#someone with electricity powers coughing and the lights flickering

[whumpprentice]

me: I hate cliches

media: here’s a character losing control of their powers when they’re sick

me: omg a character losing control of their powers when they’re sick

[truths33k3r4]

DAY 4- “Betrayed By Someone They Trust”

(PS Just a quick heads up for some warnings~ This fic- is not a happy one. TW- Capture, blood, strangling, implied character death, and stabbing)

Smoke burned into Lotus’ eyes as she peered through the flames frantically. Her throat was dry and itchy from the lack of moisture in the air. Vibrant hues of red and yellow flickered in the reflection of her irises, her pupils shrinking with her hope. She kept her limbs as close to her body as possible as the flames continued to grow.

Where are they??

The smaug filling the room echoed the mist in her mind as she tried to remember what happened. She recalled a bright neon light encircling her and her brothers as they fled from incoming foes in an intergalactic battleship. As a tingling sensation overtook her, sparking electricity through every nerve in her body, her whole world went to black.

And then- she woke up in the belly of the beast.

She winced as a twinge of tightness pulled at the muscles in her arms, biting back a yelp as she tried to rub away the remaining rope burns from her wrists.

The flames continued to grow, alighting the room as if a sunset had unleashed all of its power. As the fire grew in mass, the amount of oxygen shrank. Lotus coughed and tried to hide her face with her arms, but the smoke paid no mind as it weaved itself into her sinuses. Between more hacks and now tears, she grabbed her mask tails and spat in them, covering her mouth so she would somewhat be able to breathe through the moisture in the fabric.

She knew it wouldn’t last- but she had to try something.

The flames continued to claw at the walls as more boards fell to the ground in crackling shards. She scoured the room for an exit, but the fury of the flames hindered her from seeing one. Lotus could feel her barely damp mask tails continue to dry out with each passing second. 

Time was running out.

She knew her brothers were around here somewhere. They had to be. Not just anyone would do something so risky as using a wrecking ball on a crane to obliterate the wall of your deadliest enemies’ fortress. No, that would be illogical, foolish, and life-threatening.

That would be her brothers.

Something any newcomer to their home would quickly learn, was the fact that all bets were off once someone in the family was put in danger; All or nothing. But unfortunately, such reckless actions would always come back to snap at their shells. Her brothers did an excellent job of infiltrating the lair in which she was being kept, but they didn’t take into consideration just how many flamed stakes would be strewn throughout the walls. Or how flammable the carpet would be…

..Their arch nemesis needed a new indoor decorator.

Lotus coughed and staggered as the remaining moisture in her mask dried up. Her lungs were quickly filled with smoke as her eyes squinted, trying to see through her stinging tears. She searched with choked breaths and gasps for anything that would resemble her brother’s colors: The cool blue of Leo, the vibrant orange of Mikey, the bold purple of Don, and the zealous red of Raph. 

The flames grew ever closer, making her back away into the middle of the room. The heat was beginning to sting her arms and legs now, as sharp, burning claws flickered at her body. Her throat felt drier than the inside of an hourglass, but that didn’t stop her as she tried yelling for her brothers. She raised her hands and coned them around her mouth as she screamed,

“LEO!!! RAPH!! DON!!! MIKE-”

Her cries to her family were cut off as a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping around her throat with precision. Painful pressure burst into her neck as she was lifted off her feet and dragged towards her captor.

The clasped hand restricted her heart from leaping out of her throat as she gazed into his eyes.

Her brother’s eyes.

Lotus could feel her body tense further as her brother tightened his fingers like a noose around her throat. The biting pressure made it nearly impossible to speak. 

Nearly.

“GhHhhh- R--Ra-APH??” She managed to squeak out in shattered gasps.

Raphael’s eyes tightened with his grip.

“Who’s askin’?” A soulless voice crept out from her brother’s mouth, colder than a grave and just as empty.. “You’re nothin’ but a prisoner- how do you know my name?” He spoke with a tongue dipped in venom.

Words had escaped Lotus as quickly as her breath. She tried to gasp and speak but now it was truly becoming impossible to. Dark spots began invading her vision as she felt the flames around her slowly grow cold. The pain radiating from her arms and legs dulled to faint pulses. Her brain shushed all her rampaging thoughts, humming a lullaby and making them all turn to sleepy static.

Th-that’ssssss not gooddddd…

“I SAID WHO ARE YOU?” Raphael shouted, letting go of his grasp just enough so Lotus could breathe. His hazel eyes searched her for answers, the reflections of flames in them a constant reminder of his growing impatience.

Raphael’s slight release on her throat allowed Lotus’ tongue to finally unravel from its binds.

“I’m… yo-our f-f-family.” She wheezed as she tried to fight the losing battle of staying conscious.

Raphael’s eyes grew dark as he sneered mirthlessly.

“That’s cute. You think I’ll let you go cause we’re both freaks.” He hissed as his right hand pulled a thin blade to Lotus’ chin. “There’s no code of honor when being a monster is in your blood.”

He raised his sai until it barely pierced Lotus’ left cheek. She winced and tried to fight against it, but her strength was quickly leaving her. Her cold body shuddered at the sudden warmth of blood trickling down her neck. 

“P-p-please-” Lotus choked through her tears. She had to hold back from gagging when something warm and metallic found its way into her mouth. Darkness continued to creep further at the edges of her vision. 

“P-ple-ase Raph- I..I l-love you brot-ther.”

Raphael’s face became unreadable. His eyes, for a shard of a second, lit with a faint warmth. The hand holding his sai twitched and loosened its grip, slightly pulling the blade away from the flowing crimson on Lotus’ face. His expression subtly twisted as he fought against something inside him.

For just one second, Lotus saw Raph again. She saw her brother who taught her how to do lineart on his sketches. She heard a teasing voice with a smug grin. She felt the fading light of hope grow into a spark.

But before the light could overtake her brother’s irises, the darkness within him swallowed it.

He raised the sai again, aimed directly at Lotus’ head. 

“N-n-no!! NO! PLEASE!” Lotus cried out with the last shreds of her voice.

 Raphael’s shuddering grip on his weapon’s handle clenched into an unforgiving vice.

Lotus braced herself as her fight to stay conscious came to an end.

“P-please Raph..” She whimpered as her eyes rolled back and her body went limp, finally succumbing to the cold in the room filled with flame.

Tada~ Now we ALL BROKEN. XD

This was a FUN challenge- not only for my writing, but for my art. I NEVER draw fire- I'm still learning how to replicate the thriving, flickering movements- But then I looked up "fire in TMNT 2003" and BOOM. IT WAS GO TIME.

Thanks for reading! :)

~ Melissa

~ TMNTember 2024 Prompts List ~

[yoshiyakiryu-archive]

FUN NEW WAY THE POWER FLICKERS GET ANNOUNCED now that we have some air purifiers so SOMEONE (not naming names) hopefully stops nearly coughing to death, is that the fans on them slow the fuck down well before the lights or router stop working so sometimes that's the only indication.

Fascinating implications. I can hear every light, appliance, motor, and electrical outlet in these three rooms and it feels like my head is full of BEES what won't write, draw, OR DO THE HOUSEWORK and I'm sick of them taking up all my energy

[writeformesinpie]

Something Wicked

Chrollo x GN!Reader 

Summary - On your way home from work – late while most of the town is asleep – you find yourself surrounded by smoke that you can’t seem to escape all while stuck inside with a stranger. 

Genre - Horror

Warnings - Dub-con, choking, asphyxiation, smoke, fear of death, sexual tension, almost smut, in public (although there is no one really around) but outside in the middle of the night. 

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N - This is a drabble request for my impromptu 1500 follower celebration.

   There’s a chill in the air tonight.

   The moon is hidden by ash factories and charcoal clouds. Looking away from the sky you fold your arms across your chest to block out the stiff breeze pummelling against your thin sweater, piercing your skin. Scurrying under a flickering street lamp, you can’t help but feel uneasy.

   After gulping down the crisp night air, you hold your breath and listen to the thudding of your heartbeat, the malfunctioning light, and the thud of your footsteps. No crickets? Not even the electric pulse of the modern world we are so used to?

   Who knew silence could be so terrifying?

   Rushing down the deserted street, your eyes dart from side to side as shadows play in the corner of your vision. Swallowing hard you rub at your neck in a feeble attempt to sooth your dry scratchy throat as the smell of burning rubber, no, burning hair reaches your nostrils, the smoke quickly surrounding you. Batting at the scorched air with a flimsy flick of your wrist, you fold over and hack up the foul vapour, trying to cough it up out of your lungs.

   Who would be working this late and what the hell are they trying to dispose of?

   Despite your sputtering you jog across the street and continue your quick pace on the other side of the road. You need to get as far away from this building as fast as possible. Whatever is going on over there is none of your business. You just want to get back home, have a long shower, crawl into bed and try to forget this night ever happened. You never should have left. Filling in at the last minute for one of your co-workers seemed like a great idea at the time. You needed the extra cash, that's true, but the walk home after the buses had stopped their ventures for the night didn’t seem worth it.

   As the smoke starts to thin out your steps become less frantic. The breeze has changed directions and is no longer blowing it directly towards you. With each new breath the aching in your chest alleviates a little more until you finally fall back into your original rhythm. The beating of your previously erratic heart slows and you almost feel at ease. Almost.

   Something’s off. The air is clearer here, the smell of smoke almost completely gone. The darkness is punctuated with spots of light from the street lamps and although that should make you feel safer it has the opposite effect. The shadows are dancing just out of your line of sight and it has you on full alert.

   After all, aren’t those footsteps you hear behind you?

   Holding your breath you tread lightly and confirm your suspicions. There is someone behind you. Did they start following you after you left the factory or are they like you, just on their way back from work at this ungodly hour?

   The tapping behind you quickens. You’re too much of a coward to look. What if they’re dangerous? They are close enough now that you can hear them breathing. Is this really how you’re gonna die? In a shitty forgotten town on the edge of every map? A murder that doesn’t even make the front page – or worse, a missing person who doesn’t make the side of a milk carton. Just another lost in a sea of the misplaced.

   No. You won’t go out without a fight. Turning on your heel, you hold up your hands in balled fists ready to attack and let out a guttural howl.

   Nothing.

   The street’s empty of everything except the echo of your primal scream. The buzzing has returned: the sound of the electricity lines above you. Had the power been out? Circling the spot a few times you squint, staring into the darkness around you, but there’s nothing out there. Swallowing hard, your throat still dry, you turn back towards your original path and gasp.

   How many times had you spun around and seen nothing? There was no way your eyes had skimmed past him. Danger. The hairs on the back of your neck stiffen as you feel a shiver roll down your spine. Danger. The word flashes on repeat inside your mind. Danger.

   He’s under a blinking street light. Broken, like everything else in this town. His hair is slicked back, his neck and shoulders flaring out with the feathery white fur attached to his long dark coat. His chest is bare. He’s ripped; there’s no way you can overpower him. He has a cross tattooed on his forehead which means one of two things: he’s a nice religious boy, or he’s a complete cultish freak. You’re betting on the latter.

   Shifting one foot back, you shift and pivot, twisting around to sprint back the way you came, flight reflex in full force. Each step taking you further away from the eerie mirage brings you closer to the smoke you had just escaped. Running on tired legs, your knees scream out in frustration. After being on your legs for the last few hours they are running on pure adrenaline. Literally. You sneak a look behind you. He’s still there. He hasn’t moved. He isn’t following you.

   Fire convulses within your chest and you wheeze, desperate for air. Bending over you gulp and huff, frantic for air as your body tries to recover from your little stint. Pins and needles crawl up the back of your legs until they almost swirl in your chest. What is in that smoke?

   Taking your time to let your breathing and heart settle before you straighten, you look towards the stranger but the smoke is blocking the way. Frowning, you swat your hand at the mist-like substance in a feeble attempt to move it. There’s so much of it now. You glance behind you then frown.

   You can’t see anything, only the smoke.

   You turn on the spot – a full 360 spin – and still can’t make out anything. Is it better to go and check, see if he’s still standing there or to try and get further away?

   No way you’re going back towards that stranger. Although, now that you’ve spun around so many times inside the grey wall caging you, it’s hard to know if the way you’re facing is indeed the way back to him or the way back to the diner you just left. Gritting your teeth as tears sting your eyes, you barrel through the smoke, each step feeling heavier than the last.

   The smoke doesn’t end. There is nothing but smoke. There’s no left or right, no up or down, there is only smoke.

   “What the fuck is happening?” The words are whispered as you crouch down to see if it’s thinner at your feet. It isn’t.

   “Where are you trying to run?”

   Jumping, you stumble and almost land on your back. Instead you jut your hands out to steady yourself. Tiny pieces of gravel stick to your skin as you propel yourself back up. There’s no one here. No… There is someone, you just can’t see him. Can he see you?

   Holding your hands out in front of you, fists clenched, you inch your feet to the left, each step deliberate as you take your time to search the area. You still can’t see anyone.

   “Who’s there?”

   “What did you see back there?” The voice is behind you but when you turn there’s only smoke.

   “I didn’t see anything,” you say, swiping at the air in front of you in a half-assed attempt to find the stranger. It’s no use, the smoke is too thick. You won’t be able to see him until he wants you to. “Just smoke. All I saw was smoke.”

   “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice is alluring, warm and inviting, each word almost a song on his lips. “Like a symphony.”

   “What?” Can he hear your thoughts? You spin around several times, eyes frantically searching the thick grey.

   “The smoke. It’s gorgeous.”

   He’s behind you. His voice is close enough to tickle your neck. Needing to turn yet not wanting to look, you stay still and tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to move, not that you can’t.

   First you feel the heat of his body consuming yours from behind, his whole being trying to overpower you with its mere presence. It’s a battle that you lose, relaxing against him, your back against his chest. Next you feel his fingertips dance up your arm and across your collarbone. Heat spreads from your cheeks out to your ears as you let his hungry hands explore your skin.

   “You know the difference between humans and puppets?” He curls his fingers around your neck and squeezes.

   “No,” you choke out the word as your throat air constricts.

   “Neither do I.'' He chuckles, his second hand assisting the first. Your lungs are screaming for air. Water springs to your eyes as you claw at his hands. He doesn't budge. When you try to kick your eyes widen and your heart races as you realise they won’t move. Your legs are limp.

   Growling low within your raging chest, you reach out and dig your nails into his face with every last bit of strength you have. He tuts but lets go. You slam to the ground with the majesty of a drowned rat.

   “How interesting,” he purrs, pulling you to your feet. His lips curve into a sinister smile before they crash down on yours. As you press your weak arms out against him, he engulfs you in a tight embrace, one of his hands tangling in the nape of your hair while the other grips tightly at your waist. His lips are desperate, hungry.

   “Humans are–” he stops to chuckle, looking down at you and you notice your clinging to him like he’s a life jacket and you’re stuck in the middle of the ocean. Your leg is wrapped around his waist, your mouth slightly ajar and waiting. What is this mystic hold he has over you? Is it his smell? Intoxicating, a hidden treasure buried beside a brook in the middle of a jungle, his scent is foreign and carnal, yet somehow also sweet and sticky.

   “Humans are what?” You try to imbue distaste in your voice but instead it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

   He kisses down your jaw, ignoring your question. You breathe him in, cotton candy and musk, a combination that should make you sick yet somehow has you on the edge of desire instead. Slamming out a hand to stop him you realise you’ve made an error. Skin on skin, the heat rising between you both. You look up at him, eyes wide as heat spreads past your face and down throughout your entire body. If the muscles ripping under your fingertips are anything to go by, he takes care of his body. Letting your fingers drag across his naked skin you can’t help but wonder what his skin tastes like.

   “Humans are very amusing,” he says, his hands cupping your ass, forcing you to swing your legs around his body to balance yourself. “Amuse me some more.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this content! If you did, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging and/or following, and check out my masterlist for similar content. Have a great day!

[can-of-pringles]

Similarities - Chapter 6: Insomnia

Rating: Teen and up audience

Warnings: Mild angst with eventual fluff, mention of blood, injuries

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Having paranoid feelings that something was wrong, Henry goes to check on El while she's sleeping.

Note: The gif is slightly misleading. I swear it's not as bad as it sounds alright, please just trust me on this.

Also Read On AO3

No—No! No! Let me go! El’s screams echoed from the long hallways into Henry's mind. He was in Hawkins’ lab, stuck in what felt like a never-ending maze of the familiar white hallways. Why was he getting lost? He had learned the ends and outs of the place several years ago; memorizing it. The bright lights flickered above him, making it difficult for him to focus. He’d grown used to the overwhelming lighting years before, so why did it bother him now suddenly? Hearing her shrieks becoming louder, he made a sharp turn into another identical hall. Henry stopped for a second, needing to catch his breath. He knew he was running out of time. His heart pounded in his chest, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. He started running again, and the familiar ache in his body returned. Let me go! El’s wailing sounded so close. Henry quickly turned around and saw her being forcibly dragged down the hallway, kicking and screaming. Her being so small, the other orderlies easily overpowered her. They held her tightly in their grasp. Too tight. He could make out the bruises on her wrists from them holding her. He nearly exploded with anger at seeing her injuries. “Help me!” Her arms desperately tried to reach out to him. “El!” His feet hit the tile floors harshly as he ran toward her. He was so close. Ready to use his powers to save her. His throat almost closed up from the sudden force of being yanked back, Henry choked and gasped for air. He instinctively reached to claw at his throat and felt the solid and heavy collar. A guard came up behind him and snapped it around his neck. “No!” He hissed. The guard shoved him to the ground, and then kicked him several times in the stomach. Henry shut his eyes and groaned in pain. He curled in on himself and coughed up a mixture of his blood and his saliva. He shuddered. “Henry!” El screeched. He didn’t feel it normally that easily, but genuine fear took place in his mind. Still in excruciating pain, Henry struggled to stand back up. He failed to, once the guard had turned on the collar on the highest setting. His body hit the ground, shaking and convulsing. He couldn’t speak, only the sounds of him choking came out. The tile floor he writhed on felt cold to the touch, but he couldn’t shiver; his whole body felt like it was burning as electrical currents ran through it. Almost miraculously, the shocking came to an end. Henry’s body continued to shake until it was out of his system. When it stopped, he gasped for air and breathed shakily. “No!” He continued to lie there, unable to get up and run no matter how much his mind screamed at him. Using all of his remaining strength, Henry tried to crawl to where El was being taken. He practically dragged his body before reaching his hand out toward her. “El...” His voice was strained and hoarse. He tried to yell, but nothing came out when someone stepped on his hand, crushing it underneath their shoe. “It’s sad, almost.”

Henry cried out, the pain in his hand unbearable. He couldn’t move his fingers. Exhausted, he could only glance up at where the voice was coming from. Dirt from the lab floor stained his face. The only thing that had some sort of effect on it was the semi-dried tears that ran down his eyes. The tiles made his skin feel numb. The ringing in his ears was all he could hear at one point. Henry’s vision felt like it was spinning and out of focus. He struggled to make out who the figure was that stood above him. He felt his heart sink once his vision focused. “Did you really think I’d ever let you leave this place?” Dr. Brenner stared down at him. Henry shuddered and gasped at seeing him. It was like seeing a ghost. “—You or Eleven?” He continued. Finally, giving in to his body’s need for rest, Henry exhaled; closing his eyes. Succumbing to defeat. “Of course not.” The last thing Henry heard before everything faded to black was El’s haunting cries for help.

---

Henry awoke in a cold sweat, instantly sitting up in bed. His heart was beating at a rapid pace. He placed a hand on his chest. He looked around and continued to panic, not automatically recognizing the room. Remembering what just took place, he looked down at his hand and slowly moved it; cautiously bending his fingers. Nothing had been broken. His breathing slowed down some once he remembered where he was. Henry was in his bed, in his room, in his own place; far away from the lab. “It was just another nightmare...” He thought to himself. Most of the time, he knew what was real and what had been a nightmare his brain had created. But occasionally, they felt real. Too real. Sometimes, he wondered if those nightmares were made to punish him for all the bad things he’d done previously. That, or just his trauma and worries, manifesting as dreams. Henry reached for the glass of water that sat on his nightstand. He took a drink and sighed, relieving his previously dried throat. He rubbed his face and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Just go back to sleep, everything is fine.” Only he couldn’t fully shake his paranoid feelings. The screams from El were stuck in a loop in his mind. Henry frowned. Realistically, he knew nothing had happened, and that she was okay; asleep in her bed. But his intrusive thoughts got louder. What if something had happened? Something so terrible that his mind blocked it out? He knew how crazy it was, but he wasn’t feeling rational at the moment. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew for sure, Henry got out of bed. He stretched and stood for a second in the same place, still waking up. He stifled a yawn as he trudged down the hallway. A completely normal hallway that led to El’s bedroom. Finally, she had an actual bedroom. None with all white walls or floors. No locks to be found. And so did he. It had been almost a full year since they’d escaped from the lab. Admittedly, he had lost count of how long it had been exactly. His mind had been so preoccupied with just trying to survive, to keep them both alive. They were currently living in what was possibly the cheapest, but still livable, apartment he could find. It wasn’t much, but with the basic utilities and privacy, it felt like a safe haven. Especially compared to the abandoned house, they were staying at before. He had been forced to decide about his failing stealing money plan, and ultimately thought it would be for the best to get a job. A choice he disliked, but was successful at achieving. Just a minor job organizing shelves at the library. He had to admit that it was rather peaceful. Hardly anyone bothered him. At least with a job, he had the freedom to choose where he wanted to work. He didn’t have that option before at the lab. He didn’t have any options before if he was being honest. He felt better now with his and El’s fake identifications he’d been able to get made. El was finally calling him by his original name. It felt right. Before, it used to remind him of his family and what happened. But it didn’t bring up any past negative feelings when El said it. She had asked him previously where and how did he get their IDs.

On the IDs, he was Henry Ballard, a combination of his previous names. And El was Eleanor “Ellie” Ballard. Henry had only responded with a slight shrug and a mention of finding someone who could make them. El had rolled her eyes and sighed then but said okay. He knew she didn’t like how many secrets he had, but for most of them, it was to protect her. As for others, sometimes he just didn’t have the energy to explain fully. Perhaps, one day, he’d be ready to tell her everything, but not right now. Overall, life had become so much more for them than just the same old days stuck in a lab. But there was still more to do. When Henry had the time, he’d try to homeschool El. Having available access to the library helped a lot. She had been learning a lot, and her reading skills had improved tremendously. Even Henry had been learning some new things. He had only been a kid when Brenner took him, so he knew there were some things he had missed out on learning. He didn’t mind teaching all that much. It was even enjoyable at times. Henry was genuinely grateful that he and El had accomplished their goal of freedom.

---

(Present)

Her bedroom door creaked a little as Henry slowly opened it. He winced and hoped it hadn’t been too loud. He slipped through the door, having it open just enough for him to fit through. The only light source in the room came from the window. The moon had been out and shone brightly that night. It seeped through the slightest gaps in the window blinds onto El’s bed. Another pastime of theirs was fixing up free busted-up furniture and using it in their home. They had been lucky enough to find beds to fix and use. Henry moved slowly through her room. He stopped once he stood next to the bed. The worry in his senses went away, and he sighed in relief when he saw her asleep in her bed. Nothing had happened to her. She still remained there with him at home. Their home. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, which, in turn, helped him to calm down. The expression on El’s face was one of total peace, something he couldn’t remember seeing at the lab. Her hair had grown out a lot quicker than anticipated. Something he hadn’t expected was her hair being a wavy, borderline, curly texture. The soft curls almost framed her face. Once Henry had felt completely at ease, he went back to bed; pulling up the covers on El’s sleeping form before he left. He settled back into his own bed. His gaze met the blank ceiling. Henry almost felt nervous about falling asleep again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. After seeing El sleeping comfortably in her bed, he hoped it was enough to keep the nightmares away. Falling asleep quicker than he thought, his mind began to dream again. Only this time, it was a pleasant dream of El and him.

[superbataddicted]

Superbat Writer’s Month 2021 - Day 2 - Cold

(Inspired by Man of Steel (2013). Some pain, angst and Clark rescuing Bruce.)

Bruce crawled, elbows digging and pulling forward while his injured legs dragged along like dead weights. He didn’t know how long or where he was heading, just a single-minded focus on moving in the direction where he thought civilisation was. Even the stabbing pain had died into a sullen throb, and all that was left was a numbing cold – relentless and unforgiving – and blackness flickered at the edge of his vision.

You deserve it.

A contemptuous voice suddenly mocked him and Bruce faltered, eyes seeking out the speaker. Belatedly, he realised that it was all in his mind and he barked out a laugh, raw and cynical.

How amazingly stupid his brain must be – starting a self-derision session when he was on the verge of dying.

Yes, die please! For this is all your fault!

Maybe, he should do that, Bruce chuckled, not at all insulted by the sneer in his inner voice. What it said was true and they were all his fault – the fall from the cliff, Alfred’s pain and the death of Jason too.

A sob suddenly tore out of his chest, draining away the little energy left. Bruce flopped onto his back and stared up at the night sky.

What was the point anyway. He was lost in this overgrown backyard of a mountain and he hadn’t told anyone that he would be here. His phone had been wrecked during the fall and his supplies were scattered and gone. Snow was falling, silent and in a hurry, and Bruce gave up trying to stay alive.

Jason…

The pain that tore through his soul was a million times worse than when his feet crashed into a tree. Tears streaked his cheeks, mixing with the snow that had landed and melted on his face. And more snow came to rest on his body, building up a layer of white.

Bruce’s vision blurred to a point that the world was just blobs of colour. He vaguely wondered if the snow would cover him completely, leaving nothingness behind. That would be nice, he let out a sigh and shut his eyes. He was, after all, a jinx and it was nice that this time, death was taking him instead of someone he loved.

Slipping into the welcoming darkness, Bruce lost consciousness and the snow buried him.

-

“Hey, wake up!” A voice cried, loud and frantic, “Come on! Wake up, you hear me!”

Bruce frowned but the darkness was so alluring, he ignored the cry. Then a violent shaking of his shoulders began, followed by urgent slapping of his cheek. The irritating voice kept calling and calling, dragging him back to consciousness.

“Go away…” Bruce slurred and tried to shoo the person off. But his limbs refused to move and the cold and pain crept back in again, forcing Bruce to open his eyes.

There was a relieved gasp and the annoying intruder, rugged and just wearing a thin long sleeve, hurriedly brushed the snow off Bruce. His hands slowed and gentled when he approached Bruce’s legs – and it was as if he knew they were injured, even though they were hidden beneath the snow.

“Sorry…but this’s going to hurt.”

The stranger looked at him apologetically and Bruce was caught by the vivid blueness of his eyes.

Such a waste, hiding that handsome behind that beard.

The thought swam sluggishly through his head, and Bruce coughed out a laugh at the audacity of his brains – ogling when he was so at death’’s doorstep.

The man froze, eyeing him in concern. Bruce tried to wave his hands dismissively but his fingers only crawled at the dirt. He must have said something of which he couldn’t remember, for the man snorted out a reply.

“You’re pretty handsome too despite the dirt and the snot.”

That squeezed another laugh out of Bruce which turned into a scream when the man shifted his damaged leg.

Grimacing, the man muttered words of assurance as he quickly splinted the leg before moving on to do the same to the other. By the time he was done, Bruce was panting harshly and tears had stained his cheeks again.

The man hesitated as if torn between decisions but Bruce was too far gone, drowning in a sea of pain to wonder why.

Then the man looked at Bruce, regret in his eyes.

“Sorry.”

A hand snaked out to grab Bruce’s neck. Squeezing and choking, the man kept apologising while Bruce thrashed weakly, hands tugging futilely at the strong grip. Bruce gasped in desperation but no air was forthcoming. And very soon, the familiar darkness which Bruce had relished, claimed him once again.

-

Clark let go the moment the injured man went limp, disgust churning and making him feel sick. He hadn’t wanted such a drastic move but the secret must be kept. His father had died keeping it and Clark refused to take any risks.

Checking the man’s condition again, Clark wondered why would a city-bred be doing in this godforsaken wilderness. There were no touristy spots nor well-marked trails, and he must either be mad or suicidal to go hiking in the middle of winter. Shaking his head in disapproval, Clark lifted the unconscious man, cradling him with a tenderness that belied his muscular stature.

It was luck that Clark had detected his heartbeat as he fled yet another misadventure involving a truck impaled on an electric pole. Otherwise…

Clark shook off his dark thoughts and muttered a quick prayer. Flying solo was already not easy and now, he was gonna try it with an injured man in tow. There wasn’t any choice. The man would die of hypothermia long before Clark could finish trekking through the forest. And the constant jolting as he moved would only worsen his injuries.

Gathering power, Clark pushed up, shooting straight into the sky only to drop down immediately. He managed to halt his fall before his feet touched the trees and the man moaned - Clark’s too-tight grip bringing him pain.

Sucking in a breath, Clark forced himself to calm down. He slowly drifted forward, wobbling dangerously before he eventually even out his flight. The landscape blurred as he picked up speed and hope surged as the twinkling lights grew nearer by the minute.

He could do it. He could save this man just as he had saved those on the school bus and the oil rig.

(For more Superbat Writer’s Month 2021 - Go to Masterlist.)

[sunshineandaisies]

Pikachu Problems

Words: ~1.9k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: language, very minor sexual suggestions

Note: I am currently sick- thus, this was created. Also watched a bunch of Teen Wolf while writing this, so took inspiration from Kira’s thunder kitsune powers for the reader’s powers.

It had started off as just sniffles – an occasional sneeze here and a blown nose there – but within the course of a few days, what you had hoped was just allergies had turned into a full-blown, misery-inducing cold.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it were a normal cold, but because normal wasn’t in your vocabulary, you had been placed on quarantine to stop your sneezing and coughing from taking down an entire electrical grid in the city. Instead, you were irritating Tony every ten minutes as the lights flickered within Stark Tower and F.R.I.D.A.Y. updated him on the power outages throughout the building that your sneezing and coughing was causing. 

“Kid, I’m gonna need you to stop shorting the power in the lab,” he had told you over the intercom after your latest coughing fit had caused a slight blackout within that part of the building. “Do we need to get some lightning rods for you or something? Maybe pad your room in rubber? I’ll take any suggestions, kid. Anything that’ll help keep you from frying the equipment in my lab.”

If you hadn’t been absolutely miserable, his growing frustration may have been funny.

Your quarantine only made you more miserable. You hadn’t been to school in days – hell, you’d barely left your room. Your meals were brought to you, your supply of tissues restocked every other day when Bucky or Bruce would leave a plastic bag from the drug store outside of your door, and your communication with others was done solely through the intercom or with F.R.I.D.A.Y. serving as a messenger.

To make matters worse, on the third day of you quarantine a particularly powerful sneeze had shorted all the electronics in your room. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been unable to access your room for three hours while Tony repaired the damage, your laptop had to be completely wiped in order to assess the damage, and your phone – well, your phone was fried.

That’s probably why, on the sixth day of your quarantine, a friendly neighborhood Spider-Boy showed up at Stark Tower, rambling on and on about unanswered texts and awkward voicemails – that you definitely needed to listen to once Tony sorted out your phone situation – and ‘why the hell weren’t you in school all week’.

“C’mon, Mr. Stark. Let me in to see her,” you heard Peter begging through the intercom after he had finally managed to track Tony down after trying and failing to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to open the door to your bedroom for nearly thirty minutes. “I just wanna make sure she’s feeling okay.”

“Kid, the last thing we need is a fried spider,” was Tony’s response, making you roll your eyes.

“I won’t hurt him,” you defended, your throat sore and scratchy from days upon days of feeling like you would cough up a lung. “I just want some cuddles, and I don’t see anyone else lining up at my door to cuddle me.” You sneezed, and the lights in your room flickered. You hoped your sneezed hadn’t affected the electricity anywhere else or you’d never convince Tony to let Peter into your room. “Please, Tony,” you pleaded. “I just want to see Peter.”

“Please, Mr. Stark,” Peter joined your pleading, and you knew that with the combined efforts of the two of you, he’d crack eventually. “She won’t hurt me. I know she won’t.”

You heard the older man groan over the intercom, and after another second, the lock on your door disengaged. “Thank you, Tony!” you exclaimed at the same time as Peter happily shouted, “You’re the best, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Tony warned, sounding just as exasperated as you imagined he was. You smiled widely despite knowing that neither Tony nor Peter could see you. Tony Stark was good at many things but being able to tell his protégé and his ward no when they both pressed hard enough was not one of those things.

Within ten minutes, Peter was at your door. He had a fuzzy blanket draped over his shoulders, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands, and his laptop tucked under one arm while a fresh box of tissues was tucked under the other. He beamed at you when you opened the door, but his smile quickly faded as he took in your appearance. “You, uh- you look like-”

“Shit?” you guessed, hating how nasally your voice sounded. You tried to laugh when you saw his cheeks tinge pink as he shrugged, but your attempt at laughing quickly turned into a coughing fit. The lights flickered again, and Peter’s eyed you skeptically.

“Is this why you haven’t been answering my texts and calls all week?” he asked, though you assumed he already knew the answer to that question. You cocked your head to the side and raised a brow at him, moving to the side to let him into your room and past you. “You killed your phone, didn’t you?”

“Can you kill something that was never alive to begin with?” you asked rhetorically. You crawled onto your bed and crossed your legs, waiting for Peter to join you. “Did I fry my phone and make it completely unusable? Yes. Did I kill it? No.”

“Sounds like you killed it,” he quipped with a teasing grin. “Here. Pepper made this for you.” He handed you the bowl of soup, and you happily took it from him, inhaling the steam that rose off the liquid and letting it warm your throat and sinuses. You sighed in relief as you felt it soothing the inflammation that made it difficult to breath and speak. The sound didn’t escape Peter’s attention, and he smiled softly at you before settling a hand on your bare knee. “Better?”

“I will be,” you reassured and returned his smile. You let him mother hen you as you ate the soup in quiet. He made sure you had enough water, made sure that you weren’t feeling feverish, made sure that a box of tissues was within your reach, made sure that you were comfortable – ‘Peter, you really don’t need to fluff my pillows again’ – and made sure that you had taken the recommended dose of cough syrup throughout the day.

Finally – finally! – he joined you on the bed after pulling the now empty bowl from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. “Someone asked for cuddles?” he questioned sheepishly – and oh so adorably – as he settled in the spot beside you.

“I believe that someone is me,” you returned. You moved closer to him, but something in the back of your mind made you stop. “Are you sure?”

His face twisted in confusion and his brow furrowed tightly. “Sure about what?”

“That I won’t hurt you.” Right on cue, you coughed, causing the lights to flicker once again. “I can’t control it, Peter. I could hurt you, and if that happens, I don’t know what I-”

Your train of thought was interrupted by a warm hand on your cheek and soft brown eyes boring into yours. “Y/N, I literally trust you with my life. Out there and in here.” His thumb trailed over your cheekbone, his touch igniting your sense. You really wished you weren’t sick. If you were healthy, you’d definitely pounce and show him your appreciation for him and his trust.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick?”

He shrugged. “Seems like it’s nothing more than a cold, but your powers are making it, like, ten times worse for you.” His hand dropped away from your face, but his arms opened, inviting you into his embrace. “C’mere, pretty girl.”

“Pretty girl? Didn’t you say I looked like shit earlier?”

“In my defense, I never actually said that. You just assumed that that was what I was going to say.” You scooted closer to Peter and slumped into his arms, sighing at the contact after going days without. “But you’re always a pretty girl. Even if you’re sick and look like shit.”

You swatted at his shoulder and laughed, but another coughing fit soon took over. The lights flickered overhead and a mechanically buzzing in the walls could be heard for a few seconds before the room grew silent once more. Once you were sure that the need to cough had died down, you relaxed against Peter. “Can we take a nap? Please?”

“Yeah, of course.” He guided your bodies down to the mattress, settling your heads atop your pillow and pulling the blanket over your bodies. “You’ll tell me if you need anything?”

“Definitely,” you murmured against the skin of his neck, your eyes drooping shut. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too, pretty girl,” you heard Peter respond before you finally let your exhausted body rest.

When you woke up a few hours later, your body shaking from your latest coughing fit, the New York skyline was lit up with different shades of pinks and reds and oranges as the sun sank below the horizon. Peter bolted awake beside you, a comforting hand on your back to rub soothing circles over the fabric of your t-shirt.

Again, the lights flickered, and the mechanical buzzing sound returned, even louder than before. This time, though, the lights grew brighter and brighter before your bedroom was eventually plunged into darkness.

“Peter,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he reassured quickly. “I’m fine, but, uh-” He held up his phone, the screen remaining completely black as he pressed the home button over and over again. “I think you killed my phone.”

You groaned and flopped back against your mattress, covering your face with your hands. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

You were interrupted by Tony’s voice over the intercom, sounding just as irritated as you imagined he was. “Okay, Pikachu.” You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “Not sure how you managed to do it, but F.R.I.D.A.Y. can’t access anything on your floor. The locks, the lights, the elevator. All of it. Until I can figure out how to fix this, you’re not going anywhere. That means you, too, Spiderling.”

“But Aunt May said to-” The distinct click of the intercom disconnecting sounded, and Peter slumped against the mattress beside you, pressing his face into your neck. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

“You won’t hear me complaining,” you quipped.

You felt him smile against your neck while his arm wound itself around your waist. “I’m not complaining,” he defended. He pressed his lips to your neck in a soft kiss, and you sighed happily, fingers twining in his messy hair. To prove his point, he pressed kisses along the column of your neck, across your jaw and cheeks, and finally firmly against your lips. “I’m definitely okay with being stuck in my girlfriend’s bedroom. Even if she’s sick and unintentionally causing blackouts in the building.”

You smiled against his lips as he settled himself between your legs, and you whispered, “Whoever said giving you a perfectly good reason to stay the night was unintentional?”

[onthecrosslook]

Ineffable Husbands hurt/comfort for the writing requests thing please?🥺👉👈

Something Quite Unlike Most

Anthony J. Crowley liked to pretend that he didn’t care. He was awfully fond of acting indifferent and cold to other demons of Hell, and even occasionally to his friend*, Aziraphale. Demons like him, well…they didn’t actually exist. He wasn’t really a demon* at all, to be entirely honest.

He wasn’t sure what he was.

But he knew damn well that he was kidding himself if he thought he couldn’t care less about Aziraphale.

Especially once he received a very urgent phone call from the angel himself.

His phone rang once. Crowley didn’t pick up.

His phone rang again. Crowley glanced at it once or twice and didn’t pick up.

“I’m not going to pick up,” said Crowley as he picked up the phone upon hearing the third ring. Muttering a few colourful curses, he placed the receiver to his ear. “Yes, hullo, Angel, how are you?”

Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Crowley? Oh, hello, dear! Er- well, I’d be doing well, but I’m in a bit of a pickle.” He chuckled nervously and yelped. “Well, you see…”

“What the dev- Er- God? What have you done, Angel?” He tried to hide the urgency in his voice as he tapped his fingers against his desk, but his concern* was clear.

“I may have…er…well, don’t laugh at me, Crowley!” Aziraphale demanded with a slight whimper.

“I won’t bloody laugh, just tell me what’s wrong!” Crowley demanded.

“Someone gave me an old book,” Aziraphale confessed. “He was a really, really lovely gentleman. He was very tall with rather wavy ginger hair and had very odd eyes and cheekbones.”

“What?” Crowley asked in a mix of astonishment and blatant horror.

“Oh, yes! I was quite fond of his eyes, multi-coloured. Looked like the stars!” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly while simultaneously wincing in pain. “Said his name was Ben*.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked in classic angel fashion (even whilst being in pain).

Crowley sputtered out a string of nonsense in an panicked attempt to tell Aziraphale to throw the book into the Pacific Ocean. “Tha- that wasn’t some kind bloke, Angel. What was the book called?” He was seconds away from bolting out the door.

Aziraphale sounded sheepish. “Well, it had a different cover at first. I thought it was a first edition copy of Huckleberry Finn, can you imagine that? Then when I opened it up, the first page said ‘The Lesser Key of Solomon*. Bless me, I’ve- ow!- no idea what that means.”

“It means that an undesirable just- oh, bloody- oh, b-bloody, good G- Satan. Shit!” Crowley knew exactly who he was talking about, especially when he mentioned his former boss*. “Angel, I’m coming over right now!”

“Oh, take your time!” Aziraphale said kindly, before letting out a dainty “fuck” as a result of the excruciating pain he was in. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Goodbye, Crowley!”

And then he hung up.

“Damn it, Angel!” Crowley hissed as he sprinted out of his flat and to his beloved black Bentley. He knew he only had a few minutes before Aziraphale* burst into flames or- worse! Something much worse!

Not realising he didn’t have his keys, Crowley accidentally willed the car to start and started driving like a man possessed. The other cars on the road parted in waves as he slammed down the accelerator and sped to Aziraphale’s bookstore*.

On its own, the car’s radio dial spun around and landed on a station that was blasting ‘The Show Must Go On’. Crowley glanced at it in surprise and adjusted his sunglasses, still not slowing down.

Inside, my heart is aching…

He spun around a corner and nearly hit a jaywalking pedestrian.

My makeup may be flaking, but my smile…

Crowley swallowed a lump forming in his throat, heart racing.

…still stays o-O-NnN- Nearly there, Crowley!

He flinched as the familiar voice of his ex-employer crept over him. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Oh, don’t fret, darling. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.

“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, his voice shaking. “He didn’t bloody do a thing!”

But you did, didn’t you? You betrayed me, Crowley. What ever happened to our side?

“There was never any ‘our side’,” he spat. “You wanted to- to destroy the world!” Crowley scowled and tried to turn off the radio, but it sent an electrical shock coursing through his fingertips. “Shit! Shit!”

Don’t be so foolish, darling. Shame about that human, though. If Aziraphale dies, well…hahahahaha…

“Shut up!” Crowley roared, and just like that, the radio clicked off.

Silence filled the car as tyres screeched and the Bentley arrived at the bookshop.

“Angel?!” Crowley shouted as he slammed his car door shut and rushed inside.

The bell tinkled and Aziraphale looked up. “Oh- ow!- C-Crowley, hello, dear!” he said weakly. He was slumped against a bookshelf, his wings visible and extended for some reason. His pleasant smile hid an obvious truth.

He was dying.

Crowley’s gaze, frozen with fear, landed on his friend’s wings with horror. They were turning black with some sort of secreted oily goo and the feathers were falling off, and Aziraphale was pale. Paler than usual. Circles were dark under his unusually dull eyes, and trickles of blood were making their way down his lips.

“How do I fix this?” Crowley said in despair. “How? D-do- do I- I…Miracle. I can do a miracle, can’t I, Angel?”

Aziraphale lifted his head and met Crowley’s terrified eyes. “Dear, listen, I’ve…I’ve tried it. Didn’t work, I’m- I’m afraid.” He let out a little chuckle. “Foolish of me to check. Should never have- well…sit with me, dear. For a bit.”

Crowley nodded and gingerly sat by Aziraphale. “Angel, there…must be some-something. Anything at all, I’ll do. Please.”

“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him, before coughing loudly and dabbing a bit of blood away with a handkerchief. “We could have run away together, you know? You wanted to.”

“Alpha Centurion,” Crowley murmured. “There’s nothing?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “Take my hand, dear. Only for a while?”

Crowley nodded again and intertwined his fingers around Aziraphale’s own. “I…I…Please, Angel. Don’t leave me.”

“We’ve had six thousand years, Crowley. Isn’t that enough?” Aziraphale tried to smile, but he grimaced instead. “I’m…sorry.”

“No,” Crowley said. “It’ll never be enough. I…I love you, Angel. For six thousand bloody years, and now I’m going to lose you because of- of- fucking Satan!” Tears dripped down his sharp nose and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Angel?”

Aziraphale did not respond.

“A-Angel?” Crowley mumbled, sniffing and pushing his shoulder. “Angel, please…”

The ‘please’ didn’t work.

Crowley swallowed and stood up. He took a shuddering breath and staggered to Aziraphale’s desk.

“DAMN IT!” he shouted, but it didn’t feel like enough. “DAMN IT! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN- SHIT!” Crowley picked up the cursed book and threw it across the room. “WHY HIM? WHY- WHY HIM? FOR GOD’S- FUCKING! HELL!”

He didn’t notice, but he was radiating a power that hadn’t been seen in centuries as he sank to his knees in despair. His wings sprouted painfully from his back, black as night, as he struck the floor with his fists in anguish.

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley screamed* with such vigour that the bookstore shook, the lights of London flickered, and the ground trembled. “GOD!” He pounded the ground and cried out for someone, anyone, to hear him. The Powers that Be had decided to be especially cruel that day, leaving him to ponder why they had chosen Aziraphale- his* angel.

Crowley, for the first time in his entire existence, sobbed. All at once, his anger went away, and all that was left was a crushing sadness that left him slumped against a pile of books in unwavering agony. His soul was shattered and his mind was empty, an awful combination for a heartsick demon-but-only-just.

He was silent for a long time. The only sounds in the bookshop were the occasional shuddering sob, and even that steadily dissipated until the world finally quieted down.

A hand lay on Crowley’s shoulder.

He looked up.

“Do you love him?” an elderly woman asked.

Crowley blinked and nodded, trembling.

The woman smiled. “I suppose it is possible, then. For a demon to love an angel. For one to change one’s plan. One’s destiny.” She tilted Crowley’s chin up with delicate fingertips. “I ask you again, Anthony J. Crowley. Do you love Aziraphale?”

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, and his heart ached because he meant it, really and truly meant it.

“Well,” the woman whispered, her fingers beginning to glow golden, “it is decided. Your angel must be returned to you. It is not his time. And you have proven yourself worthy, Crowley. May you forever keep my trust.” She turned towards the fallen angel (the truly Fallen one) and waved her hand over his pale forehead.

A light bathed over Aziraphale, and his wings fluttered and straightened themselves, the colour returning to a radiant white. The blood vanished from his lips and his eyes grew bright. Then, slowly, carefully, his chest rose and fell with the effort of taking easy breaths.

Crowley couldn’t help but stare in astonishment. “Thank you,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say. “Can I ask, er…” He rubbed his forehead and crept to Aziraphale’s side. “Who- what are you, exactly?”

The woman laughed softly. “I’m ineffable,” she said gracefully, and her form flickered and dematerialised from the bookshop, leaving Crowley to wonder if he’d just witnessed a true and genuine, bonafide Miracle.

Aziraphale’s eyes slowly opened and gazed adoringly at Crowley. “Hello, dear,” he whispered, his cheeks rosy and healthy. “I must apologise for leaving you, if only for a moment.” He smiled sheepishly.

“You bloody bastard,” Crowley sniffed as he pulled Aziraphale to his chest and held him tightly. “I thought I’d lost you. For good.”

“I never want to leave you, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. “Not for another thousand years, at least. You still owe me crapes, don’t you? Can’t possibly go without trying those.”

Crowley chuckled as his eyes burned. “As many crapes as you can eat, Angel.”

“You really are quite nice. The nicest demon I’ve ever met.”

“I dunno. I dunno if I’m a demon anymore.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Then what?”

“I’m yours,” Crowley said, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his to lead him out of the bookstore.

In the end, they were all right.

It really was ineffable.

༺═──────────────═༻

*friend, meaning the Olde English and Germanic ancestor of the word ‘frēon’, which in turn originally meant ‘one who loves’.

*the demon I refer to, of course, is based on the Greek word ‘daimon’, which is defined as a ‘divine power, fat, or god’. Crowley was neither. The real translation means ‘replete with wisdom’. Crowley didn’t have that, either.

*this marked the sixth time Crowley had ever been concerned in his life. They all, of course, had been concerning Aziraphale in some way, shape, or form.

*if this sounds familiar, then it should.

*another name is ‘Salomon is Regis’. It’s a cursed grimoire of demonology. Demons fear its power.

*Satan couldn’t outright kill an angel, but he could trick an angel into killing himself. He was quite fond of stealing faces of popular celebrities to do this. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, didn’t recognise him.

*the curse was so horrific that Aziraphale could not miracle himself free.

*he had the location memorised to demonstrate how little he cared for Aziraphale.

*it is said his grief was so great that it shook the Heavens.

*Crowley never truly wanted anything more in his entire life.

[7demonhoes]

The devildom and hell are not the same part 3

This took too long to write but it is done! Thank you to everyone who asked me to write a third and final installment to my short story series! If you’re interested, here is Part 1 and Part 2. And if you have any idea for fics you want to read, let me know, I need the ideas! I do angst, nsfw stuff, and fluff :)

Description: MC has decided that they would lose anything rather than be apart from the demon brothers. But now, after making their decision, MC must come to terms with the new wickedness inside of them. 

Word Count: 4,942

Warnings: Violence, death. 

I stand in the cellar of the House of Lamentation, surrounded by gray statues of demons as old as time. Each statue cups a ball of fire in their hands, the green flame burning for eternity. Shadows cross ominously throughout the room, dancing in the knowledge of the ritual that is to come. 

I stand in the middle of the large room, staring at the impressive pillars that carry the weight of the mansion above me. Details of the brothers Falling are carved into each slab of marble. I shudder, both from the cold and from the anxiety. What does it feel like to be immortal? Will life seem redundant in a few hundred years? Will I regret this decision to shed my humanity? 

Someone coughs, not out of necessity but to get my attention instead. Seven demons surround me, their emotions filling the air with electric tension. They all stand perfectly still, their eyes glowing apprehensively. 

The one who coughed, Lucifer, raises his eyebrows at me in a silent question. Are you ready? 

I swallow in an attempt to soothe my parched throat. Nodding, I steady myself and lower my eyes to the black goblet in front of me. It stands on a stone table, the contents within empty for now. 

After making my decision and telling the brothers that I would rather become a demon and spend eternity with them than forget my time in the Devildom, I was immediately taken to the House of Lamentation to prepare for the ritual. I shift worriedly in my robe, the dark gray fabric flowing in the air with an impossible wind. 

From somewhere beyond my vision, Diavolo steps forward and into my line of sight. He stands proudly in his demon form, all signs of his former anger completely eradicated. He gives me a fanged grin. "Once the ritual begins, there is no turning back. Are you prepared for what's to come?" 

I take in a shuddering breath, thinking it over once again. I scan the faces of the demon brothers, their eyes hopeful and desperate. Would I give up an eternity with them to live a mundane, human life? 

No. Never. 

I nod. "I'm ready," I say, and my voice is filled with strong convention. 

Each of the seven brothers give an audible sigh of relief. Diavolo chuckles quietly. "Let it be done," he says, and I swear that a humming sound of pleasure comes from the statues at the edge of the room. 

"In order to grant you power in your demon form," Diavolo starts, "We will incorporate the power of your pacts into the ritual. You will not be a lesser demon; you will hold the same power that each of the brothers hold within them. This is our gift to you." 

I blink, surprised. "How?" 

"Through blood." Diavolo lifts his arms gesturing towards the demon brothers. "Come forth." 

Belgaphore approaches me first. He's the most awake I've ever seen him, eyes wide and clear. He smiles almost shyly at me, eyes flickering with mischievous light. He walks so that he's behind me. 

Diavolo whispers my name. I stare at him expectantly. "Remove your robe," he demands. 

I begin to protest, then stop. I'm becoming a demon; I don't think I should be worrying about modesty. I stare at a spot of the wall in front of me, keeping my eyes away from the men surrounding me. I bite my inside of my cheek and remove my robe, the breeze making my naked body prickle. 

"Blood will be mixed with blood," Diavolo whispers, his eyes bright with apprehension. 

I feel Belphie's clawed hand against my upper back. I gasp at the sudden touch, twisting my head to look at him. "Sorry," he smirks at me, "this is going to hurt a little." 

He swipes a claw across my skin. I suck in a gasp as hot blood wells in a shallow cut. He quickly swipes at the palm of his hand before pressing it against my back. Almost immediately, the mark of our pack glows in a purple light, washing his face in it's hue. The flesh tingles, completely replacing the pain with a feeling of rolling needles. 

Belphie steps away. I turn to face Beel, who smiles encouragingly at me. "I'm excited to spend eternity with you," he sighs happily, bringing his wrist to his mouth and biting down. He makes a small, careful cut right above my stomach, mumbling apologies the entire time. When he pressed his wrist against my cut, the pack burns bright red. A feeling of hunger washes over me, so powerful that I almost double over with the strange need for something more, something fulfilling. 

Asmo approaches me next, a familiar, flirtatious smile on his full lips. He kneels in front of me, a hand snaking up to caress my inner thigh. I blush, fighting against myself to back away. Asmo giggles, "The pain feels good, doesn't it? Don't worry darling; you're almost done." He takes a beautiful knife out from the sleeve of his shirt, the hilt carved in pink roses. He licks the blade, leaving a thin trace of blood on the steel. He lowers his face to my thigh, and with a warm brush of his breath on my skin, bites down. 

I gasp as pink light glows from my thighs. Asmo winks as he walks away, and I have to take a deep breath to steady the rapid breathing of my heart. Something wicked and exciting tickles in my gut.

Satan is next to step forward. He gently takes my hand, thumb swiping across my knuckles. "You were the first being in existence to make me feel something other than rage." He bares his teeth in a fanged smile. "After today, let's do something truly demonic together." He slashes three claws across my knuckles before pressing a knife to my hand. "Your turn." 

Without hesitating, I take it and grab his hand, turning it so that the pad of his thumb is facing upwards. I take the tip of the knife and press downwards until blood pools. I press his thumb against my knuckles. The pack marks against my knuckles burn green with a maddening heat. I immediately have to clench my hands into my fists. 

Behind me, I hear Levi's timid voice. "M- my turn." When I turn my head to look at him, his face is completely red. "Please don't look at me!" He begs, "Especially when you- you're…" he hides his head in his hoodie. "...naked." 

I suppress a chuckle, instead taking his wrist and pressing his hand against the back of my neck. "Help me finish this, Levi." 

He gulps, curling his fingers and grabbing at the skin at my neck. I turn as he cuts me, waiting for the warmth of his blood pressing against my own. 

When it comes, goosebumps ripple on my neck and a selfish chill travels down my spine. Levi hurries away. I blink, and Mammon is in front of me. He pressed a golden claw ring against his palm. He gingerly takes my hand before pressing it against my palm as well. He grasps my hand, and my palms shine brightly in gold. "Remember that I was your first demon, ya hear?" 

I nod at him. "And you always will be." 

His eyes widen, a blush erupting on his cheeks. "Shuddap, ya human." 

Lucifer steps up behind Mammon and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Not for long." 

Once he reaches me, he rests his hand against my heart and swipes down with a claw. His eyes are dancing with fire as he makes a shallow cut on his lip. 

He rests one hand at my hip before leaning down, pressing his lips against me. My flesh burns blue, an icy feeling creeping from my heart and up to my throat. Lucifer leans forward, lips brushing against my ear. "Remember our pact. You are now mine. Forever." 

I gulp as he turns away. Diavolo chuckles, stepping up to the goblet. He picks up a thick blade from beside it, digging it into the flesh of forearm. He rests his hand above the goblet, letting the dark liquid drip steadily into the cup. 

I take a moment to concentrate on my body. Washed in a rainbow of glowing colors, my skin ripples and crawls with a mixture of pleasant chills and waves of heat. All anxiety of my decision is gone, even as something in my gut churns more and more with each passing moment. Something wicked prickles at the back of my mind.

Diavolo picks up the goblet and faces me. "You are to make a pact with me." His voice deepens with power. The firelight flickers, casting his face in shadow. "And offer me your soul." 

I open my mouth, finding it difficult to speak. Without my soul, what will happen to me? Will I change beyond recognition? 

Do I mind if I do? 

I bite my lip. No matter what happens, it's already far too late. I've made my decision. It's time to see it through. 

"Lord Diavolo," I breathe, feeling the power in my words, "I offer you my soul." 

He passes the goblet to me. Warmth spreads across my body as I take it. I look down to see black runes carved into my skin, covering every part of my body from the neck down with shifting marks. The only place where it is not etched into my skin is where the pacts of each of the brothers burn. "Drink," he commands, and I raise the goblet to my lips. 

The blood is bitter against my tongue. As I take my first swallow, the world around me dims. Somewhere beyond the black, I hear Diavolo's voice. "Once you have finished this unholy Communion, your journey will be over. You will be one of us: a dark, wicked thing. Drink, leave your humanity behind, and become a demon." 

My body hums with his words. Blood steams in my mouth, burning my throat as the thick liquid pours over my tongue. And with one final gulp, I drain the cup. 

My hands are shaking as I lower the cup from my mouth, the tremors vibrating them so badly that the goblet in my hands falls to the floor with a sudden clang. I gasp as searing heat spreads throughout my body, as if Diavolo's blood is scorching through my veins. The back of my head feels as if it's about to burst, and with a sudden cry I throw myself to the floor, curling my legs and clutching them to my chest with shaking arms.

Someone growls, and I look up to see Mammon rushing forth. Diavolo stops him, and Mammon feverishly claws at the hulking demon to get to me. With a grunt, Diavolo pushes Mammon's chest, and he flies backwards and crashes into a statue. 

Something rises in my throat at the sight of Mammon, his body crumpled against the stone statue. A deep, alien rumbling sound climbs out of my mouth, the low growl echoing throughout the cavern. I feel the heat of eight pairs of eyes on me at once. The flames cease to flicker. The air grows still. 

My flesh crawls and writhes as deep lacerations etch themselves into my skin, forming harsh cracks. The growl in my throat turns into a groan, and I watch with wide eyes as the intricate runes glowing from my skin dig themselves deep into me. There is no blood, only deep tunnels of hurt. The pacts scratch into my body, the gouged wounds turning into the color that each pack represents. 

Through the pain, I notice the power. My muscles contort as they grow in size, bones lengthening and shifting underneath. I bite down on my cheeks to keep from screaming and taste blood as fangs dig into my own flesh, sharp molars and incisors itching to bite down harder and revel in the taste. A strong, terrible pressure emits from my skull and I scratch at it with newly formed claws, long black nails slicing open skin to reveal what feels like hard tips of rock bursting through my skull. The horns are about three inches in length and are covered in slick red. 

And suddenly, the pain stops and turns into a dull throbbing. After a few moments, I take a deep breath and attempt to stand. 

Someone wraps the robe around my back just as a different pair of arms help me get to my feet. I pull the robe against my bare skin, though I no longer feel the chill of the air around me.

I have to blink several times as I peer around the room. The cellar, once a dark, shadowy place, now appears to me as a brightly lit room. The details of the faces around me are clearer than they've ever been; I don't think I've ever seen the world around me with such clarity. 

Something strange pulls at my chest. A dark, low heat attempts to twist my body towards a certain direction, an excited tingling feeling churning in my gut. The back of my mind prickles, and a mixture of hunger, anger, and need pours through me. The demon pacts of Beel, Satan, and Asmo shine even brighter. I should go to the place that is pulling me. 

"What is this?" I ask, slowly turning my head to face the pull. 

Beside me, Satan frowns pensively. He looks toward the same direction I am. "You're feeling Hell." 

I blink as the realization dawns on me. Something in the back of my mind recoils at the thought, but it's quickly pushed away by the greed to quench the thirst within me. My palms are bathed in bright gold as the color pulses. 

"The pull gets stronger the longer you wait," Lucifer says from behind me. "It makes it hard to appear human, and eventually it will tear the beast from under your skin." 

I look down at my body, unfamiliar to me. "Is this my True Form?"

"Yes, darling." I hear Asmo's light footsteps approach me. "Would you like to see?" 

I nod. He pulls out a hand mirror from his pocket and hands it to me. I open it carefully, unaccustomed to the claws. 

I lift the mirror to my face and stare into my reflection. 

Tiny runes the size of veins cover my face, giving my face a dark and ethereal glow. I frown at my features thoughtfully; they haven't changed much; my jaw is sharper and my face a little more gaunt. 

My eyes, however, shift in color. When the firelight wanes, they glow just as the pacts etched into my skin do. 

I silently hand the mirror back to Asmo. I scan the room, noticing that each of the brothers stare at me expectantly. I shift uncomfortably, suddenly realizing that I don't know what to do from here. 

I have forever with them. How do I even begin to understand that? Time has always felt limited to me. As a human, the thought of death was never far. And beyond that, I always thought about how my time at the Devildom would come to an end. 

And now? Now I have an eternity, and I have no idea how to process that. 

I scratch my head lightly with a claw. "Uh," I begin, biting the inside of my cheek, "What happens now?" 

Belphie snorts. "For now, you can change into actual clothes. After that, it's no longer my problem." He sticks his tongue out at me, his eyes playful. "I'm taking a nap." 

As he leaves the room, Lucifer gestures towards the spiraling staircase. "Belgaphore has a point. Let's get you comfortable and then we can sort out our next steps." 

I nod and follow the brothers upstairs. After I change out of the robe, Diavolo, the brothers, and me sit in the common room. 

"First thing's first," Diavolo begins, "You must learn how to shift between forms. Then we can focus on training." 

I blink. "Training?"

Lucifer nods. "You're a brand new demon. You have powers you are yet to understand; we don't even know what you're truly capable of. You have to not only learn your new strengths, but you have to learn how to live with your new needs and urges."

Satan cuts in, "Like that pull you felt towards Hell. You can still feel it, right?" 

The need increases as I concentrate on it. Something dark in my mind salivates at the thought of going to that place. I suppress a chill. I nod silently, trying to push the pull from my mind. 

"Once you revert back to your human form, you won't be able to change to your True Form unless you are severely agitated." 

"Or in Hell," I whisper.

Satan and Lucifer nod. "Try changing. Focus in on yourself and concentrate on your body." Lucifer leans forward on the couch, watching me intently. 

I do as he says. I close my eyes and focus on the beating of my heart, willing it to slow. My body cools as the warmth of the pacts etched into my skin fade. I look down to see my body as it was before my transition. 

Asmo, sits at my feet with his arms sprawled across my knees, reaches up and pokes at my biceps. "You've grown some muscle, darling." 

I shake my head, eyes traveling across the faces of Levi, Mammon, and Beel. "What now?"

The three of them sit quietly, thinking. After a few moments of silence, Mammon barks a laugh, leaving back on the seat across from me and crossing his arms. "Who cares? You have forever to think about it." 

I smile, looking at my demon boys. I think I can get used to forever. 

The week passes by in a blur. Days are filled with school, training, and spending time with the brothers. Solomon has asked me to make a pact with him dozens of times. No matter how much time we spend together, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fully trust that shady wizard enough to offer him control over me. 

Learning what I'm capable of has been strange. I'm still getting used to the superhuman strength and speed. I may not have wings, but I'm able to keep up with the fastest of the brothers with ease. 

Besides strength and speed, I've yet to learn any other new abilities. I haven't even learned how to shift from my human form; I can never focus my energy enough to change. But I can always feel something dark in my mind black tendrils twisting. I try to keep them at bay. Maybe I don't want to know what I'm truly capable of. 

But the pull of Hell is only growing stronger, and I can hardly think about anything but the memory of screaming human souls crashing in my ears. Something shifts and sneers under my skin at the thought of those tortured souls. I push the feeling down, trying desperately to forget it. What happens if I embrace it? Do I lose a part of myself? 

I swallow, forcing my attention back to class. I doodle idly in my notebook, my leg bouncing wildly. I ignore the glares of the other demons surrounding me; they never liked me while I was human, but now that I have strength and power equal to theirs or more, their hatred for me is palpable. Eight of the most powerful demons of all time have chosen me as their own. Before, I was prey. Now I'm a challenger. 

I keep close to the demon brothers during the school day. I haven't been left alone once during the entire week, but Mammon was summoned by Diavolo for stealing something of his, leaving me alone. 

I scratch at the desk. At least I'm meeting most of the brothers for lunch right after this class, so I won't have to watch as all the people around me salivate at the idea of jumping me. 

Just as I'm able to calm the anxiety growing inside of me, the teacher coughs before muttering something about ending class early. The pack up and rush out of the room. 

Okay. Nevermind. My body stiffens as I slowly look over the room, watching as every demon's eyes turn to me. My spine shivers. 

I hope no one can see the soft shaking of my fingers as I slowly put my stuff away and get ready to meet the brothers for lunch. As I stare at my desk, I hear a chair squeak loudly. When I look back up to try to stand, I find a demon standing in the way. He grins maniacally at me, the need for violence written all over his face. 

"You're all alone now." The entire room watches us, the tense energy in the air palpable. "What, your high demons turned you into one of us and then threw you away?" 

I ignore him, unsure of what else to do. I stand in front of him, hoisting my backpack over my shoulder and moving to walk past him. 

He reaches out a hand and places it firmly on my chest. A growl rises in my throat, but before it can be heard the demon pushes me into the air and I fly backwards, crashing into the wall behind me. 

The pain hardly even registers beyond the rage. Without thinking, I focus on the darkness whirling in my head and my gut and let it flow through my veins. I get to my feet, wiping at a thin trickle of blood I feel at the back of my head, and as my body fills with a deep rage a distant part of me noticing the strengthening of my muscles. Something pinched at my gums, head, and fingers as black claws, horns and fangs shoot out from shifting skin. 

Green runes glow from my knuckles. The demon raises his eyebrows at me. As he stays still, sizing me up, I reach back into myself without thinking and focus on the hunger, the need to win. To gorge myself on this demon's blood. 

Something around my gut warms. Muscles tear and grow. When I speak, it's hard to form words beyond the growls. "You think the monster they made wouldn't be able to take care of themself?" 

The man erupts into his demon form, saliva dripping from his fat tongue. I focus on the pricking in the back of my neck and focus my envy, borrowing Levi's speed. I do the same for Asmo's grace, and by the time the demon reaches me I'm able to dodge his first blow. 

I call out to the brothers and Diavolo in my head, using the strength of the pacts to try and reach them. Each pact suddenly explodes in a blast of fury, and I know that they heard my call. 

The demon lunges again and I dodge, springing to the side as huge claws swipe downward towards my eyes. I see an opening near the man's gut and take it, but I'm not used to the sheer strength of my new body and end up becoming off balance. 

The demon yells triumphantly as he swipes at me again, lifting his hand to strike. I watch the movement in slow motion as I stumble, unable to do anything. His hand sweeps in a wide arch towards my face into what I know is a killing blow.

Something bellows at the other side of the classroom. Time slams back into motion as Lucifer, Diavolo, and Satan run into the room. The demon attacking me immediately stops, claws inches from my face. 

Lucifer opens his mouth, eyes glowing with terrifying anger. 

I look at the demon who attacked me. He's half turned to the side, staring at the three high demons with his arm half raised. The darkness and fury I let in swarms, and I can't push it back. I think about the demon, how close it was to killing me. How much I want to return the favor.

Something in me screams. 

Before I can register what I'm doing, I step forward and jam my elbow into the demon's exposed throat. He stumbles back, coughing, as I reach for his outstretched arm and twist it so that he turns, his back facing me. 

Something wet drips from my chin as I kick him in the back of the knees. He falls to the floor with a quiet moan. My mouth twists into a cruel smile, a clawed hand grabbing the demon by the hair and tilting his head in such a way that he is exposing his already injured neck. 

And with a cry of animal excitement, I slash his throat with my claws. 

He collapses, gurgling in his own blood. I'm breathing heavily from the adrenaline, heart racing as I look up at the high demons facing me. 

Belphie slinks into the room. He sees the twitching body on the floor and nods. "Nice." 

Lucifer says my name. I turn to him, but my eyes keep on drifting back to the demon. To his blood. 

Diavolo turns to Belphie. "It's time. We have to take them." He sighs, glancing at the body on the floor. "But it would be difficult to take them in their current state." 

Belphie nods, stepping over to me. It's hard to register his movement. The demons watching seem to be anxious, seem to understand that I want more. I want their blood, to see it pulsing from open wounds, to watch as their eyes widen in fear and- 

Belphie's hand presses softly against my forehead. "Sleep," he commands. 

My vision blurs as I slump against him, my last thought about the blood under my fingernails. 

I wake up staring at the night sky. I look around, seeing the brothers leaning next to me. Diavolo stands a few paces back. He perks up once he sees I'm awake. "So sorry about that, but you wouldn't have come here without trying to kill a few more demons." 

I yawn, blinking rapidly. "Kill?" 

"Yeah dude, you went psycho," Belphi says. 

"Nevermind that," Satan shakes his head. "How do you feel?" 

I raise a hand to my forehead. I don't feel horns, so I must have shifted back to my human form. I groggily try to remember what happened before I passed out. "Fine, I guess," I respond, narrowing my eyes at Belphie as I remember just how I ended up falling asleep.

"Fine?" Levi snorts, sounding almost impressed, "you just teared out some guy's throat." 

I wince. Mammon reaches out and leans a hand on my shoulder. "I bet he deserved it," he whispers. "He tried to hurt ya, didn't he?" 

I shudder. "I think he was about to kill me." I look to Lucifer, Satan, and Diavolo. "If you hadn't come so quickly…"

Lucifer frowns. "We should discuss that. You were able to call us through our pacts." 

I frown, thinking about how I naturally used my newfound abilities while in danger. "I think I drew your power from them." 

"You mean you could use our abilities?" Asmo wrinkles his forehead. "That is certainly interesting." 

Diavolo walks over, staring at me pointedly. "You have the potential to be much stronger than I realized." He raises his eyebrows. "And you clearly are strong willed." 

"What do you mean?"

Belphie scoffs. "Don't you realize where you are?" 

I look around. I sit at the top of a steep hill, dry ash covering my clothes and sifting through my fingers as I clutch the black ground. I look to my left and see the shimmering air of a forcefield. 

"Oh," I whisper to myself. As soon as I realize where I am, the pull I've grown accustomed to suddenly explodes. I gasp at the power, the burning instinct sending sharp tingles throughout my body. I feel an impossible mixture of each of the seven sins as my pacts glow in an ethereal light. 

I shift, the pain almost unnoticeable besides the overwhelming need to step beyond the forcefield. I stand, my limbs moving on their own accord. 

"This is it," Beel mutters beside me. "You know what you'll do when you walk through." He grabs my hand. I clutch his, a mixture of desire and disgust swarming in my stomach. 

"Are you prepared?" Diavolo asks from behind me. 

I swallow. I remember what it felt like to embrace the newfound wickedness within me, how the hot feel of blood under my claws sent shivers of pleasure through me. I remember how much I liked it, and something in me cowers in fear of what I have become.

But the pull will never go away. I have made my choice; I always knew it would come to this. It's time to leave my humanity where I stand. 

I take a deep breath, focusing on the black runes that are ready to carve into my skin. I draw in Diavolo's power, using it to force myself to change into my True Form. I grit my teeth through the pain, focusing on the swirling air in front of me. 

Once I'm fully changed, I walk with unsteady legs into the forcefield, ears filling with the sound of human screams. And as I stare at the Pit below me, I embrace the tendrils of darkness inside of me. I let it flow through me, my body prickling in excitement. I think about what I'm about to do. 

And I smile. 

[jared-19-cant-reid]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader (no “y/n”)

Rating: M

Summary: A stranger catches your eye from across the bar. He seems reserved at first, but you can tell he’s holding something back. When he gets you alone, you see a side of him you didn’t expect-- but definitely weren’t complaining about.

Word Count: 3.7K

Content Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, suggestive dialogue, Dom!Spencer, Brat/Sub!Reader, daddy kink, choking, fingering, oral (female receiving), slapping, light degradation, overstimulation, other general filth

A/N: This one was a lot of fun to write! It ended up being a little (gasp) fluffy at the end, maybe if literally one person asks me to I’ll do a part two. Hope y’all enjoy!

Shooting the bartender a grateful smile, you raised the shot of tequila to your lips. You scrunched up your nose at the burn; you still weren’t used to the taste of alcohol. As a warm feeling spread through your chest, you began to relax. You were here to have a good time, after all-- at least, according to your friends. 

They had dragged you here claiming you needed to “loosen up”, and it seemed to be working. By now, the hypnotic music had drowned out all lingering worries that would have otherwise plagued you, and your friends were pleasantly surprised when you didn’t protest as they dragged you to the dance floor. 

As you swayed your body to the rhythm of a song you didn’t know, you felt the stress of the week melt off of you. Responsibilities be damned, you were going to have fun tonight. Your laugh floated like bubbles from your lips into the air and your body moved smoothly of its own accord like you had been hypnotized by the booming bass, and you were so lost in your own world you almost didn’t notice the man staring at you from the bar. Almost.

His piercing gaze only met yours for a second, dropping to the drink in his hand when he realized he had been caught staring. A small smile formed on your lips as you said a quick goodbye to your friends, ignoring their cheers in favor of examining the man you were now approaching. Even in the low light, you could tell his was the kind of face that haunted your daydreams for years after you saw it. 

By the time you were close enough to admire his hazel eyes, they had found yours, his eyebrow quirking up as you sat on the barstool next to him. Running a nervous hand through his hair and taking a sip of something that looked like whiskey, he clearly hadn’t expected to be approached by the stranger he’d watched from afar. Something about his hesitance only drew you in more. What was he holding back?

“See something you like?” you asked coyly, batting your eyelashes at the man you were growing more interested in with every second spent in his proximity. He coughed mid-sip, taken aback by your forwardness. When he regained his breath, his eyes flickered up and down your body once more, the way they lingered on your curves sending a surge of pride through your chest. There was something behind the curiosity in his gaze, but you couldn’t tell what. 

“I, uh…” he struggled for a response, eventually landing on “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You chuckled in response, amused at the thought of being bothered by catching this polite, insanely attractive man looking at you. You quickly reassured him you were anything but uncomfortable, which sent a red tint to his ears, clearly unused to such overt flirting. A smile ghosted over your lips as you told him your name, and you were met with his in return: Spencer. 

You resolved to find out just what Spencer was holding back, inviting him outside. He hesitated at first, but seemed relieved to get out of the crowded bar as he followed you through the doors. As you looked at him under the light of the streetlamp, you realized the dim bar light hadn’t done him justice. 

You imagined how the slight stubble on his jaw would feel against your inner thighs, trailing your eyes up and down his body once more as you took in the details that you had been so cruelly deprived of before. He did the same to you, though more subtly and quickly, clearly still trying to be respectful. You hoped he wasn’t too attached to that goal.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a bar like this?” you questioned, genuinely curious. “It doesn’t really seem like your scene.” It didn’t; his reserved manner and clear disdain for crowds had stuck out like a sore thumb. 

“Long day at work. I came with some coworkers but they left a little while ago.” he spoke, downward gaze conveying his reluctance to talk about work. I decided to avoid the subject.

“Guess I’m lucky you decided to stay, then,” you smiled. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you took a deep breath and rushed the words out: “Do you maybe want to get a cab back to my place?”

He paused, eyes scanning your face once more. “You’re drunk,” he observed.

“I’m tipsy at best. Not that it matters, I’d invite you home stone cold sober.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up at that, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a thin line before speaking again. “Did you know that alcohol consumption increases levels of dopamine and norepinephrine in the brain, lowering inhibitions, increasing excitement, and encouraging impulsivity?”

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness. “I’m not hearing a no. Last time I heard, dopamine wasn’t a bad thing. Actually, I’m thinking of a few other ways I could get a dopamine rush right now.”

Your neurochemistry-based flirtation seemed to be his breaking point, wordlessly pulling out his phone and struggling with his phone as he ordered an Uber. Your brows furrowed in confusion, replacing the victorious smile that had spread across your face. 

“I thought we were going to my place?”

“Mine’s closer, I promise,” he replied, putting his phone away. As his hands struggled with the power button, you couldn’t help but stare. You blinked away images of one of his large hands gripping your wrists, wrapping around your neck, trailing down your body… You looked back up to see him fighting a smirk, clearly having caught you looking. 

Your heartbeat quickened at the realization that this was actually happening, and he noticed the change in your face. Before he could speak, you stepped forward, coming close enough to smell his cologne and feel his body warmth. You hadn’t realized until this moment how tall he was-- he had to be at least 6 feet tall, maybe 6’1”. As you looked up at him, you could see the tension in his body as he clung to his last ounce of restraint. You leaned forward slowly, feeling his breath on your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, only to open again in surprise when he pulled back.

“Not yet.” he said simply, gritting his teeth and taking a step back as your Uber pulled up to the curb. As you got in the car, your heart raced with anticipation, every second until you could be alone together feeling like an eternity. You tugged at the hem of your tight dress, trying to cover up a little in the nighttime chill. Still bitter about the almost-kiss, you decided to tease him a little bit. 

Pressing your thighs together, you gasped lightly and pulled your lip between your teeth. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you, and though he didn’t respond verbally you knew you were in trouble. The space between you in the backseat felt electrically charged, the stolen glances you shared on the quiet ride to his place leaving you buzzing with anticipation. 

He was right to say his was closer, you realized as the car came to a stop mere minutes after leaving the bar. Though you’d been impatient to arrive, once you actually stepped out of the car you were hit with a wave of nerves. It wasn’t that you hadn’t had one night stands before, you had, but never with someone you felt this strongly about. Going home with someone you were so drawn to was a sharp contrast with your lukewarm chemistry with frat guys who would take home any girl with a pulse. 

As he fumbled with the lock on the door, you studied him one last time. This wasn’t a man who would bring a girl home just for the sake of a warm body in his bed. This was a man who thought things through carefully, who had moved with purpose once he’d made his decision. You wondered what new side of him lay beyond this threshold. You didn’t have much time to think about it before he opened the door, nodding for you to go in first. 

Stepping inside, you looked around to find a cozy room you immediately felt at home in. Several bookshelves lined the walls, and as you admired his collection you found it well organized but messy enough to show the books were well loved. An old chess set caught your eye, along with assorted Star Trek memorabilia and trinkets you couldn’t identify the origin of but you were sure held sentimental or intellectual value. You thought you saw a cane leaning against the wall next to the umbrellas, but the train of thought was interrupted when you were slammed back against the door. 

All the air was knocked out of your lungs, not by the impact, but by the intensity of the hungry look in Spencer’s eyes. You were caged in by his arms on either side of you, unable to escape even if you wanted to, but instead of the fear you likely should have felt, your chest was buzzing with pure excitement. He towered over you, his face mere centimeters from yours as he began to speak, his voice low.

“Such a pretty little girl. Just need someone to teach you to behave,” he spat out. Your eyes widened at the words, barely containing a whimper as you looked down to find there was little space separating you. One of his hands left the door to grip your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t you have any manners, little girl?”

“Sorry,” you managed to squeak out. His words had affected you more than you thought they would; you were under his spell within seconds of his attention. 

“Sorry, what?” he demanded.

Your eyes widened. You weren’t totally new to this type of play, but you weren’t expecting it from him. You took a guess: “Sorry, sir.”

“Try again.” 

The words send a jolt of electricity through your body. Holy fuck, you thought, is he saying what I think he’s saying? You tried again, your voice barely above a whisper: “Sorry, Daddy.”

His pupils blew wide, his grip on your jaw tightening. “Good girl,” he breathed. “What’s your safeword, baby?”

You took a second to think about it, finally landing on “sunflower”. 

That was the confirmation Spencer needed to move, closing the space between you in a powerful, hungry kiss. You matched his intensity and tangled your hands in his curls and tugged, earning a moan from him that shot directly to your core. His left hand came down to explore your chest as his right stayed on your jaw, holding you in place. 

You let your hands roam as much of his body as they could reach, one trailing down his torso and reaching the waistline of his pants before a tight grip around your wrist stopped you in your tracks. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “You don’t get to touch me unless I give you permission. Greedy girl, just begging to be taught a lesson.”

If you weren’t pressed against the door, your knees would have buckled at that. Your breath hitched as he brought his other hand to your neck, squeezing experimentally. The moan that escaped your lips was embarrassingly loud, and the smirk on his face told you this was only the beginning. 

“Look at you, so pathetic for me. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He drawled in a sickly sweet voice.

His hand on your chest wandered lower, slipping under the hem of your dress. You strained to get closer to him, but he pulled his hand away as soon as you moved. You started to complain, but the force with which he pinned your hips to the door with one hand muted you. 

“Be a good girl and stay still for me or you’ll get nothing at all.” He reprimanded.

You nodded, breath shallow as his hand began to trace your inner thighs, so close yet so far from where you wanted him most. You were about to whine when he pulled your panties to the side and, at an unbearably slow pace, eased one finger into your heat. You were panting already, struggling to follow his command to stay still but too desperate for more to do anything that would make him stop. He added a finger and you cried out as your eyes fluttered shut. Apparently Spencer didn’t like that, because his grip on your throat tightened exponentially, demanding your attention.

“Look at me while I’m ruining you, baby.” He punctuated each word with a thrust of his fingers, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. You felt like you were going to pass out from pleasure, but you used all your restraint and remaining energy to stay standing and watch Spencer’s face. The man you were looking at now was almost unrecognizable from the man you’d met at the bar. His eyes were hard and unforgiving, and his pace was brutal as he studied your face, watching you fall apart on his hand. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the peak you were so desperate for, but right when you reached the edge he pulled his hand away.

You couldn’t hold back your complaints that time, and his expression darkened as he listened to you whine. You were met with instructions to “shut the fuck up,” as he so eloquently put it, but you wanted to push him.

“What makes you think you have power over me?”

You could tell he was pissed, but instead of yelling, he remained perfectly quiet. Without a word, he raised his hand and forced your jaw open and brought the fingers that had just been inside you to your lips, his silent command hanging in the air.

Opening your mouth wider, you allowed his fingers to enter, wrapping your lips around them and making a show of it. If he was going to shut you up, you were gonna take back some power while he did it. Hollowing your cheeks around the digits, you flattened your tongue against them and cleaned them of your taste. You watched him swallow as he watched you, fully aware of what you were doing. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and wiped them on your cheek before grabbing your wrist and whispering words that sent a shiver down your spine: “You’ll pay for that.”

Before you could even try to respond, he turned and pulled you to his bedroom. You didn’t even have time to look around before you were practically thrown onto the bed. Spencer walked around the bed slowly, watching you with predatory eyes. When he got to the end of the bed, he grabbed your legs and pulled you down so your hips were close to the edge, allowing your dress to ride up to your stomach. 

You saw him getting on his knees, you felt him pull your panties down your legs before discarding them, you were given every hint of what was coming next, but you were still shocked when you felt his tongue against you. A strangled cry left your lips at the sensation, overwhelming your senses as his hands roughly gripped your hips to hold you down. You tangled your fingers through his messy curls, gripping them as if they were all that was holding you to this world. He was merciless in his attack on your bundle of nerves, tasting you like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. It wasn’t long before you felt the tension start to build in your stomach, and you tried to form his name in warning but all that left your lips were broken moans and unintelligible pleas. 

He didn’t ease up, continuing his ministrations as you fell into ecstasy. Your orgasm pulsed through your body in waves, its intensity drowning out everything but the pure feeling of bliss that accompanied that release. You pulled at his hair as you came down, but he kept going, sending jolts through your body. You cried out at the overstimulation, whimpering as the knot formed in your stomach once again, building more quickly since you were still sensitive from your first orgasm. Another wave of pleasure tore through you, your moans becoming softer as you recovered.

Spencer stood up and leaned over you, clearly enjoying seeing you this wrecked for him. He brought a gentle hand to your cheek, wiping away tears of overstimulation you hadn’t noticed forming. You leaned into the touch, his soft hand bringing you back to life. 

“You look so pretty like this. Were you good for Daddy, baby?” He spoke softly, hand still cradling your cheek. You nodded in response, and his eyebrow quirked up at the sentiment. If you had been more attentive, you might have noticed a dangerous glint that formed in his eye just then.

Without warning, his hand left your face only to deliver a slap to the cheek he had just been cradling, your gasp at the contact bringing a cruel smile to his face. He leaned in closer to you, asking you once more.

“Are you sure about that, baby?” He moved even closer, his mouth next to your ear as he whispered, “Good girls don’t cum without permission.”

Fuck.

The look of regret and anticipation on your face told him all he needed to know. He pulled you up, helping you stand as he walked you to the other side of his room. As he guided you carefully, he spoke again:

“I was planning to fuck you on my bed, but I don’t think you deserve it. See, only good girls are allowed in my bed.” 

He dragged you over to his floor-length mirror, pulling down the zipper of your dress that you forgot you still had on. As you hadn’t worn a bra, you were now fully naked… and Spencer was still fully clothed. You didn’t have time to complain about it, distracted by him placing his hand on your lower back to bend you over. Bracing yourself on the large mirror with your hands, you tried not to seem too needy as you reacted to his touch. Apparently the attempt was unsuccessful, because Spencer let out a dark chuckle, watching your face contort in the reflection.

You watched as he slowly undressed, making you wait as long as he could. As you took in the sight of him, your gaze trailed down his torso, your eyes widening at the sight of him. Your shock at his impressive size must have been apparent on your face, because when your eyes met his again you saw a small smirk on his face. Your cheeks reddened, and you looked down to avoid his gaze. Apparently that wasn’t what he wanted, because you soon felt him grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up to see yourself in the mirror. He kept his hand there, watching your eyes roll back as he teased your entrance with his head, teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just fuck me already!” You cried.

From the look on his face, that was the wrong thing to say. You knew you were in for it already, but you were now mentally preparing to be unable to walk the next day. Despite his clear disdain for your words and the tone you’d spoken them in, he did as you asked. With no warning, he slammed into you, giving you no time to recover before setting a brutal pace that turned your moans to a silent scream. His hand in your hair jerked you up again, forcing you to watch as he destroyed you. You were overwhelmed at the sight: your mascara had run down your cheeks, your lips were puffy from the force with which he’d kissed you, and your body was nearly limp in his hands, trembling and fully pliant. 

The look on his face was what really did you in, though. Spencer’s expression told you everything you had wanted to know at the beginning of the night, everything he had been holding back. It told you he owned you, that you were his to ruin, that nobody else would ever compare. It told you that as much as he relished in the power of your obedience, he had needed the release of teaching you a lesson after whatever had happened at work, and enjoyed your brattiness just as much as you did.

You felt yourself getting closer and, remembering your mistake before, started to beg. His look of satisfaction was possibly more erotic than the act itself, and he decided to reward your good behavior. It was that face that pushed you over the edge, sending you into your most powerful orgasm yet, tightening around him as you chanted pleas that were far from coherent, but came down somewhere between “daddy” and “please”. 

Still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm, you felt his pace stutter and watched his reflection as he finally came undone, a look of bliss coming over his face. The feeling of him filling you up was almost enough to bring you to the edge again, but luckily he pulled out before you had to test the theory your body couldn’t handle another orgasm. 

You were dazed and exhausted when Spencer returned with a washcloth, guiding you to his bed and laying you down on it. Still deep in subspace, you mumbled about how “only good girls were allowed on the bed,” and he chuckled, saying you had more than made up for your bad behavior. You whimpered as he cleaned you up, the overstimulation too much for you. He pressed kisses to your thighs at the sound, and eventually fell next to you on the bed. As you curled into his chest, he whispered words of praise, while you mumbled back assurances he hadn’t hurt you and that you had enjoyed the scene. You said something about leaving, but he talked you into staying the night-- not that you were all that difficult to convince, given your current lingering subspace and overall exhaustion. 

While you drifted off to sleep, you listened to Spencer’s heartbeat, allowing the rhythm to soothe you as the two of you became so close you began to breathe as one. You’ve both lived long enough to know what you’d found tonight was rare, so you and Spencer allowed yourselves to find comfort in each other, if only for a night.

[annaraebananawriter]

The Day He, I, We Died

And here we are! The last oneshot I managed to get done. I gave you two days worth of fluff and light-hearted laughter, and now it’s time to attack with all the feels I’ve been holding back.

Hopefully, anyway.

Enjoy!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically the UTMV

Characters: Nightmare and Dream (Who belong to Joku)

Warnings: Character Death, and I think that’s it. Let me know!

Word Count: 2011

~oOo~

The negativity in the air was growing stronger. It darkened the skies of multiple AUs, made people slow to a stop and stare blankly around, forgetting for a moment what they were just doing. Other people screamed, too much anger for a small instance. Others sobbed, crying out for people they missed, begging for anyone to come and help them. All around, people were hurting, good memories nothing more than just that—a memory, the calming and positive effects gone.

It was sickening.

Nightmare felt all of it. Every fear, every mourner, every heartbreak. He let it all wash over him like a wave, numbing any of his own feelings. The weight of it all coiled in his chest and made it hard to breathe, like the negativity from the Multiverse decided to come back and kill its guardian. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to absorb the power he was being granted, let it travel and spread throughout his body like electricity, a tingling feeling left behind.

He clenched his hands, extra energy thrumming through his soul. He wanted to run, to find people to mess with, AU's to massacre. He needed to calm down, find a way to get it all out so that he could go home and relax, hang out with his boys.

But...

Another pulse of energy jolted through him, stronger than all the rest. Nightmare froze, a mixture of joy and dread—his own emotions—spiking through all the noise. It felt like something clicked, something breaking and ever so slowly beginning to die off and never be felt again. One side of the scales was dropping, with nothing to replace the weight that had been keeping it level.

Positivity was dying.

But he couldn't bring himself to take the steps back home. He couldn't bring himself to tell his boys that he did it, they won, negativity now reigned supreme. They were free to live as they wanted, without being called evil. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the person whom he had sacrificed to get this ending.

He had ever wanted to kill Dream. Never. It had been an unspoken rule among his boys that they weren't to fatally injure the guardian of positivity, just wear him down and deal some damage. They mostly left him to Nightmare—which was good. He knew just how much to hold back to avoid killing him, knew when to deliberately pull back and stop attacking.

This didn't stop him from hurting Dream. Be it through words or actions, he knew that somewhere in their fights his brother had always gotten hurt in a way he couldn't fix. Maybe he could've, would've, once way back. But he wasn't that person anymore. It wasn't his job to help Dream, to console him after battles and hug him through rainstorms.

He had grown up.

Dream needed to see that.

Despite not wanting to kill Dream, something had happened in their last fight. He wasn't sure what. One minute Nightmare had been thinking about pulling back, already pulling at the magic necessary to teleport away. Dream had been getting quite unsteady and was stumbling into attacks he could've easily dodged. This was the time to call it quits and let him rest for a few days.

Then something bubbled and spit inside him, like a volcano on the verge of erupting. This caused Nightmare to pause and created a lull in the battle. He had vaguely registered Dream dropping to his knees, taking the time to catch his breath, staring up at him in confusion. Nightmare had focused on himself, a hand placed on his chest, where the volcano laid, frowning softly.

The silence had stretched, enough that Dream had found the strength to speak. "Night, what's—" He never got to finish. It was only a couple words, spoken softly, gently, concerned, but they were enough for the eruption to take action.

The red hot feeling of burning rage, hate, with an undertone of deep misery, overspilled.

Nightmare wished he could say that he didn't remember the next part, but he did. He remembered a desire overriding all of his rational thoughts and promises, to himself and others. He knew, on a subconscious level, that part of him that still remembered and still didn't want to see his brother dead, that this new desire was wrong and was an alarming thing. He felt sick thinking back on it now, shame riding up his throat.

It was a desire to kill.

Unfortunately, there was only one other person there with him.

Dream.

In his brother's defense, he did make an effort. He fought back and dodged as much as he could. He wasn't prepared to face someone actively trying to kill him, though, and that tripped him up. He had tried calling for Nightmare, trying to help him calm down and stop attacking (he must've realized something was wrong and Nightmare was himself yet also not himself and was a bit lost right now).

It didn't work.

The next thing either of them knew was that Dream tripped and a tentacle pierced right through his chest, right through his soul.

And like that, the volcanic negativity had disappeared, leaving just Nightmare behind. Once in his right mind, he quickly retreated his appendage, but didn't dare come any closer to Dream, who had dropped to the ground. He only watched as his brother coughed and coughed, hands shakily clutching the gaping hole in his sternum.

He only watched as his brother struggled to lift his head and meet his gaze, eyelights flickering bright gold to gold to bright yellow to yellow to light yellow to pale yellow and eventually growing white and fuzzy.

He only watched as Dream smiled.

"It's okay," were the final words of the guardian of positivity, Dream, his brother. Then his eyelights disappeared entirely and he slumped sideways, physical body all but dead.

Nightmare watched, blank.

He was slow to catch up, slow to gather the will to move, to walk across the clearing and kneel beside his opponent. He held himself back from reaching out and gathering the body into a hug. If he did, he knew he would never find it in him to let go and he would starve himself to death. So, instead, he slowly looked over Dream, taking in every detail possible, committing it to memory.

He expected guilt to bury him in its clutches, but it never came.

He felt numb.

He should feel something. He should be angry at himself, how he even thought for a second he had control over whether Dream lived or died, by his hand or not. He should be in misery, how his brother died right in front of him and he watched and was the culprit. He shouldn't be sitting here, staring blankly at the body in front of him, soul too absent to feeling anything.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

But they did.

Nightmare reached out, laying a forcibly still hand on Dream's shoulder. The body was still solid, so signs of breaking into dust yet. It was also cold, gathering from the small amount of white bones his hand was touching. Of course it was cold.

It was dead.

Nightmare blinked and hovering above the body was a little golden orb of flames. It wasn't as bright as it used to be, giving off a faint glow that barely illuminated them both. It was smaller, too. The orb flickered weakly; bright gold to gold to bright yellow to yellow to light yellow to pale yellow—

It was Dream, back to his origins.

And that's when it finally sunk in for Nightmare that his little brother was dying right in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it.

All at once, the numbness disappeared and panic took its place. Nightmare sat on his knees, hovering over the body, eyes widened in helplessness and locked onto the orb—spirit. He had to do something. He didn't want to be alone. He couldn't be alone, not anymore.

Without thinking, his hands went towards the spirit, hoping to gather it close so that Nightmare could—

It flinched away.

A sharp pain went through his soul—heartbreak, he dimly recalled, bring his hands towards his chest and holding them there. He hunched in on himself. Dream flinched away from his hands. Dream was scared of him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, just that it hurt.

His vision started to blur with tears.

Dream's spirit slowly drifted closer, probably confused as to why Nightmare was crying.

He closed his eyes as it grew closer until it was in front of him.

Warmth made him open them.

He gazed in surprise at the orb. Its glow had increased, although he could feel it start to drain away even faster because of that. Dream had recognized him. It was sending out waves of love for Nightmare, radiating the determination he had seen frequent Dream's eyes so many times in their battles. There wasn't an ounce of hate or confusion over what had happened, just pure love. Pure forgiveness.

A sob broke through his mouth, words finally starting up as if a dam had been broken. "Dream..." His voice was raw and hurt. He knew Dream noticed, as the love increased, a feeling of reassurance's coming too.

Nightmare swallowed. "Dream."

The orb floated forward.

"I-I'm...so sorry." Nightmare said, breaking into another sob at the end. He inhaled and wiped at the tears. He pretended he was looking his brother in the eye. "I didn't mean to. I didn't want to kill you. Never. I'm sorry."

The orb gave a pulse of light, wavering slightly as it used up more of its energy.

"Don't do that. Stop." His voice came out as just a whisper now. "You're using up your energy."

Dream was stubborn and gave another pulse of light.

"Dream."

The orb shook, dulling into a gray colour. Nightmare furrowed his brow in worry, again reaching up and cupping the flame in his hands. Dream couldn't keep this up. The waves of love started petering out, being replaced by the growing negativity again. The warmth they gave stayed.

Dream mustered up the strength for a final pulse, growing smaller and smaller until it was just a speck. There was no love this time, no more warmth, but rather a whisper. A question. It was faint, the voice tired, but it was undoubtedly Dream.

"It's...okay?"

The speck waited as Nightmare blinked.

Funny. Dream had said that to calm Nightmare down before and now here he was again, the same words, asking if it's okay that he died and left him behind. So funny. Before it was a reassurance, to let Nightmare know that it was alright, even though it wasn't. Now he was asking permission to let go and die. From Nightmare.

Why?

Nightmare was the one who killed him. He should be scrambling to get away, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. He should be jumping into the afterlife or whatever, relieved to get to rest. But he wasn't. He was here. Waiting for Nightmare to tell him it was okay.

...What did Nightmare ever do to deserve such a kind brother?

He started chuckling, though they weren't happy. They were filled with an aching sadness that couldn't be put into words. He looked at the speck, looked at his brother, trying to imagine his patient and awaiting look, bright golden eyes sparked in curiosity and worry—not of himself, but of Nightmare—and he tried to smile.

"Yeah." He whispered, talking through the tears. The pain was forced down. "It's okay."

The speck disappeared.

Nightmare watched the space where it used to be, silently breathing for a long time. Before he realized it, his shoulders were shaking and he thought for a moment he was laughing. But that would be cruel; his brother dying, and he laughed? No. He was crying. When he realized that he could hear the sobs and felt heavy as the weight of grief and pain and sadness and guilt all hit him at once.

He collapsed onto the body in front of him, felt it start to dust. He held on tightly anyway, fingers grabbing fistfuls of shirt. He buried his head in the neck, not caring anymore about not toughing the wound.

"It's not okay." He whispered it over and over, even when he was left holding nothing but clothes and dust covered him.

Positivity was dead.

Nightmare felt like he somehow died right along with it.

[daretosnoop]

Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins

Chapter 1

This chapter is more descriptive heavy. I changed the layout of the upstairs area to include a bathroom and another bedroom. 

At first, all Nancy felt was dizziness. It was strange. It wasn’t the first time she’d been knocked out by someone. But it was the first time it was done by a masked skull figure, and they didn’t exactly knock her out so much as throw, something, towards her face. Whatever it was, it was potent. She still felt woozy and would have gone back to sleep if it weren’t for the thunder and a woman’s voice.

“Here, drink this”.

The sudden smell of something bitter filled Nancy’s nose.

“Don’t give her anything strange, then I really will have to take her to the hospital,” came another, lower, voice.

“Oh hush now. Just get back to your work,” the woman snapped back. She turned towards Nancy and urged the drink.

“It will make the dizziness go away, dear”.

Ignoring all warnings of caution, Nancy reached for the drink and drank. It was bitter, not that she expected it to be anything else, but it worked. She quickly found herself coming back to terms with her surroundings.

“There’s a dear,” the woman said. “I’m Renee. Mind I ask what you were doing unconscious in the Bolet manor?”

“Someone attacked me”.

“Someone, attacked you?” Renee repeated, not understanding.

“Someone dressed as a skeleton attacked me. I’m Nancy Drew. I’m looking for Henry Bolet”.

“Girl, you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard? Should we take you to the emergency?”

“No,” the lower voice broke in. “No emergency rooms! I’ve already got enough to deal with, and this power outage doesn’t help matters!”.

Renee sighed and shook her head. She turned towards Nancy.

“If you need me, I’ll be out in my garden”.

Saying so, she got up and left out through some double doors.

“I’ll call them and put them on hold and see how they like it!” the low voice grumbled after Renee left the room.

Slowly, Nancy got up and looked around. The room was dimly lit. Candles were everywhere, decorating bookshelf after bookshelf. One bookshelf was oddly decorated by teeth, with each book depicting a tooth on its spine. Another had a stuffed lizard on it. Trophies decorated the other side of the room, and in the left hand corner a desk sat with a young man on a swivel chair.

“Uh,” Nancy called weakly, then cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Are you Henry Bolet?”

The swivel chair turned and she came face-to-face with an oddity of a man. He dressed sharply and was very fit, but he leaned into the red chair and slouched a bit. His crisp looks were contrasted with features that Nancy recognized as a goth look. Not quite one or the other, she thought.

“I am”.

“Uh, well. I guess I’m the woman who fell unconscious at your house. Sorry about that. Bad way to introduce yourself, though, I guess it could be worse.”

Henry looked at her perplexed. “How so?” he asked.

“Well, for starters, I could be all up in your face demanding why you kidnapped my friend”.

“Okay,” Henry drawled.

“Long story. I’m Nancy Drew. We have a mutual friend, Ned Nickerson?” She held out a hand towards him. “Pleased to meet you”.

Henry shook her hand firmly.

“Ah Ned,” he started but then dropped the sentence. He knew who Ned was, barely. They shared accounting courses. Ned Nickerson blended into the class and Henry would have never thought to approach him. But somehow Ned noticed him and stuck around to give a friendly wave and smile.

“He’s, persistent,” Henry concluded.

“Well, that’s Ned for you,” Nancy said, giving Henry a bright smile.

Ned was the only one to notice Henry being even more gloomy and withdrawn as usual. Perhaps he overheard the phone calls Henry had with Bruno Bolet’s doctor and solicitor. Henry didn’t know, but Ned asked him how he was coping with his uncle’s loss. When Henry said he was going to New Orleans, Ned insisted on having someone check in on him.

“I’m guessing he sent you here to check on me. I kind of come off as needy, but I’m fine, really. So you can just go on home and tell Ned I’m fine. Go out and enjoy New Orleans”.

Henry didn’t really understand why Ned would send some friend over. They barely knew each other, so this Nancy person would find things even more awkward. It was best to just get this over with. The sooner she left, the better it would be. The whispers were chattering amongst themselves. They weren’t loud, and they seemed at ease. It was a new sensation.

Skull… find… mask… skull… her…

“I can’t just leave! I don’t know how you’re doing. Plus,” Nancy started to shift her weight from one foot to another. “You see. I’m the type of person, well,” she sighed. “Look, I just can’t let go of what I saw”.

“What did you see?”

“The door was open so I stepped inside. When I entered the living room, there was a man dressed in all black with a skeleton mask. He threw something at me and I got knocked out”.

She’s really lost it.

“I have not lost it!” Nancy snapped, reading his face.

“Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”

“I know what I saw, and I’m determined to figure it out”.

Well, at least she’s not bothering him about his feelings.

“Can I at least look around for some clues. I promise not to break anything”.

Henry sighed.

“Alright. But I better warn you. Uncle Bruno was eccentric and into all sorts of exotic pets and things. So be careful. Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean they are”.

Way to sound ominous Bolet. He didn’t mean to scare her, but also didn’t want to deal with a bigger headache than the one his uncle left for him.

But Nancy just smiled, thanked him, and left the room.

 Nancy really didn’t understand why Ned asked her to go and visit some classmate of his. He even acknowledged that he barely knew this Henry Bolet, but she’d be damned if she let the Nickerson charm fail now on account of her. Everyone became enthralled by a Nickerson. So she came down to the French quarters of New Orleans with a friend, Bess Marvin, for a week of good sights and good food, only to have it pour down rain for two days. Trapped in their hotel room, she and Bess called their friends, Ned and Bess’s cousin, George Fayn. It was there that Ned requested her to check in on Henry, and seeing as the rain had no intention of stopping, Nancy went alone.

She was expecting it to be a simple check-in, nothing longer than an hour or two. When she knocked on the door, on one answered. She learned from the concierge that most folks kept their doors open in New Orleans. It wasn’t just on account of friendly neighbours It was also to allow ghosts to exit the house after accidentally entering it. Apparently, ghosts became cranky if they get trapped in a house. Twisting the knob, she entered the manor and went to the foyer. Towards her right was a room and she walked towards it. A person stood in a black tailcoat and boots with his back to her. She called out to them and as they turned, a shiver ran along her shoulders. The person had no face. Or rather, their face was obscured with a skull mask. Before she could ask who they were, what they were doing here, why even were they wearing a mask, the electricity went out. Rats, she thought. Trapped in an empty house with a skeleton person, well done Nancy. A flicker went off and a flash of lightning lighted the room. Within that brief time, the skeleton person managed to tramp up to her, close enough for her to see the eyes underneath the mask. They threw some powder in her face and between her stinging eyes and choked coughs, Nancy lost consciousness.

Had she not been an experienced detective, Nancy knew she probably would have become one today. She went back to the living room and started to investigate. The skeleton figure was inspecting the model cemetery when she entered, so she headed towards it. It was really beautiful and Nancy could see why it would have won an award. This Bruno person clearly appreciated cemeteries from the intricate figures of each burial ground. She read the names. Sleeping Meadows, Terra Siesta, Crowing Crypts, Sorrow Park, Withering Roots Memorial, Forty Winks Mausoleum, all clearly meant for a final resting place. Each burial ground was uniquely decorated and had crypts that indicated how a person was buried. She followed each paths around the cemetery, anticipating any indication of what the skeleton figure was looking at. There was a swamp with an alligator in it, surely a creative addition. There was also a large mausoleum separate from the other burial grounds. It seemed randomly placed and as Nancy peered closed, she saw that there were four engravings on it.

There were buttons that allowed her to change the engravings. Clearly this was some sort of locked box, but she didn’t know the combination that would open it. But she was confident that this was what the skeleton figure was looking at. Stepping away from the model, she looked around the room. There was a collection of portraits on the left wall. These must be the Bolets. They were quite unique in how their appearances overlapped. Guess, this must be where Henry gets his looks and style from. Each portrait revealed the personality of the subject. Oddly enough, they each held some object in their hand. One frame was empty and below it, Nancy saw a piece of paper. She picked it up. On it was an etching of a crow. It matched the engravings on the solitary mausoleum. Surrounding the crow was a detailed border. But Nancy remembered that only one of the engravings had this border. So, there must be three other pictures I need to find.

Nancy looked closely at the bird drawing. It looked like someone stenciled it from some surface. I wonder if this belonged to the Skeleton figure. The paper was slightly damp. So, that must mean the skeleton figure, must have stenciled this outside somewhere. I’ll have to take a look around outside.

Pocketing the paper in her trench coat she moved towards the fireplace. It was cold, but there were indications that it had been previously used. It’s too hot to be using a fireplace right now. She picked through the coals and found scraps of some paper. Most of it was too small and burnt off to be of any use, but she did find one piece with a name on it. Zeke. It looked to be the name of some business, but what?

Nancy stood up and went back to the study room. Henry was still typing away at his computer.

“Henry? I have some questions for you”.

The man swiveled around and raised an eyebrow.

Start small Nancy, you don’t want to scare him. He already thinks you’re seeing things.

“How well did you know your uncle?”

Henry shrugged. “Barely knew him at all”.

“Didn’t he raise you?”

“I guess. If you could call sending me to boarding school, summer school, military school as raising a child. He may have looked after me, but he never cared to spend any time with me”.

“Oh”. Great going Drew. She tried again. “Well, what about your parents?”

“They died in a car crash when I was eight. Then I got dumped onto my uncle. End of his bachelorhood I guess”.

Okay, that didn’t go so well either. She might as well rip the whole Band-Aid off.

“I think this skeleton figure was looking for something in this house. Is there some big object or hidden money or something that people might want to get their hands on?”

Henry looked at her, puzzled.

“Uh, maybe? There’s a lot of junk in this house, as you can see. Some of it might actually be worth something.”

“Well, I think they were after whatever is locked up in the mausoleum box in the cemetery model. It has a lock on it and this,” she took out the crow stencil. “This must have been left by the skeleton figure. If we can unlock the mausoleum, we can get whatever’s inside before the skeleton figure comes back. Do you know where the solitary mausoleum is located?”.

“Look,” Henry began and Nancy internally groaned. She knew that word and tone all too well. Distrust and disinterest. It was rare to ever find another person who had the same interest and excitement in uncovering mysteries. Most people didn’t care about the little odd threads that didn’t add up, only to cry when everything become unwound. It was times like these where she sometimes wished she had her friends and fellow detectives, Frank and Joe Hardy, to back her up. People were more willing to listen to a group than an individual.

“Why are you so concerned about this skeleton figure?” Henry asked.

“Why are you so calm?” Nancy countered. “Someone broke into your house and you’re calm about it? I clearly interrupted them which means they might come back, which means you’re in danger”.

“I got a lot of work to complete”.

Who doesn’t. Nancy sighed, “You don’t need to help me, just tell me a bit about the garden space. Is there a mausoleum that’s separate from other burial grounds?

Henry hesitated. There was such a mausoleum and he knew it very well. Too well.

“What do you need from that mausoleum? The door is completely locked. No one had been inside in years”.

“I don’t think I need to go inside. I just need to look at the building itself. There are engravings that could match the key for the model one”.

Henry nursed his head. “Alright. Once you enter the cemetery and go past the bent tree, the mausoleum should be to your left. Just keep heading that way. Hard to miss”.

Nancy beamed. “Great, thanks so much. She turned to go out towards the door, then turned back.

“Yes?” Henry drawled.

“Do you happen to have any paper?”

“Sorry. Ask Renee”.

Nancy nodded then headed out the door.

Henry watched her leave then turned back to his computer where an excel sheet filled with numerical data awaited him. God, I hope I don’t regret this.

 Outside the Louisiana heat infused into Nancy’s skin. She was not accustomed to the humidity and could already feel her back start to warm up and stick to her dress shirt. She turned to her left and saw a small alcove draped over by green vines. Tucked inside was Renee who was busy potting young plants.

“Hello,” Nancy called out.

Renee looked up sharply and Nancy wasn’t sure whether it was the heat or Renee’s grey eyes that initiated the sweat droplets down her back.

“Hello, dear. Welcome to my little lantern-lit corner of the world. Come in here where it’s dry”.

“What are you growing?” Nancy asked.

“Whatever I need dear”.

“Nothing like freshly grown herbs to add to your food, right?”

Renee looked hard at Nancy and her voice dropped.

“I don’t use these herbs for cooking, darling”.

Then what do you use them for? Nancy wanted to ask Renee this, but the older woman switched topics.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Henry yet?”

“Yes, I have. From your conversation earlier, am I correct in assuming you two are not on the best of terms?”

“My you’re forward aren’t you!” Renee laughed. “Henry is a very morose, very negative young man. Very cunning too”.

“How so?”

“I am almost certain he’s selling his uncle’s property on the sly. When he’s not supposed to, that is”.

“Doesn’t it all belong to Henry now?” Nancy asked.

“Absolutely not!” Renee exclaimed. “According to Dr. Bolet’s will, Henry is to receive thirty percent of the estate. Dr. Bolet’s physician, Gilbert Buford, is to get thirty percent. Our Lady of Route 57 Dentistry and Cosmetology gets thirty percent, and I am to receive ten percent”.

“Is the cemetery part of the estate?”

“Yes and no. It’s not legally part of the estate, but it technically belongs to the Bolet family. It all belongs to Henry now, along with his thirty percent”.

“Who is Gilbert Buford?”

“That’s Dr. Bolet’s heart doctor and best friend. Those two go long back. Thick as thieves”.

Nancy reflected on what Renee provided her with.

“Does Henry seem upset by only getting thirty percent?”

Renee drew her head up and stood tall. “Young lady,” she started. “The Bolet family is intrinsically connected to New Orleans. Henry is not only gaining assets, but also a name, title, and land. Thirty percent of the Dr. Bolet’s fortune is quite a tidy sum, never mind the Bolet family fortune and cemetery”.

“Oh”.

Renee looked towards her plants and slowly resumed her potting.

“I suppose I gave you the impression that Henry is greedy. While I cannot attest to it, Henry is nonetheless not someone you can trust. You best watch yourself around him”.

Renee potted some soil then paused.

“One more thing dear. That skeleton man, I’ve—I’ve seen him too. Now don’t ask me more questions, I don’t want to think about it. But just know, there is something in this house that’s just not right”.

Nancy nodded then switched the topic.

“Do you happen to have some paper?”

“Get the urge to draw something?”

“Yep!”

“Well, now. I know I have some paper in my room, but I won’t be able to go get it till after I’m done potting my plants”.

“I can help you pot the plants”

Renee laughed. “Impatient one you are! No. No. No need. Just take this key and go on up yourself. And while you’re at it. I’m feeling a bit hungry. In my cupboard there’s a stash of Koko Cringles. Be a dear and bring one down for me, and help yourself to one too”.

Nancy took the key and headed back inside. Henry didn’t acknowledge her entrance, so she continued out of the study and up the staircase. It was wonky and creaked a bit. There were four doors. One door was on a lower level and the other three were sequentially placed along the top most level.

She didn’t tell me which door was hers.

Nancy placed the key in the first door, but the handle had no lock. Curious, she pushed open the door and saw an empty room that was bare of anything save a drawer and bed. There was some clutter around the bed and she assumed it was Henry’s. Why would he sleep here though? It was so, lifeless. The rest of the house had character, but this room just looked sad. Nancy quickly shut the door and move up a floor.

The next door had a vase decoration near it, though Nancy didn’t recognize the plant resting within. This door had a lock and she tried the key. The door unlocked. She stepped inside.

 The room looked like a doll house. A creepy one at that. There was an elegant but simple bed with green bedsheets. The bedside cupboard. A vanity table was littered with all sorts of bottles and herbs, and a chest sat in one corner, opposite the bed. Nancy first went to the table.

A bottle with the label ‘hiccup powder’ sat at the forefront. Surely not, she thought as she picked up the bottle and opened it. But to her surprise the burst of powder caused a series of hiccups to come bursting out of her. She quickly put the bottle back, then began to rummage through the other bottles. There was nothing labelled sleeping powder or knock-out powder, though some of the bottles were unlabeled. She didn’t think it was wise to open them though. There was no paper on the table, so she went towards the cupboards.

Opening the top drawer, Nancy found the paper. She then opened the bottom drawer and found a stash of chocolate. Jackpot baby! She took one for Renee, and then ate one. The warmth of the melting chocolate felt good in the creepy room and Nancy couldn’t help but take one bar for the road. No telling when she would need to keep her fortitude up in this house. She got up and turned towards the door when something on the wall caught her eyes.

The wallpaper itself was old, faded and ripped in places, but clear as day in the centre were seven symbols surrounding a major rip. They contrasted a glaring red against the pale yellow wallpaper. Blood red. Nancy stepped towards the symbols and tentatively placed a finger on one sign. The colour was dry and odorless. Probably not blood. But she had no idea what those symbols meant.

Walking around the room, Nancy noticed a rocking chair and went towards it. Lightning flashed and as thunder rumbled, Nancy caught a glimpse of a doll. Not just any doll, but one she specifically saw with an old case of hers. A doll that belonged to a woman that died more than 200 years ago. Nancy had no idea how Renee could have gotten her hands on that doll seeing as the company closed a long time ago. She turned to her right and saw the chest.

Squatting down, she saw four abstract figures on each corner and a large blank circle at the centre. Surrounding the large circle were a multitude of buttons. Curious, she pressed one, and a line appeared on the centre circle. She pressed another and another line appeared. The centre image was now beginning to look like one of the corner figures. She pressed two more buttons but both failed to finish the image and the circle blanked out.  

Nancy looked back towards the wall symbols, then at the chest. Random symbol equals random symbol? She tried again to replicate one of the corner abstract figures. This time it worked and the figure turned blank. Curious lock, she thought as she solved the other three figures. Once all the figures turned blank she heard a click and the chest lifted a little.

Opening the chest, she saw all sorts of odds and ends and a book on hoodoo symbols. She opened the book up and skimmed through the pages. On one page she noticed that the symbols on the wall matched the one’s in the book. Beside each symbol a name was written. Bah? Boo? Dee? Mo? They didn’t spell anything, nor make any sense. Still, it was best to record it down. Nancy took out a notebook and pen from her trench coat and jotted down each symbol along with their associated name. She then packed everything up and headed out of the room and back towards the garden.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Lost Lineage

Dofi hurried in the dark narrow corridors of the ship, in near pitch black darkness. They were surrounded by dead waiters and had to pull all the ship’s electrical power into the fight. He knew his brother Do, the Ship’s Chief Engineer, had designed the ship this way. This was a dragon-slaying ship. Every drop of fuel, every battery, every nuclear engine could reroute its full might into deadly weapons until the enemy was vanquished or the ship rested at the bottom of the sea.

Even now, the ship was loud with constant machine gun fire and thunderous booms from cannons. 

His brother Foli was captaining this war at sea. He was the firstborn and the leader of the Aido-Hwedo, destined to be on the Council in the future. Dofi had no such destiny. He was a shadow merchant, supporting his brother in covert actions to protect him from the rear. Dofi kept this vow of secrecy close to his heart. Even though his brother acted like a naive little fool in the sun, he would be there, in the shadows like a ninja, destroying anyone who came at him from the shadows.

Now he felt his brother had played the ultimate fool. He had trusted Grant Baldwin to keep this operation secret and now they were surrounded by ships from the Secret Society. Someone had fired rockets at the dragon being awakened in the sky, awakening him early. How was he supposed to save him from this?

Foli should have known that the sons of that Dark King Betrayer could not be trusted. All four of the quadruplets went to the same school and heard the same stories. 

Nidhogg and the White Queen Izanami were inseparable rulers. Together they produced one egg that hatched the ten great serpents into the world. Each one they granted authority over humans. Quetzocoatl,  Nuwa, Anima, Minona, Legba, Ouroboros, and the twin headed serpents, Taipan-Typhon and Mawu-Lisa.

For centuries they ruled over humans, some harshly, some more gently. But the Dark King was always fickle and full of suspicious thoughts. The White Queen could take it no longer and rebelled against him. Ouroboros, Mawu-Lisa and Legba agreed. But the White Queen was defeated and her children were forced into hiding from their vengeful father.

They hid among their human hybrids in Africa. But were revealed when war broke out among them. The hybrids of Mawu-Lisa attacked the hybrid city of Ouroboros, but were defeated. In retaliation, Ouroboros devoured Mawu-Lisa. Then, strengthened greatly by the meal, turned on Legba.

Legba fled back to Nidhogg. He hoped to be protected by his father, so he betrayed Ouroboros’s location to him. But Nidhogg killed him anyway, and then went to find Ouroboros. But Ouroboros somehow vanished, him and his people. He was a master of the sacred arts of Nibelungen and could produce them at will. When the forces of Nidhogg arrived, there was nothing left but a crater.

Nidhogg never found Ouroboros and turned on the rest of his children. It didn’t matter how loyal they had been in the past. They were the White Queen’s children and couldn’t be trusted. One by one, every single serpent that had hatched from the egg was destroyed and all their hybrids were slaughtered. In their place, he created the Four Lords and forced them into eternal submission. He erased every vestige of the existence of the original ten and their mother.

Yet, knowing all this, that silly Foli still put his head into the palm of these elites of Cassell College. These sons of the Betrayer King!

“Foli… Foli, I tried to warn you…” The ship was rocking like a tree against the winds and the waves. Every joint groaned as the waves lifted it and shuddered violently as it crashed to the ocean. The sense of vertigo was immense and he put his hand to the wall to steady himself. He was almost there.

He had to protect his brother.

And the key was in his pocket, wrapped in gauze. The vial of that girl’s blood. The girl who wasn’t on the roster of the Action Team. The girl who came from Ace Commissioner parents with no past. Born in a dragonslayer Academy. And yet somehow had no dragonblood according to the dragonblood divination.

His brother originally had this suspicion of her, but he’d discarded it after a little sweet talk from that Betrayer son. But Dofi was not so easily fooled. 

He’d reached the end of the corridor and swiped his card; the door slid open to reveal a darkened lab, faintly lit by an alternative power source. At the center was a server rack that blinked green and blue and red like festive lights in the dark. A single laptop controlled it all. On a table, along with a microscope and other tools, there was what looked like a box. Dofi braced himself on the table and pulled out the vial of blood from his pocket.

He carefully opened the metal box. Inside, was a spinning centrifuge. The divining plate could only work based on the Four Lord’s Lineage. If she was not of that line, then the alternative was that she was either human or not of the four lords. And she was not human.

He tucked the vial with trembling hands into the centrifuge and closed it and flipped the switch. The vial began to spin until it was a blur, to break up the blood and reveal the genetic material. The computer here had more than the lineage of the four lords but also of Legba and Mawu-Lisa, the Ancestors of the West African Hybrids.

The lights suddenly started to flicker. Dofi looked up at them as they swung. Their shifting pools of light moved over a scaly clawed foot, like the claw of a dinosaur. When they swung that pool of light away, gleaming eyes peered out from the dark. Those eyes were embedded in a massive dark shadow, about the size of a horse. It crouched on all fours, it’s body stretching into the hallway where he had just been.

Dofi’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He had thought he was alone in the corridor, safe and protected by his brother’s stalwart efforts outside, but he was being stalked by this unseen and quiet predator the whole way down. And now he had reached a dead end in every sense.

Unlike his brother, Dofi had no aggressive skills, only the Soul Skill Mirage that could distort his form as he saw fit. But how could he fool someone who had already seen him as he truly was? They faced each other now, each one as they were. Predator and prey.

Normally, he could consider escaping, use his soul skill to frighten the enemy, confuse them, or vanish. But he could not leave this beast in this room and he had to stay here for the results of the DNA test. There was no clever escape this time. Only a fight until the monster was eliminated. He reached behind his back, his hand closing around a weapon there. 

Dofi’s eyes moved first to the left, away from the computers. The monster’s limbs tightened and it rushed in, thinking Dofi was making his move. The split second error was all that was needed. Dofi pulled a grenade from behind him, yanked out the pin and threw it into the beast’s mouth, just as it closed. The creature’s teeth pierced the metal shell. Corrosive liquid, poisonous to dragons sprayed out under intense pressure right down the monster’s throat.

With the grenade stuck on his tooth, it could only shake its head. The silver solution spread all over the floor and under its claws and it slipped and fell. Its screaming as the solution burned its skin rattled the walls. Blood oozed from its mouth in a steady stream coloring the liquid on the floor. The vapors stung its eyes and sent blood weeping from there. Its scales loosened and hung from the skin of its neck.

But its target was gone. Disappeared from the room. Its nostrils flared to try to catch a scent of him, and then it coughed, jaw hanging open. A thin blade, like the foil of a fencer, had pierced its throat from the side. In comparison to its thick neck, it appeared like a hypodermic needle through the gap in its eroded scales. It wasn’t even a hole big enough to bleed through, but inside the throat, the jugular vein had been punctured, and the brain was quickly being starved of oxygen.

With such a precise attack, there was no need for a strong Soul Skill or Physical Strength.

Dofi revealed himself to be holding the end of the blade, having hidden himself when his Soul skill while the beast struggled with the grenade. He held a cloth to his face to guard himself from the noxious fumes, but he knew it was too late. Such powerful poison would be the end of him as well. Already, his skin was starting to turn soft and sore. It burned and turned a whitish grey as he staggered back to the laptop.

The Genetic test results were completed.

According to the blood test, this girl was a descendent of Nidhogg, as all dragons were. But unlike all dragons, she was also a descendent of the Whtie Queen Izanami. As he suspected, she really was of the stock of the original ten serpents out of the great egg. 

She was not a descendent of Mawu-Lisa. She was not a descendant of Legba.

Leaning against the table, Dofi’s vision swam. He picked up the phone and put his brother on the speed dial. Despite the desperation of the situation, his brother picked up immediately.

“Dofi! What is it? Where are you?”

“Foli… my dearest brother. I have completed the investigation of the girl.”

“What? Dofi, I told you to stop. Where are you now? What are you doing?”

“The girl is of a Lost Lineage. She is not of Legba… or Mawu-Lisa.” He coughed and felt like he was drooling uncontrollably. But when he looked down, his shirt was stained red.

“Lost lineage…?” His brother’s voice was still in his head. “Where is the girl? Where are you?”

But Dofi couldn’t speak any more.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Ghost Nip

AO3

Were anyone ever to ask Danny Phantom if he’d done drugs, he would ask if being prescribed ADHD meds counted as doing drugs.   When they said no, he’d tell them no.  If asked what he knew about ghostly herbs he’d tell them he only knew about one ghost-related nonsapient plant and it wasn’t a fun one.   He now had to change those answers to ‘not willingly’ and ‘something between weed and catnip’.

At the moment, Danny was soaring through Amity’s skies faster than he’d ever gone in his life, slowing down at random intervals and giggling at just how funny everything had become.   He chatted with birds and chased after squirrels to pet them, informing any passerby who stopped to say hi that they looked a lovely shade of blellow or grik or touroon.  Humans did not understand these colors or their auras and Danny couldn’t explain them quite well but they were there and so pretty.

And then he saw Technus, Nicolai Technus, self-proclaimed master of technology and Danny zoomed into his personal space.  “Child!  What are you-“

“Did you know, Nicolai, that the stars and planets and oceans and galaxies are as alive as you or I?”  Danny spoke both with his mouth and with flares and flickers of power and light and heat and cold, a language built on energy frequencies that he did not know but that he knew more than any mortal tongue.  “That they speak and sing with different languages?  I find that interesting.  I can hear them now but they’re so Much I can’t fully understand them.”

“Phantom what are you talking about?”  Technus floated back, waving a hand in the air, frowning.  That wasn’t good, he should be smiling!  Today was a fun day!  “Are you high?  Is that Ghost Nip, ghost child?”

“DID YOU KNOW NICOLAI TECHNUS POINDEXTER that the stars sing?”  Technus flinched and Danny wondered at that, felt and saw as the older ghost charged up a ball of plasma, sparking and arcing and dancing with electricity, to strike him with.  Danny, in turn, tossed the crushed petals that he had put into his pocket at some point in the future or present in Nicolai’s face.  He coughed and spluttered, aura flickering through shades of emotion that he rarely acknowledged, feelings that Nicolai had forsaken at some point if Danny remembered correctly.  “You are a soul filled with the power of the Infinite Realms, Nicolai, why would you deny your feelings?  Without your emotions, you cannot feel the joy of helping people, the satisfaction of making something useful, the pride that others enjoy your work and incorporate it into their lives.  And regardless of whether you resent your emotions, surely you realize that this too is a feeling?”

“I-you-you have a point, child.”  He spoke in radio signals and electrical pulses now, and Danny returned them in kind with elation at the sign that his enemy was now far more cheerful than when he spoke knowledge that hadn’t yet been shared with him, but it had been shared with someone and they would tell him and so he knew for time was a funny thing that slipped and slid around in space with the tug and pulls of gravity.  “And what would you suggest I do?  The humans do not respond to Ghost Nip the way we do.”

“No, but they respond well to progress and positive change and they need so much power yet so few of them use the power that the day star offers, constant and steady and ringing with their song.  Do you think you can help me?  I can’t speak the language of the stars just yet, but technology can translate many  things into a sense that we can follow, can’t it?”

They chatted amicably until the Red Huntress came upon them and Technus waved at her before pixelating into so many electrical signals dancing through the sky and flew off to bring waves of upgrades to technology all over the town.  And Danny waved at Valerie himself, flickers and flares of gravity and light like a star might give off deflecting the plasma she launched at him in her own hostile greeting.  “Hi Valerie,” he said but didn’t say, his voice reaching the speakers in her suit meant to relay calls from Vlad but instead responding to him because all the energy came from the stars, didn’t it?  And the suit had taken her to space, oh, that would be fun to do again, wouldn’t it?

Danny waved Valerie goodbye and flew off, bending the starlight around his fingers and weaving images and paintings of himself all around her so that she could at least see him.  Valerie didn’t like Danny, his presence angered her, made her red aura darken to something bloody and Danny didn’t like that.  So, he flew off to where he felt the tug of misfortune and negative chaos and luck turned upside down.  He found Johnny and Kitty having a picnic in the park and lingered over some buzzing beetles in the grass, his core buzzing in response though the beetles didn’t seem to hear him.  Or maybe they only understood him as much as he did the quasars in the sky?  “JOhnny!  Kitty!  Hi hi hi, how are you?  You look like you’re having fun, are you having fun?”

The two gave Danny a bemused look, Johnny’s shadow rising up like ink rippling with waves of cold, icy, burning flames that stole heat instead of giving it away.  He smiled at them, wider than a human face could accommodate, and they snickered and laughed. “Uh, yeah little man.  Just out for some fun on a date.  Are you baked, little guy?”

“Clay was once baked in the sun to make the older bricks, I basked in the sun’s light and felt it dancing over my skin before it sank into me and-”

“Oh my god,” Kitty said with a high laugh that had Danny floating a bit further from the ground as he orbited them.  “He’s definitely high.  Lemme guess, someone showed you some Ghost Nip?”

Danny dug another petal from his pocket and crushed it in his hand, tossing a shower of the dust onto his two friends, because they were happy to see him so clearly they were friends now, weren’t they?  “The prettiest flower, it smells so nice.  Is that what it’s called?”  He stared at Johnny and hummed, and reached out beyond his body and he saw and tugged on the strings and laughed.  “Johnny, come with me, I’m sure she wants to see you again!”  Before Kitty can ask who ‘she’ is, Danny pulls Johnny with him into the sky, and Kitty follows, and Johnny snorts and laughs and whispers to him in a way that echoes in the wind where empty space lies hidden and bubbles with probability.  They are at the Manson Mansion faster than Danny expected but he’s so energized at this point that he hardly knows that when he and Johnny dive into the house and Danny watches as the tug on the strings around Johnny’s soul pull him along and guide him faster than Danny or Kitty.  And they arrive and they see Ida, bowling in her alley, and Danny cheers for her and his voice bounces off the walls, comes through the many speakers and flickers across screens.  “Hi, miss Manson!  I brought Johnny!”

“... Johnny?”  Ida turned and her aura flickered wildly, it was a rainbow, a kaleidoscope, but Danny saw the gamule in it and bounced in the air.  Happy tears shined in her eyes and Johnny slowly, carefully descended to the ground and wrapped his arms around her.

“Mom?”

Danny left with a proud nod, satisfied that he had helped, and flew off to find others to help, there was always someone to help, wasn’t there?

 Dash Baxter was afraid of very few things, but the hostile nerd ghost levitating a bunch of pencils pointed at him and his fellow jocks like arrows was certainly a contender.  He and the boys were at practice and one of the AV club geeks had passed by while they were wrapping up so Dash decided to have a little fun with the freak. He didn’t expect Poindexter to fuckin pop out of the ground and summon all the pencils and pens from inside the school to him and start ranting about bullies.  The guy screamed nerd from every facet of his appearance except for the glowing red eyes and Dash wanted to say something witty but all that really came out was, “fuck off you bucktoothed weirdo!  We’re just havin some fun.”

Dash’s late grandfather always did call him an idiot and Dale smacking him upside the head with a hiss of the same confirmed this.  After all, Phantom was nowhere in sight and saying that just made the ghost go red and flickery with rage.  This is how I die.  A fuckin nerd is gonna kill me.

Pencils flew at the team and Dash braced for the impact that never came as green, silver, gold and blue light wrapped around them in a dome and stopped the pencils like they were nerf darts.  Danny Phantom floated down between them and the ghost and Dash relaxed. Though, Phantom looked… off.  His hair was more like mist now, and his suit looked less like the goofy hazmat that the Fenton Freaks wore and more like an astronaut’s spacesuit.  He looked sorta like he was on fire, and sorta like he was surrounded by icy mist or both.  “Sidney!  Did you know that Nicolai is here?”  Who the fuck is Nicholai?

Poindexter clearly knew, though, and was shocked out of his supernatural rampage.  He stared at Phantom with wide eyes.  “I- no I didn’t.  Nicolai is alive?  Wait, Phantom, what the heck is up with your… everything?”

Phantom pulled out what looked like a flower petal with fifty different colors swirling around it, which didn’t make sense since there were only so many colors, but ghosts never made any sense.  He crushed it into powder between his hands while talking. “I found this neat pretty flower somewhere in the Infinite Realms, though I don’t remember where I found it, but I do know that it smells so so happy!  HEre, smell it!”  and then Phantom tossed dust at the guy, and dropped his shield around the team.

“Dude… Phantom’s fuckin high,” Chris whispered, and Dash’s eyes widened.

“Holy shit, ghosts can get high?”

“And no, sadly Nicolai isn’t the same alive as those guys behind me, but he’s the kind of alive that you and I are!  We’re technically alive, though Dad doesn’t agree, but he hasn’t met his uncles yet and I’m sure if he knew how much family was still alive on our side of the Ṕ̡̡o͢r̨t͞a̴̛l̨͡,” Dash had no idea what the fuck Phantom just said but apparently he was related to some ghost?  Kwan had his phone out now and was recording the conversation.  “Sidney Poindexter, Nicolai Poindexter, you’re both really smart, but Nicolai calls himself Technus now but he’s helping people today!”

Poindexter opened his mouth, and Dash’s head hurt.  He wasn’t making a sound that Dash could figure out but there was a pressure in his skull until that silver light that Phantom’s shield had earlier wrapped around him and the rest of them.  Some of the guys ran off, not wanting to be in the line of fire when the fight started, but if Phantom just tossed ghost weed onto the nerd then maybe he’d be too chill to try and kill them.

“Exactly!  You told me years from now about your little sister that you miss and grandma’s still the alive you were hoping for, with Nicolai, promise!  You’re technically my great uncle then, aren’t you?”

“Holy shit, Phantom’s related to Poindexter?”  Both ghosts’ attention snapped toward him in a tangible way and Dash wished he’d kept his big mouth shut.  Phantom’s eyes were torches that obscured the rest of his face, and that fire that flickered around him whipped out all over the place now.  People weren’t usually violent when they were high, were they?

“Dashiel Baxter,” he said in the iciest tone Dash had ever heard from anyone.  “You’re a bad fan.  You’re clearly not paying attention to me when I told and help people and save people.” The accusation stung, one of those firey whips across his face, and how did he know that an invisible one made of emotion hadn’t hit him?  Ghosts were made of feelings and shit, weren’t they? “Why do you hurt people?  You know that’s not nice or cool or heroic of you, don’t you?  No one really likes a bully.  I sure don’t. I was bullied a lot as a kid.  It’s not fun for the kid being bullied.  I can’t understand why it’s fun for the bully.”

“I-” Dash was going to defend himself.  He wasn’t really hurting anyone, he was just messing around!  The nerds were fine.  They were alive, weren’t they?  But cold and heat and anger rooted into his veins and held his tongue and he shivered under the angry glare of his hero.

“You should stop bullying people.  It’s illegal, the things you do.  Someone will do something bout it eventually.  If not Sidney then someone still living the way you do.  They might do something about it legally.”  Phantom turned back to Poindexter and then to Dash, and he felt heavy as a mountain under that stare.  “For your sake, I hope it’s done legally.”

And then his eyes snapped off of Dash onto Dale’s hand, where a  green lantern ring sat and his eyes were still green flashlights that made it impossible to see the rest of face even inn the daylight, but those tendrils of ghost fire retreated into him and the air wasn’t frozen over anymore.  Dash could move, technically. Phantom turned back to Poindexter, who was speaking without speaking again, and Dash decided to book it himself before things got worse.

 Danny pulled Sydney along their strings to find Nicolai sweeping over a hospital and protective ire bubbled in his core, but a quick count told Danny that no one was becoming a ghost in there quite yet so he calmed himself.  “Ghost child!  The generators to the hospital now have a backup that draws on sunlight!  I… Sydney?”  Nicolai pulled his glasses up and stared, and Sydney stared and Danny grinned and bounced in the air and with inspiration from the Green Lantern, who was one of his favorite heroes but how could he not be he went to space and talked with aliens, and made a bright green lasso that he pulled Nicolai in closer to Sydney with.  They hugged.  There were tears and lots of babbling and cheer in the air that lit up the sky.

Then a net was on him and pain.  Danny convulsed in the air, screaming, and unlike his usual Wail his power carried through the sound in every direction and shook the ground.  A hand yanked the net off of him and Danny wrapped Nicolai in a hug, before turning his head around to spot Skulker glaring at them all. “Technus what the hell are you doing?  The boy is intoxicated and vulnerable!  I had him!”

“You’ll have no one and nothing if you don’t back the hell off of my great-nephew you diminutive little frog!”  Technus was angry, and sparks danced at his fingertips, ready to snap out and strike.  But Skulker also hummed with electricity and his suit exposed missiles that Dany couldn’t let him fire so close to the hospital. No no no.

“Oh great,” Skulker grumbled.  “He’s gotten you high as well, has he?  What’s this talk of nephews, Technus, you told me you didn’t have any family.”

Technus held his hand out but Danny made swords and scythes and chains from the dancing sunlight and cut off Skulker’s rocket launchers, and his arm before binding him.  “He lied.  You’re a danger to the people here.  You’re cruel and a really shitty hunter and I wanted today to be a nice happy day, Skulker, so how bout you get the fuck out of my town?”  Paint was light, the brush was ectoplasm, and Danny drew for them a fox with three tails and six paws and flames licking its jaws that lunged at Skulker.  “Did you know that a group of foxes is called a Skulk?  Sam told me that.  Sam and Tucker are good friends.  Tucker is the best friend.  I’m gonna go find him now.  By uncle Sydney, uncle Nicolai!”

Danny couldn’t leave Skulker out like that though so he cast away his fox and pulled out his thermos and sucked in Skulker and his suit and then he was flying, and riding the fox and stroking its soft pretty fur.

 “I didn’t know he could purr,” Sam said, as though that were the important thing here.  She took a picture with her old camera and Tucker glared.  “Think any other ghosts purr when they’re high?”

“Can we discuss that after we get me untangled?”  Tucker tried to pry Danny’s arms and tail off of him, but to no avail.  Any amount of force he applied Danny could match, and if he pulled too hard, Danny just phased through his fingers and clung tighter.  “Why are yougods Stop that!”  Danny was now rubbing their cheeks together and looking at him wide eyes that were green where they should’ve been white and every color that did and didn’t exist on the visible spectrum filling the place of pupils and irises.  Looking at these particular puppy eyes was like gazing into a black hole and the Milky Way at once.  Sam was laughing at him.  “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s hilarious.  And kinda cute.  After all, it’s not every day you see two love birds cuddling in bed like a snake-cat hybrid.”

“We’re not lovebirds Sam, we’d kinda need to be infatuated with each other at minimum.”  Tucker sighed, resigned to his fate, and patted Danny’s cloudy hair.  He purred three times louder and warmth seeped into him from every point of contact.  “What’s the flower?”

“According to the latest Viewtube video Kwan posted of Danny roasting Dash?  Some variant of weed.” Sam looked Danny up and down and snorted.  “He’s covered in dust so he’ll probably be like that for a while.”

Sam needn’t know how ok with that Tucker was feeling.  He could see in her smirk that she knew anyway but he could deny it!  Though, with all this cuddling, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  Sam petted the fox curled around her and Tucker rolled his eyes at her cooing.  “I see the Naruto phase never wore off.”

“Shut it furry.”

“Why should I, weeb?”

“It’d be awful if that oh so precious bow of yours lost its string, now wouldn’t it?”  Tucker huffed and sank into Danny’s embrace with a grumble.  “That’s what I thought.”

[japiform]

Logs: Explain what the fuck he’s talking about

[[mind the tags]]

Helmsman: Have you ever been in a building after it's closed for the night? The darkness? The dead air? The faint feeling of unease, like you're somewhere you shouldn't be? The darkness?

You're the only one there, looking for something. Maybe the way out. Maybe for answers.

Maybe the store hasn't been open for years. The darkness. The overgrown plants, crawling over the ground and walls. The smell of brine. The water in your boots. Are you being watched or is that your imagination? Surely you've already been at this hallway. Did one of the tentacles move? Are you alone?

And finally, you find it. The husk of what was once a man. One who laughed and fought and loved. It's eyes behind the goggles are dark. It's twitching in the hold of the ship. The ship twitches in extension of the man. The darkness.

Are you alone?

Grand: You are not alone, but the atmosphere makes you tense, makes your keen eyes dilate wide to get as much out of the lights you brought as possible. Your boots splash in the salt water, and you wonder where the fuck the rest of the empress's entourage is. Surely she had some sea fucks with her to keep this massive place running.

It isn't important, except that it makes you tell your clowns to keep their guards up as you descend into the bowels of this abandoned place. It's going to take a bit, the empress's ship is so fucking massive. But that's alright. You're patient.

Ish.

Every moment he is off is another moment he could be dead. But at least you know generally where to go. You've been on Her ship before. Though, motherfuck, it was not like this.

When you get to him, you are relieved, motherfuckin gratified to see his form twitching. You hope it's not just some errant tentacle fuckery of the ship, you've never seen one so... overgrown before.

Well. Nothing for it. Give him a little slap on the cheek. "You alive in there motherfucker?"

Helmsman: Static electricity zaps the Grand Highblood's hand, the spot where he touched the Helmsman clammy and hot and viscous, somehow. But the Helmsman's eyes snap open, barely emanating any light at all before they slip closed again, unseeing.

On closer inspection, he's breathing shallowly from dry lips, mustard blood dripping shallowly from every orifice. It looks uh. Bad.

Grand: Ouch. Spicy. Still, the zap, the eyes coming open, the breathing reassure you that this isn't a totally fruitless endeavor.

Still. Oof. That's a big old yikes, you don't know if your mediculler can fix that shit. Ugh, what a mess he is, stubborn bastard. "Aight, where the fuck is my nerd?" You look at the clowns behind you. One of them better have brought the helm tech with them.

Devoteer: The small crowd produces a troll that can be succinctly described as cereal box shaped, and he dips his jagged horns in a sign of reverence towards GHB before fumbling for his toolbag. "If I may, Your Grand Whimsican, this Technicrusher will do everything in my power to preserve the life of this... of the helmstroll, if that pleases you." Behind a faltering, whiny speech is a troll who's had to disconnect many a half-dead helmsman from their block in his time. But the Devoteer has never in his life seen a helmsblock this... overgrown...

Grand: Oh, yep. That's a nerd, you'd know em anywhere. "I want his pump goin and his pan in there fuckin somewhere. Tell us what the fuck to do and we'll get it done. If I've come all this way for him to burn out, imma be real fuckin pissed, you pickin up what i'm puttin down?"

Devoteer: "I am indeed, picking it up, Your Unholiness." You sidle around him and inspect the helmsblock, before plucking a waterproof pen from your bag and marking off some of the smaller tendrils in dark purple. "These are the connections to his cardiovascular system, his life support, and the main nutrition and waste tubes. All the rest need to be cut away- about an inch at least from his body." Looking at the state of his nutrition tubes makes you faintly ill, but you keep the green out of your gills.

"Al- also I'm going to need a small supply of nutritionslurry, high in vitamins, a jar of mind honey, and some cauterizing knives. Is that amenable, High Priest?"

Grand: You click your tongue. "Easy enough, brother mine. I definitely got the last bit, at the very fuckin least." They drop into your hand quick as miracles, and you hand the gruesome weapon/medical tool over. You look over the crowd. "Aight, who brought the nerd?" A motherfucker raises his hand with a wave, clearly not paying that much attention now that his duty's done. "Give him his fuckin goods, what do you need, an invitation??? Mind honey. Nutrition slurry." You snap a few times, and the goody bag gets passed forward like you're in fuckin schoolfeeding. Whatever, if it works.

"That gonna do you aight, or are we gonna need someone ta go shoppin?"

Devoteer: "This is perfect, Beloved Dreamer. I'm going to need some space." You put your goggles on, and get the fuck to work. It's incredibly loud and messy, the knife slicing through tendrils like a hot blade through butter. Which is basically what it is. Pieces of helmsblock go flying as you shear it away, leaving something that looks a little less like a H.R.Giger painting and more like a person.

Wiping your hands clean with a microfiber cloth, you take the vials and hook the Helmsman up to a rudimentary IV drip, methodical as always. "Now um. A-as soon as the honey enters it's system it's going to become a bit of a lightshow in here, but it'll keep it's psionics cycling until it stabilizes. Be careful removing it, it's limbs are. Rather delicate."

Grand: Oh yes, the smell of burning flesh. Acrid, meaty enough to make you hungry, smoky enough to make you sneeze. You aren't sure how the rest of your mirthful are taking it, because you're definitely not paying attention, but you're vaguely interested enough in the work to observe the whole time, make sure he isn't taking unnecessary risks with your prize.

"Damn, we love a light show," you look over at your clown friends (turns out they weren't all doing the best), and get a few nods. "Quick question though, brother. How likely are his limbs to be any use, and what's the risks in not givin a shit?"

Devoteer: You give them one look and shake your head. "Even if, er, they weren't looking due for sepsis, it would take a real medical miracle for them to be of any use again, sir." They're uh. More hole than flesh, to put it lightly.

Grand: "Sick. May as well take em off and not deal with the hassle then, gimme that knife brother," you hold out your hand so you can get your tools back. You don't know if this fucker knows how to carve through bone instead of helm tentacle, but you sure the fuck do.

... Might wanna wait for that light show though.

Devoteer: You hand him the knife and step back into the crowd just as the Helmsman stirs, sparks beginning to crackle around the goggles as his eyes open just a sliver. And then the screaming starts, teeth bared as red and blue light fills the large room in a one-troll supernova.

It's only for a few seconds though, before it starts winding down as the psionics cycle erratically. His specially made goggles- the one thing between him and GHB being a pile of troll shaped ash- crack under the display of pure uncontrolled psionics.

The air is sharp with the smell of ozone.

Grand: Oh, that's neat, isn't it? Look at him go, he's like a one man firecracker. You grin big and wide at the sight, let him run himself out, and hope he isn't going to be choking on blood from screaming.

Alright, let's get this shit done quick. You step up into his shit and start cutting away tentacle and limb alike, until he is a lump of torso, head, hair, and probably just... so much rot. Just, an unfortunate amount of rot. You'll take the effort to make sure you cut as much of the sepsis as possible without getting to his innards, but.... Eh. That's about all you can be bothered with. You'll just make sure the medicullers go real hard on the germ killin shit, so he don't rot much more.

Dumbass motherfucker.

Helmsman: The screaming has become coughing, before he settles down with a whimper, curling into himself now that he isn't forced upright by the helmsblock. For how tall of a troll he once was, he looks small. Maybe he'd always been a small troll, under all the sass and vitriol and power.

It's hard to say.

Grand: ... Ain't that almost sweet... You hold him close, fully aware he could vaporize you if you're not careful with them damn glasses, but still finding it a bit...

Somethin. You can't say. Sad, maybe. Pathetic.

Any fuckin way. No need to linger. "Aight, motherfuckers. Job well done, head the fuck out, don't trip on tentacles or i'll make ya the butt of the next sweep a jokes. Keep ya eyes peeled, but i doubt there'll be much else excitin." There's a few laughs, a few groans of disappointment, but they do as you say, because you are fuckin king.

... And the king's gonna need a shower after this, because this battery is decidedly rank.

One step at a time, though. No need goin quick and jostlin all his lively bits until he ain't got no life left in him. One step at a motherfuckin time.

Helmsman: Despite the chill of GHB's skin, Helmsman takes comfort in it, craving any amount of warmth against his feverish form. As he tucks himself as close and comfortable as possible, the ship around the parade of clowns becomes even darker, emergency lights flickering off as the biggest asset to the empire goes silent.

Behind his eyes, the Helmsman fitfully dreams of being swallowed by a goat the size of a sun.

Grand: At least, finally, he can be completely asleep.

[hallospaceboyy]

Could you please do a story with a powerful witch reader, who is Zeldas lover. The reader gets cursed to attack Zelda and her family. Before reader can do any serious harm, Zelds gets through to her and safes them all. Something angsty with a happy ending :) I adore your writing! Thank u!

I REALLY enjoyed writing this, I hope you like it, love 🖤

Cursed

Zelda Spellman x Fem Witch Reader

You lay huddled up on the sofa beneath a quilted blanket. You can hear your phone ringing from the bedroom, ignore it, knowing its Zelda. You can’t be near her, can’t be near any of the Spellmans, know the curse will overcome you, and you can’t hurt the people you love. You hadn't seen it coming. The man, with his sombre voice, a black hooded cape covering his face. Heard the Latin he mumbled, felt the bolt of electricity course through you, and suddenly, murderous thoughts of Zelda, your Zelda, and her family plagued your mind. You know the Spellmans well enough now to know that the family have enemies, people who wish them harm, and one of those people had gotten to you – knowing that you can surpass the protections on the mortuary, using their unfettered trust of you against them.

You burrow your head beneath the blanket, and let out a sob, feel the pain shooting through you, your body trying to betray you, and you know you can’t hold on much longer. Your hands shake, the warmth of your unstoppable power flooding your every vein, the curse bestowed upon you putrefying all of the good within you. Your vision blackens, beginning with a vignette curling the edges of your sight, and then you see nothing, only darkness.

When you come to yourself again, you’re standing on the porch of the mortuary. Except you're not yourself. Your expression is stony, uncaring, and you look at the door of the house with not even a flicker of recognition. You flick your wrist, and the door bursts from its hinges, crashing at the foot of the stairs, split in two. Your mind is set on only one thing. Revenge. You don’t even know what, or who you are avenging, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t stop it now anyway, a shell of your former self. Zelda rushes down the stairs, her wide eyes falling to the door at her feet, and then you. Your look is cold, unfeeling, when your eyes meet hers.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Her voice is hoarse, thick with fear as she regards you. With a wave of your hand, and a clench of your fist, the redhead is against the wall, clutching at her throat, gasping for breath. Tears begin to stream down her cheeks, her eyes reddening as she claws at her throat.

You’re so taken with your task, that you don’t hear someone approach from behind, feel a painful force hit your back as Hilda shouts an incantation, and you fly across the entrance hall, your head hitting the wall, and Zelda crumbles to the floor in a heap, taking a ragged gasp and coughing.

“Zelda, what in Lilith is going on?!” She rushes to the redhead’s side, helping her stand.

“I-I don’t know Hilda. She's not herself. Her eyes...” Zelda is shaking profusely, tears tracking her flushed cheeks.

Her gaze meets your callous eyes as you rise to your feet, paying no mind to the blood dripping from your temple. “You’re going to die today, Zelda Spellman. You and all of your precious family,” Your voice isn’t your own either, deep and course, monotonous.

“Hilda I think she’s cursed,” Zelda blurts, her voice urgent.

“Well what do we do?!” Hilda shouts, both of the women stepping back as you approach.

“I-I don’t know. There isn’t time. She's too powerful. And I won't risk killing her,” Zelda's voice is hard with resolve.

“Well Zelds, it seems its kill or be killed!”

Zelda shakes her head, wiping her eyes, and rather than continuing to retreat, she approaches you, ripping her arm from Hilda's grip when she tries to stop her.

“Y/N, darling, I know you’re in there somewhere. I know this isn’t you. You don’t want to do this...would never hurt me, I know that,” Fresh tears fall from her eyes now, her lip trembling. “Please come back to me, sweetheart. I love you,” Her face screws up as she tries to hold back sobs, reaching for you as you stand and stare at her, and you feel tears in your own eyes, the curse’s hold on you beginning to falter.

“Hildie, she's in there. I can see it, I can feel it,” Zelda states, she recoils when your hand flies up, can hear Hilda choking behind her, whimpering, and she knows she must get through to you now. She rushes forward and takes your face in her hands, looking into your emotionless eyes.

“Y/N, you can stop this. You are so strong, so powerful. Use that power, beat this. Please, I need you. I need you to come back to me,” Zelda's voice is almost shrill now, sobs wracking her form, and she presses her lips to yours, kissing you with all of the love and passion she can muster, face gripping yours so tight its sure to bruise. Tears fall from your eyes, and Zelda feels your form slacken, your clouded eyes begin to clear, the dead look in them slowly dissipating. Your arms fall to your sides, and you hear Hilda thump to the floor from somewhere behind Zelda as your senses return to you, hear Sabrina's urgent voice as she sprints down the stairs, helping her Aunt to her feet, you can taste the salt of your tears, Zelda's tears. Zelda holds you tight as your eyes roll back, and you collapse in her arms, a dead weight.

When you awaken, your head is groggy, and your whole body aches. There's a shooting pain in your temple, and when you reach up you feel a bandage there. You heave yourself to a sitting position, taking in your surroundings. Zelda's bedroom. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of Zelda on the sheets, in the air around you, and your breath comes faster as you recall the events that had taken place before you blacked out. When Zelda enters the room, looking exhausted, you’re hyperventilating, and you scramble away as she attempts to come closer, pressing yourself against the headboard.

“Zelda don’t come near me you can’t come near me!” Your speech is desperate, coming fast between shuddering breaths. Zelda takes a step back, raising her arms in surrender, trying to calm you. You continue to babble incessantly, panic stricken.

“Y/N. Y/N, darling! Its okay!” Zelda's voice is raised to be heard over yours, and you finally fall silent, your shaking form still recoiling as Zelda steps closer, perches on the edge of the bed.

“I nearly killed you. All of you.” You whisper, trying to shift away from her, but Zelda grasps you, pulls you into her arms, and you find all of your previous fight gone, too exhausted – and you notice for the first time since waking, that despite the exhaustion, there is a lightness within you, all dark visions diminished.

“But you didn’t. Not many witches could have overcome a curse like that, but you did. It was really quite amazing,” Zelda strokes your hair, presses a kiss to your forehead, and your mind is filled the visions of Zelda standing before you, sobbing, her soft yet desperate words, the urgent kiss she pressed to your lips, breathing the life back into you.

“Y-You said you love me,” You pull away, searching her eyes, you see a flicker of disappointment there, that has you puzzled.

“Ah, you remember that. I was hoping you wouldn’t, didn’t want those to be the circumstances with which you heard those words from me for the first time,” Zelda sighed, closing her eyes.

“I think the circumstances are just fine. It wasn’t just my power that overcame that curse, it was you. You brought me back. Certainly saved my life as well as your own, and your family. I could feel it draining the life from me, sucking me dry. I was like a damn puppet. I could see through my eyes, feel myself move... but I couldn’t stop it. I-I was just watching it all unfold a-and I couldn't-" Zelda shushed you then, rocking you gently as you shake in her arms, fresh tears falling, and you hear Zelda sniffle, know she is crying too.

“It's okay, sweet girl. I know better than most how that feels,” She murmurs, her voice thick with tears. You glance up at her, see the dark purple bruises blooming on the skin of her porcelain neck, the scarf she had tied there coming loose. She had tried to hide them from you, tried to spare you the sight of the monstrosities you had enacted under the coercion of another. You pull the scarf away completely, and Zelda stiffens, looking down at you. You trace your fingers gently over the marks and her eyes flutter closed, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Zelda,” She takes your hand in hers, and kisses it. First the back, a kiss to the tip of each finger, and then your palm, your wrist.

“None of this is your fault, Y/N. None of us blame you,”

“Oh my Lilith, Hilda! Is she-" Zelda grips you tighter as you try to surge from her arms.

“Hilda is fine. Just a few bruises, the same as me. She was well enough to help me extract the curse from you entirely,” She says gently and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“I love you too, by the way,” You whisper as you bring your lips closer to hers, you smile as you press a tender kiss to her lips, and Zelda returns it, affectionate, and loving, and pours her relief into it, that you are all okay, that things will be okay. The mystery of who had set the curse on them was a problem for another day, for right now, you need her, and she needs you.