#v: just an appendage / live to attend him. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weispy · 4 years

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a buncha unpublished wips

(would they be technically considered a single wip rehashed several times? since they were all intended to be the same story...)

anyways. since i never they’re not gonna see the light of the day ever again and i got reminded of them, why not. have some unfinished first chapters of the naruto si i had been talking about.

warning for dubious quality of writing and extremely long post under cut :v

written in 2016/03

The first thing I felt were droplets of water hitting my face and realization hit me that my clothes were soaking wet. I opened my eyes, and as most of you certainly guessed, it was raining. More like pouring, I would say. But my point was said: it was raining pretty hard. I was also probably going to get hypothermia if I stayed outside any longer. The fact that I was laying on the ground with only a short-sleeved shirt and some shorts did not help.

Talking about the outside…

This place had weird looking skyscrapers (Were they even skyscrapers?) just about everywhere. Really tall, kind of ugly, has external waterworks sort of skyscraper. I would have said this place was deserted, if not for the occasional screams.

‘This doesn’t really look like the afterlife,’ I idly commented to myself.

I then completely stopped that train of thought. Why would I say (think) that? Am I dead? Am I supposed to be dead? If so, why can’t I recall any past moment that ultimately resulted in my said death?

I hadn’t noticed that my breathing was becoming erratic, and I couldn’t care less. I had other thoughts to attend to, like…

Where the hell am I?

I don’t remember travelling anywhere. I don’t remember leaving my home. Come to think about it, I couldn’t actually think of anything involving the time before I awoke here.

…

Not a single memory was clear. I couldn’t recall anything in particular, yet I was aware that I knew the answer. Just like the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t get it out.

Anyways, I should probably find out where this is. No need to dwell on events which you cannot help or change.

(This place looks awfully familiar. Not the ‘I’ve been here before’ familiar, but more of the ‘I have already seen this place in a book’ familiar.)

Standing up from my laying position, I noticed yet another thing off. I had pudgy limbs, akin to a child’s and I’m pretty sure I was taller than this. And I have a distinct feeling that I have already lived past my young childhood. Judging from my arms, my body seems to be around 10 years old.

Talk about inconvenient. And strange.

In fact, I don’t think any of this should be happening on a normal basis, but hey, life happens.

Is that a person I see? Is that… a kid and a dog…? Though I guess help from a random kid is better than no help at all.

I padded on the damp soil towards the two of them, hoping if they could offer any form of guidance. If he can’t, I could always follow them. The boy (at least, I think it’s a boy) has a dog accompanying him. Dogs are loyal and adorable, though I do prefer cats. Cats are a lot more laid-back than dogs.

And again, this déjà vu feeling is back. I really hope my memory will clear up soon, because that feeling is extremely irritating.

The kid –oh my, he has really, and I mean REALLY bright red hair (not ginger, red) – did not seem to acknowledge my presence as I reached him, but the brown canine certainly did. Looking closer (it’s not creepy, right?), the red-haired boy looked like he recently cried. Not that it was that noticeable in the rain.

I wonder, is it normal for people here to ignore strangers? Or is it because he just had a break down and he doesn’t want people to see his tear-stricken face? Oh, and the dog is now growling at me.

He still gave no sign that he noticed me, so I decided to make the first move.

“Er, hello? Can I ask you something?”

---

written in 2016/04

Someone sobbing, pleading for something. A parting sigh, a fading light, and then darkness. Spiralling down a pitch-black abyss, and nothing to grasp on.

The last and only memories about myself I possess.

I awoke in a dark location, somewhere unpleasantly humid. My eyesight slightly cleared out and I realized that I was surrounded by colossal trees. A wandering thought is telling me that they are way taller than any plant I have seen.

Which doesn’t mean much, since I have apparently lost a good percentage of my memories.

Also, did I say that I didn’t have any legs? Or arms? Actually, it doesn’t seem that I have a body at all. Though I’m positive I’m supposed to have one. ‘Why?’ one might ask. Just a hunch. That annoying feeling that you have when you know something, but just can’t get a clear grip on the thought.

So I’m currently just a floating… thing. Or object. Or soul. Actually, I have no idea what I was.

Just a few minutes in, and I spotted something that sent chills up my spine. Something that even if I had my memories, even if I had a body, even if I was as tall as those trees, would still scare the living daylights out of me.

A giant ass spider.

I was pretty sure spiders weren’t meant to be that big. I was also pretty sure that they were not supposed to have 12 legs. And they absolutely were not supposed to be eating a tiger.

It didn’t seem to notice me at first, completely oblivious to my presence as it continued feasting on the giant feline’s carcass. So listen here: curiosity is a good thing, but it can also lead to certain doom.

And guess what I decided to do.

Yeah, I certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

So I decided to approach the arachnid, and to my greatest relief, it still hasn’t taken notice to me. That’s when I started feeling an attraction–not the romantic sort, but gravitational sort–to the twelve-legged beast. I started panicking, because just like any rational person, my line of though was going something like ‘OH DEAR LORD I’M GOING TO GET SUCKED IN BY A GIANT SPIDER AND–‘

Then I realized I could resist the pull. Silly me, huh? All that terror for nothing.

And again, I’ll say that I’m not the brightest lightbulb out there.

Because curiosity is a wonderful thing, I continued my path towards the unnaturally giant twelve-legged possibly highly venomous and definitely carnivorous spider. Nothing could go wrong there, right? Yeah, fat chance with that.

There, I found what caused the pull: an inky black fissure at the base of its head. And still, that didn’t stop me from going nearer and nearer the creature.

As most of you guessed, that fissure got ahold of my whatever-I-was and sucked me in. We could compare it to a black hole, I guess.

‘I guess this the end of the line for me. Such a laughable way to go. Wait, no. It’s actually pretty original. No one ever died because they got sucked in by a mini black hole from a spider’s head. You bet I’m going to brag about it in the afterlife.’

And then I blinked my eyes. All eight of them. I should probably finish my meal now.

‘Wait, WHAT?’

I looked down to see my many appendages, some still plunged deep in the would-be meal, while some others were in the midst of tearing flesh apart. I was positively grossed out by this, and even maybe on the verge of puking what this spider belly’s content, while another part of me didn’t mind at all and just wanted to resume eating.

Wait, scratch that. That part was definitely not me. Maybe a remnant of the arachnid’s feeling? Better not dwell on that thought. Possessing a giant spider’s body is nasty enough for me.

‘Eat first. Think later.’

Even though I really don’t want to touch the carcass, I probably should listen to its thought. This body was feeling hungry, and since it has already hunted down a prey to eat, why not just eat it now?

‘Or maybe we could eat AND think at the same time.’

And before I could do whatsoever, the body moved on its own and went on eating. Looks like I don’t have full control over the body. So while the spider is eating, I’ll have to do the thinking. Because apparently, spiders can’t multitask. Learning new things every day!

Anyways, back to my current issue.

Correction: back to my current issues.

For one, I have no idea where I was. I don’t think knowing that you’re in a giant messed up forest in the middle of nowhere counts as knowing where you are. Two, I have no idea who I am. The memories I currently am in possession of doesn’t help at all. Three, I have no idea WHAT I am. Maybe I’m a ghost hungry for revenge. Maybe I’m a bodiless soul doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Maybe I’m a figment of this spider’s imagination.

‘Urg. How uncool would it be to discover that you were actually not real and just the result of some random someone’s half-assed idea?’

And finally, I have no idea what to do. Maybe I could walk around, question of getting used to this body. Should I call it my vessel? It sounds rather evil. But yeah, I should probably accustom myself with the motor controls if I’m stuck as a spider for the rest of its life. But what happens after? Do I need to find a new vessel after this one withers away? At least I now know how to take partial control of one.

Wow, I sound like an evil overlord. I might just be able to apply for a part-time job for a super villain.

…

What’s an evil overlord? What’s a super villain? They both sound rather evil and villainous.

And better yet, what’s a part time job?

…

‘Humans nearby. Still hungry.’

Looks like it finished eating the tiger, seeing as a pile of bones with still some bits of flesh attached to them on the ground. And now, I have a new goal set for myself.

‘Step one on maintaining a giant spider healthy: make sure it gets enough food.’

I guess it’s hunting time now! What better way to exercise myself to control this body is there apart from hunting? Onwards we go!

Though it certainly went less smoother than I would have wanted. I kept tripping over my own limbs, and don’t even get me started on climbing trees! Controlling twelve legs at once sure is no easy task. You lift one up, and you have to place it so that it wouldn’t interfere with the other’s movements, and dear Lord it’s frustrating.

I got the hang of skittering across the land in a few minutes, and I had this suspicious feeling that the spider was getting more impatient by the second. Better find those humans then. I managed to clamber up a tree without falling down, and from a high up branch, I spotted the group the arachnid mentioned afore.

I must say, they were a bunch of fashionable humans.

One dressed in a trench coat, stick in mouth. Another one wearing overalls and black glasses. Third and final one, wearing a skin tight green jumpsuit and sporting a– whoa, look at that haircut.

‘Though I guess the first one isn’t dressed so bad. On another note, a good self-pat on the back for being able to vomit out some incomprehensible words that seem to match their clothing.’

They looked slightly familiar.

And again, that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, as if I should be able to remember them. Have I met them before? Would they know who I am?

‘EAT.’

Oh great, look at what I then decided to do.

I jumped down from my perch intending to land on one of the humans, and being the big klutz I am, I instead tripped on my own legs (again) and gracefully face planted no further than a few meters away from my intended targets.

‘Don’t I just make the greatest entrances?’

---

written in 2016/06

Death.

Have you ever thought about it at random moments?

Some would characterize it as beautiful, others, not so much. But what comes after death? Are there a heaven and hell? Is there a wheel of suffering waiting at the end? Will there be the nirvana? Questions, questions. No one had a definite answer to that since… well, people aren’t supposed to come back from the dead, whoever they would be.

And I’m apparently unlucky enough to experience it at a young age. Not having even entered university yet and I got a metal construction beam plummet smack dab on my head, more or less reducing it into paste. Fun, huh? At least it wasn’t all that painful. None of my senses were able to register anything about it from the sudden abruptness of the situation. Though I certainly remember hearing a scream, or were they many? Was it my voice, or someone else’s?

And I still had so many objectives to accomplish, so many unfinished tasks left with open ends.

But none of that matters anymore, seeing that I’m dead myself. Shame, I haven’t even gotten the time to wish my sister a happy birthday. And to say that she was going to come back from overseas on the weekend of my own demise.

It was way too early for my end to come, but what had to come came. Somewhat earlier than I had expected, if I would comment. Half a life was behind me, and as sorrowful I had been moments following my death, I progressively learnt to cope with it. I never actually got over it, only accepting that I was now dead and I wouldn’t be able to change anything in the world of living. And maybe bury it deep in your mind to avoid thinking about it excessively.

How unfortunate.

Now would come the question I would ask myself; what comes after death?

The answer, I would respond, is quite simple. Nothing comes after death. It is solely the cessation of being, the end of an individual’s existence. And to confirm that, it is pretty much what I am currently undergoing through.

Nothing, that is. Well, it wasn’t actually the cessation of one’s existence, since I’m still well aware of myself and still able to form coherent thoughts. Just…

A pitch black abyss that I do not even know if it had any color, no odor, no touch, no taste, no sounds. No nothing. I’m not even sure if I have any shape or form, let alone a physical body.

I had no eyes to open, no limbs to struggle with, no mouth to scream with, no nose to smell with and no ears to eavesdrop with.

And wasn’t that boring. There wasn’t even anyone to pass time with here. Here being the Void, the nothingness. Or maybe there was, but I had no way of perceiving them.

But hey, we shouldn’t think of such depressing thing now, shouldn’t we? Such dark thoughts wouldn’t do any good to relieve my boredom. And on the bright side, I get to conserve my ability to think! And isn’t that an awesome skill. Would it be considered as a genetic trait? To be able to think and have self-awareness?

Bah. Life. Moving onto another livelier and less dull topic. Let’s say… the fact that I’m currently being pulled by something and that was the first sensation I have felt for who knows how long.

At first, I was ecstatic about being able to feel again, but as the impression of the touch continued and gradually augmented its pressure every second, I started worrying. Was it dragging me somewhere? If so where? Is the thing having hold of me dangerous?

The Void might have been an awfully mundane and dreary place, but it was safe; nothing could come in, nothing could come out. Just me and my thoughts, aimlessly wandering about. It was almost… comforting. Almost. The loneliness was still painful, and the urge of just screaming your lungs raw and ripping something to shreds was still there. It took a lot of me to remain sane in this darn forsaken barren Void with no ways of movements. Like being constantly in stasis with freedom of thought.

In a single moment, everything snaps back into place and a pair of eyes can be seen hovering in the nothingness. They aren’t exactly glowing, but they gave off a slight shine, reminding me of a silver ring reflecting off the moonlight. How eerie.

After what seemed like an eternity, the eyes finally focus on me, sending a chill through whatever the equivalent of a spine I had.

Whoa.

That was… I have my sight back! This calls for a celebration! Though that would have to wait, seeing that the being positioned in front of me looks to be one to not mess with. First impressions are important, remember that.

“I have a task for you,” it says, its voice being an amalgamate of thousand other voices, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and hissing all at once. I let out an unintentional squeak, the distorted voice seemingly belonging to a beast having ingested the souls of the damned topped with an oppressive, bordering suffocating, presence a tad too much for me to take in in the span of only a few seconds.

“Silence, child.” As I’m about to retort that I wasn’t all that young despite my premature death, a heated glare sent my way shuts me up, and from the look of it, nothing good could come if I tried to interrupt him again.

“I have lost my influence on the human population since my long slumber. Only a few followers are left, and my name has been lost in the past centuries. The sound of it no longer strikes fear deep into the heart of the humans. Eons ago, that same name made the blood of warriors and peasants alike run cold, made them quiver on the spot. I laughed in the face of death time upon time, I drove whole continents into war. I inspired fear and chaos. Now I am but an old myth, left in the dust. My current circumstance is laughable compared to my former glory.

“Here will be where you come in. Your mission is to restore my reputation to as it was, make them run like headless chickens at my name once again. Understood?” The slight narrowing of its eyes dares me to add anything else, as if the simple thought of it would land me with a death wish.

Unfortunately of fortunately, depending on your view of your situation, I am already dead. Figuratively and literally. I muster up as much courage as I could and raise my voice just loud enough to be heard. “But sir…” I start off, voice quivering. I had assumed it as a male, and as he shows no sign of objection, I continue on. “How am I supposed to do that? And why did you choose me for it?”

The creature stares, just as though it is peering deep into my supposed soul. I had to avert my eyes in fear that whatever composes my head would explode from the sheer intensity of the look.

“Ha. Ha-ha.” It sucks in a breath and howls in laughter not even a second later, the eyes curving up to form an upward crescent shape. “You think I chose you?” the being hissed. I can just imagine a face sneering, the nose crinkling in disgust. “Do not think so high of yourself. I had merely happened to come across your pitiful, withering essence while seeking for an envoy. I, regrettably, had already had my energy drained from being imprisoned here, and couldn’t risk depleting it further. You are not obligated to follow my request, but unless you wish to spend the eternity rotting in my insides, you might be inclined to. As for the other matter, you shall find out soon enough.”

It then closes its eyes and draws out a deep, long sigh, as if simply talking has drained him to the point of exhaustion. “Enough time wasted. Go. Failure is not an option.”

Faster than one could blink, the world starts crumbling away at full tilt, replacing the once inky space with stark white, all the while the eyes of the creature not leaving my form.

Just as the last shred of darkness falls, it utters out a few last words, its voice as uncanny as it always was.

“Name’s Jashin. And don’t wear it out.”

And everything drowns in a pure, colorless landscape.

The milky surroundings crack in their turn with vivid colors bursting from the seams, as one could compare them to the fireworks on a first of July. The ceiling took on a light blue hue and various pigments splattered across the scenery, fluorescent lighting dancing around. I shut my eyes close to avoid being blinded by the inordinately bright colors. Spending an excessive amount of time in a colorless environment will do that to you.

Or more like I would have if I had any eyes to begin with. Which I apparently don’t.

On the bright side, I have no need to blink and yet, I can still see. Maybe I just have eye holes and can somehow peer out of them without the organ in place. Or I don’t have any body at all and am defying every law of life about how the dead cannot come to the realm of living.

I guess I could also be in a coma and I’m dreaming this awesome plot line that might get super intense later on. Hell, that would be so rad! Not the coma part, of course, but the other part! Getting myself into a story revolving around the main character—namely me—and kicking butts all around!

But if I die here… Would it also mean I die on the other side too?

And I’m also pretty much certain I have kicked the bucket some time ago. So coma is out of the possibilities.

Another one of the possibility would be that my soul, who was supposed to do whatever a dead soul was supposed to do, got ripped out of that cycle by a scary as hell demon lord that got sealed away by an old wizard to never roam the land again and has been tasked to spread terror in its name so it gets enough spiritual energy to make a giant comeback to the mortal plane to take the throne and proclaim itself as the overlord of the world.

Yeah, that seems about it.

Since I have already bit the dust quite a while ago, why not enjoy myself in the meantime? It’s not like it would hurt to do so, and whatever its name was—Jashin, was it?—gave me a time limit to accomplish my so called ‘mission’.

As I finally adjust myself to the brightness of all this mess, I finally realize how alive everything here feels. From the peacefully growing trees, standing tall and proud, to the occasional small animals that would scurry about, everything nearby was thrumming with vitality. Everything was so lively, so colorful, so… existing. If that could even be said. Not sure if it can, but it gets the point across.

Looking down, I can make out a faint contrast—just a minute distortion in the space—around what I suppose would be my hands, as well as my arms… and well, my body too. Looks like someone even went all the way to procuring me a human-shaped sort of anti-void body. How very thoughtful of… it? him? whatever gender Jashin would qualify as?

And just to test out a certain thing…

I swing my arms around and stretch myself, basic warm up and whatnot. I know there are alternate ways to find it out, but one thing I’ll say is that curiosity can sometimes get the best of us. I placed myself in a standard three-point stance and took a deep breath.

This might hurt a bit. Or a lot. Actually, I have no idea. That’s why I’ll be testing, remember?

Just before sprinting, I raise my eyes up one last time to make sure I was facing the right direction.

And I push myself forward, dashing forward and making a beeline for my intended target: a hollow trunk that might have once been part of a quite sturdy tree. Still not rash enough to take on a still living tree, seeing that most of them looked quite robust. I could have gone for a sapling, but you know… just to not needlessly kill a tree. Life is important, so treasure it and don’t just throw it away carelessly. You only get one of those, you know?

Just milliseconds from hitting the bark, thoughts of regret and why in all the holiness of the underdepths of hell did I think this was a good idea wash over me. Seriously, who in their right mind would run around in a forest smashing trees?

To my pleasant surprise, I simply phase through the dead tree, before tripping over myself and tumbling on the ground. I turn around and sit up to look at the tree somewhat suspiciously. So either I’m not material, or that tree is a made up hallucination of my mind.

I think I’ll just stick with the former one and not ask myself too many questions about my mental health. But would it matter now that I’m presumably a ghost? I guess not.

But what had attracted my attention was that although the trunk had offered no physical resistance while I crossed with it, there was a strange pull at the core of it.

A most curious little thing, no?

And me, being the curious cat I was, I decide to investigate it. We might say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And it’s not like the undead could be killed. Revived then killed, yes, but not killed while dead.

Makes sense?

And that also confirms I regained two and a half of my senses back! How I manage that without a central nervous system, I have no idea. Go figure.

Anyhow. Back to situation at hand, I hoist myself up and pat off the non-existent dust off and gingerly reached my hand to the middle of the hollow trunk. As my arm phases through the trunk, I can’t help but suppress a shudder, seeing the action up close just strikes me as disconcerting. Like seeing part of your arm getting chopped off, yet you can still freely move your hand and fingers.

And then there’s this gaping hole, a vacuum I feel at my fingertips, the small area of it definitely a few degrees colder than the ambient temperature. I curl my fingers around it, and it YANKS—

And suddenly, things change.

---

written on 2016/06

Screams of terror, the laughter of a madman, a searing pain across the torso, and—

Nothing.

oOo

If someone were to ask me “If given the chance, would you relive your life?” I wouldn’t miss a beat and respond without delay.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” would be my obvious reply.

Now don’t jump right up to the conclusion that I’m a conceited edgelord or I have deep issues with myself or others, and ask that question to yourself. Ask yourself if you could stand replaying every single moment of your existence without a single alteration of the course.

Would that thought change one’s perception on the question?

My life was… well, not worth of any special mention. An ordinary one, paired up with a decent education, a decent family and more than just decent friends. Good friends, great friends, best friends, fake friends, you get gist of it.

Then came death. I’ll be frank, my death, or rather the moments preceding right before my death, was the most exhilarating experience I had faced. From the pure adrenaline rush to the unadulterated fear at the absurd situation I had found myself in, none of the past event I have ever lived through, and insist on none of them, not even all stacked one on top of each other, could compare to the sheer excitement I had felt.

Truly, death by ferris wheel wasn’t a common run-of-the-mill occurrence.

oOo

Death is… it’s not exactly silent, it’s not just stillness either, it’s… void, for the lack of better words.

Void from any restraints. Peaceful, free from everything, eternally sleeping in a cradle of nothingness. Nothing to weigh you down, no guilt or regrets, just a companionable mess of nothing to keep me entertained.

Feelings start to dwindle, memories start to crack, everything starts to fade away to non-existence.

With a final resigned sigh, I decide that maybe vegetating in a colorless realm of emptiness wouldn’t bring me much amusement. Not much here would, to be honest. Being dead is boring. Being dead and alone with no one to be around with is even more boring.

Ah, to say that I simply wanted to have some fun in my life.

I let go.

oOo

I drift aimlessly with no particular intention. Pieces break off, and I do nothing to stop myself from degrading into nullity.

oOo

It’s only after a bout of time (but time cannot exist without space, space cannot exist without time, and nothing exists here) that I realize.

‘I don’t want to disappear.’

In a desperate attempt to keep myself as me, I reach out everywhere possible and greedily hoard any fragment of memory, mind and notion salvageable, and fervently organize them. I can’t lose any more, and do not plan to. Make sure to not forget. Repeat everything until you can recite it from the tip of your fingers. Realize that I have lost my corporeal body, but still have a faint feeling when attempting to move limbs.

oOo

The void echoed with half remembered poems and stories, and bits of names, locations and forgotten sentiments.

I continue rehearsing and recounting various broken memories found here and there.

‘Do not forget.’

oOo

‘...first to score 50 goals in one season, played 18 of ‘em, nicely combed hair, great guy-’

I repeat again and again, counting off with a twitch of a finger for every fragment for the umpteen time, and—

Krrrrrk.

Something is pulling. Something is pulling on me.

Something or someone exist in this nonexistent plane aside from me. Excitement rushes in me, thought of ‘Ah! I can physically feel again! I still exist, and now someone else does too!’ runs amok.

Anticipation tingles through my entire being and I curiously await for an entity to pop out from nowhere.

A beat, then two, and nothing. I wait in bated breath, still full of hope. Maybe they’re hiding? Perhaps they’re shy, or are too afraid to show up? Should I call out for them? But if I do, it might scare them away.

‘Anyone hear me?!’ I shout. Or think. Frankly, I have lost the ability differentiate between the two long ago. It is a bit difficult, not being sure if you’re either hearing your own thoughts or voice in here.

Another beat passes.

No one replies.

I let out a sigh in disappointment.

For all that I know, it might have just been wishful thinking, my desire for company acting up.

Back to my typical routine, then.

‘...Praying mantis’ actually have 5 eyes. The central nervous system is composed of…’

oOo

The sensation of the pull didn’t quite leave even as time ticked by and stories had been recounted endlessly.

It was nice at first, as a reassurance that another might have come wandering here, but now it’s just irritating. It is somewhat difficult to concentrate on tasks at hand when some part of you is being perpetually pulled at short intervals.

Then suddenly, the pull increases tenfold in its intensity, and it feels like I’m being violently ripped apart and ohithurtssomeonemakeitstop—

Everything snaps back in place at once and the pain disappears just as swiftly as it came.

I take a quick peek around and find out that instead of the colorless background I became accustomed to over time, the surroundings are now of a dull gray, stretching out until the eye can’t see.

Maybe the afterlife thingy is different depending on the person? Though whoever inhabits this place, they must have some lousy aesthetic taste, I must say. Even mine, a vast emptiness of nothing (plus moi), looks way better than this plane of commonplaceness.

“I can hear you, you filthy disgraceful half-soul. Show some respect to the one who pulled you out of those… repulsive grounds. It would be in your best interest to not insult me,” a low voice drawls from behind me.

And by voice, I mean an amalgamate of thousand whispers of the damned who came crawling out from the depths of the fiery hells, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and whistling all at once.

Talk about disconcerting.

I turn around to the source of the voice, mostly eager and maybe also slightly anxious to meet the mind-reading condescending might-be remnant of a dead esper. That’s what people call psychics, right?

Now face to face with the mysterious creature of esoteric origins and, lo and behold, who I meet isn’t an actual person, and possesses much less a humanoid figure.

I am presented to a pair of tiny eyes, narrowed in probable annoyance.

---

written on 2017/05

The first time Nagato meets him, he’s grossly sobbing and vainly trying to wipe away the unending stream of tears cascading down his face like a waterfall and mourning the death of his parents.

Amidst the sound of heavy pelting of the constant rainfall, a high-pitched voice cut through the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

“Hello! What are you doing?”

Nagato falls down on his rear in shock at the sudden appearance.

In front of him is a stranger no older than himself, his skin pasty white — even paler than his own — almost like the wax of a candle and radiating an unhealthy glow. The child smiles widely, showing a dentition missing over half of its teeth.

Long washed-out blue hair lazily droops over one side of his head to cover part of his face, and Nagato was shortly reminded of the images of the horses he once saw in picture books.

Looking at the half-naked body, Nagato briefly wonders if he ever got cold from only wearing a ragged piece of clothing around the waist and nothing else.

“What’s your name? Where are we? Do you know when it’ll stop raining?” the boy continues, and Nagato scrambles backwards when the child leans in to loom over him.

Nagato tries to crawl even further away from him, but his hands slip from underneath him and he falls flat into the mud. By then, the mystery boy has his face over his, and for an unending second, they stare silently into each other’s eyes, despite Nagato wanting desperately to avert his gaze.

Faced with Nagato’s lack of response — barring the near silent sobs escaping his mouth — the child leans back, finally giving him some breathing space.

“Do you not know then?”

Nagato hears a soft, disappointed sigh. He sits up, rubbing away his tears in the process, and bleary eyes see the boy’s small frown forming, and eyebrows knitting together.

“Looks like it can’t be helped then.” The boy swivels on his heel and turns around, and starts walking away from Nagato. “Be seeing you somewhere, then,” he offers with a wave, not bothering to face him.

But before he can help himself, Nagato clumsily pushes himself up and rushed to catch up with the blue-haired child.

“W-wait up!” he shouts, then reflexively covers his mouth in embarrassment.

He shouldn’t have shouted. Mother had said it was rude, and maybe the boy finds it rude and won’t want to have him around. Maybe he just lost his chance to find a companion in this mess.

“Eh? What’s wrong?”

The next thing Nagato knows, the stranger is in his face and gazing directly into his ringed eyes, despite having hidden them behind his red bangs.

He stutters out a quiet “hieeee” and stumbles back a few steps.

The boy crosses his arms over his chest, patiently waiting for Nagato to regain his bearings.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Nagato forces himself to calm down. He shouldn’t lower his image any more than this. He can’t.

Just as Nagato is about to ask, he finally notices the eyes boring into his own. Dull and grey, devoid of life, yet somehow still terrifyingly piercing.

Regardless of his own insecurities, Nagato forces himself to speak up.

“What’s your name?”

That seems to take the boy by surprise, eyes blinking confusedly and mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.

A scowl starts pulling down at the boy’s lips, and Nagato worriedly wonders if he has somehow offended him. He really hopes not.

“I don’t… I don’t think I remember,” the blue-haired boy eventually confesses, words gritted out from clenched teeth. He then huffs, hands going to rest on his waist. “Though I thought I was the one asking the questions?”

Nagato pointedly ignored the last statement. “We could find you a new one, if you like,” he offers quietly instead. “A new name.”

The stranger shoots him with an odd look.

Nagato feels his face flush despite the weather and only manages to stammer a few words of excuse before the boy cuts him off.

“I don’t mind.”

“Bwuh?” is his intelligent reply.

“I don’t mind getting a new name,” the boy repeats airily. “In fact, it would be really appreciated. Makes it easier to introduce myself to others, right?”

The boy then lets out a light laugh, almost too soft to be heard amongst the falling rain around them, a stark contrast to the gloomy weather.

Nagato likes the sound of it.

Just then, an idea sparks through his mind.

“What’s your favourite animal?”

The stranger looks to him, then up to the sky, brows furrowed.

“Favourite animal…” He pauses, a look of confusion crossing his face.

For a moment, Nagato wonders if he too has only seen rats and the occasional dogs in his life. Maybe even frogs and salamanders? He has heard there were a few living around the corners.

Or maybe… maybe the boy comes from outside Ame and has seen a lot more. That might be why he didn’t know where he was.

His thoughts stall.

A boy from outside…! If he has been able to come in, he should also be able to leave too, and maybe also bring Nagato with him!

Then maybe, maybe he could finally—

“Capybara,” the boy suddenly announces proudly. “That’s my favourite animal. Capybara.” Another pause. “At least, I think it is.”

“Kapi… bara?” Nagato parrots back the foreign word slowly.

The incredulous expression crossing the unnamed boy’s face, however brief it was, is enough to make him flush slightly.

Despite the embarrassment, he voices out his suggestion.

“Would K-Kapi work as a n-name?” he stutters towards the end, seeing the features of the boy screw up at it.

Expectant eyes shyly meet the unnaturally grey ones, and a small sliver hope wells up in his chest—

“That’s kinda lame.”

—before quickly deflating.

“I-is that so…” Nagato mutters, dejected and head bowed down in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have proposed something as stupid as that. Of course he wouldn’t—

“But I like anyways!”

Nagato’s head whips around so fast he’s still amazed it was still attached to his body.

“R-really? You really think so?” He’s openly gaping at him now, all trace of previous shame disappeared.

“It’s pretty catchy,” the boy — Kapi — admits with a shrug. “I guess it has a nice ring to it too.”

Kapi stands up and Nagato follows the action — when have they even sat down? — hesitantly.

Now what?

Suddenly remembering why he came up to him, Nagato makes a small gesture of his hand at the overcast skies.

“We’re in Amegakure,” he says, answering Kapi’s previous question, “and I don’t know if the rain ever stops.”

“Huh.”

The boy tilts his head sideways, straightens it up again, and tilts the other way.

“Amegakure…?” he mutters, crossing and uncrossing his arms over and over again. “Now where have I heard that…”

A small thought pops up in the back of his mind, and he tries to dismiss it.

But he can’t.

So he tries to think about something else, anything but it, because it was starting to hurt his head from how much he kept thinking about it.

It’s a scary thought, Nagato thinks, so he’d rather not think about it too much.

By the time he actually comes back to, a pale face inches closer to his.

Nagato squeaks weakly and stumbles back a few steps once again, surprised by Kapi’s sudden closeness.

“Hey, you were spacing out, are you—?”

“Did you forget everything about yourself?” Nagato blurts out, rudely interrupting Kapi.

Because he knew there were dangerous people who could enter minds and erase memories, and Kapi doesn’t remember anything and looked really confused about a lot of things, so Nagato just assumes.

He knows he shouldn’t assume things because it’s rude, but he’s also worried. Because maybe Kapi also lost his parents too, and he doesn’t want him to be sad.

The boy hums lightly and shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he replied, taking a few steps back and letting Nagato have some breathing space again. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

As Nagato opens his mouth to ask how he couldn’t know,

---

written on 2018/04

I shuffle my transparent feet around the seemingly invisible floor.

Yep, there’s a solid ground underneath. Nice to know.

I peer at the black surrounding. An endless inky sea with a few specks of light littered here and there, some bigger than others, but none close enough to touch. My bed sits a few steps away, pillow, blankets and some miscellaneous trinkets arranged on top of it.

Walking over to the single bed, I gingerly clear out a small spot to sit on, careful to not damage any of the fragile items.

I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. Usually my dreams are a lot more eventful, not to mention I usually have an opaque body of some sort.

At least the view’s nice. Someone could probably meditate here, or have a philosophical debate with oneself. Or take a smoke and ascend to the sixth dimension, whatever rocks your boat.

Just as I start contemplating on the possibility to sleep within a dream, something pings inside my mind. A mind within a dreaming mind. Whoa.

{Harder than expected…} eventually grumbles a silky voice. {In any case, yadda yadda yadda, you are dead and I am here to employ you for the entirety of the afterlife and exchange you get some boons. You know, the usual. Now sign the paper.}

Wait, what?

A stapled document pops into existence before me, as well as a red pen.

I take both into my hands, leafing through the papers and distractedly spinning the pen. Sure is a strange dream, this one. Was it due to the last finance exam? Who knows.

{This isn’t a dream, child.}

“I’m not that young,” I mutter on reflex, reading the contract closely. What else could it be? Terms, length of agreement, compensations, benefits, risks, responsibilities… This is too early for all of this. Couldn’t I just get some good old fantasy nonsense at least?

{You still think of this as a dream.} At my hum of confirmation, the voice released a long-suffering sigh. {Always the same with you humans, it seems. As long as you take the job seriously and are not actively seeking an early demise, I could overlook it.}

“No worries, I take my dreams very seriously,” I attempt to reassure the voice. Dream or no dream, near death experience is something I never wish to reproduce. That shit’s scarring on the mental.

Reading over the ‘Risks and compensations’ part, I frown minutely.

“Hey, Void Voice,” I call out, squinting at the printed text to make sure I read right, “what’s that about the ‘selling my soul’ thing and ‘physical body not provided’? And what about all those dubious work conditions?” I slowly lower the document and gaze at the absolute nothingness in front of me. “I don’t think you’d make a good employer, Void Voice.”

{Void Voice…? I do suppose I have been called worse.}

I raise an eyebrow at the non-answer to my unspoken question, prompting the voice to continue.

{Well, what are you waiting for? All relevant information has been included in the contract.}

I try to convey my dissatisfaction through my passively disappointed face. When that doesn’t work, I release a sigh and stop spinning the pen.

“At least give me a black or blue pen to sign.” I wave the red one by its cap. “I have no intention of cursing my name on my first day of my dreamverse job.”

A vague feeling of exasperation ripples through the air, accompanied by some mutterings about strange human customs.

---

currently, the 2017/05 one is the closest to the current draft i have :’v

#mentions of death #aaaaaaaaa rereading them makes me feel so embarrassed #sometimes it's 'i wish i could sink into the earth' sometimes it's 'oh this is p neat did the author write any more?'#(i'm the author)#current plan is to make the fic a collection of interconnected snippets #'very little plot mostly vibes' kinda fic #can't have plot holes if there's no plot :^)#it's just gonna be the daily life of three orphans and a ghost #prob gonna try to seriously restart writing this once i get my uni applications done #my writing

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damian-dreamz8442 · 5 years

Text

5x’s Someone Used the Mom-Arm on Damian, +1 time He Did

A bit screwy when it comes to following the canonical timeline but you know what? I do what I want!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some angsty, mostly fluffy, just a bit of batfam fun starring my favorite baby bat! Might be a tad OOC but it’s my first go with all these lovelies and I haven’t gotten the hang of them yet. Give me tiiiiime.

(Really hecking long. Did not mean for it to be so long. I am so, so sorry.)

Jason worked alone. It wasn’t that he was broody and in denial like a certain someone - not mentioning names - he actually had a reason to work alone. He didn’t go on nightly patrols to keep up appearances. He didn’t drive around in a heated, leather interior, Jason mobile. He didn’t even have a butler who knew first aid.

Jason’s missions were dangerous, and often times traumatizing. You can imagine why he would be on edge when a freaking ten-year-old with an attitude showed up on the rooftop of one of his stakeouts.

“Absolutely not.” Jason hissed, grabbing Robin’s shoulder. Damian turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Tt, please. You have no say in the matter.”

“Like hell I ‘have no say in the matter’. You’re going home right now or, so help me, I’m tying you to that A/C unit. Don’t you have homework? Or normal ten-year-old activities to attend to?”

“This mundane drug-cartel stakeout is an activity fitting for me, my age having nothing to do with my abilities.”

Honestly, would it kill the kid to use some contractions? His full-word responses were giving Jason the impression he was a robot and not his “baby brother”. Speaking of family...

“Where’s Batman? Isn’t he supposed to be looking after you?” Not me? Damian looked away, and it sort-of almost broke the shriveled remainder of Jason’s heart. So Bruce was still a moron. Good to know.

“Alright kid, stay close.” Jason tried not to notice the way Damian visibly brightened, and then did his best to by hyper-focused. He no longer was suspicious of Damian being a robot. He was just a kid.

Suddenly, there was movement. There was movement in the warehouse owned by a notoriously dangerous drug-cartel that wasn’t supposed to be making any moves for a few more weeks. Of course they had to move up their schedule. Of course Damian had to fight with Bruce tonight and warrant Jason’s pity. Of course Jason was an idiot, as Damian was already off like a shot.

Jason sprinted after him, using every curse he knew - he knew enough to keep rambling them until he was close enough to snatch Damian by the scruff of his neck.

Setting the fighting ball of fury back on the ground, Jason assessed the situation - Dick would be so proud. “Alright, we have to go check it out, but be quiet.” Damian geared up to rush off again before Jason even finished his sentence. Without thinking, Jason’s arm lashed out, it would’ve clothes-lined the kid if they weren’t so close together. As it was it caught Damian in the chest and he let out a whoosh of air, both arms wrapping around Jason’s. He looked up at him, almost-glaring.

“Quietly, and together.”

ii.

Dick did not like to admit it, but he’d never been the greatest driver. When he donned the cowl, worrying about learning to drive the batmobile hadn’t been his biggest concern. In fact, it wasn’t even on his list of concerns. It wasn’t even on his list of concerns for another time concerns.

“I’ll drive.” Damian, the adorable little gremlin announced as they put on their costumes. Dick looked up, looked at Alfred’s incredulous expression, and then back at Robin.

“Absolutely not.” It should’ve gone without saying that Damian was far too young to drive a car, not to mention the batmobile. It had missile launchers while most cars had seat warmers.

“I can drive.” Was this a serious argument? Damian was making his way to the vehicle and Dick worried that if he didn’t say something soon the little boy would just hop into the driver’s seat. “No. No! Damian, I will be driving.” Dick rushed to put on his other boot, stumbling to catch up.

Dick was wondering if maybe he should’ve let the kid drive. Damian could barely see over the steering wheel, but he’d probably be a better driver than Dick.

The batmobile unintentionally drifted another corner, nearly going up onto the sidewalk. A white van of gun-toting penguin goons got further away. Dick was white-knuckling the steering wheel, Damian was seething silently.

Dick could do this, he could.

Suddenly, the van lurched to a stop at the edge of the harbor. Dick had been too focused on keeping the car on the road, he hadn’t noticed the asphalt change to wood. He slammed on the brakes, car skidding on damp wood. Why was everything in Gotham always damp?

Dick’s arm shot out protectively, clamping across Damian’s chest. He knew he was wearing a seatbelt, but couldn’t help the need to make sure he was ok and not flying face-first through the wind screen.

When the car finally stopped, the brothers shared a look. Damian shoved Grayson’s arm off him with a glare.

“I think maybe I should drive.”

iii.

Cass looked up from her book only because the noise in the other room had reached a volume where it was impossible to focus on anything else. She didn’t bother hearing the words, just the voices. Ah, Tim had come home. And he was already fighting with everyone’s favorite gremlin, Damian.

Bruce wasn’t home yet, Alfred was as busy as always, and Duke was probably still at school. Wait, it was a Tuesday. Duke had tutoring today - he’d gotten involved in a mentorship program with younger kids at his school. The other boys would not stop teasing him about following in Bruce’s footsteps, or how they wouldn’t be surprised if he brought home his own Robin. Cass was proud of him.

That did not change that two of her other brothers were arguing at the top of their lungs and making it impossible for her to read, or reflect on her other family member’s achievements.

She got up and approached the living room without making a sound, stopping in the doorway. Damian and Tim were yelling, Tim’s arms were in the air, Damian’s cheeks were turning a frustrated shade of pink. She was about to say something diffusing when she saw it. She knew the signs well, was trained to watch out for them. Trained to do them herself.

Damian squared his posture, leaned on his dominant leg, and slid his left foot out no more than an inch. Tim was still in full swing. Cass shot forward faster than Damian could. She could not bear the thought of hurting her baby brother, but her arm shot out instinctively.

Damian, who had been in mid-lunge for Tim, was caught square in the diaphragm by Cass’s unmoving appendage. He let out an oomph and fell back onto the carpet. Tim started in surprise, taking in Cass’s sudden appearance.

“Wow, thanks Cass!” He said, but Cassandra had no use for words. She took in Tim’s casual body language and relieved expression. Then she looked at Damian. He was still on the floor, it had already been five seconds - his average stand-up time. His whole body was tense, controlled, not coiled. He was looking at the floor, his face was still red.

Oh. Oh no.

Cassandra’s stance fell and she crouched in front of Damian. He eyes were welling with tears. Maybe she should’ve listened to what Tim said in that argument.

Tim noticed Cass crouching, staring. “Uh, Cass...?” Too late, she’d already bundled the boy in her arms and stood. Tim took a step back, arms coming up to shield himself from the inevitable next move. He waited for Damian to attempt to break away from Cass, to lash out kicking and screaming, maybe even biting.

To everyone’s surprise - except Cass, she was never surprised - Damian curled into his sister’s shoulder. She nodded at Tim before moving to leave.

“No more fighting.”

iv.

Bruce was finally settling back into normal. Well, nothing in Gotham was normal, especially if you were secretly the most well-known vigilante in the city. But, normal to him.

He was no longer ‘dead’, Dick was no longer ‘dead’ and visitng Gotham regularly, Tim and Duke had settled in to living together with their littlest brother and, oh yeah, he’d gotten Damian back. After months of work and tireless efforts, he could finally hold his baby boy in his arms again. He could ruffle his hair in passing, compare school photos to his own as the boy got older, and bundle him up in a hug when he had nightmares of him being dead.

And Damian was here, with him. He wasn’t going to be another Jason, another loss of a beautiful soul. He was sitting right next to Bruce on the couch, pencil skittering across a page of his sketchbook.

Still, it hadn’t been long enough for Bruce’s fears to dissipate. In fact, he doubted they ever would. He would be over-protective of Damian for the rest of his life - even if the young man didn’t want it.

Breaking the silence, there was a bang at the window. Damian started before setting aside his sketchbook to go check what it was. It was probably Alfred - the cat. Still, images of horrible things went through Bruce’s mind.

Talia, there to steal Damian away permanently.

Assassins, back to finish the job.

Even just a robber taking advantage of a large house smelling like money, who had the element of surprise and a gun.

Bruce was up before his brain knew what his legs were doing. His arm lurched away from his body, stopping Damian in his tracks. The poor boy walked right into it, rubbing his ribcage with a puzzled expression.

“I’ll check.” Bruce offered as explanation for the offending appendage, leaving Damian by the couch and pulling back the curtain. Bruce finally let out the breath he was holding at the sight of the fluffy cat on the windowsill.

“Slow down, don’t rush into things!” Tim hissed, firing his grapple after Damian. He could see the yellow underside of Robin’s cape land on a building ahead of him.

Tim was more experienced at Gotham thugs, he didn’t blame Damian for not noticing it. Damian was young, and probably trying to prove something to Tim. He was obsessed with proving his worth. He didn’t take the time to smell the air.

The standard Gotham smog was thick with the smell of burning gasoline. There were promising tendrils of smoke from the building diagonal to Damian. The building he preparing to grapple too. Oh geez.

Tim ran, he was just fast enough to stick out an arm and block Damian from running forwards and leaping off the edge of the building.

Damian ran right into his arm. Tim had been expecting him to barrel through it for some reason, maybe because he was so good at fighting or had such bravado. Instead, he reacted the way all eleven-year-olds did. He was knocked back with a grunt, nearly falling over.

Tim blinked at the strange display of childish behavior as Damian stuck his arms out to regain his balance. He hadn’t even exerted any force on Tim’s arm. His glare after that display lacked any heat, and it was kind of adorable.

“Damian, pay attention.” Tim gestured at the on-fire building. Suddenly, there were sharp popping and cracking sounds from the smoky warehouse. Tim’s full attention was on it now, and he pulled up the specs of the address.

It was an old office building but had been abandoned after one of Joker’s attacks damaged the structural integrity. There were signs and bars on every doorway marking it for demolition. He looked over and saw Damian was already doing a read for heat signatures.

He was, for once, proud of his brother.

Then Tim noticed something on the specs. The building had an old built-in heating system, attached to a gas-powered generator on the third floor. Hoo boy, it was going to blow.

After a rather loud bang, Tim acted. For once he didn’t plan out every bad thing this next action could cause. He lunged, using the arm that had still been hanging in the air slightly in front of Damian to grab his little brother and pull him against his chest. He then ducked and pulled his cape around them. Before Damian could recover from the surprise, the building exploded.

Tim could feel debris bounce off him, though not much. Heat bit at his ankles. Nothing broke through his cape barrier. One hand braced on Damian’s head, he tucked the boy suffocatingly close. Damian didn’t move until the blast had dissipated.

When it had, Damian shoved hard on his brother’s chest and made a display of brushing himself off. Tim didn’t miss how Damian’s attention was actually on him, quickly assessing him for any injuries. He had none.

Tim was proud of his brother, for a second time.

+ (vi.)

Damian did not get along well with most of his siblings, so when the opportunity arose to spend time with one he had actually grown to respect, he took advantage of it. Alfred’s suggestion had made him excited in a way that Mother would’ve thought shameful. Damian did his best not to think that.

He was nearly bouncing in the backseat of the buick, looking out the window without actually seeing.

Duke and Damian did not get along when they first met. However, Duke made it clear he was not Robin, nor trying to replace Damian. He was useful in a unique way. He fit in at the manor. He respected Bruce, he even seemed to respect Damian.

Damian wasn’t so sure he was liked by Duke, but respect was enough. At least, it used to be.

If respect were enough, would he be listening to Alfred’s show tunes on his way to pick Duke up from school?

They pulled up to Gotham Academy to see Duke walking out, the bell having just gone. Damian nodded at Alfred’s timing. One of his favorite things about the man was how he always managed to have perfect timing.

Damian found himself getting out of the car, dangerously close to waving at Duke. Duke saw him and... was that a smile? Damian let out a breath of relief - he’d momentarily been afraid Duke would not be happy to see him.

When Duke reached him, they were interrupted by a group of teenage boys yelling at them. It took Damian a moment to realize they were yelling at him.

“Duke, I thought you had too much self-respect to get in a car with some spoiled little rich kid!” Yelled one. Rich? Yes. Spoiled? Well, only recently.

“The brat’s probably illiterate since he’s too much of a coward to go to school!” Damian knew several languages and was already 3 grades ahead. Couldn’t they think of any better insults?

“Little arabian bastard, did they actually do a DNA test on this one?” Ok, that one stung a bit. Damian was preparing to get back in the car and bristle, perhaps vent to Grayson later. He was not prepared for a low growl to come from Duke.

“How. Dare. You.” Thomas hissed. Damian turned back to look at him, he was positively seething, fists clenched at his sides.

“Come on Duke, why hang out with the petty little brat?”

Duke lurched forwards and Damian’s eyes widened in surprise. Was he actually preparing to defend him? Damian copied a move he’d learned from the rest of his family to diffuse a situation.

He stuck out his arm, though it only caught Duke in his middle, he looked down. Successfully diffused. Damian was impressed with the immediate effect.

“They are not worth it, Thomas.”

Duke nodded and followed Damian into the car. Then he grinned.

“Back there... you... did you just mom-arm me?”

“What-arm you?!”

Alfred restrained laughter the rest of the way home at Damian’s facial expression while Duke explained the reasoning and use behind the ‘mom-arm’.

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swishandflickwit · 5 years

Text

Deckerstar — paper cut 1/1

Summary: In which Chloe makes Lucifer vulnerable, in more ways than one.

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 666

Warnings: Post-reveal.

AN: Prompt from Mad Hat Dragon on ff.net—

If you are taking prompt suggestions, I would really like to see one where Lucifer gets a paper cut or something and Chloe is trying to deal with him whimpering and being a huge Drama Queen.

This was fun hahaha.

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIV | XX | [ XXI ]

He’d gotten paper cuts in the detective’s presence before, of course.

Many times then, and he dare say this instance wouldn’t be the last.

But what was the point in getting injured if no one was going to play nurse?

“Detective,” he pouted, assuming it would endear him to her.

(It did not)

“It’s a rather deep cut, actually! I mean, look at this mess, I’m bleeding all over my precious Prada!”

She sighed and, as they were walking across the precinct from the interrogation room, glanced at him askance.

“Tragic,” she deadpanned, though what he chose to hear was sympathy.

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand!”

She rolled her eyes then muttered, “What I understand is that the Devil is a huge wuss—”

He gaped.

“I beg your pardon—”

“—who can’t handle a little blood!”

“A little!” he spluttered indignantly, hugging the gushing finger to his chest.

“Look, I’m sorry that I grabbed the file from you,” she interrupted before mumbling, “of course, if you hadn’t been spinning it like an NBA player spun his basketball while I was interviewing a potential suspect…”

“Hmph!”

“But it’s a paper cut,” she patted his shoulder. “It’s pretty common for us measly humans and easy to deal with,” she teased as she took her proper seat and he claimed the chair opposite her. “You’ll live.”

“Will I?” he implored. “Are you certain this doesn’t spell the end of my mortal coil?”

“You’ve survived a knife to the shoulder,” she reminded through gritted teeth, “and more than your fair share of bullets—”

“Most, if not all, of which I took for you,” he rebutted sweetly.

At that, she released another put-upon sigh. Then—

“Fine,” she groaned with an upheld hand. “Lemme see it.”

He could hardly contain himself from crowing.

“Do with me as you please, detective,” he purred, proffering his injured limb. “Or should I say nurse?”

She gave him a withering glare but dutifully inspected the damage.

It was still bleeding, which was expected. What he hadn’t expected was for her to stick his finger in her mouth and suck, her cheeks hollowed and her tongue laving upon the gash.

At once, Lucifer felt the oddest combination of disgust at the unsanitary practice and—arousal. It bloomed quick and stubborn at both his cheeks and… other places.

Totally lower, inappropriate places.

It didn’t help that Chloe kept at it while she scrambled for a tissue. His vivid imagination obtrusively supplied him with images of her tongue curled around a longer, thicker appendage and oh no—

There was a crude squick sound as she released him.

He chocked.

“Got it!”

She wrapped a paper napkin around his less spurting digit before turning to him.

“Why… are you so red?” she asked. “Is this a Devil thing?” she whispered worryingly. “Did the cut actually give you a fever?”

“There’s a fever alright,” he rasped before clearing his throat.

“No need to ring the alarm, detective,” he let out a hysterical laugh before snatching his hand back. “I’m all good now—thanks to you,” he said hoarsely, then bit his lip when her mouth parted alluringly.

Fuck.

“I have to go!” he bellowed, clambering clumsily to his feet. She followed, albeit remained behind her desk.

“Okay?”

“There’s something pressing,” he whimpered. “I must attend to.”

It was then her dumbfounded expression slackened to one of triumph.

“Want a hand,” her stare darted southwards, “with that?”

She leaned into him. His jaw dropped.

“You little devil,” he hummed admiringly. “Yes, please.”

“Too bad,” she murmured, a whisper away from bridging the gap between their lips. “Cause I don’t do wussies.”

She abruptly withdrew, and he nearly faceplanted atop her desk.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he moaned, flopping onto his pitiful plastic throne.

“Uh huh,” she remarked, nonchalantly returning to her paperwork as if she hadn’t just turned his head. “So long as you don’t expect me to play your nurse.”

He groaned.

There goes that fantasy.

AN: Ya'll, the fact that Chloe willingly had sex with Pierce in the evidence room of the bloody precinct really tells me a lot about her character that being our home girl is an exhibitionist. Just saying lol. Also, remember in S1 when Chloe would string Lucifer on one minute only to like, flat out reject him in the next? Remember that Chloe? I miss her. I miss my playful Decker so I'm resurrecting her here.

Also, sorry if from here on out the quality of these fics deteriorate. I'm finding that the closer we get to the S4 premiere, the more paralyzed I feel cause I'm just so. bloody. excited it's giving me tunnel vision so that all I see is MAY 8 then everything else just goes dark hahaha. I'm determined to finish, make no mistake. Just omg I'm sorry but don't be expecting classics from here on out. I'm just trying to get through the day till we reach the 8th XD

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIV | XX | [ XXI ]

#lucifer #deckerstar #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar ff #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer ff #post-reveal #fluff #playful!chloe #remember her?#i miss her #wow guys #getting close to the premiere!#he is risen #the devil's lucky number series #swishandflickwit ff

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satanwithstardust · 8 years

Text

// You Can Do Better Than Me // Part One

Reggie x Reader / Jughead x Reader (platonic) / Jughead x Asexual

A whole lot of friendships, relationships, inner turmoil and indecisive teens ready to mess it all up.

I have to face the truth That no one could ever look at me like you do Like I’m something worth holding on to

These times I think of leaving But it’s something I’ll never do

‘Cause you can do better than me But I can’t do better than you

warnings: it’s so british??? and swearing.if you read the snippet/preview please note that i changed the beginning, so make sure you read it all! also added the whole 2nd part as well.

word count: 1710

The over-played jock stereotype was physically embodied by the ever-infamous Reggie Mantle. Ah Reggie. With his good looks, killer body and ace football skills what could ruin this boy? Oh, his personality and reputation, maybe. He was the type to crap on anyone, even the lads of the football team and they were his people. He ran his mouth too often than not and got into one too many scraps with anyone who dared to answer him back (and maybe he’d always win but that’s not really the point now).

Yet, you couldn’t help the attraction you felt towards Reggie, which blossomed on the first day of middle school. This was the day he first pinned Jughead up to the locker as a ‘assertion of dominance’, as Reg put it, and you had been head over heels since. There was a slight problem in you being Jughead’s best friend, however. It killed you slightly inside whenever Reggie threw a mean slur or physically hurt Juggie, so much that you hated how you felt for the bigger lad. The constant divide you felt towards Mantle often had you bickering with yourself inside your head, resulting in a headache each time. It was exhausting really, being attracted to such a douche. Whenever Reggie would walk past you couldn’t help but stare, getting lost in his floppy hair, big smile and the aura of confidence which would seep out from him. This would often lead to the daydreams; walking through the hall in his cliché letterman jacket, your books in Reggie’s right hand while his other is draped around your shoulders keeping you close. You’d get so lost that Jughead would have to shake you out of it leaving you to feel guilty once again.

You loved Jughead too much to betray him. There was a brief period, when you were 17, in which you thought you had to be in love with Juggie, due to him being your life long best friend. It was tradition, really, wasn’t it? The life-long best friends one day realising that the love of their life had been staring them right in the face since day one, that’s how it usually went right? So, after attending a Veronica Lodge party and getting crazy wasted, you took Jug to Pop’s where you cried into your milkshake and spilled your thoughts. Jughead just laughed, and in the nicest was possible rejected you due to him being asexual and all, and told you ‘just because I’m male, you’re female and we’re friends doesn’t mean we’re end game.’ Being so drunk your only reply was ‘oh’ with a follow up of you shovelling the milkshake into your mouth. You promptly stopped worrying after that night and realised you never felt that sort of attraction towards Jughead. So happily, friends it was, but friends didn’t betray each other by liking the lad who gave them shit every day.

Even with the attraction being more than a school girl crush you had never really spoke to Reggie. There had been fleeting conversations in lesson when he’d ask for a pencil or when in the library, you’d ask for Reggie to reach onto a top shelf, because you were in fact 5ft2 compared to his 6ft2 stance. Reggie claims he was only ever in the library because he’s skipping class and no one would think to look for him there, which you believed to be a lie. Sometimes you’d catch Reggie sat in the back of the library reading intently and it was times like these where your guilt for liking him would rush away. He always seemed to be oblivious to the world around him when reading, even taking out a pencil to write inside to pages. Once he had finished he’d tuck the book deep down inside his backpack and embraced his ‘bad boy’ posture once more. There was someone else deep down in Reggie that he only cared to bring out when he thought he was alone, and you wanted to get to know that Reggie.

“Are you 100% sure Jughead? I mean I can head back home and make you some soup?” you said clutching your phone to your ear. Jughead was sick, really sick, so bad he couldn’t really get out of bed. Well your bed, Jughead was living at your house in the spare room. Your parents loved Juggie and only wanted to help him, they knew how much he meant to you. So, after you convinced him to take the day off your parents ushered you into their car and drove you to school. Once you got there you rang Jughead to check up on him.

Standing by your locker alone was unusual for you, considering Jughead was always glued to your side, (and you to his). You did have other friends, Veronica, Betty, and Archie for example. Unfortunately, they were all due at morning practise anytime soon, so meeting them was out of the question. There was a football game tonight, an important one although you didn’t know why, you just knew it was big. B and V asked endlessly for you to join the River Vixens and cheer by their side for Archie, but you couldn’t even bend down to touch your toes so, no thanks. You often watched from the sides with Jughead anyway, buying inconspicuous amounts of game food from the stands and watching when the rest of the Riverdale High students cheered so both could join in. Kevin sometimes joined but after the Moose incident with his horse-like appendage, his appearance was growing sparse.

“No! No, I need you to stay far away,” Jughead replied hurriedly.

“Um, do you want to try that sentence again without sounding as if your breaking up our friendship?” you laughed. You knew what he meant, Jughead just wanted you to stay away so you wouldn’t get sick yourself. If you did then he’d end up looking after you like you did with him, causing himself to get sick once again, it was a harsh cycle.

“Hey Y/N, you know what I mean,” he sighed followed by a harsh cough. Not long after that you had to hang up, telling Juggie to get some rest and he wished you a good day. You were lucky to have such a great best friend.

Later, once you were sat in maths you looked round to Jughead’s seat beside you, expecting it to be empty. You soon realised that was not the case. Resting there, thanks to fate, was none other than Reggie Mantle. Of course, your life was a teen movie how could you forgot?

You didn’t realise Reggie was looking back at you until he spoke, “what’s up Y/N?” Was there a genuine smile on Reggie’s face or was your imagination running wild? Either way, Reggie as sat next to you and talking to you.

With a quick scan, you realised there was no one else around for him to be talking to. “Hey Reggie, you need to borrow a pen again?” He was so casual about the whole situation whereas your mind was running the scenario over tenfold. It’s not even as if Reggie was doing anything spectacular, he was just sitting there. Sitting there looking so soft and squishy, with the sunlight seeping through the windows, beaming down onto his back, creating a halo of light around his built shoulders and arms. His hair looked soft today, more than usual. It was getting longer, his fringe nearly hiding his brown eyes but giving him the boyish look. You had an urge to make him tea and place a blanket around him – and you needed to stop.

“Oh, um no actually. I just haven’t seen Danny Darko around you today so I figured you needed company,” and ah, yes. There’s the reason you shouldn’t be having these feelings or thoughts.

Trying your hardest not to scowl, you replied, “you do know his name is Jughead? Well, actually it’s ‎Forsythe but that’s a whole different story and I really don’t appreciate you talking about my best frie-“

“Wow, Y/N/N. I get it, sorry. Let me start again, please?” He said tilting his forehead slightly forwards, looking completely genuine. With a nod of your head he continued, “I realised Jughead was not in today, you always seem to be with the lad and it doesn’t really give me chance to talk to you. Which, is what I’m trying to do. Right now.”

Before you could reply, your maths teacher entered the room, demanding everyone’s attention. He was strict so no one really spoke during his lesson. The silence gave you a chance to focus on what Reggie had said. He was trying to talk to you, but how? There were two options; one, he wanted to copy your work from the lesson or two, he wanted to talk talk. It was most likely the former, because who were you kidding? Why would Reggie want to talk to you about anything else other than school? You did question this, however. Unlike what many people expected, Reggie was smart. You had figured this out when you saw the books he read in the library. They were sophisticated books that even you were too scared to pick up. So, why would he need to copy notes? By the end of the lesson you concluded that he was probably too preoccupied with thought of tonight’s game to focus. You dared a look over at Reggie minutes before the bell rang out and saw his pages of equations and puzzles solved from the lesson, so maybe he did just want to talk. Just have a casual conversation.

The bell finally rang which pulled you out from your over-analysed thoughts and, following the other students lead, you packed your stuff into your bag. Before you managed to get out of your set however, a hand placed itself upon your desk. Looking up you were mere inches away from Reggie’s face which was donning a smile. “I hope to see you at tonight’s game, cheer for me okay?” and off he went, walking back with his eyes locked onto yours with a smirk on his face before he turned for the door. What just happened?

@bitchilli

@jugheadjns

@betty-coopers-number-one-stan

@kingpendleton

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