needs killing is much more complicated than that.

cw: blood, so much blood, also a lot of angst (although there’s a happy ending), suicide references, some Geraskier disagreements and heartbreak. No sex, but there’s a fair bit of angsty cuddling and some much less angsty kissing.

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

When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create

No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;

Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.

Dido’s Lament, Henry Purcell, adapted from The Aeneid

Jaskier stared at his beautiful, tall, richly dressed Christmas tree with pride and a wistful smile. Each ornament was a souvenir or a gift. This tradition gave his decorations deep meaning, but also made him reluctant to come anywhere near the tree this year.

Memories. He had a cardboard box full of them. There was a delicately carved wooden heart covered in rich, red paint he received from Countess de Stael. Then his favourite - a perfect, tiny copy of his lute he had ordered to celebrate his first successful performance for the royals. He even had a little doll that a sibele, a demon who steals children, was using to lure a baby when Geralt cut off her head.

Geralt never approved of Jaskier keeping the toy, let alone using it as an ornament. ‘I don’t need keepsakes to remind me of the last time I killed something,’ his gruff voice would say.

Well, this year it’s going up. Jaskier picked a spot for the doll with a rebellious toss of his hair. It was quite a nasty, clumsily knitted thing. Seeing it on the tree succeeded mostly in creating an uncomfortable lump in his throat as he imagined Geralt sitting on his living room sofa, relaxed, with a snide smile, some acerbic remark already forming in his head.

Perhaps Geralt would ignore the doll. ‘You just love making yourself sentimental,’ he’d say instead, seemingly no connection, just a short, judgmental glance at the tree.

And Jaskier did, actually. No shame in that. It had its benefits. In his mind, Geralt could easily become just the memory of a perfect, lost friend, regardless of how he would feel about the prospect. He was the hero Jaskier once traveled with, no more, no less. They parted ways for perfectly rational reasons.

‘Just give me a couple of years,’ he said to the imaginary Geralt in his mind and smiled with pride. Being the storyteller meant being in control.

Then he noticed a little ornament shaped like a golden dragon lying at the bottom of the box. The sight made him freeze for a moment. He shook off the memory and ignored the draw towards his phone which has been intensifying over the last couple of days.

Everything was going fine. The phone was just playing music, lying perfectly innocently on the windowsill as it should. It was set on shuffle, and Annie Lennox’s “Dido's Lament” was on, a little bit ominous, but also somehow appropriate.

He hummed with the music while hanging up a few golden baubles. As he started to sing, another voice joined in, a distant echo of his hum, a gentle, female timbre following along quietly. It made him smile, eyes suddenly attracted to the window. It was already getting dark, and the Christmas lights he put up outside were reflecting in the glass. A weird glow by the evergreen shrubs made the snow underneath them shine delicately.

The decorations were nearly complete. There was a comforting smell of cinnamon and apples coming from the kitchen. Also, he still had some surprisingly successful homemade ginger biscuits left.

The golden dragon was the last thing he hung on the tree. He flinched a little as he did, but it was where it belonged. Then he moved away to admire his finished work. ‘Better late than never,’ he whispered to himself.

At that exact moment, the next song started to play. Jaskier instantly recognised it and stared at his phone as if it personally insulted him.

‘It's been a blue holiday since you've been gone,’ Aretha Franklin started to sing.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ Jaskier whispered while walking calmly towards his phone.

‘Oh darling, won't you hurry, hurry home,’ she continued undisturbed.

He actually liked the song and was starting to wonder if he was overreacting.

‘It's been a blue… a blue holiday. And I'm all alone.’

No, he wasn’t.

‘My dear I need your love to keep… to keep me warm.’

Yeah, sure, like that was ever an option, he thought to himself.

‘I cry when I hear the chapel bells ring… And sometimes I cry all through the night.’

Fuck. Jaskier’s fingerprint lock was a little wonky.

‘Won't you please come home and make my… make my holiday bright.’

Finally, he managed to skip a couple of songs, and quickly discovered he actually preferred some silence this time. He took a deep breath and decided it was time to focus on cooking. That should be comforting enough.

As soon as he turned towards the kitchen he heard a weird, buzzing sound, and then a high, disembodied laugh. Lights flickered. There was a loud crash, a cavalcade of many little objects falling all at once, baubles suddenly bouncing off his furniture. A glass ball he bought at a little Christmas market in Vizima rolled in between his feet.

He swore under his breath and turned back. All the ornaments were lying on his wooden floor, and only the Christmas lights remained. A small dark shape with sharp horns moved along the wall and then disappeared behind the sofa, still giggling to itself.

Jaskier stared at the naked tree, feeling a bit hopeless. Then he climbed up the sofa pillows and looked into the tight space between the wall and the backrest.

Two small, red eyes stared back.

‘Proud of yourself?’ he asked with irritation and heard only a quiet hiss in response. ‘You know what? Fuck you. Sincerely, fuck you.’ He pointed at the thing, his eyes narrowing. ‘No more biscuits for you. You’re going down,’ he threatened, a surprising and, by all accounts, disproportionate amount of uncurbed fury in his voice, hand shaking slightly.

For a moment Jaskier seemed overwhelmed. He took a couple of very deep breaths, then coughed a little and his eyes watered. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, his attempts to calm down obviously failing. He stretched his neck, then rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension with a sigh. ‘Right,’ he repeated as his expression switched to resolve.

He squeezed his phone with newly found determination, and then fiddled with it nervously for much longer than he originally planned.

Finally, he clicked on his least favourite icon of all - the phone app.

The signal was ringing loud in his ears. Time slowed down. He was just about to hang up when he heard a deep voice on the other side. ‘Yes?’

‘Vesemir,’ Jaskier announced, jovially. ‘Merry Christmas!’ He listened to Vesemir return the greeting and massaged his temples nervously. ‘Yes, thank you. Erm… I was just wondering… No, no, I am not going to hang up. Whatever gives you that idea?’ He laughed nervously. ‘I do need help. It’s a dreadful emergency. No… Of course, I would have called otherwise. Yes, it’s quiet because I’m at home. No, I have not been drinking. I am most definitely sober. Yes, yes, yes… No, I do realise… I actually do have a monster that needs to be… witchered? No, it’s not just one, actually… It’s- it’s a couple of things, really. I know it’s Christmas. Yes, I see your point. But… isn’t Geralt working anyway?’

He waited as the line went quiet for a while. ‘Yes, I did just ask for Geralt,’ he confirmed.

No response. Vesemir must have moved away from the phone, and there was a sound of distant chatter. When he returned his voice was hesitant. ‘You’re sure about this?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I definitely want Geralt here. As soon as possible would be grand,’ Jaskier confirmed again, surprised at how confident he sounded.

‘Fine,’ Vesemir said finally, before hanging up right away, voice a bit more irritated than the situation justified.

Jaskier put the phone away and tried to force himself to breathe again.

You can read the rest on AO3.

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

Extra thanks to @ohmybgosh @variousnoises

@thelastsock​ @jaskierswolf​ @rawrkinjd​ @katesierra​ @gilbert-von-kneecap​ @stinastar​ @carmillacarmine​ @ro-the-bard-writer​ @ikeptupwiththejoneses​ @purpleonionofsex​ @marvagon​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @sarah-midnight​ @geraskierficrecs​ @renfribrooks​ @darknessyuu​ @comfortabletextiles​ @gosh-diddley-darnit​ @ohjules​ @short-potato​ @anie6142​ 

@valdomarx​ I know you don’t read Modern AUs but this one has a wyvern, a rusalka and Geralt is still a witcher. Also, I love you. That’s my argument.

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit. 

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements. 

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course. 

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form?? 

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories. 

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair. 

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep. 

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on. 

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light  blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it. 

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

 his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up. 

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.  

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons. 

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

 and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll? 

but like,, in a nice way. 

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection. 

he does take your stuff sometimes. 

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him-  so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own. 

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories. 

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well. 

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion 

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

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

The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

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

“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

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

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

[project-rosewood-476]

Every Rose Has It's Thorns Chapter 3

After a long ass time, ERHIT Chapter 3 is finally out! Tabby is about to commit her first direct kill, and the boys will finally see a brief glimpse of Tabby and who she really is. The Pocket, interpretations of the creeps, and some of the ideas belong to @creepypasta-shtick. Please go check out their blog! They're awesome!

Maplehood Creek and Tabby Anderson belong to me.

TW: homicide, violence, blood, and gore

IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT.

otherwise, enjoy~

Toby had gone to bed to get an uneasy sleep after the confrontation with Hoodie. He woke up feeling distinctly unrested. Tabby was still out cold, but she was back to being curled up in her natural protective sleeping position, back to cuddling with Toby's hoody. She had a nice black bruise formed on her left temple when she fell and hit her head when she collapsed. Toby took some time getting ready. He was tired, but coffee made his tics worse, so he woke himself up by taking a cold shower. But he could only waste so much time before they had to go. Toby had a simple, small breakfast, then went to go wake up Tabby.

When you walk into Tabby's room, you just see this small curled-up figure under the teal covers nuzzling the hoody. On the nightstand, you could see two pictures. One is of her family. You could see a short and stout woman who looks like a more tired, older version of Tabby with her arms behind her back and a small, sad smile. A tall, built man with his arms crossed and looking sternly into the camera, which was her stepdad. A boy in his late teens who looked like a more boyish version of her stepfather. He had a mischievous smirk as he looked down at a slightly younger version of Tabby in a headlock, looking like he was about ready to pour the container of gasoline that he was holding over her head. Tabby herself looked like she was fighting to get out of the headlock, keeping one leg down and the other leg slightly up for balance. The blonde little boy that was a thick boy with a hint of baby fat on him had a mischievous grin as his innocent blue eyes screamed for adventure. He was holding onto her slightly elevated leg. The second picture was a school picture with a somewhat younger version of Tabby and co. It was 15 kids all together striking funny dumb poses in their Rosewood school uniforms with Tabby and a taller ginger girl front and center. Tabby was loosely hanging off of her, making a funny face as she was genuinely smiling, And the ginger girl wrapping her arms around Tabby's torso to support her, suggesting that Tabby and this ginger girl were close at one point in time. Other than that, it was immaculate and practically empty.

Tabby was snoring softly, as she often does when she's in a deep sleep. Toby gently reached over to her and tried shaking her.

"Tabby, Tabby, you have to get up."

Tabby startled awake, and she scurried away to another corner of the bed in an attempt to get away from him. She was about to cock her fist back and kick him as she scurried over. Until she realized that she doesn't need to attack him since he wasn't doing anything to hurt her. She lowered her defenses down and gave a sheepish, apologetic look.

"Sorry...instincts..."

She groaned and rubbed her head "my head hurts..and my entire body aches...god, I'm so tired..."

She looked around, confused.

"How...did I get back here?...."

She looked over to see Toby's hoody in her bed. Confused and embarrassed, she crawled over and picked up the hoody and handed it back to him.

"I don't know how I got this...but I think this belongs to you."

"Oh yeah, thanks." Toby took it back from her and smiled.

"Yeah. I went and got you from Jane's place and brought you here. Do you need some ice for your head? You had a nasty fall." He felt terrible for having to wake her up.

"Yeah, that's what happens when your body finally gives out when you already went two weeks with no sleep."

Toby left her to wake up. He was getting everything cleaned up. He wanted her to wake up first before he told her the bad news. Masky and HoodieHoodie were already on their way over.

She flopped onto her face in her bed with how exhausted she was. It looks like she's not going to get any more sleep for a while. Great, just great. Hopefully, she could get some coffee or an energy drink or both, preferably. The caffeine didn't help her anxiety and paranoia any. And it's certainly not healthy for her. It worsened, but it does help keep her up when she needs to for more extended periods. This was helpful for when her insomnia finally wears off for a while, and she can't do her usual routine to catch up On sleep like she usually does sometimes. But first, some water for that headache that she had. Tabby was grumbling as she got her clothes ready. She took out a black my chemical romance tee-shirt since she's still in her emo phase that never left her. And a pair of worn-out jeans and socks. She went to the closet to get new bandages for her hand since she was covered in yesterday's blood. She was going to take a shower first. Hopefully, that will help wake her up, but she highly doubts it. The poor girl looked exhausted and just wanted to go back to sleep.

She put her stuff in the bathroom and came out to get some water since she was thirsty. She took three long gulps of water and tilted her head back, and closed her eyes for a moment.

"God, I fucking hate my insomnia. I'd kill for some coffee or an energy drink or both. It's not good for my anxiety and paranoia, but it does help keep me awake when I need to" she went back to sipping her water. "So why do I have to be up exactly that involves me?"

Toby gave her a slight grimace.

"I'll tell you the news later. But I'll tell you what. You take a shower, and I'll make your coffee; how does that sound? I know you like watching, but I'm just going to use these beans." He opened his upper cabinet and showed her the bag of coffee beans. "I have some of the tester sticks, too, if you want." He wanted her to get tidied up a bit before the other two came over.

Tabby gulped at his grimace. Whatever the news was, it couldn't be good for her. But she needed to clean up to wash off yesterday's blood and take care of her hand. She nodded as he showed her.

"That sounds good as long as you have sugar. I like my coffee diabetes sweet." She went in to take her shower.

Toby nodded and made her coffee. He left the sugar and creamer for Tabby to add herself, so she could inspect it if she needed to and also so she could add as much as she wanted. He switched on the TV. He could watch human channels if he wanted, but he much preferred monster television.

Tabby set the water on warm to soothe her aching body for the day. It took her a couple of minutes to figure out how the shower worked. She undid the bandages on her left hand and threw them away. She got undressed and inspected herself. Scars were always going to be there, but the bruises were healing up nicely. It was amazing to her what happens when she wasn't getting into fights and getting beat almost every day. She estimated about a week for them to heal entirely besides a few major ones on both sides of her ribcage and stomach that would take longer. They never recovered this fast before usually; it took two weeks for the old bruises to heal first. Tabby was giddy about that. She got in and washed herself up with the stuff she brought with her when she ran away. The whole process took like 5 minutes. She turned the water off, dried off, got dressed in her black my chemical romance shirt and worn-out pants and socks, brushed her hair and teeth, and got out.

She came out, putting her wet hair back into a ponytail. The coffee was waiting for her, with the cream and sugar next to it. Toby was sat on the couch, watching the news. A little demon man was on the TV, talking about the weather for that day, which was, as usual, hot. Tabby took the testing stick just in case. No poison. She put some creamer and a shit ton of sugar into her coffee. She stirred it in and gave it a taste test. She gave a blissful sigh as the coffee hit the right spot. She took her coffee into the living room, sipping on it. She sat a few cushions over from Toby. She looked visibly slightly better. Still really exhausted but able to deal with it better now that she had some coffee with her. Still looked malnourished. She had clean bandages on her hand, and her fresh scars were basically healed, and most of her bruises were almost gone or looked slightly better.

"So, what is the bad news that involves me?"

Toby was about to answer when there was a knock on the door. He went and got it. There stood Masky and Hoodie. Masky had his mask strapped to his belt, revealing a cheery, rather nice-looking face. He looked like a normal human being. Hoodie kept his mask on, of course. He hated taking it off.

"Hey guys, come in," Toby said nervously.

They both did so. Masky flashed Tabby a smile.

"Hey, kiddo."

Tabby narrowed her eyes at him, remembering the night when he tried to kill her twice. But she wasn't a rude bitch most of the time.

"Hello," she said in a polite tone as she stopped drinking her coffee for a second to give everyone her full attention.

Hoodie chuckled to himself quietly. It must be weird to see Masky so chill. Toby smiled awkwardly.

"Tabby, you've...uh...met these people before, but anyways. This is Masky, our group leader. And this is Hoodie." Both men wave

"Yeah, I know," she said still politely, but her voice had a harsh undertone to it slightly.

But her stepdad was strict on raising her with respect for her elders and manners in general. She gave a small wave with her left hand in return.

"Why are you guys here?"

"They're here, so we can do a small mission before we go help EJ with his," Toby stated nervously before excusing himself to the bathroom so either Hoodie or Masky could explain it.

"Wait, what?" She started, but Toby was already in the bathroom. She growled in frustration, with her jaw tightening up.

"I don't appreciate it when people try to avoid things with me..." she turned to face the two older males and crossed her arms, still being tense, making it very clear that she doesn't trust either one of the three for one second.

"What is the other mission exactly? And how does it involve me?"

She was sipping on her coffee to keep from attacking the both of them.

"Well, the boss wants you to kill some people." Hoodie put it very bluntly.

Tabby choked on her coffee and began to have a coughing fit.

"Already?... Jesus, I've only been here three days; it just doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me someone with no experience whatsoever and who hasn't been here for long," she said between coughs. She was more awake after that little bit of news.

"Brian, that's unnecessary."

"It's true. And don't call me by my name in front of her. And she will unless she wants to die."

"She's our new teammate now. She has every right to know."

She looked over at Hoodie.

"Jokes on you, I already do. I don't see an issue with that," she said, slowing down with the coughs.

She finally caught her breath. She stood up straight and looked at Masky distrustfully. It was weird to her that he was sticking up for her and being friendly.

"I appreciate you sticking up for me, but please don't do it again. I've already told Toby this, and I'm going to tell both of you. I can take care of myself, don't fight my battles for me."

She didn't mean to sound and be harsh. She was just naturally like that. It was a survival mechanism to her. It either pushed others away and hated her, which was good. She'd instead be left alone by everyone else besides her friend group. Or it showed other people that she took shit from no one and don't fuck with her. Either way, if it got her and her friends to live another day, that's all she cared about.

"It wasn't about protecting you." Hoodie scoffed.

"It was just good ol' Tim keeping me in my place." He sounded bitter.

"And yeah. You're doing it. You get to kill a man and a woman. You get an intimate look at one of the more common ways we get proxies." Hoodie was perched on the armchair.

She then glared at Hoodie, but her expression and tone were spiteful, hateful, and bitter.

"I don't need you to tell me that I'm going to do it when I already said I would. Once I made a choice, I stick by it, and I will go down with the ship to the bitter fucking end".

It was to the point where her darkness was seeping through little by little. Enough to make everyone feel uncomfortable, at least. She was about ready to attack Hoodie if she could get away with it. It just goes to show that the manipulation wasn't going to work on her.

Masky sighed.

"He means that...you will be killing a mother and a father, and we will be taking the children to be trained as proxies. Our boss chooses proxies young. Most proxies start when they're young teenagers, sometimes a little younger. Our boss likes to experiment."

Masky got a cigarette out of a box in his pocket and lit it. At the same time, he reached into the bag at his side, pulling out a picture of the family. The father was tall and handsome, with a medium complexion, dark eyes, and very curly dark hair. The mother was short and a little plump, with friendly green eyes and auburn hair, has done neatly in a bun. They were appropriately dressed. A young boy, around twelve, looked a lot like his parents. He had his father's curly brown hair but his mother's eyes. He was wearing a bright blue suit. There was a girl as well, in a green dress. Her hair was straight but was still the dark color of her father's. She held a book in her hands.

The mother was holding a very tiny baby, fast asleep, and in a little pink bow. They looked like a happy, average family. A family that was about to be shattered: both Masky and Hoodie seemed to regard the fact with indifference. Masky himself had been chosen as a proxy when he was young. Ever since he could remember, he had seen his boss. It used to scare him. His mother eventually gave up custody of him after leaving him in an institution. He left the institution to a foster family. Then another. Then another. Then another. Hoodie, well, he tried not to dwell on what little he remembered.

Tabby's eyes widened.

"P-parents?!"

She dropped her coffee which unfortunately spilled. Her face paled to the point where her skin looked slightly gray. She slowly backed into a couch and tightened her grip on the back of it to the point where her knuckles were white. She had this fearful look to her as she had a flashback of what happened when she first helped taking someone's mother away—but knowing what she knows now. Now she's not so sure if it was just her paranoia that night. Looking back on it now, she was convinced that that specific traumatic incident is 30% of what led her up to be in the position that she's in now. Tabby was just 12 years old at the time.

Both Masky and Hoodie had ruined numerous families and lives. They liked to pretend it didn't bother them, but sometimes, it did. Not in this case, though. The children would live and would be given a new, better life. Masky couldn't tell that Tabby remembered something, but Hoodie could. He said nothing.

"We will be there to supervise." He told her.

Toby soon came back. He sat near Tabby, then saw the picture. He took it and looked at it. He stared at the kids.

She narrowed her eyes at Toby, about ready to call him out on his bullshit. "you know I don't appreciate when people try to avoid stuff with me. It's a cowardly move to me personally, and I don't think you're a coward. If you have something to say to me, good, bad, or otherwise, say to my face, please. Just some advice for next time".

Hoodie continued.

"The older kids will be taken to an institution where they can be transformed and trained. The baby will be taken to the boss." Hoodie spoke with indifference and some amount of coldness

Tabby slowly came back to reality and looked confused. Until what they said processed finally.

"Okay... that's fair enough, I guess....". She started slowly.

The color was returning to her face as she slowly relaxed her grip on the couch. She quickly returned to her usual self. She picked up the coffee cup and cleaned up the spilled coffee. She walked into the kitchen to clean up her dish.

Hoodie angrily turned to Toby.

"See, this is why you need to beat the shit out of new proxies to get them to learn their fucking place! Otherwise, you get mouthy, stupid brats like this one who can't tell the difference between a suggestion and an order! Any other proxy would have just killed her."

Tabby shouted back from the kitchen, "I can fucking hear you! You want to beat the shit out of me? Go right ahead! But I promise you I will fight back! I'm not a little bitch that will take the shit that's handed to her! You think I'm scared of you? Well, you're so wrong!"

Toby sighed and just hung his head.

Hoodie continued, "And if she doesn't learn her fucking place, I WILL kill her."

She heard the next part, "good luck in trying! At least someone else would be competent enough to make a successful attempt, unlike you!"

Hoodie was seething in rage and turned to Masky.

"Are you hearing this bullshit?!"

"Give her a chance to learn, Hoodie." Masky said quietly, "Whether you like it or not, she is our teammate. She might not have that high a standing right now, but it is possible to become very competent in a short time. Toby's living proof of that."

Masky inhaled the smoke and sighed softly.

"There will be no fights. I will not allow it. Hoodie-" his voice became a little commanding. "Go outside and get some fresh air."

Hoodie knew better than to argue. He did as his leader said.

She heard the door slam; she walked back into the living room, still pissed and scratching her ears. And when she's pissed, you could feel the heat radiating off of her, and her ears become rash like so she itches them.

"I don't need to be told what to do a second time. I'm told once. I already agreed fucking agreed to the job. I already said I was going to do the job. Done, set deal."

Masky serenely blew smoke out of his mouth. He seemed utterly unbothered by Tabby's irritation. Toby got up to get some things ready for the little trip. Hoodie was gone. He could kill Tabby if he wanted to. But he was going to calm down. Masky had no desire to argue. He simply sighed.

"You might want to get some stuff ready for the mission. After we do this, we'll be meeting EJ for lunch and anyone else wanting to go on this mission with us."

She took a deep breath.

"Fine"

She was slightly calmer now, at least to the point where she wouldn't take it out on either Masky or Toby. She did what she was told. She just packed up her clothes and products and her two pictures and Autumn's sketches in her black backpack. She put on her shoes and her signature red plaid jacket. She had one strap of her bag slung over her shoulder and waited impatiently to go. Hoodie soon came back, looking a lot calmer. Masky smiled slightly and unhooked his mask from his belt to put it on. Masks were required while on missions. Toby soon came out. He was ready too. Tabby put hers on and just ignored the HoodieHoodie for the time being. Hoodie followed her lead and ignored her as well. Tabby just stuck close to Toby, kept her head down low and her hands in her pockets, and kept silent. She followed the other two out the door.

It was quiet out. Hoodie and Masky were talking among themselves as they walked. Toby walked resolutely with Tabby. They were going to walk to the portal, then steal a car to drive there.

Tabby was calmed down enough. She was lost in her thoughts. She was stuck in between neutralizing her anxiety about her first kill and kind of being excited to go back home in a sense. At least she would be in familiar territory again, and she could go back to her and Autumn's spot to get away from these 3. Tabby kept sneaking glances over at Toby. It was nice having someone by her side. Even if they didn't talk, it was nice to have company. It made her smile a little under her mask.

Toby felt meek and tired. He usually didn't argue with his group. He wasn't all that good at it. But he and HoodieHoodie had some fundamental disagreements on how to train new proxies. It was frustrating. He didn't want Tabby to have to go through the hell he did. Tabby continued not to say anything. She figured at this point it would be best to stick to her fundamental rule of only speaking when spoken to.

Tabby was lost in thought. Killing people who deserved it was one thing. Killing people for survival is another thing that she understands all too well. Killing someone because it's for a job is another thing that she understood. But she didn't know if the parents were what she would deem immoral or not. She was about to take away someone's parents. Just like she did all those years ago. It didn't matter. She already said that she would do the job. That was that. What was eating away at her was that she was about to prove her stepdad right about her. How godawful of a person she was, how she was a monster, how everyone around her would be dead because of her. To her, that was like admitting ultimate defeat. She looked down defeatedly and fidgeted with the bottom of her shirt to keep her anxiety at bay. What would the kids think of her? Well, whatever. Let them figure it out on their own. Let the chips fall where they may.

Toby always hated these missions. Retrieval missions were draining, hard on his psyche, and didn't usually pay well. He tried his best not to think about it. His job was to retrieve the baby, which was the least draining, in his opinion. All he had to do was find the crib and get the child. That baby couldn't be upset with him for destroying her life. The only reason she would cry is if she was hungry or cold or tired. The older kids, however.

Tabby looked like she was about to cry as she felt her demons at her heels as she was reliving that Godawful night. The last thing she wanted to do was to prove her stepdad right. But it looks like she had no other choice. She kept her head down and soldiered on. Thank God her mask covered up her entire face. As she let silent tears stream down her face. She didn't make any noise as she did, so she just stayed deathly silent, not to give herself away. She was so quiet and stealthy that you would forget that she was walking with you.

Toby overheard Masky speaking. The father was someone who was looking into their world. And that couldn't be allowed. That action had made that family their enemy. The way for that family to be redeemed would be through the children. It was cruel. But fair. Tabby understood, unfortunately. The price you pay was very cruel but reasonable if you go looking for shit, you don't know what you're getting into. She learned that from a past babysitter of hers. She paid the price for her babysitter's actions, which was how she got her knowledge on the paranormal. Something that didn't belong in Maplehood but oddly enough somehow belongs here vaguely.

The walk to the portal was thankfully quick. Masky had his bag with him. Hoodie knew what was inside, and so did Toby.

"Okay. Who wants to go through first?" Masky asked

Tabby snapped her head and blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes to make it look like she wasn't crying. She spoke up with an emotionless voice.

"I will"

Tabby stepped through the portal and waited for everyone else. The men soon followed her, arriving nearby. Without a word, Masky began to lead the way. Hoodie was muttering to him.

Tabby followed behind them, following alongside Toby and going back to being silent. She was past crying now. Now she just looked straight ahead, not showing any emotion, but her eyes just look dead on the inside. She continued to fidget with her shirt like she was wringing out someone's neck. Masky led the way.

"The house is 1112 Twelfth St. Keep an eye out."

They were heading towards a neighborhood. It was nice out that day.

Tabby knew that street all too well in her hometown. It was in the downtown area. Three blocks from Rosewood Preparatory school. It was in one of the wealthier neighborhoods. A younger, more childish version of Tabby loved going down that street for trick r treating on Halloween. She deemed it the best place to go because they always gave out big and lots of fancy pieces of candy. Those memories brought back a warming sense of familiarity. It calmed her down enough to the point where she almost forgot that she was about to commit her first kill. The closer they got to the street, the darker the aura felt. But that's because it was close to Rosewood and Rosewood as an unsettling dark, mysterious aura around it with how much bloodshed was wrongfully and violently spilled there. It was the same unsettling darkness that generally surrounded Tabby since she used to go to Rosewood. Everyone who went to Rosewood has it. That's how you can tell they were there. Except hers had a more personal taste and was raw just beneath the surface. It was enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable if you weren't from there or just used to it. Toby and HoodieHoodie didn't seem to care all that much. Masky seemed to notice it but paid it no mind. It was bright out but slowly getting darker. Masky saw parents coming outside to usher their children back inside. Dogs were outside in many of the gated yards. Some barked at the four. Others ignored them.

Tabby kept her head down and mumbled prayers to herself that they wouldn't bring too much attention to themselves. And also that she wouldn't fuck up. Her anxiety and paranoia were sky-high to the point where she was almost jumpy and jittery. Although she desperately tried not to show it. It was to the point where even fidgeting with her shirt wasn't working, and she was slightly squirming uncomfortably. Tabby's mind was racing.

"How does it feel to go into this knowing you're going to prove dad right?"

"How does it feel knowing what you're going commit."

"What would the children say about you? What about Adam? What about Autumn? What would happen if Horatio ever found out?"

"They're going to find out your secrets and what type of a godawful person you are."

"You know dad would be proud of you."

"You're no better than dad and Horatio. If not worse".

Those were the thoughts that intruded in her head. She kept mumbling to herself, "shut up" "that's not true," over and over again like a mantra.

She kept repeatedly and periodically shaking her head to get rid of her thoughts.

Hoodie soon stopped in front of a quaint blue house. The mailbox was painted white. It was cute. The curtains were open. It was easy to look in. Hoodie saw their targets. The mother was holding the baby. The kids were sitting together at the table. The father was serving dinner to the people at the table. Hoodie shook his head.

"Game plan?" Tabby whispered, squeaked out awkwardly. It was evident that Tabby didn't look too good. But her face was emotionless and resolute. It was showing the determination that she would go through with it no matter what.

"Well, I'd hate to ruin their little dinner." Hoodie said sarcastically.

Tabby rolled her eyes at Hoodie.

Masky sighed.

"Let's sneak in."

Tabby nodded at Masky.

"I know these types of houses. These structures are old. And the house is huge. The best way to sneak in would be through the cellar. From there, there's normally an old secret passageway of sorts, what would be a servant's passage. The walls are hollow so we could move through there, and we would end up in the rooms of the house," she explained quietly.

"Alright. Sounds good. Tabby, Toby, you go in through the cellar. Once you get in, open that window-" he pointed to the left one on the upper floor. "To signal for me and Hoodie to come in as well."

"Got it. Toby let's go," she said as she started to sneak to the back of the house towards the cellar.

Even though her stomach plummeted with dread and her footsteps felt heavy. She still kept ongoing. Toby followed her. They passed by the backyard. A little playground was in the back. It was cute. Tabby saw that the cellar doors were locked. But not to worry. Tabby crouched down and began to pick the lock with one of her knives. A few minutes later, the lock came undone. She gently lifts it, not wanting to make too much noise. She slowly went down the cellar stairs. Toby followed her, quiet as a mouse, closing the door behind him. He could see a little in the musty cellar light. Mostly empty shelves. Some old toys. Nothing special. Tabby was scanning for something that resembled a secret door of some sort. Until she found it, it was a bit small. But it was big enough for both of them to fit if they both crawled through until they came into a bigger space, then they should be fine. The door looked like it hadn't been used in years. Tabby could tell that it would open up easily. She used her knife to pry it open. It gently scraped against the floor, blowing a thin layer of dust in their way. Tabby coughed a little bit, silenced it. Toby covered his mouth with his elbow as he sneezed.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered under his breath, then laughed nervously.

He let Tabby go first. Tabby gave him a small smile and a slight chuckle. For some reason, her nerves seemed to calm down around him, which was good for her anxiety. She crawled through the darkened corridor.

"It's small at first, but once we get into the wall structure, it should get bigger, Although it will be a narrow fit for the both of us," she whispered.

Toby chuckled in response.

"I feel a bit like a mouse." He said in a joking manner. He crawled in after her.

"The only time I feel blessed with my small size," she smirked.

Her smirk faded into something more serious.

"To be honest...I have never been more scared in my life than now," she said quietly as she hung her head looking at the ground while crawling forwards and taking a right.

"It'll be okay," Toby muttered to her. "I'll be there to back you up if things go wrong." He promised her. He followed her when she turned.

Tabby stopped dead in her tracks, causing Toby to crash into her. She whipped her head around.

"You know those were the exact last words that my friends ever said to me. Just saying"

She gave a quiet bitter chuckle.

"Who knew that I would spend my entire life trying to prove my step das wrong only today to prove that he was right about me all along. I'm no better than he is" she sounded bitter yet defeated.

Tabby continued straight for a while. They had to take a left and then straight ahead before the corridor expanded into the wall structure.

"Your stepdad is wrong," Toby said. "You are better than he is."

He continued to follow her. "He hurt someone he was supposed to care for. You are hurting our enemies."

"And I hurt his enemy; what's the difference?" she shot back.

He didn't have an answer for her. She sighed

"I don't think you understand," she started.

She paused in her thinking for a minute. She turned left in the corridor. She was debating on how much she should tell him. She didn't want him to think any differently of her. Even though she just met him, she wasn't sure exactly why she cared so much about what he thought. She also remembered her stepdad's threat about if she told anyone what happened, he would find out and either kill them and/her. But Toby was a proxy, and her stepdad was a human; if anything, he could kill him if something weird were to happen.

"I- this-....this isn't my first rodeo...exactly" she hesitated.

"That's okay," Toby said with a shrug.

"You know, killing doesn't make you...bad, right?"

Toby knew she still thought like a human. But once she entirely switched, she would understand.

"I know...that it's necessary. Because I plan to when I get my revenge so my friends can finally crossover and are at peace if they already haven't, that's not my problem," she sighed "it's just that... I've just seen too much death at the hands of the wrong people for the wrong reason...." she referred to her stepdad and Horatio and the teachers at Rosewood.

"And to clear it up, I never killed anyone directly before. Although I've tried countless times with Horatio, I never succeeded."

She hesitated "but that's not to say that I never helped out with the aftermath of it though it wasn't my fault."

They got to the wall structure, so she stood up and walked sideways through the walkways.

"It doesn't matter anyway. The tricky part here is judging when we're on the second floor. Then we can let Masky and Hoodie in," she said

Toby shifted to the side slightly. It was somewhat hot in here.

"I understand. I promise it won't be too bad." He said quietly.

He continued to crawl.

"And we'll just climb as far as we can go, maybe. That should get us upstairs." Toby was a little worried for Tabby.

"Fair enough," she said.

"I don't know if this will help," Toby began," But don't think of it as taking parents away from the kids; think of it more as a way to punish those who have wronged our people and give those kids a purpose. If that's what's bothering you" He was quiet after that, allowing her time to speak if she needed to

"I guess that makes sense...sort of like a second chance....for the kids, I mean" she tilted her head to the side and then nodded.

"After all, my stepdad taught me that if you do something wrong, then you should expect the worse possible outcome, which is usually death. Especially if you go actively looking for shit that you don't understand what you're dealing with. And sometimes, just sometimes, someone else pays for another person's actions. Yet something else I know too well. That was the second life lesson I ever learned" she shrugged.

Toby nodded.

"That's true." He said.

"Both of those things are true." He sighed quietly.

"I know. I experienced them. But that's a story for another day. One, I think you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I have been through a lot of unbelievable things myself. I can handle it."

Tabby looked over at Toby for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was bluffing and just saying that he could get more information out of her or if he was just trying to keep her talking so her anxiety won't be as bad, to which she was thankful that he was playing into it. On top of that, she was more comfortable telling this story more than the other one that she was going to. She could deal with the fact that he would think that she's crazy afterward than him judging her entire character.

"Alright, I'll tell you. So, to preface this. I've always been able just to see the paranormal. I guess I was just born with it. Although throughout my childhood, I've always been able to see these wispy tall, lanky shadowy figures. I have no idea what they are to this day, and they appeared to be less and less as I got older, but I still made it a point to talk to them when they showed themselves, even though they never talked at all. They were just there. The first ghost that showed itself to me was when I was six. The rest was from birth and on"

She paused for a moment and looked away from him.

"You probably think I'm crazy already."

"N-no, I don't please..continue," he said softly.

She looked into his puppy dog brown eyes for a moment. It was enough to make her melt, but she would rather die than admit it. She gave in.

"Well, I always thought the extent of my supernatural abilities would just be Sight. But I was so wrong."

"I was four at the time. My mom always worked a lot to provide for us my entire life. So I never really saw her. I don't hold that against her though it is what it is" she shrugged. "This was before my stepdad came around permanently, so I was always passed off from one babysitter to another," she smirked "none of them lasted a week with me, but my thing was don't tell me what to do in my own house when I am practically self-sufficient even at that age, and I know the rules and my routine better than some stranger who's in my territory. It started like any other day. But it just felt off like the entire day just felt off. Like, you know how a dog can tell when a thunderstorm will hit, and they act all weird? That was me. I could sense that a storm was brewing, and it wasn't one in nature. I could tell something bad would happen; I didn't know what at the time. I thought it might happen to my mom, and that's why my intuition was screaming at me. So I begged her not to go to work that day, but just like every adult, she brushed me off and didn't listen to or believe me. Idk there was just this ominous feel in the air. This time my babysitter was a stranger that my mom managed to hire—a fifteen-year-old blonde petite girl named Maggie Hemmington. At the time, I thought she was an adult, but then again, anyone older than 10 is an adult to you when you're four years old. She wore stuff that expressed she was into the occult stuff. When she came over that day, the feeling that something bad would happen jumped to 1000. I became more insistent and screaming, crying, and begging my mom not to leave me alone with her. But again, my mom brushed me off and tried to reassure me the best she could. In the end, she left for work and me alone with that bitch. The day was awful, with lots of fights and screaming at each other. She was just an awful person; she didn't even do her job. I still had to go and take care of myself. Eventually, she made me go to bed early, saying that she would have friends over and she didn't want a brat like me to get in the way. Which she wasn't supposed to have friends over, to begin with, but after the day I had, I was more than happy to oblige. The quicker I went to sleep, the quicker I could wake up and have it be the next day. So like the good kid I once was, I went up to my room, and surprisingly, I fell asleep naturally".

Tabby took a deep breath before she continued talking.

"It was around midnight, or so I would like to believe. I honestly don't remember much of what happened that night. I only remember what I remember due to months of pushing through the painful headaches and flashbacks accompanying me ever since. I don't remember the full story, so I'm probably missing a few parts, but I remember enough to piece together a semi-complete story. I remember waking up to Maggie and her friends screaming. I was scared and confused as to what was happening. Hindsight is 20/20. I probably should have just stayed in bed. Although, to be honest, I don't think that this night wouldn't have ended differently, even if I did just stay in bed. And in all actuality, I didn't hate her or any of her friends, for that matter. At least, not enough to leave them to their deaths. What if they were in trouble? I was the only one there that could do anything. If I didn't, that would make me a coward, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself. What if they were dead? Then what? If I did go down there and saw what I saw if they were dead, how would I explain what I saw to the police? To my mom? All these questions and choices ran through my head. However, my pride and what little compassion that I had got in the way. I didn't raise myself to be a coward, and I wasn't going to start then, and they sounded like they were in trouble. They needed me. So I chose to sneak downstairs to see what was up and figure it out from there. The apartment itself was quite old, so the staircase was creaky. However, some spots weren't creaky; I knew where they were. Going down the stairs was like doing an intricate dance to avoid the creaky spots. I crouched down halfway down the staircase. The apartment had dim lighting, so there were lots of shadows all over the place. I was wearing a black nightshirt, and I was tan and small enough to hide in the shadows. I looked through the bars of the stairs, and I saw Maggie and her friends huddled together with the look of absolute fear in their eyes, staring straight ahead and an ouija board in front of them. I couldn't see what they saw at the time. But I could feel a dark and powerful aura that was around. It was uncomfortable and overwhelming. It was almost suffocating. As I called it, the entity didn't know what it was since I couldn't see it, but I could feel it and hear it. All that I knew was that it was a malicious entity. It kept coming closer to where I was hiding. I crouched down more to make myself appear smaller. But the entity snatched me up, and as far as I knew, I was levitating in thin air. The entity had a suffocating grip on me. I don't remember much because Maggie, her friends, and I were too busy screaming, crying, and I was trying to fight my way out. I even tried to bite the entity, but that only resulted in it tightening its grip on me even more. Maggie was trying to negotiate a different price for summoning the entity Since it said that it required a sacrifice as a price for summoning it. And well, I was it. After hours of screaming, crying, and negotiating, they came to a compromise. What that compromise was, I have no idea to this day. But all I remember is a pressure on my forehead and just a flood of painful life truths and knowledge on more paranormal creatures and how to deal with them. I was screaming and crying in pain and agony. It was too much all at once, and I felt like my head was going to explode. The night seemed to go on forever to me. I thought that it would never end. After the entity was done, I blacked out. I can't tell you what happened after even if I tried. This is why I don't mess with horror movies, witchcraft, and ouija boards to this day. I don't go actively looking for stuff that I don't understand what I'm dealing with."

She checked to see if Toby was still listening, which he was. She was already in way too deep. There's no backing out of this story now. She was going to finish it.

"The next morning, I woke up back in my room in my bed. I had a painful headache in the center of my forehead, like the equivalent of a nasty hangover. I was perplexed as to what happened last night. I knew something happened. I didn't know what. That is until the painful knowledge that I received last night came flowing back like a flood. I was crying and screaming in agony until the flashbacks subsided. My mom came running in to see what was wrong. She asked me what was wrong. But I couldn't tell her the truth about what happened last night. She wouldn't have believed me anyway. Instead, I just cuddled up to her and held onto her tight, and just cried until I ran out of tears and was reduced to a sniffling, hiccupping mess. I just suffered in silence while my mom rubbed my back and petted my hair."

Toby looked at her, confused.

"I mean would your parents believe you if you told them this exact story?"

"Absofuckinglutely not," he answered honestly.

"That's what I thought."

She paused for a moment before taking a deep breath before continuing again.

"The next three months was a bitch to deal with. I was a mess. I still did what I needed to do. I went to preschool, although I was more antisocial than usual, and I was jumpier. I was just more of a broken quiet, my wide hazel eyes had a haunted look to them on top of them being slightly sunken back, and I had dark circles under them; I wasn't sleeping much during those three months. It was an awful sight. I was almost sickly skinny; I wasn't eating much for those three months as well. It was evident that I was a shell of my former self. After preschool, I ate the bare minimum to stay alive and shower when I had the energy to do so. I didn't want to be out of my room longer than I had to. I was afraid the entity would come back for me. The rest of the time, I laid in bed with my covers pulled up, staring at the wall or ceiling for hours on end, just empty-headed and crying when the flashbacks and nightmares occurred. The worst part was that I was alone. Mom was either working or sleeping, and she knew that my trauma had to do with Maggie, so my mom stopped with the babysitters and just left me alone. She wasn't supposed to, but she didn't know what else to do. I didn't tell my stepdad about what happened. And I used to tell this man everything and anything. Back then, we didn't have secrets from each other. But I couldn't tell him this. He wouldn't believe me if I told him. The only ones that I told were my friends when they gained enough trust. So I kept it to myself. My stepdad didn't push me back then. He knew when to back off and respect my boundaries. He dropped it when I didn't want to talk about it. He knew something happened to me but didn't know what. He checked up on me when he was there to make sure I was okay and got a little bit of something to eat. He wasn't always like the way he is now. But that's long gone. You think I'm bad now? You should have seen me in that state back then" she gave a bitter quiet laugh.

"A month had passed since then, and my stepdad had enough of me being bedridden. He gave me this piece of advice that I live by to this day. He sat on my bed and rubbed my back. It was an awful day. The flashbacks and headaches were non-stop, and sleep was nonexistent. He said he could tell that I was scared, and he hated seeing me like this every day. He also said that he knew that I wasn't a coward, and he knew a way to help me face any fear that I would have. That caught my attention, so I sat up a little to pay better attention. He told me this: The more you know, the less you have anything to be afraid of. After all, you can't be afraid of something if you know what that thing is. He left me alone after that, and it was something to think about. I gave myself a week to think about it. By Friday, I decided that I had enough. I didn't want to be stuck in bed. I was tired of the constant flashbacks and headaches. I was tired of living in fear. It's not a fun way to live as I would discover that realization again later on in my life, and guess what? That night when I decided to start not being afraid anymore was the first night that sleep overcame me with no flashbacks and headaches the following day. I guess as I started to make peace with what I was about to do, had something to do with that too".

"The next day, before my mom left for work and my stepdad came over to babysit me, I told them my decision and asked if I could go to the library. I figured that the first step to not being afraid is getting everything on that subject. My mom agreed and left her library card for us to use. I didn't get my own until I was six. I think my mom was just relieved that I wouldn't be bedridden anymore and that I was actually going out to get some fresh air. After my mom left, I grabbed the black backpack he gave me, and we went to the library. I got every book I could on the supernatural and how to deal with them. I definitely got some confused and concerned looks from the librarians and my stepdad. I ignored the librarians, and my stepdad didn't push it. I assumed that he picked up on the type of books that I was getting and figured out what I was scared of, but he was more than willing to help conquer my fears. We checked them out, and we had a month with them before we had to return them. My backpack was so filled that it made me look like an oversized turtle. I wasn't a good reader back then to reading comprehension. It wasn't my strong suit back then. But I was one hell of a writer. So even though he was confused about the subjects that I picked, he helped me with reading the books and helped me take down notes. The more I understood, the less I was becoming less and less afraid. The next step to me for not being afraid was getting the full story of what happened that night. To tell you the truth, I honestly didn't really remember what happened exactly. I remember bits and pieces of what happened due to flashbacks and memories but not in order. And I don't remember what happened after I blacked out about my thought process because I can finally understand and not be afraid anymore if I learned the truth of what really happened. Despite me staying out of my room more and more, I still spent an equal amount of time there. I would deliberately sit myself down and go through that day's events, walking myself through step by step. It wasn't until I got to the par I was snatched, and then the flashbacks would come back intensely. But nevertheless, I pushed through. I would always have a bad headache after each and every session. Literally, my diet consisted of whatever I ate and children's T. It wasn't easy, and there were days where I stepped back from the progress that I made, but little by little, I got to piece together as much of a complete story could. Over time the flashbacks and headaches became less and less frequent as I got older. Occasionally, I would get the nightmare of that nevertheless, always be followed by a headache in the center of my forehead. Still, I wMye some ibuprofen and be on my way. They don't happen as much anymore like they used to. Over time I became less and less afraid, and I became well more normal after that. Well, as normal as I could get after an event like that. I was happy more often. I had my dad/best friend. I pushed boundaries; I got time-outs and early bedtimes. I played with my toys and with him, and I went to preschool, and I ate a lot and regularly more often. I was doing fine. I was getting better".

"Anyways, that's my experience with people fucking around with shit that they don't understand, and then someone else had to pay. I'm pretty sure that this was also 30% of what lead up to me being here," she sounded bitter and looked away.

Toby had listened carefully to her story. He somewhat understood. He never had experiences with the paranormal like that when he was a kid. He had so many more questions for Tabby. Her story made him even more curious about her, but he knew better than to bombard her with them here and now. He hasn't known her for very long, but he knew he was the type of person to beat the fuck out of someone if they didn't back off. Or, at the very least, cause a scene. Maybe he'll try a different approach later when they had more time and alone and settled in. I mean, she already told him one of her most traumatic stories. So she was starting to trust him somewhat. Maybe she would say to him more. Perhaps finally, he found someone with the same pains as him, and they can cope together. He wondered, in the pit of his stomach and the back of his brain, if some force that was not his own made him stop his group from killing Tabby. He honestly had no clue whatsoever. Maybe, maybe not. He knew he had to respond to what Tabby had said, so he did.

"Hm. It doesn't sound like the weirdest thing I've heard." Toby said honestly. "Don't tell him I told you, but Ti- I mean, our boss stalked Masky for years before joining. The whole situation is up on Youtube. He's been trying to get it taken down."

Masky had told him about his life before he was a proxy. The hospital. The medications. Tim was screaming at the staff to believe him when he told them about the monster he saw. It was very lonely for him, and Toby assumed that it must've been very lonely for Tabby as well.

"I won't tell. I'm not a snitch. I'm not the one to snoop around in someone's business," she gave a small reassuring smile.

"You're probably right, though; about that probably leading you to here. Experiences with the paranormal usually either bring people to us or get them killed. I think that name sounds familiar. Maybe Maggie was someone my group has killed in the past. I'm not sure, but I think so. I'm sorry you went through that so young, though."

"I appreciate your sympathies...and it's whatever now I learned to cope. That's why I don't have any sympathies towards people who go actively looking for stuff. You knew what you're getting yourself into; you pay the consequences. If your group did kill her, I would thank you for that. The bitch had what was coming to her," she sounded dark and cold.

It took a minute for her to process what he said entirely.

"Wait, hold on. You believe me?"

"Yeah, I do believe you," Toby said.

Tabby just looked at him as she kept crawling. She wasn't exactly sure how to feel about this. All she can say is that she felt a weird rush of relief and adoration for the stranger behind her. It almost like he was the best thing ever.

He suddenly stopped crawling and grabbed Tabby's leg to let her know to stop.

"Do you think this is the place? It feels a little cooler, so I think it's by a window." He placed his hand on one of his hatchets.

"I think so. We should check"

Toby nodded and moved so Tabby could wiggle out first. She probably knew this better than he did. Tabby got out first. It turns out they were in the parents' room. And the window was open. She gave a thumbs up out the window to let Masky and Hoodie know that they could come in. She turned to face Toby.

"Alright, so I thought that I should take out the parents first, so that way all you guys have to do is just get the kids. So we're going to need to create a distraction to lure the parents up here. The least I can do is make sure that the kids don't have to see them being brutally murdered" she looked down.

"That might not be an option," Toby said quietly, "They may see...we have to try to get them not to see. I'll tell Tim and Brian to take the older kids while I get the baby. That should leave you a window of opportunity to do what you need to do."

Toby looked around. The parents' room was tidy and lovely. Pictures hung on the wall. What looked like their wedding photos. A baby photo of a baby in a little blue hat. A photo of the son as a toddler, with food all over his face. A picture of the boy with a newborn baby in a pink hat. Those were all over the walls. Photos of the stages of the family growth. He also saw some exercise equipment that the parents used in the room when they could.

"Well, I'm going to try to make it an option."

She took a deep breath, "you go hide somewhere and then take the baby. I got this"

It was evident that she didn't believe it. She lifted a heavyweight ball that was in the room. She gave it a good bang against the wall.

"Now go!"

Toby and Tabby slipped into the closet as they heard the dining sounds cease, and footsteps came up the stairs. He hoped it was the mother, as she was the one he had seen with the baby. The footsteps paused outside the door. Then he heard it open. Toby and Tabby peeked out from a crack in the closet to see the woman standing there, a look of confusion and shock on her face. She held her baby in her arms. She stood there for what seemed like minutes but was seconds. Then she screamed and turned to run back down the stairs.

"PAUL! TAKE THE KIDS AND GET OUT-"

Toby heard crashing downstairs. Ah. Hoodie and Masky.

Tabby and Toby ran with the speed of light, and she tackled the woman down the stairs. The baby flew from the mother's arms on impact, but luckily Toby caught them. She tumbled down with the woman. That's going to leave a couple of bruises later. She honestly had no idea what she was doing; she had no idea how to kill. So she fell back on the basics of what her stepdad has taught her. "go for the throat," she said in thought. She took out her knife and pulled the women's head back by her hair, and jammed the knife into the back of her neck in the hypothalamus gland causing instant death. The baby was unharmed.

The woman was bleeding out on the stairs. The baby was crying, mainly because the whole situation was probably terrifying for someone so small. Toby gingerly picked the baby up, searching her over for injuries. The woman was dead. Now Tabby just had to get the dad.

Tabby saw the dad standing there in shock with the kids to the side. Tabby gave an apologetic look to the kids that said I'm so sorry. Then she looked at the dad again, and she felt anger boiling in her. Why did he look so shocked? He should have been prepared for the consequences of actively looking for shit that he didn't understand. What did he expect? What made Tabby angrier was that now someone else had to pay the consequences for his actions. Because he brought his children into this mess, and now they have to suffer. She lunged at the dad and just aimed for the throat. She had enough momentum behind her to have enough force to knock down the dad. Blind anger and Rosewood's and her darkness engulfed her. She lived up to her reputation as Karma.

With that, her vision turned red and blacked out.

[spartanguard]

untitled monster loving fic (1/?)

Summary: A mysterious event ten years ago left a number of people in Boston with unusual abilities and physical attributes...whether they like them or not. Killian Jones is one of them; so is Emma Swan. Are these things curses, or blessings? Will finding each other help them decide?

rated (eventual) M | 2.4k | AO3 coming at some point

A/N: So full credit for this idea goes to @thesschesthair and her ramblings on The Deep while watching The Boys. And since it’s spooky season, and monster f***ing is a thing, ideas started spinning and....this happened. I’m not sure where exactly it’s gonna go and ngl, I definitely borrowed a plot point from Static Shock, but...it’s here. (And there will eventually be some monster loving for real.)

The door rattled in the frame as Killian Jones slammed it shut; frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t shattered it, flimsy as it was. He’d probably do it yet one of these days, but not tonight—not when he was already making a beeline for the bathroom. He needed to get out of these stifling clothes once and for all.

Granted, all clothes did that to him, so this wasn’t a new occurrence, or born of any particular stress or lengthy day. He supposed he should be used to it after all these years, but not yet. 

He tossed his jacket...somewhere, probably the sagging sofa, on his way across the flat, and kicked his shoes off equally haphazardly. There was no door for him to open to get into the restroom, and muscle memory told him where the switch was, filling the tiny space with dingy light. Only three of the four sockets above the vanity worked, and he’d been meaning to replace another burnt out bulb for...well, months. But less light meant it was harder to see the cracks in the ancient tile.

The one nice thing—the only nice thing—about this place was the tub; he probably could have afforded a slightly (very slightly) nicer apartment, but they only had stall showers, and he needed the tub. The squeaky knobs and the thud in the pipes as hot water poured out the faucet were familiar sounds. 

He almost forgot to put the stopper in the drain, but managed to get it in there before losing too much; hot water was a precious commodity, considering the water heater was older than him. He wiped his hand dry on his threadbare jeans, wondering in passing why he bothered, but forgetting it.

Like he did every night, he took stock of himself in the age-spotted mirror. He supposed he was still what would be considered attractive, even if he mostly kept to himself nowadays. Dark hair, blue eyes, a bit of stubble; lean, muscular frame. The front he gave the world still looked like the man Milah fell in love with, before...everything. The shadows under his eyes and the weight of painful memories resting on his shoulders were more recent acquisitions, though.

His tshirt was mostly clean and in decent shape; like most of his clothes, he bought it second hand and it was a couple sizes too big. It had to be. He couldn’t stand the feel of anything touching his upper body—but at the same time, couldn’t be bare. Wouldn’t dare.

He wanted to tear it off, but first had to work off the mechanism that held his prosthetic left hand on. His fingers methodically knew what to do, even if the bit of webbing between them hindered his dexterity to some extent. Once it was off, he carefully set it on the counter—the only possession of his he treated with any sort of care—and then reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head.

For the first time all day, he found relief, and was able to take a deep breath. He closed his eyes at the sensation of finally breathing freely—partly to revel in it, and partly to avoid looking in the mirror. But then another breath made him twinge, recalling the hit he took to his side while working on the docks earlier, and he had to inspect it. 

Sure enough, there was a bruise—right on top of one of his gills. 

No wonder it stung when he breathed.

God, but he hated to look at them—they perhaps weren’t as monstrous as they were right after the accident, but they were far from pretty. Deep slits arced on either side of his abdomen, the longest one sitting just above his waist and running parallel to his rib cage; subsequently smaller ones followed up his sides, ending just below his pecs. There were times he laughed at how well they framed his body hair, but those were few and far between. Scar tissue surrounded them from where the skin had healed when it first split, and he could feel the stiff skin move with every breath. It...fluttered, almost, rippling along with his muscles and lungs. 

He shuddered at the sight and turned away, continuing to strip until he was naked. The tub was full, so he shut off the flow and stepped in. He sighed again as he sank down into the warm water; it was a balm on his aching muscles. He sometimes wondered if that was another side effect—after the accident, after everything, they’d gotten a lot denser, it seemed, and he was certainly stronger, his muscles more defined. But it also meant that he was always tired, always sore, always in some sort of pain, and he only knew of two ways to deal with it. He didn’t have the cash for rum right now, so a hot bath would have to do.

Unnecessarily, he took another deep breath, and slipped below the surface of the water. His lungs quickly adapted to the change, and he was hyper aware of the constant movement coming from his gills as they worked. He exhaled and started to breathe normally—at least, as normally as was possible underwater.

He couldn’t drown, but maybe his demons could, just for a bit.

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

Emma Swan would never understand why the landlord kept locking the door to the roof; she’d just pick it again later. Besides, she was the only one that ever went up there, and unless the dude wanted to install a camera and evict her, she’d keep going. 

She had planned on taking a long, hot bath when she got home, but some asshole had used up all the hot water. It was probably just as well; she kind of didn’t feel like dealing with the inevitable mess. That’s why she had her dollar-store spray bottle, right?

It had been dumb of her not to bring it up here, though; she could already feel the itch forming between her shoulder blades, making her shift uncomfortably beneath her leather jacket. It was definitely time to get that off. (The July heat certainly didn’t help in that regard, but she could bear the discomfort; she could stand that easier than the alternative.)

She easily slipped off the red leather and let it fall on the cracked concrete of the roof, leaving her in a well-worn long-sleeved tee; it was the only way to make sure that puting the jacket on was as easy as taking it off. Plus, an extra layer helped keep things under wraps. Just one of the many things she’d learned about her situation in the last 10 years. 

(“Situation” seemed like the best term for it. Someone might call it a blessing; some might prefer curse. Honestly, it was more of an annoyance, so she figured it was best to use as neutral a term as possible.)

This was the part she both loved and hated: taking off her shirt. She knew it’d feel good to remove it, but it always hurt in motion. Oh well—like ripping off a bandaid. Quickly, trying to ignore the thousands of pricking and tugging points across her back and arms, she pulled it up over her head and let it fall on top of her jacket.

Now down to just a cami, she rolled her shoulders back and flapped her arms a few times. Yeah, flapped; what else was she supposed to call it when they were covered in feathers?

The biggest ones extended from her triceps and forearms, with smaller ones covering her skin from shoulder to wrist and between her shoulder blades. The tiniest ones blended in with her natural peach fuzz; the rest varied in size from a few inches to a couple feet and layered on top of each other like...well, like a bird’s wing.

She had wings, okay? But not like the kind you’d see on an angel in a Christmas pageant—freaking swan wings where she’d once had normal human arms. Even her hands vaguely resembled talons, but thankfully, it was easy to pass off her thick, dark nails as a really good gel manicure.

A few feathers drifted to the ground as she stretched, and she stared at them in annoyance, trying to determine if they were indicative of an oncoming molt or just incidental. She was incredibly close to catching a high-paying skip; she didn’t have time to be laid out with a molt for a week.

(Those were the weeks she did label it a curse. Last year, it had overlapped with her period. To make a long story short, she was now banned from ordering at the pizza place down the street due to some things she may have said to the teenaged delivery driver.)

She shook her arms again, watching in disdain as a few more feathers came loose, confirming her fears; damn. She did not need this right now. 

A breeze blew in from the harbor, ruffling her feathers. Some foreign bird instinct leaned into it, holding her arms out behind her to brace against it. For a minute, she let herself forget about everything—her finances, her schedule, her ever-present loneliness, the constant weight of whatever this was—and let her feathers float on the wind like they were meant to.

Fuck it. She needed to fly. 

Quickly, she undid her ponytail and threw her hair back up in a messy bun as she took long strides to the edge of the roof. There, she unlodged a loose brick, revealing a small hidden compartment below containing a white mask. It wasn’t anything fancy—the kind you could get from a party store any time of the year—but it did the job, so she slipped it on. It was best to hide your identity when you were one of the local cryptids, she figured.

(Maybe, one of these days, she’d meet another one; she somehow hadn’t in 10 years, but they had to be out there. They had to.)

Without any further hesitation, she stepped up onto the ledge, spread her arms wide, and jumped.

There was always a bit of fear that it wouldn’t work this time, that the pavement would meet her hollow bones and crush them—but then she caught an updraft and rode it up over the next building.

For at least a few hours, she could pretend to get away from everything, before the inevitable weight of her baggage brought her back down to the ground.

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

Ten years prior

The explosion came from nowhere. Not that most explosions ever gave warning, and if it was going to happen anywhere, a seemingly abandoned waterfront warehouse was as likely a place as any.

The official report said it was a gas explosion; that was true enough. 

Two fatalities were listed: the building owner, one Mr. Gold, who was inside when the blast hit; and his wife, Milah, who was just outside.

[She’d asked Killian to meet her there—he didn’t fully know why, but she’d asked, and he was at her beck and call. He didn’t care that she was married; he loved her, and she loved him.

She was scared; it was visible in her darting eyes and hunched-over position. But she immediately relaxed when he rounded the corner of the building and ran to him, immediately wrapping her arms around him.

Frantically, she started to say something about her husband—that he was inside, she was worried about him and her son, and she wanted to go somewhere—anywhere—when suddenly there was a deafening sound, a wall of heat, an acrid stench, and Killian was in the water, fire at the end of his left arm and in his lungs and Milah—where was she?

It took far too long to break the surface of the harbor, only to be greeted by a scene from a war film—and the undoubtable form of Milah’s lifeless body, under smoldering debris where the building had once stood.]

The number of casualties was unknown; only one person went to the hospital, due to losing their hand in the explosion. 

There were more people in the area, within the radius of the damage, but most fled as quickly as they could.

[Emma still wasn’t sure why Neal had wanted to wander down by the docks; most of his deals went down in other parts of town, but she didn’t think too hard on the change of venue. The salty brine of the ocean was and oddly refreshing scent, compared to the typical smog and gas of the parts of the city they usually haunted.

It was kind of romantic; they were walking hand in hand, snacking on the Pop-Tarts they’d just nabbed from the corner store. She’d had a pretty intense craving for them lately and he’d been all too happy to oblige.

They took a turn down what looked like a row of warehouses in varying amounts of use; he seemed to know where he was going so she followed, taking note when he was starting to slow. She was about to ask what they were doing, but then a deafening roar screamed from the building across the street, immediately drowning them in dust and debris, and something that smelled like gas, but also not?

It didn’t matter; they needed to get out of there. They immediately sprinted off in the direction they came, not stopping until they were sufficiently out of breath. They didn’t dare linger in case the police wanted to talk to them. No thanks.

But, ugh, she’d dropped her Pop-Tart.] 

The smell of the gas lingered—though it was only labeled as such because none of the experts could place it. It was more than natural gas, more of a chemical note to it—but it didn’t match any other known chemicals. Gas was easier to explain, so that’s what they went with.

Besides, that was the only thing that got hot enough to completely disintegrate human remains; what other reason was there to explain why they couldn’t find Mr. Gold’s body among the melted, charred remnants of the building?

The site was razed, but never rebuilt. But urban legend quickly grew to talk of a mysterious figure rising out of the shadows there, said to be his ghost.

(Or possibly something worse.)

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

thanks for reading! I know this is weird so let me know if you’d rather not be tagged: @kat2609 @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa  @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therealstartraveller776​

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Bring on the Mania! Pt 4

After escaping from the mermafia, they managed to make it to professor Crewel. But ever after since encountering the twins, Amane was surprisingly well behaved, sure he would flirt with a student from time to time. But when they left the classroom, he would look behind his shoulder every so often.

"Uhhh, are you okay? You've been acting paranoid ever since we ran into Azul and the twins." Concern etched her features. It grew when she watched him flinched at the mention of the latter.

"Ha-hahaha! What are you talking about, Sugar tits? I'm just peachy!" His smile didn't convince her. She could see the corners of his mouth twitched. She glanced at Grim and Lisha; the former furrowed his brows in suspicion, while the latter had a worried look in her eyes.

School ended for the day. Valerie and Amane made it to the entrance of the school where the rest of her first-year squad was. Tomorrow was the weekend, and she texted them for a sleepover, and they all agreed. Though they were still wary of him, they were able to hold a conversation with him better.

"Wait." Ace started. "You guys ran into Azul and the twins."

"And he's been jumpy ever since?" Deuce ended, glancing at the man, who was busy chatting with Epel about Lisha, the said strix nestled herself on Epel's fluffy head.

"Yeah, I don't know what they said to him, but whatever those two said really did a number on him." Valerie carefully cradled a sleeping Grim in her arms.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they have blackmail on him, considering that his family has a strong influence on Twisted Wonderland, and Azul will use that for his benefit." Jack added, huffing at the thought of it.

"But, they just met him. How could they obtain that information in less than a day?" Deuce thought.

"With how he paraded himself, it wouldn't be hard for him to the object of discussion for the whole school, even more so his family name." Sebek nodded.

The sound of music and praise filled the air when they neared the sports field. Valerie paused to see the commotion; the others did too, curious about what took the girl's attention.

There was a crowd of people, and they all surrounded whoever they were cheering for. Deciding to go nearer, Valerie politely excused herself from her friends, much to their confusion, and carefully waded her way through the crowd.

"Excuse me. Sorry, coming through." She repeatedly apologized before finally made her way to the source.

In the center of it all were Jamil and another student in the middle of a heated breakdance competition. By the look of it, no one was sure who was winning. She spotted Kalim in the far corner, holding a large 'Go Jamil!' sign over his sign.

"You're doing amazing, Jamil!" The garnet-eyed male cheered with a brilliant smile on his face.

Valerie felt her friend's presence. Hearing some of them catch their breaths confirms it.

"Damn it, Princess, and you said me and Deuce give you a headache." She heard Ace complain. She felt him lean to her side, his hand resting on her head.

"Do you think Jamil is winning?" Deuce asked as he watched in awe as the two students kept on pulling advance moves.

"I sure hope so." She replied, having full faith in her senior's abilities.

Amane stood behind her, pursing his, and folded his arms over his chest. He had a contemplative look on his face as he watched them dance. A loud cheer caught his attention, he glanced in the direction of it, and a flash of realization came to his fate when he saw Kalim.

Jamil delivered the finishing move that ended the battle and claimed his victory. The crowd cheered for his win, congratulated him, even his opponent, who wasn't even phased by his defeat, and admitted that he was the better dancer. Kalim happily ran over and tackled him for a hug. Jamil staggered from the impact but recovered quickly and tried to get him off.

"Oi! Get off!" Jamil demanded, trying to push his dorm leader away.

"Jamil, I'm so happy for you! You were incredible!" The energetic male praised. Jamil stopped when it appeared that he wasn't going to move from his position and reluctantly let Kalim hug him. Around them, the students had already dispersed and went back to the dorms. Well almost...

"Jamil, you were on fire." A feminine voice complimented. The Scarabia duo turned their heads and saw the school's only girl in front of them, as well as her friends.

"Hello, Valerie!" Kalim cheerfully greeted, Jamil just gave a nod of acknowledgment. An idea popped into Kalim's head.

"Hey Jamil, maybe you can teach Valerie that dance just now. She already proved herself to be a fast learner under your tutelage." Kalim suggested. Jamil hummed at the thought.

"That may be so, but it's still advance for her." He reasoned. Jamil jumped a bit when he found her face so close to his, he fought down the blush rising on his cheeks.

"I promise to put all my effort into it! I won't disappoint you!" She affirmed, the sincerity evident in her voice, and her determined face was too adorable for him.

"I-If that's how you feel, then fine. I won't go easy on you." The dark-haired male declared with a smirk. The girl just happily grinned up at him.

"Sup, Al-Asim." Amane casually greeted. He strolled up to the group with his arms behind his head.

"Mm, oh hey, Amane." Kalim waved at the man.

It that time, Grim woke up. The monster blinked blearily and let out a large yawn. He looked around and saw everyone's surprised faces; he turned his head to Amane and Kalim in the middle of a pleasant conversation. The first years blinked, watching in silence as Kalim and Amane converse like old friends.

"Do you know each other?" Epel queried.

"Oh yeah, I met this ball of sunshine when I was ten. His father brought him over so we can get acquainted;  for future business relations." Amane waved his hand dismissively.

"Our meetings became less frequent as time went on, and then we stopped seeing each other." Kalim admitted. Though there was an underlying sadness in his tone, he covered it up with a bright smile.

"But I heard rumors that a man was hanging around with Valerie. I didn't expect it was you."

"Amane, you already graduated. What are you doing here?" Jamil questioned. He narrowed his eyes towards the older male.

"I decided to hang with this girl for two days." The hetero eye male replied, wrapping one arm around Valerie for emphasis.

"Since we made the blood pact, I wanted to get to know her better and check out this school more." He added.

"You could have just visited her during the weekend." Jamil countered, crossing his arms.

"Oh, snake daddy, do you have any idea how hectic my schedule is? It's probably worse than yours." Amane remarked, using the girl as an armrest.

"Anyway, we got someplace to be. Catch you two later." He removed his arm, walking ahead from the rest of them.

"Oh, bye, Amane!" Kalim smiled at the back of his friend's retreating form.

"He could have at least wait, how rude." Sebek cast a disapproving look at Amane.

"Might as well catch up with him. See you, guys." Valerie waved at the Scarabia duo; before jogging after Amane. The rest of the first years followed.

"It's good to see Amane again, huh, Jamil?" There was a fond look in his eyes as he watched the first years catching up with the demon.

"It is surprising to see him here and making a pact with Valerie no less." Jamil commented.

"I hope we can re-connect, considering what father told me what happened to him." He turned to Jamil with downcast eyes; his smile lacked the joy he had earlier.

"Let's head back too. I'm sure some of the residents need something from us." Kalim went ahead, acting like nothing was wrong. Jamil stood there, watching Kalim's figure before catching up with him.

____________________________

The sun was already setting, and everyone was currently in the living room, having already eaten dinner made by the ghosts. The boys were already in their pajamas, so they were just waiting for Valerie to come down.

"Wait. You're friends with Lorelei Arachne?" Deuce asked incredulously. He wore a simple white shirt and dark blue pajama shorts. He was lying on his sleeping bag with the rest of the first years.

"Childhood friends, to be exact, honey." Amane corrected. He wore silk maroon pajamas with gold accents, lying on his side, taking most of the space on the couch.

"Pfft, now way. You expect us to believe that crap." Ace scoffed. Like Deuce, he wore a white shirt and red pajama shorts. "Probably a ploy to get in our pants."

Amane reached to the coffee table and grabbed his phone. He swiped it a few times before showing them a picture.

It was him, and his arm was wrapped around a young woman. She had an alluring heart-shaped face, long wavy blood-red hair that reaches to her thighs. Her eyes had black sclera, amber iris and black slits , and porcelain skin. Both were smiling and dressed in winter clothes, and what seemed to be a resort in the background.

"So hot stuff, you believe me now?" Amane smirked smugly on watching the first year's gawk at the photo.

"I-I-I..." Ace had no words for what he was seeing.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing." Jack muttered, scratching the back of his neck. He wore a white tank top and black pajama pants.

"That's amazing, Amane!" Deuce exclaimed as he stared at the picture.

"Where are you?" Sebek questioned. He wore a dark green pajama set with white accents.

"It's in the northern part of the land of pyroxene. She wanted to take a break from idol life, so I suggested this place; it wasn't that popular, but it had potential. I'm glad I did; it was like she got a few years of her life back." He took back his phone to stare at it; a small smile formed on his face as he recalled the memory.

"Is her life that hard?" Epel asked. He wore a black shirt with purple flannel pattern pajamas.

"Hell yeah, it is." He started to count each one with his fingers.

"Following a strict regime. A special diet to maintain her figure. Always acting happy in front of the camera. Walking around with weights on her body to make her dancing more fluid. Constantly performing and going to meet-n-greets no matter how tired she is. No love life. Ohh, and don't get me started with those bitchy fans of hers."

Amane seethed at the last one; he curled his lips with icy contempt and held his phone so tight, cracks were forming. His eyes flashed, not only in anger but something else. His eyes glowed dangerously bright as if a wildfire lit up, ready to burn down everything on its path.

But what concerned them the most is what was happening to his body. Like a technical glitch, they could see horns and a pair of wings on his back, flickering in and out of existence.

The first years' froze from their spot on the floor. Unaccustomed to seeing this side of him, they glanced at each other, unable to say that might trigger the hetero-eyed male. Fear tingled their backs as Amane's eyes glow brighter and becoming more demonic.

When Amane finally looked up, he found the frightened and wary faces of Valerie's friends staring at him. Their bodies were tense; they were either ready to run from him or pin him to the ground. Confused, he glanced at the dark screen of his phone and understood their caution. Amane closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting up to twenty in his head, and let it all out. He looked at his phone; no glowing eyes or horns and wings.

He turned back to the first-year squad. They were still on high alert, albeit calm themselves considerably; there was an awkward silence in the air, with neither party saying a word. In the end, Amane spoke up.

"So, is Sugar tits done yet?"

"I'm right here, Amane." Her voice rang out.

She came into the room wearing a pink shirt that exposed her midriff and matching shorts. Grim was lying on her head, with Lisha on top of his. In her arms were various board games. Valerie's cheerful smile was replaced by a concerned frown; the tension in the air was thick, and from her friends' body language, they were on the verge of tackling him.

"Is everything alright?" She asked worriedly, sitting down and placing the boxes on the coffee table.

"Yeah, we-" Deuce started before Ace abruptly cut him off.

"THIS GUY NEARLY WENT DEMON MODE ON US!" Ace screamed, pointing accusingly at the midnight haired male. Valerie blinked and turned to Amane, who bowed his head.

"Uhh, w-what happened?"

"Amane was just telling us he was friends with Lorelei Arachne." Jack answered. "But Ace didn't believe him, so he showed us a picture of them on his phone. Amane began to list off how hard her life was, to the point of angering him."

I-I didn't mean to lose control." The incubi tried to defend. "It's just the way they treat her makes my blood boil."

Amane bit his lower lip. Eyes darting everywhere, unwilling to look at them. Simmering in silent rage.

"But, at least she had you, didn't she?" Grim, surprisingly offered. Amane stopped biting his lip and loosen his muscles.

"Yeah, that bitch and I had each other backs ever since I could remember. Whenever the world decided to throw shit at us, we always managed to come on top."

A small smile etched his face,  his eyes grew soft and nostalgic. Valerie placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. The hetero-eyed gave her a thankful smile.

"So, what do you have in store, Sugar tits?"

[thewritingstar]

Sorry for asking so much but if u dont mind i like to think that blossom sees boomer like his little bro so lile one day boomer having panic attack and blossom helping him. God i love my bby boy suffering

Oh don’t apologize! I love it! Ask as much as you want love. Fun fact, I used to have panic disorder from the age of 6- 17 so I know all about panic attacks. That wasn’t a very fun fact but uhhh, hope you enjoy!

Everything in this fic is from my own experience and I also took psychology as well. 

So I’m going to write this with my version of my own attacks so what you see boomer having is equivalent to mine. From my own experience just so that no one comes for me, I can’t speak for about ten minutes and its had to move so im either sitting or under neath something like a desk. Once I can talk, I stutter and can barely form full sentences. Its important to know that panic attack and anxiety attacks are much different as the first doesn’t have triggers but the second does. Also the first thought you have when you going into a panic attack is thinking you are about to die, scary but its true. 

Now that is out of the way, I hope you enjoy this fic and sorry that it took so long to do!

Pairing: Blossom and Boomer (non shipping) 

Fandom: Powerpuff Girls 

——

She never really knew how or why she heard it. Super hearing gave you many things but hearing the worlds smallest sob escape trembling lips was never something she usually picked up on. 

It buzzed in her ear and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up with a slight chill. Soon her feet were taking her upstairs and it was the first time she had ignored the hall pass rule. 

Being a hero meant she had to be ready for anything. Monster attacks, demons rising from the pits of hell and even gangs shooting up stores, it was all part of the deal, yet there were some problems that not even super powers could handle. 

She opened the door to the roof slowly before stepping out and feeling the crisp and cool air of the morning. It would have been peaceful if someone wasn’t crying. Her foot steps were that of a ghost as she walked towards the other end and she dropped to her knees before placing a hand on a trembling shoulder. 

“Boomer?” she asked quietly. 

The blond boy looked up, his eyes had been blown wide and were rubbed red to the point that they might scar. His lips trembled as he said nothing stared at her with an empty look. 

She felt frightened in that moment, not for her well being but his. She watched as his lips parted but nothing came out. He tried to speak but his voice was like a desert. Dry and bare. 

His eyes searched for an answer, something to cling and grab onto so he could swim.

“Boomer, are you okay?” She asked knowing the answer already. Again, no words but blue eyes that begged for help. 

His breathing picked up, hyperventilation coming into play and he brought his hands to his ears and slammed his foot down as if to drown out the silence. Blossom searched for any sign of what could have hurt him, she had to think. There was nothing, no monster or attack and he didn’t seem physically hurt, so what could- 

Oh. Oh. OH. 

She should have known what was happening the minute it she saw him. Her advanced psychology classes came into handy just now. 

“Boomer.” She said softly and he opened his eyes. “I think you are having a panic attack.” His eyebrows furrowed and she bit her lip. “Okay maybe you are aware of that but I’m going to help you through this, okay?” 

Boomer said nothing and she didn’t expect him too. She made a mental note that he was going non verbal during these and maybe that's why he couldn’t call for help. 

Blossom dug through her bag for her notes and found it in record time. “Okay lets see, panic attacks.” She began to read. “The first thing that happens during an attack is the thought of death. Oh.” She frown. “There is a constant state of panic that last five to ten minutes but the after math of the fear could last hours. In order to stop a panic attack, the person experiencing it must wait it out or an extreme reaction can help quicken the process, other than that, there's nothing to do.” She scoffed. “Gee that was helpful.” 

All she needed was a distraction, she could do that. She could tell a joke? No, she wasn’t good at those and only got a humorous reaction from her clumsiness. Instead of trying to figure it out, her phone was her next best guess. 

“Don’t worry Boomer, I got you.” She smiled. She went to a few different sources and found one. “Ice in the mouth. It should trick your brain into thinking about it instead.” Blossom looked around. “Where can I get ice?”

She suddenly felt a finger poke at her cheek. She looked at Boomer who was point at his mouth then to her. Oh! 

“My ice breath!” She cheered and held out her hand and carefully blowed until a small cube formed in her hand. “I’m not sure Boomer that might be a little gross-” 

The cube was taken and before she could protest, it was in his mouth. 

“Okay then, how's that working?” She questioned with a soft expression. 

He looked from the left then to the right as he shifted the ice in his mouth. Slowly he opened his mouth, his voice breaking as he spoke. 

“I-” He tried to say as tears formed in his eyes again. 

Blossom put her hand on his and ushered him not to speak. 

“Its okay, you don't have to say anything. You got through it, I’m sorry I was only here at the end but you did it, Boomer.” She said proudly. 

He wiped his tears with his sleeve that was already soaked from earlier and leaned to grab her shoulder and pull her into a hug. She felt the tension from his shoulders fall instantly and his heart rate slower to a more desired rate as he hugged her tighter and held her for a moment. She didn’t dare budge but gave him a squeeze and ruffled his hair as he pulled away. 

“Your face is awfully red, maybe you should go home.” She said as she helped him stand. 

He nodded and grabbed his bag. “T-thank you.” He croaked. “No one has ever been with me before.” He said sadly. 

She frowned. “Does Brick know?” 

Boomer shifted on the balls of his feet. “No.” 

“Do...do you have these often?” She was almost afraid to ask. 

“Once a month maybe. Most of the time I’m at home, haven’t have a public one in a while.” 

“Was there anything that could have caused it?” 

He bit his lip and shrugged. “No. You read those books, they are random but Brick and Butch fighting constantly and the stress of school doesn’t help. But it's okay.” He offered her a smile. “That ice trick worked really well. Without you, I probably would have been there until school got out. I’m just really happy it was you and not anyone else.” He said honestly. 

“I think you should tell your brothers. You can barely speak in that state and I would hate for something to happen when you couldn’t call out for anyone.” 

He tightened his hold on his backpack and gulped. “I don’t want to. Its embarrassing. I’d rather keep it to myself, I can handle it.” 

She knew there was no way he would budge. She exhaled and pulled his phone  from his pocket. 

“hey what are-”

“Im installing a safety button. My sisters and I have a button that we can push that automatic lets us know when we are in danger and can’t speak. It's mostly for missions and things like that but this is just as important.” She handed him his phone back. “So when ever this happens and you feel like you need some help or someone to just sit there with you, I’m one click away.” 

He stared at the button and placed his thumb over it. A beeping noise came from Blossoms phone and she pulled it out to silence it. “See like that.” 

A wave of emotions came over Boomer as he began to tear up for the hundredth time. “Blossom, I don’t think you know how much this means to me.” 

Blossom brought him in for another hug. “You won’t be alone any longer, I promise.” 

She felt him nod against her shoulder and wiped the tear steaming down his cheek with her thumb. “Lets go get you check out to the office and sent home, you should rest.” 

“Yeah. I’m a little dizzy.” 

She wrapped her arm around his and the began to walk towards the office just as the bell rang. 

“Damn it, I miss third period.” Boomer sighed. 

“Its fine. Buttercup will give you the homework and I’ll get anything else you need.” 

“You really don’t have to Bloss.” 

“As a hero and more importantly, a friend, I will.” Blossom said.

“Boomer.” They heard a voice behind and she knew instantly it was Brick. 

They stopped walking just as Brick came in front of them. “The hell are you doing?” Brick asked as he looked at their conjoined arms. 

Boomer was about to say something but Blossom squeezed his arm. 

“Hes not feeling well and I’m sending him home.” Blossom stated. 

“You were fine this morning.” Brick narrowed his eyes. “Buttercup said you ditched class.” 

“He didn’t ditch. Some of us have emotions and right now Boomer is not feeling too well, he can explain on his own time but as his now older sister, I am making him go home and rest.”

“What she said.” Boomer said just as he yawned. 

Brick rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine, go home.” 

Boomer gave him a small smile. 

“Go on ahead, I’ll meet you in the office.” Blossom said as Boomer walked ahead. 

“Is he really sick?” Brick asked and she could sense that he was really worried.

“I wouldn’t say that but its also not my place. Just go easy on him, he's having a hard time right now and I think having his brother help him through it would be good for both of you.” She reassured him. 

“Alright, whatever. I’ll make sure Boomer is fine.” 

Blossom smiled and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “You're so sweet.” She gushed dramatically. 

Bricks face flushed slightly as he took her hand and tried to hide his smirk. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s not be late to chemistry.” 

“Would love too but I have to go use my puff powers to get my new little brother home.” 

“Little brother?” Brick shook his head. “What are you adopting him next?” 

“I just might.” She smiled. “I’ll see ya in class.” She winked as she headed towards the office. 

She found Boomer sitting in one of the chairs. “If you could stop canoodling with my brother, I would like to leave, I got a massive headache and my face is a disaster from crying.”

“We weren’t canoodling.” She said under her breath as she went up to the office lady. 

Boomer sat and watched as she talked. He felt better by a landslide since she came to help him and hearing her refer to him as a little brother made him a little more happy then he cared to admit. Watching Blossom talk and win over the woman made him smile as he hugged his arms together. 

“Yeah, big sis would be nice.” He said to himself but he didn't miss the way her lips turned up into a small smile. 

----

I hope you enjoyed! I actually really liked this prompt and sometimes its good to read things that can help you in daily life. 

[imagine-loki]

Glow

TITLE: Glow

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: imagine that you liked Loki long ago. But he had rejected you once, so you’ve moved on. One day, he appears at your doorstep. He was a lot mellower than you remembered, like dark, burdensome things had happened to him, but was still the good man at heart you knew all those years ago. 

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I had every intention of this being light-hearted, and then I started writing and went very dark, very fast. End in fluff, though? Mentions of death, disease, depression, language, and heartbreak. Loosely builds on my past Imagine One-Shot: Taking Turns. 

=

It had been strange to die.

To really die, not that subtle fakery he had done a thousand times before to put a temporary stop to his problems. There would be no getting up from these wounds. From the twisted neck and its haunting crunch, and the inevitable darkness that had smothered him a moment after, blanketing him in warmth. It truly was strange to die.

But if he died, why was he here?

Loki groaned as he shifted on the evening dew-dampened grass. His limbs all felt tumescent and clumsy. It wasn’t exactly a surprise–he had fought off an undead army, his demon of a sister, the Titan’s ranks. He deserved to feel stiff, but it wasn’t exactly helping him get on his feet.

Red-rimmed, baggy eyes were drawn to the great oak tree up ahead. He knew the sight well. He had spent many a day kissing her in secret under that tree, whenever he could get away from his brother and she could slip away from Stark’s lab, undetected. That was the place where she had told him, brown eyes rounded and shy as she stared at him through her lashes, that she was in love with him. Coincidentally, that was the same place where he told her he didn’t feel the same.

Let it never be said that Loki ever had the good sense to do something that might actually be good for him.

Her face popped into his mind, clear as the day he left her behind. The Titan. His plan. This world seemed like it was another era, altogether. Was she even alive?

“Fuck.”

His feet had brought him to her door. He hadn’t planned on it, but something in his subconscious had told him that this was as good a place as any to lay low. If she was alive, she would help him, regardless of the utter monster he had been to her. If she wasn’t… well, at least it was a place to stay, wasn’t it?

Loki’s fist pounded on the door with such force that the whole thing was shaking in its foundations. It was late, he knew, but she was never a deep sleeper. It was always so easy to nudge her awake, maybe with a kiss on the neck and have her focus her sleepy, warm attention on him. He tired of the trying to convince himself that she had to still live. He would’ve known if she didn’t, wouldn’t he? Something in the faulty machinery that rattled in his chest must still be connected to that damned awkward smile and–

“Loki…?” Her voice was breathless, as if it were impossible for the man staring out onto the street to be the same that broke her heart. And yet… “Loki.”

He pulled a breath, dressing himself in courage before turning towards the voice. The woman leaning against the doorframe looked like a spectre of who he used to know. Where her frame had been strong and wide-hipped and sturdy enough to take his full strikes on the sparring mats, this person looked… deathly? Defeated?

“Rebecca,” he whispered, taking a single step forward, trying not to overwhelm her.

“No. Thor said you died before… he swore that he saw you… You’re dead.” Her voice thickened with tears she dared not shed.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “You know I have the hardest time getting that stuff to stick.” When she didn’t smile, he cleared his throat and pushed the tangled mess of his hair back in a nervous fidget. “I don’t know how I’m here, either. I was just with Thor in the ship and I know I died, I just… I don’t know.”

“I’m going to call Thor,” she mumbled, walking backwards, eyes weary of his form.

Loki rushed to follow her. She gave out a strangled shriek when he closed his fingers around her wrist and wrenched her cell phone out of her grasp. “No one can know. Not until I understand what’s going on. Rebecca, please.” She was trembling and so he loosened his grip on her hands in favor for her face. His thumbs trailed softly over her now-prominent cheekbones. He hated not seeing the rounded cheeks, often flushed red at his touch. “Please.”

Rebecca’s face had fallen from her surprise, and now she just looked lost. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“I’m dying. That’s why you’re here. You’re here to take me away and you couldn’t have fucking chosen anyone else to look like?! Loki was my…,” Rebecca trailed off, breaking down into a heart-shattering sob.

“Darling, no.” He gathered her into his embrace, winding his arms around her shoulders to hold her safe. “No, no, no. I know it’s confusing, darling. I know. You are perfectly safe with me. You know that.”

“Where were you? I needed you! For years, I needed you and you weren’t there!” Loki grit his teeth to keep his own sob from choking through. Instead, he let the tears stream quietly, offering nothing but mumbled assurances that she was fine and that he was sorry. Gods above, he was so sorry.

Eventually, he had calmed her enough to put her to bed. While she sniffed in her sleep, he scrolled through the news on her computer, trying his hardest to catch up. It had been so many years. A mere instant had plummeted him more than five years into the future. Five years that, if the glimpse of the street outside had been any indication, had been more than just rough. They had won the war against Thanos, but the number of battles they had lost in between had been costly. Too costly.

When Loki startled awake, he was surprised to see Becca watching him from the armchair across. She was molded into a ball, with her knees up to her chest. It reminded him of the first time they had kissed. He had unfurled her from that very same position and then toyed with her from a few months. He had been but a bratty child then. He couldn’t truly say that he was any different now, but at least now he had the sense to self-contemplate.

“You cut your hair,” he remarked and immediately slapped himself internally. He was truly useless around her.

Rebecca subconsciously ruffled her brown curls. “Yeah. I got sick. Kept it short, after.”

“I like it…,” he trailed off, awkwardly. “Is that why you're–” He broke off when her eyes flickered up, dangerously, daring him to make light of her situation, as he often used to. It had always been gentle teasing, though in rare occasion he would strike just across the line and have to deal with the fallout. “W-why you’re so thin?”

Silence stretched for a long time. It crept up his spine and injected itself into his veins, letting him know he had made a mistake.

“Why are you here, Loki?”

“The truth?”

Rebecca scoffed. “Are you capable of it, Liesmith?”

The jab hurt, but was in no way unjustified. “I was brought back to this world, to this time… you were my only thought. Just you. And I prayed that you were alive because I am not strong enough to live through the heartbreak of losing you, twice.”

“You left me, Loki. You broke my heart and then you went off to gallivant with Thor. In my darkest days, I pleaded for you. And now…”

“And now…?”

“And now I’m just upset because I can see you’re not doing any better than me. Shit, why am I such a fucking bleeding heart–” The tears were back, and as she protected herself in her bubble from him, she pound her fist to the side of her head. This was new behavior and worrisome, to say the least. It had been a hard decade. 

“Becca.” He let her name fall quietly from his lips before he made an effort to move. He had shed his armor, opting for some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Every muscle, ligament, and bone ached, and they screamed in protest when he sunk to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. She struggled against him, but her strength just wasn’t there anymore. “Darling girl, please.”

In another life he would have raised his voice, shook her out of her stupor and sharply admonished her until she was agreeable; pliant. She never did like confrontation and she would have given him her very lungs if it had aided him–she would have given a perfect stranger her lungs, too.

There had always been an unbreakable brightness within her. That was what had attracted him to her, early on. She was bright where he was dark; all accepting and loving where he was brash and scornful and self-loathing. Hindsight was crystal clear, and all it told him was that he should have been so much better to her. He should have offered her the world when he had the chance. All he could do now was repent and take care of her, for a change.

“I’m going to get you some food and some coffee and then I am going to–I’m not sure. Whatever will make you happiest, I suppose. OK, pet?” He offered her a small smile, thumbs stroking the back of her hands until she stopped fidgeting and offered a nod. “Good.” He nodded and rose, reluctantly releasing her to head to the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” That was a loaded question. “You’re different.”

He stopped and faced her. After a moment, he shrugged. “Just life, Rebecca.”

“That’s not everything, is it?”

“No. Then again, you didn’t just get sick, either, did you?” His charged blue gaze pinned her down until she shook her head, seemingly against her will. “Let me get you coffee and, um, we'll… take turns?”

Becca laughed, despite herself, rolling her eyes at the god. That was a turn of phrase she had not thought of in an eternity. “I hate you. I really do,” she riposted, though there was no fire behind the words.

“I daresay you have every right.”

With a crooked half-grin, he pointed behind himself and turned once more towards the kitchen. Before he had crossed, the wind was knocked out of him as arms twisted round his stomach and squeezed painfully. Against his back, Rebecca breathed disjointedly, dampening his shirt with tears.

“I love you, Loki.”

Those words had echoed in his chest for nearly a decade. They had etched themselves against every rib and membrane in his chest, taunting him every time he failed; every time he fell. He had not been worthy of receiving them back then. Nor did Loki think he was worthy of receiving them now, but he felt a compulsion to hold fast to the phrase that he had not felt then. Twisting in her arms, he looked down on those same rounded, shy brown eyes looking up through her lashes. Only this time, they were painfully guarded, protective. He could see only a flicker of her light, and he wanted to set it ablaze, once more. For her own good, more than his own.

He grinned through the sting of tears, brushing her short curls back with delicate strokes. “And I love you, Rebecca. Across time, space, and reality, it seems.”

The walls around her had not vanished, but they seemed to wobble under his attentions. “Please don’t leave again. I don't–”

“I won’t. I promise you on my honor, whatever little I have, I will not leave your side until you demand I leave–” Her lips on his cut him short and the surprised gasp he gave died muffled beneath their kiss.

When she pulled back, both were panting. “I just waited eleven years for you to say what you mumbled in your sleep every single night for months. If anything, I’m liable to stick you in another ice block.” He let out a surprised bark of laughter before reconnecting their lips.

“I don’t deserve you.” Loki wrapped himself around her, resting his chin on her crown. 

“You don’t, but you can earn me back, I bet.”

He smiled against her temple before pressing a kiss there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Being here does most of the job. Coffee might seal the deal.” She smirked, an expression he knew was meant to tease. “If you figure out how to work my coffeemaker, that is.” Becca pecked his lips and brushed past him into the kitchen, pointing at the multi-dialed monstrosity of a coffeemaker.

The light in her eyes was starting to glow once more.

[redhoodieone]

Star-Crossed Universe

A/N: Yes!!! I’M BACK!!! This project has been on the back burner for so long and its finally time to upload it on here. I’m not sure what you all will think but hey...it’s fan fiction and everything and anything goes.

Warnings: Language, Humor (bad and good jokes), Sexual Conversations, and an ultimate Team-Up.

Plot: When Y/N is thrown into a mission way out of her league, she, and magician best friend Zatanna must stop strong demonic forces from entering earth through an unknown portal that John Constantine may have opened. With the assistance from the Dark Knight himself, a mysterious 1967 black Impala arrives in Gotham just when things start to go to hell. But who called the Winchesters? Why is there a clairvoyant bond between Y/N and Dean Winchester? And why does Castiel, an angel of the Lord, believe John Constantine isn’t who he says he is? And will Dean wear the Batsuit?

Move over Scooby-Natural because it’s Batman’s turn! The Winchesters join Batman and Y/N (You!) in taking down a villain who isn’t an everyday monster for Supernatural!

Please enjoy and comment! If you want a Part 2, please let me know.

  Part 1

 I don’t remember a time where tears felt like my own. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m standing on the ledge when Gotham is down pouring like it always does at night. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. Gotham is the only city in the US of A that is dark, depressing, manic, and suicidal.

 Even Superman refuses to stay here for more than a day.

 I’m not any better. The only reason why I’m literally dangling my feet over the edge is because I’m numb.

 Numb to feelings.

Numb to pain.

Numb to life.

 Bottom line is breakups fucking suck period. Especially if your ex-boyfriend is Bruce Wayne.

 And Batman.

 I don’t know why I put myself through this. The bitter pain of having to work with someone you love but to know they’ll never love you as much. Maybe this is why I should have never worked with Bruce.

 Dick left first and has successfully made a name for himself, Nightwing, in Bludhaven.

 Jason comes and goes throughout the months and has his own team of misfits who do good but cause chaos as well.

 Even Tim and Damian are working together. They’re training and leading the Titans. The last I heard from them is that they’re doing just fine.

 Except me.

 Who am I kidding? I can’t compare myself to Bruce’s kids even though I’m closer to Dick’s age than Bruce’s.

 Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out between us. Bruce is almost my father’s age, late forties early fifties. And he’s still sexy as fuck; stronger than ever.

 And here I am in my early thirties, expecting more than just a wordless promise of something more than casual sex and the uncertainty of the future.

 After three months ago, I’m trying desperately hard to not care anymore. The only constant thing in my life is being Night Bat, and I’ll die with only that part of me.

 Death.

 The one place where everything and nothing hurts anymore.

 “Y/N.”

 My head jerks to the right side where Zatanna is standing. With her hands on her hips, I can see her blue eyes blinking sadness and guilt. For a beautiful woman like Z, her broken expression is almost tragic enough to make me cry like her.

 If my own tears were my own. Maybe my tears are Gotham’s.

 “It’s Etrigan. He’s...” Zatanna chokes on her words. She literally holds her neck and tries to stop sobbing. “He’s dead.”

 I can feel my eyebrows raise as confusion and disbelief crash over me.

 “Dead?” I repeat. I can’t even believe that word is coming from my mouth. Etrigan is tough. Etrigan is a shithead. Etrigan cannot be dead. “How?”

 Zatanna shrugs her shoulders as her lips quiver. Seeing her broken up makes me feel like an asshole for not comforting her. So, I stand up and go over to her. Taking her by surprise, I hug her tightly.

 She’s my best friend. My sister. My partner in crime whenever we get into bad shit. (Sometimes...maybe).

 After Zatanna hugs me, she takes a step back and wipes her tears with her gloved hand.

 “He-he was stabbed. I... I don’t know by what but he bled and he was never one to really bleed, you know? I checked everything out and he’s dead. He’s really gone. But it was...a very fucking strange thing. Really,” Zatanna rambles on anxiously. Whenever she cusses, I know she’s angry and stressed out. “Whatever killed him, it’s not from around here. What I sensed near him, it’s not human. It’s not magical. It’s not even Kryptonian or extraterrestrial.”

 I swallow hard. “What do you think it is then?”

 “Demonic.”

_________________________________________________

 “Have you contacted John?” I ask. My voice is rough and breathless. I’m busy shoving as much weapons as I can in my backpack, along with a few clothes and a book from Alfred about demonology. He said it was a gift from Constantine himself.

 I stare down at my long, silver triple-edged dagger that I found on one of my solo missions in Kansas when Bruce was fighting

 “Not in... six months.”

 The guilt in her voice makes me turn to glance at her. “Seriously?”

 I glance down at my black pants and boots to make sure I’m appropriately and comfortably dressed for tonight. I slip on a red and black checkered flannel over my form fitting black tank top.  After rolling up the sleeves to my elbows, I put on my black leather jacket and turn to face Zatanna.

 “What, am I supposed to keep in touch with my ex-boyfriend? I thought ex-boyfriends were meant to stay ex-boyfriends, not friends. And besides, you keep in touch with Bruce,” Zatanna responds smugly.

 “He’s...a co-worker...that’s-thats different.”

 “Bullshit,” Z laughs.

 I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I need a drink before we start...” I say, waving my hand up dramatically. “Whatever this is. I think a stop at Lucky’s is what we need.”

 “A trip to the bar is what YOU need,” Zatanna replies.

 She follows me out of my apartment until we stop in the parking lot where my motorcycle is parked. I don’t see her standing behind me with her arms crossed and eyebrow raised, as I take a seat on my bike and set myself up to ride.

 “What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

 “I could just you know...poof is there.”

 “Yeah, you could like you always do, but I need to ride my baby right now. It’s like, therapy for the low self-esteem, loner, rebels,” I say.

 To my surprise, Zatanna nods her head and gives me a small smile. I’m grateful she understands how much riding my motorcycle makes me happy. Makes me breathe. Makes me feel alive.

 “I’ll see you there, Y/N/N.”

 “See ya, Z.”

 And with that, Zatanna poofs for real. Her magic still surprises me. Whenever I see her perform her spells and tricks, I feel like I’m reliving magic shows I saw as a kid that I used to believe were real and powerful.

 But to know what Zatanna does is real is still unbelievable sometimes.

 And to think we have been best friends for five years now...amazing how time flies by I’m between laughs and heartbreaks.

 Revving my bike, I waste no time speeding out of the parking garage and into the streets of Gotham. The rain and wind in my hair sends me chills, as the lights and buildings pass me by so fast that I feel like everything I see is a blur; almost like in a dream-like state.

 Lucky’s is just a small country rustic bar outside of Gotham. City people usually don’t go there as the place is purely meant for drifters and stranded loners. I happen to love the bar. If I’m ever feeling down or angry, I always drop by to get drunk or frisky if I’m ever in the mood. Bruce was always disappointed in me for that. He always used to say I’m better than that and I shouldn’t put myself down.

 I sometimes think he’d want to say I’m easy, but Bruce is just so complicated sometimes. He can either be a total asshole or be the gentle sweetheart he is. You never know which side you’d see sometimes.

 Almost like Two-Face.

 Swerving into the mud to park alongside trucks and other bikes, I climb off my motorcycle and glance around the dirt lot. I recognize a few vehicles parked already. A new black Escalade parked closer to the bar is different and catches my attention rather quickly.  

 I pull my hair back into a ponytail and start my way over to the expensive ass vehicle when suddenly a black car speeds right pass me and parks right next to my bike, sending mud flying to my pants and on my bike! Rage suddenly takes over me. I can feel my blood boil and my jaw clench as several curse words come to mind. I twist around and instead make my way to that motherfucker’s car.

 A black 1967 Impala? What a fucking joke.

 As if this motherfucker owns this American classic. This self-righteous, prick probably stole it from some old fool or maybe his own old man.

 I’m ready to break this douchebag’s face. Knock all his teeth out and break his cock into two…maybe three pieces.

 I finally reach the driver’s door and quickly open it; door swinging back. This must piss off the man a lot, but I don’t care right now.

“Look, you motherfucker! You think you can just drive like a bat out of hell and get fucking mud on MY baby?!  Get out of this fucking car so I can break you apart with my bare hands!” I yell angrily and loudly.

The man climbs out of his car, but my anger suddenly vanishes. What the hell?

Holy fucking shit…this man is…hot.

Standing at 6’1, this man is almost intimidating. With short brown hair, tan skin, hypnotizing green eyes, and freckles splattered over his nose and cheeks, he’s fucking adorable…and sexy. I can’t help but stare up at him.

He smirks down at me. Underneath his dark jacket, he’s wearing a flannel shirt and black Henley, where I can already see his strong chest, muscled arms, and soft tummy.

“Looks like sweetheart likes what she sees, Sammy. I’d say we made the right choice for coming out to Gotham,” the man speaks smugly. His voice is deep and husky, more addicting than any liquor inside the bar.

Another man comes over to us from around from the car. This man, I’m assuming his Sammy, is FUCKING TALLER than the hot one in front of me!

Sammy chuckles lightly at me. Pushing his longer brown hair from his face, he quickly reaches out to shake my hand.

“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean.”

The second those words leave his mouth; we hear someone quickly approaching us. Zatanna. And from the looks of theirs, they’re shocked and surprised to see my friend in her usual, sexy magician number.

Zatanna smiles, nonetheless. “Well, if it isn’t the Winchesters. We’ve been expecting you.”

[fanficfeeling]

Lovely Part 2 - Jaskier x Reader

A/N: Hey everyone! Wow! Part 1 received far more positive feedback than I thought it would! I'm super grateful to everyone who read part one, or left a comment, or was just very encouraging, you've really helped re-spark my love for writing <3 Boy, this took way too long to finish, but I just really wanted to make sure it held up the first part at least a little! I hope you enjoy this part as well, and I'm planning on writing at least one more part to this after this, so let me know if your interested in that/how much more of this story you're interested in seeing! Either way I'm planning on continuing to write for The Witcher, and on starting to post for other fandoms (of which I'll be posting a list soon!) so if you like my work please follow or just keep an eye out! Love you guys.

Summary: 3 times Jaskier has done his best to distract Y/N from the less enjoyable parts of her life.

Part 1

Warnings: Brief language warning.

Tagged: @failure-of-the-day (I might be assuming but I thought you might like to be tagged!) @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @blue-hoodies-for-life @athenaisalpha

~~

Y/N found out rather quickly that spending time with Jaskier is a surefire way to bring a smile to her face. Her job can be depressing, Geralt is often silent at the most inopportune times, and travelling for such long distances can be boring, but Jaskier is none of those things, and often goes out of his way to grab her attention from that which brings down her mood.

For instance, moments like this one: Y/N has returned to this small town's inn after helping the townspeople for the day, feeling like the weight of the world is on her shoulders after the day she's had. Geralt hasn't returned from his monster slaying yet, so she seeks out Jaskier for company.

When she finds him in his room, he's laying on his bed, writing something down on a piece of paper haphazardly, using his propped-up knee as a work surface. As impractical as the position seems, he looks comfortable: laid back, his normal, fancier wear tossed aside for a simple white shirt and comfortable trousers, and a smile upon his face. It take Y/N all of a second to decide that the look does him great justice.

"Jaskier." Y/N starts, making him aware of her presence.

He looks up, briefly startled, but when his eyes come to rest on her, his smile widens, "Hello, Y/N."

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm back in for the evening."

"I'm glad! It was getting boring around here with no company. Please, come in, sit down." Y/N expects him to gesture to the chair against the wall in invitation, but he simply moves his feet and makes room on his bed for her. She means to be more proper about coming into his space, but as she approaches, she finds that she ends up throwing herself down onto the bed, her exhaustion weighing down her bones.

This seems to be the first time Jaskier notices her mood is off, "Hey, everything alright?"

Y/N looks at him sheepishly, "Just a long day is all. How was yours?"

Taking the hint that she wasn't up for talking about it, Jaskier indulges her, "I started writing a new song today, and I have to admit, it's taken up pretty much all of my time. It's-"

It's all Y/N can do to stay focused on his words for that long, as images of ill people, broken homes, and crying children fill her mind. This town is lucky to have an inn still standing, considering all the havoc beasts nearby have caused. Why must monsters even have to exist like this at all? Why must innocent people suffer for mindless, bloodthirsty crazes? Why does Y/N dedicate herself to cleaning up messes that aren't even hers?

"Y/N?" She looks up at Jaskier at the sound of his persistent voice, and it isn't until she attempts to speak that she realizes she's begun crying. She also finds that she can't find anything to say to him to make an excuse for her state.

He doesn't question any further though, and swiftly gives her a soft smile, before setting aside his papers and opening his arms, beckoning her towards him.

She doesn't even think about it as she crawls towards him and re-positions herself so that he can envelop her in a hug, as she lays her head against his chest. Just being there quickly quiets the tears, but Jaskier doesn't let go, and for that Y/N is grateful.

They sit in silence as Y/N calms herself, and eventually Jaskier leans down a little bit to kiss her forehead and whisper, "Whatever you've been through, please just remember that I'm here for you and that your soul is good, and deserves to be returned the help and goodness that you give."

Oh yeah, that's why she does it all. However hard it can be, it's the good she does that keeps her moving.

~~~

The next time Jaskier goes out of his way to lift Y/N's mood, Y/N and Geralt are sitting at a table in another tavern, completely silent. Normally Y/N has no issues with respecting their silence, she often enjoys it, but her work involved a lot of repairs today, and she barely had any human connection at all throughout the day. She fidgets, doing her best not to disturb Geralt as he seems to contemplate something—she knows he has his own demons swimming around in his mind—but she worries that if she doesn't do something stimulating soon, she very well might burst.

Jaskier descends from the rooms above the tavern space, looking to begin his own work for the night as an entertainer. He had gotten permission from the owner of this establishment earlier in the day to perform in the space, and as it got on into the evening, he knew that now was his prime time. He had cleaned himself up, decided on his song list, and was ready to go.

As he looked around the tavern sizing up his audience, his eyes came to rest upon his travelling companions. Geralt seems lost in thought, and Y/N... Y/N seems downright bored. Knowing that she's been having a rough go of it lately with her work, Jaskier quickly decides that he cannot let this stand.

He swiftly changes his course and makes his way towards their table, a plan only half formed in his mind, and when he stops in front of them he finds himself asking, "Y/N, could I ask a favor of you?"

She looks at him, curiosity in her eyes and a soft smile on her mouth—a goddess in the flesh, he thinks—and he continues, "I have some songs that I was planning on playing tonight, and I would like to see how they fare as duets. Would you join me?"

Jaskier doesn't know by what miracle she says yes, and neither does she, really, but soon the two fall into a groove that brings the attention, and coin, of the patrons. They stumble through the first few songs, rousing some laughs from their audience, until they get to "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher", and the audience joins in singing with them. The pair puts on a show as they sing and they dance, and the audience adores it.

After a rendition (or several) of Jaskier's hit song, many of their audience members start to fall away, so the bard takes that as a hint to start slowing things down.

"Y/N, how would you feel about rounding this performance off by performing "Her Sweet Kiss" with me?"

Y/N's heart skips a beat. She's heard the way he sings that song, and the emotion he puts into it is always enough to bring her near to tears.

"I would be honored."

He starts the beginning off himself, and cues her when to come in. "So tell me love, tell me love, how is that just?" Jaskier never breaks eye contact with Y/N as they sing, and she utters no complaints as it feels like he bears his soul to her while gazing deeply into hers.

"I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, garroter, jury, and judge."

When Y/N had wished for human interaction, this was not what she had expected, but fuck her if it wasn't far better.

As the song comes to a close, Y/N still can't find it in her to look away from his eyes, but luckily for her, it seems that neither can he. The applause of the crowd goes unnoticed by both until the moment passes on its own.

"Thank you, for doing this with me, Y/N."

"Thank you for asking, Jaskier."

~~~

While traveling is, of course, a luxury, just the act of getting somewhere new isn't always the most enjoyable of activities. Travelling may be an integral part of Y/N's job, but knowing that is rarely enough to make her feel better about her soreness from riding her horse, or the boredom she feels as they slowly move along on empty side roads, past endless fields. Yet, this is ultimately a part of her job, so she grins and bears it for the satisfaction of helping people and the coin it brings.

Jaskier, in all his many observations of this captivating do-gooder, begins to notice that she rarely has a good time between locations. He notices that she has no way to occupy herself, besides just listening to him ramble, and he notices that she doesn't seem to plan on doing anything to remedy that situation. So, he resolves to do so himself.

"Y/N," He begins as he sits on her horse behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist. "How would you like to play a game?"

"A game? Why?"

"Because I'm terribly bored and would like to hear your lovely voice. Are you in?"

"Oh, uh, I suppose I am, yes."

"Okay then. I spy, with my little eye-" Her laughter that follows is enough to make Jaskier's heart light. Making her laugh always makes him just a little bit happier.

He hears Geralt groan next to them on Roach, and watches in amusement as he begins to trot further up ahead of them.

"What a grumpy, grumpy man. Alright, hush now, or you'll miss the object. Anyways, I spy, with my little eye, something very long and brown."

"Oh, oh, is it the tree trunks?"

"Very close but not quite. Something dusty."

"The road!"

"Ding ding ding! You've got it!" She laughs once more at his enthusiasm.

"My turn then! I spy, with my little eye, something... big and blue."

Jaskier pretends to think for a moment, and then feigns surprise as he exclaims, "The sky!"

He thinks her joyful laughter is stopping his heart by now, but he's certain he might fall off the horse when she says, "I could preserve this round for a little longer and say 'It was actually your eyes', but that might be a little obvious, huh?"

He rests his head on her shoulder and attempts to look at her face. "That gives me an idea. I spy, with my little eye, something lovely."

A blush breaks out across her face immediately, but she tries not to make assumptions. "Oh, uh... those flowers on the side of the road?"

"Not quite. A bit closer to me." She swears she can feel his arms tighten around her just a fraction.

"Then... is it the horse? You two seem to get along quite well." He chuckle is deep, and she can feel the motion against her back.

"I do love Cinnamon dearly, but you're still a bit off. Try again."

Y/N's breath hitches in her throat, and she glances to the side to look at him, finding him closer than she expected. "Lovely? Is it, uh... me, then?" His smile is enough to make her think her heart will soon burst out of her chest.

"Very good. You're excellent at this. Fancy another round?"

It takes her several minutes to calm down, but she gets into their game again, and sure enough, before either of them even know it, they've reached their destination. They both find themselves a little sad when they have to let go and get off of Cinnamon, but the feeling of being so close doesn't leave either of them for hours.  

Yes, Y/N reflects, everything really does get better with him around.

Yeah, Jaskier thinks, I wouldn't trade a second with her for anything.

[onemistresstorulethemall]

A friend in need is a friend indeed

Originally posted on ao3. Thank @reahaelll for this as she's the only one who actually replied to my post. Ly, babe 💕

Nsfw, F!Mc

It had been a long day and all you wanted was to relax along with your favourite demon in the whole Devildom. You though about it all day long. It was the only thing which had kept you going. The only thing keeping you from losing it throughout the day. Before walking home you excitedly texted him:

"Can I come see you when I get home? (≧▽≦)"

Keeping your d.d.d in hand ready to type at any second, you awaited his reply. After a few moments, which seemed to you like agonizing hours, you felt it buzz in your hand. Opening it up with excitement you were greeted by disappointment:

"I'm helping some buddies beat a boss, maybe later."

Defeated, you put your d.d.d back into your pocket and walk home pouting. Beelzebub, who was walking you home asked why you were upset and offered to share his snacks with you. It warmed up your broken heart. Not wanting to worry Beel, you brushed it off, telling him that you're just tired.

"Belphie gets blue when he's tired too", he nodded.

As soon as you got home you locked yourself into your room. If it wasn't Levi, you didn't want to see anyone. It wasn't worth the hassle. Tired as you were, you still managed to get out of your uniform and change into something more comfortable. You chose a spaghetti strap top and a short skirt, just in case Levi finishes the game sooner than expected and texted you to come see him.

Ugh, you were pathetic. Waiting for him like that... But you just couldn't help it. You became too hooked up on this demon's attention. One could even say you envied his gaming buddies. Levi was yours.

As you laid on your bed thoughts came rushing through your head. He is yours. Or rather you are his. Yeah, he needed to take care of you. Real good care of you...

The panties you were wearing found their way to the floor as one of your hands took their place. The thought of him was enough to get you instantly wet. You needed him in each and every way possible. Other times you might've been alright with you taking care of him. Taking the lead and making sure he feels good. But in that moment? You were being needy. All you wanted was for him to take care of you. To play with you. To have his way with you. This time you didn't want to role-play. You wanted him to say your name. To tell you exactly how badly he wanted you. To have you in every way...

You took out your d.d.d and shamelessly searched for the pictures you took of Levi while he was changing one time. He didn't know about them. They were your dirty little secret. You used them to make yourself feel good when he was not around.

Usually, this would've been the moment of release. However, you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. Your hands weren't enough. You couldn't do this by yourself.

With messy hair and a pride which you swallowed whole, you got up and made your way to your demon's room. You knocked three times.

"Hey, Levi. It's me. Can I come in?"

He quit asking you about the password long ago. Instead, he muttered a "Come in." as shooting sounds could be heard through the door.

He was indeed playing one of his games. Rather playing a stupid game instead of playing with you... The door closed behind you and you locked it. Levi didn't even realize as he was too caught up on the game.

You walked closer and stood in silence for a few moments, searching for the words to say and gathering up the courage to say it. His headphones were hanging around his neck instead of on his ears, but even so the sounds were quite loud and you knew you had to speak up if you wanted him to hear you.

"I told you I can't spend time with you right now, y/n. These losers can't beat the boss without me.", he chuckled while mocking his buddies.

This was the final straw for you and you let go of whatever dignity you had left.

"I fucking need you, Leviathan!", you knew you caught his attention by using his full name.

"I kept thinking about you all day long. I couldn't wait to come home and be with you. I want you so badly you have no idea... I can't do this by myself... Even though I wanted to... It's not enough..."

"What are you trying to say? What's not enough?", he genuinely asked not understanding where you were going with that.

"My hands are not enough... Any toy I'd use is not enough. I want you. No, I need you! Only you are able to satisfy me. Only you can make me feel good... So please, Levi... Please, please, please...", you took a break in which you looked at the floor before lifting your head even though your cheeks were burnings, "Fuck me... I'm begging you..."

A light blush covered his whole face, but when he opened his mouth, the cockiest most confident voice you ever heard escaped from your demon's mouth:

"Well, guys, you heard her. I'd stay and kick this monster's ass for you, but my talents are needed elsewhere. Guess that's my cue to leave."

His headset was on... All of his friends heard you beg like that for him...

He closed the game window, sat his headphones on the desk and turned around in his chair to face you.

"So, babe, why don't you come over here and let me take care of you?"

Like a month to a flame, you follow his order and sat on his lap. You were going commando as you abandoned your panties back into your room.

"You're not wearing anything underneath?", he laughed as if he was mocking you.

"After I realized I can't make myself cum, I came straight here...", you confessed looking down.

"You struggled badly?", he lifted your chin with his index finger.

You nodded.

"I used your pictures to help, but it wasn't enough... I didn't want to bother y-", you were cut off.

"Wait. Say that again. You touched yourself looking at my pictures!?", that was the moment in which his voice cracked from the shock.

"Yeah... I do that quite a lot", all the shame you had left exited your body and you were just speaking everything that was on your mind.

He smirked as if he found out his favourite idol group was going to give him a private performance. The demon began to kiss your neck with a passion you didn't think he was capable of. It felt like he wanted to devour you.

"I didn't want to bother you, but... I couldn't stand it..."

He bit your neck and licked the mark afterwards, but he ceased any action when he heard your words.

"You couldn't stand what?", as if deep in thought he brought his index finger to his chin.

"It was eating me alive that you were giving them your attention. I know they're your friends and all, but I... I envied them."

In that moment your lips were met by his, pulling you into deep sloppy kiss. His tongue explored your whole mouth as your juices where dripping onto his pants. However, Levi didn't seem bothered one bit. You moaned into his mouth as he was deepening the kiss even further.

You, his favorite being in the world craved him so badly you envied his friends for stealing him away. You begged for his affection, wanting him oh so much you couldn't even make yourself cum. Even better, in order to boost your potential for a critical, you used pictures of him. It was pushing Levi over the edge. He was so full of himself, so proud, so lustful, so hungry for you, so greedy that he changed into his demon form without realizing.

Unconsciously his tail was wrapped around your waist. However his tail was long enough to reach your core too. So he used his tail to rub your sensitive swollen nub and he pulled your top down, without taking it off, in order to expose your breasts and play with them, licking them, sucking them, flicking your nipples. Levi knew exactly where and how to touch you in order to drive you mad.

You were moaning his name. Over and over as if it was the only word you knew.

"Please, Levi... Please give it to me."

"Give you what, babe? You'll have to speak up if you want me to understand.", he mocked you which only made you wetter and needier.

"Your cock. Give it to me. Please fuck my brains out!", you begged pathetically while grinding on his lap.

"Now that's what I like to hear", he licked his lips.

Soon his pants and boxers were dropped to the floor as he revealed his member. Just looking at him got you drooling.

When he entered you it felt like pure bliss. His tail was still rubbing your sensitive spot as you were riding him and the demon didn't stop playing with your boobs either. The stimulation was overwhelming and you couldn't keep quiet for the life of you. His name left your lips again and again.

"Fuck, Leviathan! Ah, Levi, you're fucking me so good!", you cried in ecstasy.

"I think you can do more than that", he said through heavy breaths, "Let them know who you belong to, let them know who makes you feel so good~"

"I'm yours Levi. I'm fucking yours!"

"That's right, y/n. You're my little slut~"

Just hearing him say those words sent you over the edge. Giving in to the pleasure you screamed his name so loud the whole house could hear you. Truth be told, you couldn't care less. As you twitched and tightened your walls around him, Levi reached climax as well filling you up with his seed.

He didn't tell you that, but he 'accidentally' forgot to turn off his headset. His whole team heard how great he is in bed. He wanted them to be jealous. He knew they were all sad and lonely. After all, it wasn't fair for him to have all the fun.

[shimmershae]

Remember all the ship imagery we got in the early episodes of this season?  Carol literally sailing toward Daryl in a boat, the ships all over her bedding, the helm in the background as Daryl takes her dinner and a flower, and Daryl’s comments about poking holes in any boats she might use to leave him again?  Well.  It just occurred to me, when Carol had her emotional breakthrough and decided to fight and stick around and work toward putting her demons to rest, i.e. go home to Daryl, it was after a boat literally fell on top of her.  And maybe it was an odd little coincidence, but somehow I don’t think so.

I mean.  The first instance, with Carol literally sailing toward a waiting Daryl was lightly tossed about as our ship finally, well, setting sail.  I know I had a lot of fun with the idea personally.  But shining a different light on it, I think Carol ‘coming home’ to Daryl was twofold.  One, she was literally coming home, albeit somewhat reluctantly because she still hadn’t figured out a way to reconcile her feelings on Henry’s death and all the traumas it pushed to the surface nor all of the emotions being back in the circle of those who know her best kept ever present.  And two, it showed that Daryl is not only her person or place of stability, but that he perhaps has already reached the point where he knows exactly what he wants and that’s Carol herself.  I mean, he’s literally right there, ready and wanting to be her port in the storm.  

Yeah, I don’t know if I’m explaining myself well.  I’m sure someone else can piggyback on this and do a much better job, but I’m going to keep spit balling okay?  Okay.  

The boats on Carol’s bedding were a nice little touch, don’t you think?  Especially since Carol’s been shown to dream about Daryl in that bed.  Not in exactly the way that some of us might want her to, lol, at least not onscreen because our girl did say to Michonne that her dreams were good and that’s why they hurt so very much--why oh why they cut that scene from the aired episode I’ll never understand, unless they wanted to play close to the vest with their hand for a little bit longer (unneeded IMHO since those that don’t want to see are not going to see what’s staring them right in the face until it bites their noses off, but I digress) but still.  It’s been shown and suggested she dreams about Daryl when she sleeps in that bed.  Basically, she only allows herself to semi-admit what she most wants in her dreams, and I don’t remember if we see that bedding again later or not but I did find it kind of weird at the time that she was sleeping on top of the covers.  It’s almost like she doesn’t want to embrace (cover up) the comfort that her subconscious offers her, huh?  Psst.  Daryl.  Or, you know, literally stop running and relax enough to truly let her mind and emotions settle.  

I’m digging a little deep aren’t I?  Oops.  Sorry if I sound semi-delusional.  I am somewhat sleep deprived.  But truly.  My brain cannot accept that all of this is mere coincidence so the hamster wheel is trying to theorize and this is what you get.  Sorry not sorry, lol.  

So where was I?  

So basically Daryl’s had his epiphany.  The years Carol spent by another man’s side weren’t something he reacted to with the usual or stereotypical signs of jealousy because he’s Daryl.  He wants the best for those he loves even at his own expense, but there was some deep-seated stuff there he maybe didn’t recognize right away or likely, as with Carol, didn’t want to immediately confront.   

Sigh.  These two and their shitty self-esteems.  Whatever are we going to do with them?  

Putting the rest behind a cut because this is about to get even longer.  Read at your own risk.  ;)

Shit may not be settled, but Daryl’s more settled and mature than he’s ever been and he knows what he wants:  Carol.  So he’s there waiting on Carol’s boat to sail in.  He’s right there.  Waiting on Carol to have the same epiphany or reach the same conclusion or not, whatever may come, because Dude loves her.  He might not have put words to it, but he’s shown her and us in so very many ways.  Carol might have come to him on the boat, but make no mistake.  At this point in time?  Our man is the captain of this ship.  He’s standing at the helm.  Get it?  The helm in the background?  Er, I’ll shut up before I make myself sound even nuttier, lol.  

Let’s talk a little bit more about Carol, shall we?  

So Carol.  She knows what or who she wants too.  She just hasn’t dared to voice it.  Even in those woods, when her subconscious in the form of Alpha pressed her to admit the truth she wouldn’t say the words out loud.  It’s almost like her keeping those feelings secret is her way of protecting Daryl from the ‘monster’ she feels like she’s become.  

Oh sweet baby girl.  My heart aches so much for her.  She just has no idea.  Really and truly no idea.  

Listen.  Daryl was completely serious about poking holes in all them boats.  And call this a reach if you want to, but I think that little comment of his was twofold as well.  More on that a little later.  

Dude isn’t all that well-versed in matters of the heart, especially with somebody that means so very much to him.  So understandably, he’s not going to automatically get everything right.  And let’s be real here.  He’s still so much more of a show than tell kind of guy so that’s what he’s been doing.  Showing Carol how much he cares.  Demonstrating his love by being there for her, by having her back, and by calling her on her bullshit (but only after she’s taken up all the slack and put them both and their communities in an arguably untenable position). He wants her to stay and he’s done everything within his power to make her want to stay--except say those three little words.  

Which circles me back around to the two-fold part of the holes in the boat comment.  You know where I’m going with this don’t you?  Don’t you, lol?  There’s someone else Daryl hasn’t said those three little words to or about, even after Carol herself tried her best to put them in his mouth.  Our guy went so far as to tell our thick-headed Queen that it’s not like that, not at all, effectively poking the biggest of many holes in the most present ship.  I say present for lack of any better moniker.  Let’s just say that it’s the most threatening in Carol’s mind and subconscious because literally the only person acting like it’s a real thing is Carol.  Kelly’s little wink and nod isn’t something I’m going to take on gospel because let’s just say a thousand and one ships could be launched at a teasing sister’s behest and only one or two be manufactured out of more than popsicle sticks and imagination.  How many cute guys did your little sisters have you in love with when they simply offered you a smile or kind word?  I literally cannot keep track of how many would-be suitors my little sister would have had me have, lol.  The list is simply too long.  It’s one of the things little sisters are so very (obnoxiously) good at--spinning fantasy into a reality of their own making.  But yeah, I’m going off on another tangent.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m very good at that.    

My point is this, hahaha.  Daryl’s not just willing to poke holes in all the literal boats to keep Carol with him.  The man has also, in his Daryl way, poked holes in the notion that he could feel something romantically for another woman.  Because it isn’t like that.  Not for the captain of this ship.  He knows what he wants whether he’s managed to use his words yet or not.  

Carol’s trickier because she’s not reached the same sort of zen Daryl has yet.  She’s still operating under the erroneous assumption that she’s not good enough for her Mr. Crossbow and has been doing her level-best to steer him toward what she considers his perfect match even though her subconscious has been baiting her to just fess up to her buried truth--that she wants and loves Daryl just as much as he wants and loves her.  

But you know what happened?  

A literal boat fell on top of our girl’s hard head and knocked some sense into her.  Honestly.  While the circumstances were actually heartbreaking--our baby girl’s emotions have been so fucked up for so long over something that couldn’t necessarily be helped in the world she’s been surviving in--I have to laugh now,putting it into this newfound perspective.  Kang literally bashed my baby over the head with her demons and the truth of her feelings.  Seriously.  She held all her so-called ‘failings’ up in her face and had her confront them before confronting her with her biggest fear.  That fear being, you guessed it, that she lose Daryl.  

You know what happened from that point.  

Deciding that she could never let that happen, Carol had her own epiphany--it’s never too late--and she decided to fight and she went home to Daryl.  Really went home to him and yeah, things are still up in the air because Angela Kang wanted to blue ball us just a wee bit more but I can’t be the only one hearing those drums break for their big solo in that old Phil Collins song, lol.  

I can almost taste canon on my tongue and hoo boy is it sweet.  A little bit spicy too.  

Damn the coronavirus.  Seriously.  Send that thing right back to hell.  

I don’t know about y’all but I need that finale yesterday.  

Anyhoo.  If you found your way to this last sentence after this mega stream of consciousness hooey, bless you.  If you feel inclined to add your own thoughts to my sleep-deprived thoughts, be my guest.  

Later, lovelies.  

Keep calm and Caryl the fuck on.  

[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil, Ch. 22

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  1769

Warnings:  Angst, Retrospection

Story Summary: Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:   So this chapter is heavier on the angst. Not to worry, the end of it is quite hopeful, but do expect some feels.

------

Chapter 22 - Tears of the Damned (18 yrs.)

There were so many things, you realized, that you didn’t know about your own father.

Sure, you spent quite a lot of time with him, and you were even old enough and more than skilled enough to go on heavier, more dangerous missions with him, and you learned quite a bit about how he fought and played and treated himself to a job well done. There were still so many secrets that he had never told you, however, things of his past that you so desperately wanted to know about.

You knew what he was, knew of the demon that hid itself within him. You had always had a vague understanding of it until you were abruptly and without warning brought to terms with it in full when you were only seven years old. There was even a part of you that knew that, somewhere deep inside, your body held a trace of the same demonic power that had been passed down from the legendary Sparda himself.

Did that mean you would become just like your father?

Did that mean that you harbored a demon inside you, too?

“Squirt? Where are you?”

There were times where you truly worried that you would become some sort of monster, a being with no self-control.

When you were younger, you would have nightmares, horrid, realistic dreams of slaughtering hundreds of innocent people without so much as a reason. In those dreams, you laughed as your victims cried and begged for mercy. When you inevitably woke to your own cries and screams, Dante would always come to you, giving you comfort by gently running his fingers through your hair and assuring you that your dreams would never become reality.

As you grew older, your fears eventually faded away, and you learned that you had far more control over yourself and whatever potential demon that resided within.

You had begun to realize your potential; your quicker speed and reflexes, your quick healing abilities, your keen sense of sight, hearing, smell - all of these traits had come from your father, who had gotten his traits from his own father, a legendary demon who fell in love with a human and found compassion for humankind.

Without your demonic bloodline, you would never have been such a unique individual. Without this one link you had because of Sparda, you would never have known the demon world as you did at that moment.

Without your grandfather, you wouldn’t be the person you had become.

“I can’t…I can’t find her, Dante.”

“Keep looking!”

This understanding of the demon world had you that much more curious about your father. After all, he had grown up around it, as well, though you had a feeling he had a more troubling childhood than the one you experienced.

You knew small details, like how the demon Sparda sacrificed himself to seal away the gates of hell so that humanity could live on. You also knew that the woman that would have been your grandmother had died when your father was very young, having risked her life to save his. You knew vague details about your uncle, Vergil, though you believed him to be dead, and possibly by Dante’s own hands.

Your mother passed when you were only a baby, and then all he had left was you.

“Dante, Lady, she’s over here!”

“There’s…so much blood.”

Over the years, your curiosity had gotten the better of you despite trying to ward it off. If your father wouldn’t give you anything else to go on besides small, vague details, then you would go to other sources to get your information.

Lady, at that point in time, was the perfect person to ask most of your questions. She answered you honestly about anything you wanted to know that she herself knew about your father, even though she was nearly as lost in the dark as yourself. Sometimes, you went for silly little questions, like his record on mocking an enemy without said enemy attempting to rip his head off. Other times, they were more serious questions, such as if he had ever killed an innocent being.

Much to your delight, Lady had a tendency to tell a full-length story, something you enjoyed greatly. She would even give a few details you had not even thought to ask. It was on one of these days, a day where she retold the story of when you had been taken away when you were barely a year old, only from her point of view, that you learned something very interesting.

As far as Lady knew, Dante had only ever cried once in his lifetime as a young adult.

“Can you hear me? C'mon, sweetheart...answer me, damnit!”

“Dante, she’s not breathing anymore.”

“She can hear me, I know she can!”

The little tidbit of information surprised you greatly. It wasn’t because you thought he would have cried a great deal more, oh no. Rather, it was because of that one moment of tears that you were completely baffled.

It was a hard thing to imagine, your father just standing there, crying his eyes out like there was no tomorrow. Perhaps it was just that father concept you held him in, one that made it seem impossible for your father to ever be that upset. He was a demon hunter, for crying out loud! He had a higher track record of taunting demons than being truly serious about ending them.

Even the strongest of people, however, had their own weaknesses.

Even a half-demon had a reason to cry.

“You’re supposed to outlive me, squirt; you’re supposed to outlive your old man!”

“Dante, please, you have to stop!”

Ever since hearing that story from Lady, you had wanted to confront your father about it, but always chickened out. You wanted to know for sure if that was the one and only time he had ever shed tears of mourning, of grief and despair.

Had he ever cried from happiness? Or did he maybe cry out his frustration when everything became too much to handle?

There were so many things you wanted to know on that one subject, but you were too afraid to ask him, or perhaps too afraid you would see him in a different light.

That was sort of silly to think about, though, wasn't it? He wouldn't be a different person because of it, nor would anything you knew about him really change. Dante would still be your dad, a damn good father, if anyone were to ask you, and just as good a hunter of the demonic things that roamed the earth.

One day, maybe one day, you would see just what could bring your father to such vulnerability. Perhaps, then, you would know the depth of his emotions beyond the playful banter you knew so well.

“Please...please, come back to me.”

A strangled, almost startled gasp came from your lips as your body forced oxygen to fill your previously empty lungs. Everything hurt, especially along your midsection, and your arms and legs felt heavy, cold and numb from the weather of wherever it was you resided. Vaguely, you were aware of hands, somehow warmer than your own freezing body, cupping your face gently and moving your head from side to side ever so slightly.

“Can you hear me, squirt?”

You opened your equally heavy eyes, your vision taking a moment to clear as you looked around. At your sides, blurry images of what appeared to be Lady and Trish were crouched and staring at you in bewilderment, both their faces wrapped in surprised confusion and their eyes cloudy. When your eyes finally focused, you looked up into teary baby blues hovering over your face, the colors of silver and red registering in your mind that your father was hunched over you, taking up much of your vision.

“D-Dad?” you questioned, your voice croaking out the single, stuttering word that had a smile forming on your father’s face.

A single, forced laugh was your only answer for several long seconds.

“Yeah, it’s me. Got yourself into quite a mess, didn’t you?”

You blinked slowly, trying your best to focus on keeping your breaths even and slow so as not to agitate the pain in your abdomen area.

Everything was processing slowly in your still hazy mind, but you were beginning to remember that some time ago, depending on how long you had been out, some sort of demon had attacked full force and had rammed a giant claw straight through you. It had shocked you greatly that for the first few seconds you hadn’t even registered the pain. That, however, was now taking its toll.

With slightly narrowed eyes, you continued to watch your father as he spoke to you in calming words, one of his hands leaving your face and combing through your wet hair. It was at that moment that you registered the image of him you had awoken to, your mind grinding to a halt with the image of tears in your father’s eyes.

“Wh-why’re you cryin’?”

Dante paused in his short ramblings, his hand in your hair tensing momentarily before continuing through the water-darkened strands once more. A smile lit his face, one you hadn’t been expecting.

“It’s just the rain, squirt. It’s just the rain.”

Carefully, you looked up towards the dark sky above and found that it was, indeed, raining. This was possibly the reason why you felt so numb; the cold from the rain felt as if it had seeped through into your very bones.

Everything once again became hazy, and all you were really aware of was your father picking you up carefully from the ground and carting you off, hopefully towards the very shop you called home. You were so very tired, and everything hurt so badly, so you were glad he was putting in most of the effort as you found comfort in leaning against him.

In the end, however, you realized that you had obtained an answer to the very questions that had been plaguing your mind during your limbo.

Your father, for the second time in his life as far as you knew, had cried, and all because he had feared he would lose you.

You always knew he had a big heart, one he hid behind a lot of bravado and cocky antics, but even he had his weaknesses, just as any other man.

Vaguely, you felt pressure against your forehead, a relieved kiss pressed against your skin.

If you'd had the energy, you were sure you would be smiling at the action.