Tumgik
#;; { that he would not wish to curse even jack with this in revenge. }
thesupreme316 · 8 months
Note
hiiiiii I hope you have a amazing day,
I was wondering how the Aew boys react if someone try to use you against them like during the matches with them or in backstage with them busy with a other match ( like the attacker interrupt the match to show you being attacked) , I hope this makes sense 😭
i gotchuuuuu sweetheartttt
AEW Stars React To: You Being Attacked by Their Opponents
Pairings: Kenny Omega X Reader, Ricky Starks X Reader, Hook X Reader, Darius Martin X Reader, Nick Wayne X Reader, Daniel Garcia X Reader, Eddie Kingston X Reader
Word Count: 1.2K
Supreme Speaks: Thanks to anon for this request (YALL KEEP EM COMING), this was really fun and a little bit different than how I typically post these. please know that you are loved and appreciated
Warnings: ANGST and fluff but ANGST, GIFS are NOT mine, not proofread
Taglist: @hooks-martin @hookerforhook @wwenhlimagines @eddie-kingstons-wifey @triscillal @cassie0sstuff @sheinthatfandom
**Every person has their own backstory (in a wrestling world where I am a fantastic booker/producer) and the person who attacked them are in ()**
Eddie Kingston (BCC)
Tumblr media
This happened during Eddie’s match against Christian Cage
Eddie didn’t want you out there in fear that Christian might rizz you up (or even Luchasurus no judgment)
So as he’s about to finish the match; the titantron shows up with you on the floor as Wheeler Yuta and Claudio tower over you
Eddie goes berserk; he no longer cares about the match; fuck the match
He leaves the match to rush to your aid with a kendo stick; whacking and cursing anyone who dares get in the way
He gets to you and hits Claudio and Wheeler as they run away; he holds you with so much care and curses himself out too
“Fuck Claudio and his Yorkie bitch! Fuck, I should have kept an eye on you doll. I’m sorry, it’s my fault”
Legit feels bad about the situation (it almost reduces him to tears) as you are put in an ambulance
Looks at Mox and says “You betta pray that she’s okay or Renee won’t be able to recognize her husband”
Darius Martin (Kingdom)
Tumblr media
Okay hear me out; the Kingdom attacks you and then throws you on stage during Darius’ match to distract him
He looks at Action Andretti and Matt Sydal as they tell him to check on you; Darius goes with you backstage as doctors check on you
He’s silent….which is unusual and almost unsettling for you; he’s really taking everything to heart and is angrily simmering
“I’m so sorry that they dragged you into my mess, but I promise I will fix this”
He really feels remorseful about everything and certainly disappointed with himself that he allowed this to happen
Next week; he comes out with a chair and whoops ass
But I think he would go so far to the point where Andretti and Matt have to come out and say stop
He calms down and sits with you backstage for the rest of the show (he prolly will never take his eyes off you again)
Hook (Jack Perry)
Tumblr media
Mans is fucking up everyone in sight
Bad enough that Jack took his title and refused to give him a rematch; so Hook is wrestling a jobber
As Hook has his opponent in the Redrum; Jack pops up on the screen with Anna Jay who is just choking you out (wish it was me)
Hook keeps the submission on long enough for the bell to ring before zooming backstage; just as Anna and Jack getaway
He is livid and starts throwing people left and right until he realizes that you are still on the ground
I think he feels exposed at the fact you were attacked cause he really does care about you
He helps you up and is visibly upset; vows to get revenge but then has a better idea
Two weeks later; he returns with you in tow and you two start WHOOPING THOSE TRICKS (to the point where the FTW championship is on the line in a tag team match; ex Edge and Kelly Kelly vs Dolph Ziggler and Laycool)
Nick Wayne (Swerve)
Tumblr media
THIS SWEET BABY
He honestly doesn’t know what to think (and what he did to deserve Swerve hating him so much)
I feel like as soon as he sees your unconscious self on the screen, he would immediately dash backstage (like Eddie)
He would run up to your body “Y/N! Are you okay?” Before getting attacked by Swerve and AR Fox; who would then be run off by Best Friends
As he falls to the ground and when he wakes up, Nick would think that he’s a failure (DESPITE NOTHING IS HIS FAULT)
It would really take you constantly reassuring him that he was fine and nothing is his fault
“Yeah sure, but if I can’t protect you from attacks; then what kind of a man and wrestler am I?”
Like Darius, Nick would never allow you to leave his sight
Not until he ended this feud with Swerve
Kenny Omega (Will Ospreay)
Tumblr media
Kenny would be that person who would just fill his mind continuously
During his match against Jon Moxley (sorry), The United Empire shows up with you about to go through a table
He turns his attention as Jon rolls him up and wins; Kenny immediately runs to the back
The Bucks attack the group and you are dropped on the floor (not through the table); you have no injuries
As he approaches backstage, mans is worried and anxiety has filled his body
Subconsciously declares war with Opsreay and will allow guilt to take over his mind
“I swear to you that Ospreay, that son of a bitch, will pay for this shit. And he will literally pay for your therapy (bitch take the free therapy plz)”
So much to the point where he’s not smiling anymore and treats every match like a deathmatch
Tbh, as long as Will shows up, Kenny will attack him without fail
Ricky Starks (CM Punk/The Factory)
Tumblr media
OKAY LISTEN TO ME I believe that CM Punk would do some fucked up shit (as a true heel)
So during after Ricky’s match on Collision (who hasn’t seen you all night), Punk would show the footage of you being attacked by The Factory
But then he would say; “but that was earlier tonight”
And then BAM Punk attacks Ricky from behind and leaves him the ring
Ricky is upset at himself for not recognizing that you were missing all night and mad that he allowed Punk to attack him and you
Immediately checks on you and apologizes profusely
“I’m so sorry; I should have noticed, I should have made sure you were beside me-” “Ricky, you have been saying I’m sorry for the past hour” “Because I am!”
Would cut a vicious promo on Punk that embarrassed and angered him at the same time
Vows to get his revenge and starts it by attacking Punk
Daniel Garcia (Chris Jericho)
Tumblr media
OKAY WOULD LOVE TO DO A POST ON HOW I WOULD BOOK DANNY’S EXIT FROM JAS
Danny is on the verge of leaving the JAS due to differences and Chris’ power trips, and you are his escape from it all
Chris knows this and tries to use it to his advantage; he tries to talk to you about Danny and keeping him in the JAS
To which you disagree and say it’s his decision; to which he got angry….and to which he may or may not have hit you with the baseball bat (CAUSE HE’S A JACKASS)
All of this was shown during Daniel and Sammy’s tag team match; Danny immediately jumped down from the apron (essentially leaving Sammy hanging) and ran to the back
He would be so angry that he would quit the JAS right then and there
Time skip, you were okay; when Danny told you the news, you were happy but you wouldn’t show it to him, asking him if he was sure
“Y/N, your safety, and well-being is more important to me than Jericho’s trash ass club. And it always will be.”
The following weeks are filled with confrontations until Daniel joins the BCC (who are not complete assholes in this universe)
HES FREE
Thank you for coming to my TedTalk
220 notes · View notes
lipeg · 19 days
Text
Jaune is a terrible character
I like him but he had a terrible development.
Now that RT has closed and the question remains who will want to take the risk, stay with Rwby and still have to pay Warner.
Warner is in bad legs, full of debts to pay.
It was revealed by a profile that Rwby is not making a profit unfortunately he didn't give data which would be very important but said that volume 9 had no money to be made and that it was a loan... Well the studio closed.
I believe it has already happened that good studios have closed but... are usually closed because of greed or "Woker"
Japan studios Play Station
About Jaune, he has a lot of problems.
His past is non-existent, we will not have any information about his parents or your other sisters.
He forged documents to get into Beacon, but there's a big problem with this story called Glynda, she would have noticed something wrong with it.
The worst part is that we don't know how big the Arc family was. Why are the only known family members Saphron, who has nothing to show, and Jaune.
V4 and V5 showed almost everyone's family.
It showed Ren's family who died and Nora's mother who died.
There was also "Pyrrha's mother"
But we didn't have a picture of his family.
That drawing showing him and his sisters doesn't count.
He is taking too long to evolve and I still don't see reason for him to go to Mistral and Atlas.
Why did he lose trust in Ozpin, Lion betrayed his kingdom and sold the hunters' location. Of the 4 Headmaster, Ozpin is carefree and paranoid, Lion is a coward, James he went crazy but still wanted to save the world, Teodoro... I don't know much about.
If it weren't for him, Weiss would have died, but I still don't see a reason for him to go, he's terrible in battle. It's still bad but he's not terrible.
I find it incredible that his parents never came after him.
IT'S YOUR SON WHO IS MISSING! They probably knew where he was.
V9 already been "confirmed" that has not been paid. They took out a loan to make the V9 and apparently they didn't pay it.
I wish, I had the data, but I don't. It was the same thing Sony did with the sales figures for Marvel Spider-Man Miles Morales, they only came because of a leak.
Tumblr media
Proving that Peter Parker sells more than Miles.
Tumblr media
Rusted Knight... The idea is cool, I read a little of the book and at the end and the idea is cool.
A warrior trapped in his own armor, obsessed with the desire to be a knight.
As I said, the idea is good but... Excursion is bad.
None of my experiences were surpassed, in fact they were all frustrated. As much as I liked the idea of an older Jaune, I wish he was more serious, even angrier. He looks like an idiot and a crying baby.
I want the Rusted Knight and Jaune were two separate figures.
Rusted Knight appeared because Jaune's armor was cursed and he couldn't take it off and he had no control over his body and his conscience got stuck in his own head.
In the final battle, he would free himself with the help of Team WBY and show his berserker side.
Tumblr media
It would be a big change to the character.
But unfortunately it didn't happen.
About revenge against Cinder.
The only ones who came close to killing her were Jaune and Winter.
Those damn silver eyes don't help, and Cinder has a damn Grimm arm that makes her suffer a lot.
I just hope whoever buys RWBY develops more other characters.
Sun, Velvet, Glynda, Tai Yang, fuck even Cardin. They have the potential to be good characters.
Avatar Last Airbender. The episode The Storm develops Aang and Zuko at the same time but from a completely different point of view. Aang tells his past to Karata and Iroh reveals Zuko's past to his soldiers who understands Zuko's point of view.
And famous episode Zuko alone.
No, because the work is called RWBY, the world revolves around them.
Just take the Baki work, in many Baki sagas secondary characters get a lot of prominence. Sumo Saga Oliva has been humiliatingly defeated and is back for revenge.
Tumblr media
Jack Hanma has his own saga in Baki Rahen. Where the protagonist of the work is called Baki Hanma.
It is ridiculous to say that just because a work or series has the name of the protagonist, it must focus only on the protagonist.
I'll wait for what happened with RWBY and I had the V10, I am going to pretend madness and pretend that the V10 never happened like the remake of Avatar the legend of Aang.
9 notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
Edmond had no idea what he had gotten himself into. His superior, who was a Boroughman, had told him to go with a small troop to Avarier Theater, one of the largest theaters in Everton Borough. He had been told that there had been an incident. And incident regarding the Everton Family, the Great House that ran Everton Borough. Edmond didn’t think much of the Great Houses, he thought they were all posh imbeciles who let innocent Circulions die for their politics. So naturally he assumed it was some minor issue. But once he got to the theater what he saw shocked him to his very core.
It was a bloodbath.
Everyone who had attended the opera that day laid dead on the floor in puddles of blood. Some seats had holes in them from gunfire. Bodies were left hanging from the upper balconies and even the actors on stage were not spared the brutality.
“Why did they kill the actors? They were human” Edmond asked himself. There was no question about who had committed this atrocity. It had been the Order of Man and their vicious Hunters. And while Edmond wasn’t the biggest supporter of the Great Houses, he still wouldn’t wish such a grizzly fate onto anyone.
“Look, the swine even hung the bodies on stage” said Jack, one of the other soldiers. Edmond looked towards the stage. He saw seven bodies hung by nooses hanging just above the stage floor. There were to men, two women and three children. It was the sight of children hanging from the ceiling that made Edmond disgusted.
“I never thought the Order of Man would be so brazen” said Jack morbidly observing the hanging bodies.
“The Circle will get their revenge. I suspect it was trap, a sabotage. The Order of Man isn’t supposed to know where members of the Great Houses are at any given time” said Edmond.
“Right you are. I hear it was an intentional betrayal. I’ve heard rumors that it was a Guildsman in the Actors Guild. Someone they threatened or bribed. According to the rumors, the poor fool turned himself in once he heard about what happened here so I imagine they must have tricked him” said Jack.
“Maybe, but how?” Edmond thought as he inspected the bodies strewn around the stage. How had the Order of Man gotten to a Guildsman? It should have been impossible.  If what Jack had said was true, then he knew that Guildsman would be tried and most likely executed. An incident like this my even spark a war between the Circle and the Order of Man.
“I still can’t believe a Great House is dead.” he said.
“This is the doing of that new Montgomery fella. The one who took over the Order more than a decade ago. He must have been planning this for years. This is the most damage that Order has done to the Circle in centuries. Curse that entire dynasty! His forefathers must be singing over what he has done here!” said Jack.
Edmond went silent. He walked along the corpses covering his boots in blood. He didn’t know why he was supposed to. Not like any of them were alive. But just as he was about to turn around and leave he heard a faint voice.
“Help” it said. “Help…”
Edmond immediately rushed to the place where he thought he had heard the voice. It sounded like a little boy. He began to move the bodies around him, suspecting that maybe he was trapped beneath the corpses. He pushed aside all the old and bloody bodies until he spotted a small hand sticking out from under a corpse of large man. He saw the fingers of the hand twitch and moving.
“Help me…”
“Hey! I think I have someone here!” he shouted desperately.
Edmond began to lift the body on top of the boy as Jack and some other soldiers came rushing to his aid. Once Jack reached him, he and Edmond pulled away the body of the man. Edmond them saw a boy lying on the floor completely covered in blood. His eyes were closed at first but as they shoved away the corpse on top of him he let out a large gasp as though he had been choking on the blood coming out of the corpse. Edmond immediately grabbed the child and hoisted him up to a sitting position. The boy started breathing rapidly as though he were in a panic. But Edmond tried his best to calm him down.
Edmond the examined the boy, he looked about twelve years old and was neatly dressed in a waistcoat and suit. Edmond noticed the Circulion pin he had on his suit so he knew the boy was member of the Circle.
“You, boy. Are you alright?”
“The men with…the… the angle faces. They killed… killed everyone!” the boy gasped. Edmond held his hand and instructed him to take deep breaths. The boy obliged.
“Do you have a name?” he asked. The boy turned his head towards him and gave a scared glare as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“My name is… is… Uly… Ulysses. Ulysses… Everton”
The moment the boy said that name a wide stares enveloped Edmond’s face. The shock nearly overwhelmed him and this true for all the other soldiers too. He saw Jack’s mouth drop.
“Impossible…” he told himself while in his surprised state. A state that jack brought him out of by coming close to him and whispering into his ear.
“Edmond, take this boy out of this theater. We’ll have to burn it to the ground to avoid suspicion.” He said. Edmond simply nodded and lifted the boy up onto him and carried him out of the theater as the soldiers set fire to the place.
“The Order’s plan had failed.” He thought to himself. “The House of Everton lives on.”
Tumblr media
Back to Contents- HERE
Tumblr media
17 notes · View notes
artthemasquerade · 11 months
Photo
Tumblr media
The Feral Woman
Thought I'd make a picture show casing one of Miki's forms in my  Violence Jack AU full explanation of Miki's role in the verse here 
After the Hell Quake of Kanto and Ryo/Satan was about to about to create the means to punish himself for letting the quake happen in the first place Akira and Miki tried to stop him knowing that it would only make things worse for the people of Kanto and Satan himself. But because of their connection thanks to Satan bringing both Akira and Miki back to life with the power of an archangel, they fell into the curse of forgetting their old lives and splitting of their forms. But while Akira's separate forms were able to work together in almost in sync, Miki's forms weren't as together due to her heart being conflicted, she wanted to save Ryo and yet she wanted kill him as she had promised him if he had screwed up again, and more than anything she wanted to do right by the humans of Kanto. Her human form was the embodiment of her passion and love, another a feral beast like woman form that is currently chained up for the sake all of Kanto since its rage was enough to destroy all of Kanto and would only be released as a last resort, Miki's third form goes back to the afterlife, playing judge to all the lost souls that come. Miki's second form is the most volatile and dangerous, known as the Feral Woman, she is embodiment of Miki's pain and hatred born from the constant suffering she had to endure in the time loops at the hands of the human mob and her anger at Ryo/Satan for destroying humanity and Akira for leaving humanity to die in favor of his grudge against Ryo/Satan. Her everlasting fury and need to destroy and devour souls she considers worthy of her wrath. Much like the Judge, the Feral Woman wishes to get her hands on the Slum King, rip him into pieces before she devours his soul. However if she had been allowed to run free her sheer might and rage would be destructive to all of Kanto, maybe even the whole world as she would stop at nothing to get her claws on her prey and those she who have wronged her in the past, therefore she has been chained and hidden away from mortal eyes. But those chains won't contain the Feral Woman for long and if the Slum King isn't stopped in time Kanto would know her fiery revenge...  
Btw if you like what you see and want a commission drop me a direct message on tumblr, instagram or a note on deviantart  
6 notes · View notes
theunboundwriter · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
The Prices We Pay
Book One of the Unbound Time Series Link to Masterpost found Here.
“Do you think I’m immortal, too?”
            The question made Kendyleigh flinch. “Why would you ask that?”
            Jack shrugged. “I dunno, just maybe since you are, I am too.”
            Kendyleigh’s mind flashed back to a memory long forgotten. Of a man that she did not even know the name of. There were mere glimpses of his face, with blurry features that she could only recall during her night terrors. She could not remember the sound of his voice, nor what he had said to her that day, but she remembers what he did. It was something that she would not wish upon her worst enemy. Even life afterward—the curse of living forever—was not something she would wish upon her worst enemy. It was a lonely life, where she was forced to outlive all her friends and loved ones; a life where she had to isolate herself from people to avoid heartbreak. It was called a curse for a reason. And it made people fear her.
            “I hope not, Jack.”
            “Why?”
            “It’s lonely.”
            She thought of all the years that she spent by herself. Day after day, week after week, year after year, she would bounce around from town to town and find a place to stay for the night before packing up in the morning and leaving. On very few occasions she would stay in one spot for a couple of months—much less stay for more than a year—before leaving and moving to the next town over. 
            There were times where she wouldn’t speak to anyone for a long period of time, and by the time she needed to vocalize something again, her voice was weak from lack of use to the point where she could only say a few words at a time.
             “And I’ve been alive for a long time, outliving all of my friends.”
            She couldn’t recall the face of her mother, and she could barely remember her father’s voice. Her family was nothing but a distant memory, now. Kendyleigh knew she had a younger sister, and she was fairly certain her name was Nicole. She probably had the same dark brown hair as she, most likely with similar green eyes. But she couldn’t be sure. 
            “We have each other now!” Jack insisted, moving from his spot on the floor to sit next to her on the bed.
            Kendyleigh winced as the weight of the mattress shifted, and she watched him with a far off look in her eye. “That’s true, but no one wants to live forever.” 
            “I don’t think it would be so bad if you had someone to do it with.”
            She shook her head, her mind beginning to spiral. “I can’t think of any other way to explain it to you,” she murmured, trying to pinpoint one of her many thoughts, “but it’s the most painful way to live.”
            “What is?”
            Kendyleigh looked him in the eye then, staring as his brown irises searched her unwavering gaze. “Living because you don’t have a choice.” 
About:
Genre: fantasy, fantasy-adventure, Status: 2nd Draft POV: Third Person Omniscient Tropes: Found Family, Right vs Wrong, Quest, Destruction, Revenge, Companionship as Salvation Content Warnings: Blood, Murder, Fantasy Violence, Loss of Loved Ones, Dark Thoughts, War Tag Used: #wip: the prices we pay
Synopsis:
            Kendyleigh's world was ripped apart in a single night. After being betrayed in the ugliest way possible, leaving her bloodied, frightened, and broken from grief, Kendyleigh fled into the night to get away from the people that wanted her nothing less than dead.             She had sworn to herself that she would never make the same mistake again— a mistake that exposed her most dangerous secret— but as she was hunted down by some of the most powerful people in the nation, she began to grow desperate. Fate placed her in the home of a witch, and for the first time in her life, she was offered a chance to exact her revenge on those who wronged her. Torn between the path of good and evil, Kendyleigh's decision was cemented when she was told there was a way to remove the curse that had plagued her life for centuries.             Now in over her head and blinded by rage, Kendyleigh has to figure out what kind of person she has become and what it means to trust people again.
Characters:
Kendyleigh // An immortal girl who struggles to find her place in the world. Just when she's thought she's found it, it's ripped away from her and all of the relationships she's built are destroyed in a single night. She finds herself on a quest to avenge the death of her only family, losing her sense of right and wrong along the way.
Jack // A young boy who meets Kendyleigh by pure luck, and their life of isolation comes to an end. They live happily together for five years, and the same day Jack turns eight, he loses his life in the crossfire caused by Kendyleigh's immortal secret being exposed. Now trying to navigate being a spirit, Jack aids Kendyleigh on her quest to avenge him, but he does not have the heart to tell her that he doesn't think it is a good idea.
Dane // One of Kendyleigh and Jack's earliest friends in the Kingdom of Highcalare. He easily gets into trouble... sometimes his morals are a little twisted.
Prince Barrett Daniel // The soon-to-be crowned prince of Highcalare. Aside from his father hunting down the immortal he befriended, Barrett is being forced into an arranged marriage with the Princess of Breyca to fortify the peace treaty between their two kingdoms.
Hesperus // A tax-evading potato farmer that lives just on the brink of the Kingdom of Highcalare. He's the first person Kendyleigh meets after her secret is exposed, and one of the few people to show her kindness without an ulterior motive.
Cassiopeia // A werewolf girl in hiding from her brother and his group of unhinged wolves. She meets Kendyleigh while she's on the run from the King and his army, and the two of them decide to go into hiding together, keeping each other company and sharing stories with one another so they don't forget their humanity.
Lyra // A child vampire that is only looking out for her friend
Diantha // A kitchen witch that seeks revenge on the kingdom of Highcalare, striking a deal with a demon to help aid her in her quest on evening the score with those who wronged her.
Raelle // The demon summoned by Diantha who pulls at strings from the safety of the shadows to manipulate the actions of the people around her.
King Lochlan // The King of Breyca, who is considering going to war with Highcalare on account that he is given a staff created by the Gods to assure his victory.
Haven and Forest // Twin "wanderers" who join Kendyleigh and her quest just because it sounds like fun and they've got nothing better to do.
Captain Circe // The Captain of The Amphitrite, a ship that is stolen by a ragtag group of kids while he is asleep below deck and finds himself waking up in the middle of the sea with a curious group.
Jasper // The mer whose curiosity got the best of him and he joins this strange group of sailors.
Alistair // The Great Nokory Fire Dragon posing as a human so that he won't have to be alone anymore.
Princess Arabella // The Princess of Breyca who is being sent off to marry a Prince she's never even met. She just hopes that Kendyleigh girl will hold up her end of the deal so that she can use the staff to destroy Highcalare from the inside and marry the girl she actually loves.
Linnea // Breyca's mage and the girl that Arabella actually loves.
Tag List:
ask to be added or removed
9 notes · View notes
chintadraws · 3 years
Text
Tumblr media
Buried
Summary: Danny has spent his entire life in a secluded underground lab yearning to see the stars. Against his father's wishes, he accepts the aid of an unexpected guest to take him out to a world he has never seen. Tangled AU.
AO3 | FFN | Chapter 2
Co-written by @imekitty
Chapter 1: The Dead Prince
This is the story of a boy named Danny, and it starts with a portal.
Twenty years ago, Maddie, Jack, and Vlad created a proto-portal to another dimension, to a world of ghosts, hoping to further their supernatural research. But it all fell apart when the experiment failed and exploded in their faces, namely Vlad’s face.
Struck with a ghostly disease that turned him into a half-ghost, Vlad spent his years in recovery quietly researching and experimenting until he managed to create the perfect stabilizing serum to keep himself from liquifying.
During that time, Jack and Maddie married and settled into their roles as the strangest and most bizarre king and queen in the kingdom of Amity Park. They continued their ghostly research well after the incident with the proto-portal. They knew how it debilitated their friend, but they were pleased to know that Vlad had found a cure for himself when he graced them with his presence with news of his successes and rise to fortune.
And so Jack and Maddie continued on with their lives, happily unaware of Vlad’s secret ghostly identity, only happy to have known that he was well. And the happiness only persisted when Jack and Maddie had their first child, Jasmine, and were soon to be expecting another child.
But all of the joy was washed away when Maddie became deathly ill with a ghost-related disease.
On the brink of life and death, Jack tried everything he could think of to save his wife. With the two of them being the only leading experts in ghost-related research, there was no one else to turn to.
No one except Vlad Masters, who had concocted a serum to battle the ghostly disease that nearly took his own life.
Jack rushed to Vlad’s mansion as fast as he could and didn’t even bother knocking as he practically charged through the door and headed straight for Vlad's lab. The lab was a far better sight than the one Jack and Maddie had. No clutter and messes or spilled experiments, only perfectly organized and labelled samples and beakers, which made it all the easier to find the compartment where Vlad kept his stabilizing serum.
Vlad still hadn’t made an appearance, but Jack simply couldn’t wait to ask him for the cure. He was certain Vlad would understand; they were the best of friends, after all. And he surely wouldn’t say no to helping Maddie. Jack remembered clearly how Vlad always spoke so highly of her.
After not much contemplation, Jack grabbed the serum and returned to Amity Park. He immediately gave Maddie the stabilizing serum, leaving not a single drop to spare.
The cure healed the queen, and with her recovery came the birth of a healthy baby boy, a prince they named Danny. All of Amity Park celebrated the queen’s recovery as well as the young prince’s birth.
Everyone except Vlad.
Months without the serum had left him far weaker than he cared to admit. He had taken to creating replicas of the serum, which barely kept him from dying, but without the one component that could never be recreated, it was no use.
He had no intention to attend the festivities despite being an honoured guest. He did, however, want to have some fun exacting his revenge considering he would not survive much longer. And it was the least Jack owed him for stealing his only source of life.
One night, Vlad snuck into the castle to kill Jack Fenton for ruining his life. It was a fair exchange. An eye for an eye.
Clinging to his invisibility powers, he entered Jack and Maddie's room and watched them sleeping in their bed. Vlad’s eyes fell on Maddie’s face. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Despite the enormous blight lying beside her tainting the view, Vlad couldn’t help indulging in the sight. This could have been his life if Jack hadn’t been so careless.
Vlad held back a snarl as he approached Jack’s side. He stopped when he heard a soft hiccuping and saw a wisp of fog emanating from the crib in the room. Curious, Vlad floated to the crib. There, he found the young prince bundled in blankets, the baby that was one of the reasons Jack had stolen the serum from him.
What a waste.
Vlad scowled at the child. While young Jasmine took after her brilliant mother, this boy was certainly going to take after his idiot father. He certainly had the hair and eyes to match.
Danny hiccuped again. Vlad's scowl turned into shock when he noticed a breath of fog escape from his lips. He thought he briefly saw Danny's eyes flash green, but he must have been hallucinating.
Gingerly, he held out a hand toward Danny's and reeled back when he was met with a static shock of ectoplasmic energy, making him lose concentration on his invisibility. Vlad hissed and shook his hand, cursing at how weak he had become. He was left speechless again when he saw that Danny now had snow white hair and glowing green eyes.
And he was glowing with a healthy ghostly aura.
Something was obviously different about the boy. Vlad was certain he might be the key to finding his cure again. Maddie had shown no signs of ill effect after she was given the stabilizing serum; in particular, no ghostly symptoms. Could it be that when she gave birth to this boy, something extraordinary happened to him instead? Could it be that this child had become the perfect half-ghost son?
Putting his plan to kill Jack aside, Vlad snuck Danny down to the royal lab to see if he could maybe extract an ectoplasmic sample. He didn't get too far as Danny began crying and screaming in distress, his tiny form flickering back to his human state.
He heard Maddie and Jack call out for Danny, and the sound of footsteps barrelled outside the doors. Vlad glared down at the insolent child in an attempt to shut him up when Jack's giant orange form barged through the doors, face sullied with fear and anger. A sudden bout of glee filled Vlad's chest at the sight. Perhaps he could have his revenge after all.
With a dramatic flair of his cape, Vlad phased out of the royal lab and disappeared into the night sky with Danny in tow.
Vlad had no intention of keeping the child after extracting the ecto-samples he required to keep himself alive. While his hypothesis proved true that Danny's ectoplasm contained the purest form of the stabilizing serum, it came with the price that without direct contact with Danny's half-ghost nature, the samples mutated within days. And with Jack and Maddie posting guards everywhere in search of their son, Vlad was hard pressed for another solution.
Vlad hid Danny away in a secret isolated lab deep underground, far away from Amity Park where no one could possibly find him. He made certain that Danny would never dream of leaving the lab. The outside world was cruel and vicious to hybrids like them, and the people out there would not hesitate to rip them apart molecule by molecule.
Vlad knew that Maddie and Jack would never stop looking for their son. To ensure that Danny would never be found, Vlad convinced Maddie and Jack that their son was not only lost but gone for good. A kingdom that once celebrated his birth now mourned his death.
And so Vlad raised the young prince in his underground lab, extracting samples of Danny’s ectoplasm to keep himself stable.
This went on until Danny's eighteenth birthday...
128 notes · View notes
incarnateirony · 3 years
Text
I think one of the worst things in this fandom is knowing how much material is worth posting and yet I delay on because some scuzzbucket is going to try to twist it. In example: the analysis I want to do showing how SPN is essentially shattering sex and gender roles, I know if I don’t give some giant lead in showing what kind of jizzmonkey you’d have to be to say the opposite, someone would pull it because TheyDon’tLikeIt.
So right now, I’m going to go into it in shorthand:
The Generational Family
Supernatural started in a very classic heterosexual family structure. 
The Mom, Mary, was dead. She had the nurturing inner spirit and served as a sense of conscience for Dean to carry her torches and ideals subtly because,
The Dad, John, was emotionally absent. John became a hunter to get revenge, but a great deal of his displaced anger fell on the cursed child he even tried to command Dean to kill if he had to.
The Cursed Child, Sam, had this yellow eyed curse following him around which they even find it WHY Mary burned, much less the Luciferian path waiting for him.
His Big Brother, Dean, “had to be a mother, and I had to be a father, all to keep him safe. And that wasn’t fair.” But he did it. And he loved his little brother. With mother lost to death and father lost to grief, Dean stepped forward to be everything they couldn’t or wouldn’t.
But this same cycle hits us later. We often speak of “Team Free Dads”, and I mean, sure, Jack calls all of Team Free Will his dads, and why wouldn’t he, I mean, nobody’s really broken down advanced gender sciences to even adult team free will much less little Jack, Cas for example despite being an agender being in a masculine vessel has long accepted masculine pronouns because of the sex of his vessel, etc. So easy. They’re my dads.
This fandom has often argued over who is more dad. Honestly, all three are equally *parents*, but there is a point I would like to make.
The Mom, Castiel, was dead. He was the nurturing inner spirit and served as a sense of conscience both before and after he returned for Jack to carry his torches and ideals subtly, but before Cas came back,
The Dad, Dean, was emotionally absent. His anger and grief was displaced on the cursed child that Castiel died helping birth into the world, who’s yellow eyes looked at him while Castiel knew the child within the womb, and eventually, the Allfather would even command the Dad to kill the Cursed Child years later. Again.
But the Cursed Child, Jack, had that yellow eyed curse, and suffering through his dark and luciferian parentage and struggling to find himself.
His Big Brother, Sam, had to be a mother and to be a father, to keep him safe during season 13. Neither Castiel or Dean were available, be it literally or emotionally, to provide and Sam had to take care of him until they could come back.
Over time, this tracked differently, because Castiel came back a HELLA lot earlier than Mary did. Mary took a lifetime, Castiel took a few months. Jack got to actually grow with the Mother, and the Father started to heal, and the Big Brother could take a healthier balance in this but still maintained his connection.
The reason I am slow to say this, like, ever, is I know there are people that would warp this into me prescribing gender roles--but actually, it’s the opposite. Hell, Dad is the one that does the things culture would determine some of the motherly: the cooking and cleaning etc; Mom in this instance is a whirlwind rebel soldier that can still take off in a blur. And frankly, this removes “uncle Sam” making him feel detached. Because I’m sorry, in Supernatural, “Big Brother” is inarguably THE most important parental role. He’s not Mom and he’s not Dad, but he’s Big Brother. And that’s what it’s all about in the end, isn’t it?
And frankly, I find if people start seeing this as Maternal, Paternal and Fraternal connections, a lot of other things gain sudden lucidity. When Castiel sighs tiredly at Jack, it’s a mom sigh, I’m sorry. When Castiel takes either side of Jack’s face and stares into it in Byzantium while sending him back to earth, it’s a mom look, I’m sorry. No, AngryMcPostTwister, that’s not saying that men can’t have gentle looks or any particular thing someone will try to vibrate themselves into, but there’s literally an energy to each of these moments that show the nurturing vs mentoring roles in either.
And that’s not about sex or gender but with Cas about a certain sort of nurturing personality trait they have, or with Dean a very teaching-forward strength, or with Sam a very balanced emotive connection.
Together they make a three person parental unit that is familiar, but far healthier than its original form, and part of why we’ve come to adore Team Free Dads so much. It’s what we wish Sam and Dean COULD have had. And ultimately, it’s -- to put it in Dean’s words -- “very progressive” in the family structure. 
368 notes · View notes
chenqingssuibian · 3 years
Note
Can you do MXY for the ask meme? I know we don't see him a lot, but I love him and hope others also love our mystery boi
from this post!
How I feel about this character: I l o v e Mo Xuanyu. I think about him daily and I’m not exaggerating. He makes me so, so sad, in a way not even Jin Rusong, a literal infant who was murdered under dubious circumstances, can manage. Mo Xuanyu is another character that I see myself in, in that I think if I knew about a curse that would allow me to get revenge on all the people who hurt me, even at the cost of my literal soul... There is a not-insignificant part of me that would go through with it. I think the worst part is that no one, absolutely no one misses him. People who knew him don’t even realize he’s gone. This is on purpose, I’m pretty sure, so none of this is criticism of MXTX’s writing! This is what MAKES him a tragic character. Mo Xuanyu is a ghost, a wisp of a character that we only see through the eyes of all the people who thought of him with little more than disdain. Mo Xuanyu never even got to be a JIN! He was brought into his father’s home as NOTHING more than a pawn to make Jin Guangyao nervous. One single person loved Mo Xuanyu in his life, and she never makes an appearance in the novel even in name. His mother is just as much as a ghost as he is. They are tragic, and they embody my biggest fear: that when I am gone, no one will notice, and when they do, no one will care.
Romantic Ships: There are none. None that are HEALTHY, anyway. I think there is something real fucked up and angsty and full of too-much-emotion I could write about him and Xue Yang, but I am not going to do that for my mental health. Otherwise... I mean, it is technically his body that Wei Wuxian is in, so... Lan Wangji? That would also be unhealthy. Oh dear. There really is jack shit for him, isn’t there.
Non-romantic Ships/BrOTPs: EVERYONE SHOULD BE A MEMBER OF THE MXY PROTECTION SQUAD. If Jiang Yanli was alive she would’ve taken him as a new little brother before anyone could even introduce him. She would’ve found this awkward child at the foot of the steps to Koi Tower, standing with an unruly donkey, and thought “It’s Free Brother!” I also think that, in another life, he would’ve ADORED Nie Huaisang. This other life would entail: Jin Guangyao NOT doing whatever he did to make Mo Xuanyu Like That, no Nie Mingjue death, ideally no Jin Guangyao marrying Qin Su... and many other changes. I also have a fic where he is bullied adopted by A-Qing and they become Found Family with Song Lan and Wen Ning. I will finish it one day.
Unpopular Opinion: ... I think it’s safe to say we’re all pretty sad about Mo Xuanyu. I think I might be alone in feeling more for him than Wei Wuxian (Look! He speaks to my specific issues! That’s it!) Other than that... nope. Nothing. Zilch, zero, nada. Wish literally anyone had cared when they realized that a boy had died to bring Wei Wuxian back to life. I wish there was more than a passing reference to the amount of pain he must’ve been in to do such a thing. I think we All wish there had been at least one life that was worse in the aftermath of his loss, but. There isn’t that we know of. Sigh.
One thing I wish would happen/had happened in canon: Wish someone had loved him :/ no one deserved xuanyu smh
32 notes · View notes
piratestrash · 2 years
Text
Okay, so I’m dumb and don’t know how to combine these any other way, but this is a multi part ask I received and I want to keep them together! This is the ask:
Imagine CotBP but Jack and Hector swap roles. When the mutiny happened Jack and Hector dueled and Jack won and left him on that island. Let’s say they still drown Bill when he wanted to warn Jack about the mutiny which caused Jack to be even more angry at Barbossa. Jack and the crew get cursed but unlike Barbossa, Jack doesn’t have a problem with it cause he always wanted to be immortal anyway.( and he always keeps one of the Aztec golds attached to his belt). Jack was close to Turners so...
When he learned Bill’s wife had become sick he went to her and after her death took Will with himself aboard the Pearl because he felt kinda guilty that the kid was alone because of him. So he raises Will, teaches him everything about sailing and sword fighting and he becomes the cabin boy. I think Jack would be way more darker because of the curse like he doesn’t mind killing people or destroying ships. He becomes a fearsome pirate around the world and maybe even becomes Pirate King...
Maybe Will gets lost in a storm and ends up in Port Royal and befriends Elizabeth again and some years later when the Black Pearl comes to Port Royal because the call of the Aztec coin this time Pintel and Ragetti find Will and take him back to the ship and it’s Elizabeth who thinks her friend is in danger and comes after him with the help of a pirate, Hector Barbossa, who is also after Jack Sparrow for revenge and Hector and Liz go through the things Jack and Will went in the movie.
I love this
Maybe Bill tried to break the curse, which is why he “died.” The entire reason he didn’t was because he felt all of them deserved the curse for the mutiny. But with Jack preferring it(at least at the time, I imagine sometimes he would wish to break it and be able to feel again) and no mutiny, I imagine Bootstrap would do something equally risky to break the curse.
Jack becoming a dad to Will, and the boy becoming both attached to him and a better pirate. He is a good swordsman still, but he isn’t afraid to fight dirty. I imagine he’d be one of the few people Jack actually listens to. And Jack definitely would be darker. His non-humanness would definitely have affects. He’d stop seeing himself as a man and start seeing himself as a monster, and then act accordingly. This means he is much more feared and infamous.
YES, but Will is older this time. Maybe rather than like 12-13(according to my research, despite how young Elizabeth looks), he is like 15. He’s much more pirate like and can handle himself more. He also knows that for him and him only, Jack is safe. Elizabeth only THINKS Will is in danger. Really, he’s just excited to see his adopted dad again.
Hector having parental instincts with Elizabeth while still being a murderous man himself. Elizabeth learning from him and showing signs that she’d make a good pirate. And I imagine she’d be far more likely to actually be a pirate by the end of the adventure, rather than just defending one.
And Hector still has Jack the monkey. He always has Jack the monkey.
14 notes · View notes
wonderland-in-bloom · 4 years
Text
riddle, ruggie, & epel w/ an s/o taller than them
anon asked: If it hasn't been already- Could I ask for a Riddle, Ruggie, and Epel having an s/o a lot taller than them- (I'm so much taller than them and it makes me ●-●)
waaaa how tall are you anon??? im roughly around the same height as kalim (huuuu im short ;-;)
riddle rosehearts
he’s lowkey highkey embarrassed about having an s/o taller than him (but it’s all good as he still loves you)
he tries to out be the taller one in the relationship by wearing super duper tall platform heels
he trips a lot though and you just laugh at his efforts
he would normally kiss you when you’re sitting down or in a position lower than him
you would tease him a lot with it, and he would never admit it to you but he’s kind of self conscious
“come on shortie, let’s go!” you tried to make riddle go along with you to your next class but he just stopped. this made you worried. “riddle?”
“i’m sorry. i really wish i could be taller than you (y/n). be that typical taller boyfriend people want. but i cant! i’m sorry okay?!” he snapped
“riddle...” you ran to him and practically jumped on him and attacked him with a hug
“i’m sorry for teasing you baby. besides, i don’t want a typical tall boyfriend. you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“besides, i call you shortie because you’re just...adorable, too irresistible...besides you’re adorable and i can do this whenever i want.”
you snuggled him close to your chest and rubbed the top of his head
his face was now as red as his hair
“let go of me!” he peeled off of your grasp and left you chuckling
“i love you shortie!” you hugged him once more. he tried to pull away from your grasp but eventually gave up. 
“...i love you too.” 
you shrieked and hugged him even tighter and basically just towered over him
the other students were probably already used to it by now, besides you would do this to him in public all the time lol
ruggie bucchi
you two were just a really carefree, mischievous couple 
you would make fun of him a lot and he would just be really done with you at times
sometimes you would snatch his things and just hold it over his head to make fun of him
“what are you going to do now huh, short?” you got one of ruggie’s perfectly packaged donuts and held it above his head
he tried jumping around and getting it but you were faster than him
ruggie growled and kicked your shins 
you groaned in pain and kneeled down on the floor, trying to suppress the pain
okay, ruggie may be short, but his kicks hurt as hell
he just laughed at your pain and suffering but once he looked into your eyes, he felt slightly bad
he probably felt really bad but didn’t want to admit it lol
so he bent down to your kneeling figure and planted a passionate kiss on your lips
“shishishishishishi, that’s sweet revenge baby.” he left you kneeling on the floor, while groaning in pain and rubbing your leg while he left you with his precious donut in his hands 
“curse you...bucchi.” 
no matter how chaotic and violent you both can be at times, you enjoyed each other’s company and truly loved each other
epel felmier
you would be super duper clingy to epel and very affectionate
epel would get super flustered whenever you were around each other 
especially since you loved teasing him in public
you liked to rest your whole arm on top of his head
he would snap at you at times, but with a face as red as riddle’s hair
he secretly loved the affection but maybe not so much in public
one day epel found an apple tree in the school grounds and was trying to jump around to reach for one
but alas he failed
you saw this and giggled to yourself, then picked the apple for him
“you’re lucky (y/n). i wish i could be as tall as you.” he then enthusiastically stood up. “MAYBE I’LL ASK PROFESSOR CREWEL FOR A VIAL TO MAKE ME TALL!”
“no please anything but that.” you then stood next to him
you practically towered over him but you crushed him in a hug
“please stay this height forever okay sweetie.” “(Y/N)! LET ME GO! I’M NOT A TEDDY BEAR!” “yes you are! you’re my teddy bear!”
plot twist: in a couple of years epel grows to be as tall as jack 0-0
a♕-chan will now attempt to make a short comic lol, wish me luck! and i also decided to add a pic because my friends irl said my blog is a bit plain :P blep, so enjoy!
love, a♕
Tumblr media
538 notes · View notes
amwritingmeta · 3 years
Text
15x18: The Most Loving
I’ve indulged. All day, I’ve indulged in this episode. In all of it. But, yes, mostly this scene. I’ve made gifs. And watched this scene. Obsessively. What’s life? THIS is life right now. This is the air in my lungs and the joy in my chest and, oh, my loveliest lovelies, I know you’re right there with me. Gods!
Too bad Dean doesn’t love Cas back, huh?
KIDDING. 
Just kidding. He does. I believe it more strongly than ever. *fingers crossed and sprinklings of salt* But let’s have a look at why I believe it more strongly than ever, shall we? Yes we shall! (let’s see if I get through this without crying) (highly doubtful) (update: I didn’t)
Let’s start with Dean. He’s a very good place to start.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Look at how what Cas is about to say to Dean, all those beautiful soul-affirming things he’s about to share, is set up right there, in this moment, with Dean losing hope by the second, moving softly from anger into a despair that makes him see his anger clearly, just not the root of it.
The shining brightly detail here is that the frustration and the fear don’t make him defensive, which, to me, is important because the immediate naming of the anger, without hesitation, the awareness of it, the quiet acceptance of how he got them here, leading into that gentle “I’m sorry” is like his character progression this season just balled up into one glorious half-minute of character insight: his, and ours.
With the good -- that immediate apology -- comes the bad, though -- the thinking of himself as an arrow of killer instinct, lacking control of this thing inside him when it takes over and not knowing what to do about it or how to fight it.
This thing being?
His anger.
And what is it symptomatic of?
Well, I would say his Shadow. His unconscious. His repressed emotions. His inability to be honest with himself. Which leads to frustration with himself. A feeling of perpetual alarm. He can never just be himself, because he never feels as though he’s enough. 
And feelings are weaknesses that will get you killed.
And his mother died when he was so young and shook him out of any sense of stability, and he’s longed for home, love, family ever since, but every time he’s dared dream or dared believe or even hope, something has happened to take good things away, because good things don’t last.
Not in Dean’s experience.
So the happiness of home, love, family has always been equated with pain. With hurt. With loss. So it was easier not to think an actual future was in the cards for him. Easier to push it down and begin to believe that he can’t possibly be loved for who he is, because what he is, is a killer.
What he is, deep down, is a monster.
His true identity has been covered up by toxic masculinity armour and he’s lost all sense of his true self, out of fear of rejection he has continuously rejected himself and out of fear of failure, failing to Protect Sammy -- a purpose so tightly bound to Dean’s sense of identity that anything threatening it has instantly been perceived as a threat to Dean’s entire understanding of himself -- Dean has bought into the lie that feelings are weaknesses and that, to survive, he had to walk in his father’s exact footsteps.
And of course it hasn’t helped that John’s revenge trip stemmed entirely from losing the love of his life. Luckily, Dean has seen his parents reunited. Luckily, Dean knows they’re now together, happily so, in their shared Heaven. If he can internalise this knowledge and accept it as a good thing, then there’s a basis for healing right there.
Leaving that behind because now here we are, with Dean verbalising his view of himself (hopefully for the last time) which has kept him perpetually in a pattern of behaviour that has been, at its root, self-destructive because of his lack of ability to love himself and see himself worthy of being loved.
Cas doesn’t go all “Dean” on Dean for no reason. 
He goes all Dean on Dean because he knows better than to agree when Dean claims all he knows how to do is hunt and kill and be guided by fury and the vengeance mode that his father’s image has left like an imprint all over Dean’s personality. 
And Cas is about to tell us how much better that better truly is.
*i’m cry*
The beginning of the better is linked to Dean’s instant apology, his instant admittance that he was wrong, brought by him recognising his mistake, realising he let his anger lead him once again. 
(just like he did when he shut Cas out and made Cas feel he had no choice but to leave the bunker and strike out on his own) (because Dean refused to apologise for behaving like a stubborn dickhead yeah?)
And this instant apology is... well. It’s Jensen Ackles style beautiful. Because->
Tumblr media
->the apology starts here, with this absolutely devastated look at Cas, as though Dean thinks Cas doesn’t want to be here, with him -- he wants to be with Sam and with Jack -- and Dean is keeping him from seeing out their final hours with his entire family. And so->
Tumblr media
But the apology, sincere and selfless and wishing there was some way out of this situation because Dean would save Cas from this fate in an instant if he could, triggers Cas’ realisation that there’s something he can do to save Dean.
Because?
Well, I would hope it’s because the narrative is rewarding Dean for learning the lesson of having so much self-awareness that it doesn’t take him ten and some episodes to land in an apology. It takes him less than five minutes into this scenario to admit that his choices were the wrong ones. To Cas, but more importantly to himself.
So then, reward time, and Cas’ brain starts working overtime as he remembers who Death is afraid of, what might be powerful enough to conquer Death itself.
It would be... everything if this moment is actually about how the defeat of Death has nothing to do with showcasing the power of the Shadow, but of what Cas’ honesty and open heart leads to: his moment of integration. 
Finding internal balance, as he’s no longer suppressing or repressing anything inside of him, but can face all of his emotions head on. No more self-deception and no more confusion. Only clarity.
And if this moment, in the broader sense, is about what brought that moment of integration on: Cas’ love for Dean.
Meaning the one thing powerful enough to conquer Death itself, really, is love.
Wouldn’t that be something? Isn’t that what has conquered Death over and over again in this narrative? Yes. It truly is. To have it stated unequivocally would be spectacular.
Now, I would look at both of them in this post, only, it’s already a long post, so let’s focus on Dean, because though I could talk for eons about what this means for Cas’ arc and it culminating in such a glorious act of self-actualisation, I believe what it means for Dean may play an even bigger role moving forward. *fingers crossed*
Cas reaches the realisation of how he can use the Empty for the purpose of defeating Death, yeah, and Cas reveals this realisation to Dean by finally laying all the cards on the table.
Cas: When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him. Dean: You what? Cas: The price was my life.
And at Cas telling Dean that this deal, that Cas has kept from him, means Cas has bargained away his life, Dean’s face does this-->
Tumblr media
Look... at how... his eyes... widen... with the sheer... shock and terror of that statement and then... there’s that soft... or so I see it... understanding that Cas once again has done that thing he does: he’s put himself on the chopping block. As if he doesn’t matter. (remind us of someone?)
So the first bit of information is that Cas has given his life for Jack’s and that he is, basically, a dead man (angel) walking.
Right. Shock and terror.
Then Cas delivers this gut-punch:
Cas: When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me, forever.
And Dean’s face does this->
Tumblr media
It’s like his brain is start-stuttering... true happiness?... the Empty?... summoned?... taken forever??... And then he’s like, wait what? What does this have to do with anything?
And he challenges this strange pick of a moment to share all these things by asking:
Tumblr media
How exactly is this relevant in this moment in time, Cas? I don’t understand.
Because he really doesn’t. He does not have a clue for the entirety of this exchange, even with Cas stating that the one thing Death fears, the one thing strong enough to defeat her is the Empty, and they know the Empty can only come when summoned. They’ve talked about it, not that long ago, and still, Dean’s brain is not putting two and two together.
Because he would never, not for one second, ever equate Cas’ true happiness as having anything to do with him. Not ever.
All he can think is... well, wouldn’t all he can think be that he was about to get them both killed, and now Cas is telling him this other way he’ll die, so even if they did make it out of there alive, Cas is... what? As good as dead? No matter what? There’s this premeditated way that Cas has set up for him to die that Cas hasn’t told him about. Cas dead in all the scenarios presented to him right now is all Dean can focus on.
And so Cas begins to explain himself.
Cas: I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what my true happiness could even look like. 
Tumblr media
And Dean looks like this. 
To me, because Dean’s deepest fear is happiness.
And because his brain is trying to make sense of what is happening, but it looks like there’s white noise going on, like all he can think is What Is This What Are You Trying To Tell Me I Do Not Understand Cas Something About Happiness Why Are You Talking To Me About Happiness I Can’t Help You!
And then Cas takes it a step further, and tells Dean this:
Cas: I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.
Tumblr media
And Dean is like... what is it??
And of course, Cas obliges, because there’s no turning back. Oh, Cas. 
Cas: But I think I know… I think I know now, happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it. 
And Dean is getting softly defensive, worried at this point that this is headed somewhere wholly new and unexplored and the expression on Cas’ face is starting to get to him, those eyes already shining with tears and the earnestness all over him, and Dean doesn’t want to not listen to him, but he also doesn’t like the not understanding what the hell is going on, so->
Tumblr media
And Cas isn’t about to slow down.
Cas: I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you...
Tumblr media
And this is barking exactly the way Dean was afraid of: honesty. So much honesty. And Dean is taking it in like he’s still wondering what exactly this is. Is this Cas’ idea of a deathbed confession, because Dean’s not sure he wants to hear this... but...
Cas: ...you’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken—you’re daddy’s blunt instrument. 
Tumblr media
At the mention of John, Dean starts to reign himself in. He’s starting to shed the confusion for the understanding that Cas is about to speak a whole lot of truth and he’s just gonna have to hear it. So he begins steeling himself. Hence the first hard swallow.
Cas: And you think that hate and anger, that’s… that’s what drives you, that’s who you are… It’s not.
Tumblr media
I like to read this as the words “It’s not” being the last thing Dean ever expected to hear. He looks so completely taken aback. He was, because it’s his modus operandi, most likely expecting judgement at this moment (because he fucked up and brought them here) and rejection, because he always expects it and always thinks he deserves it.
And instead, he gets what he needs most. He gets told to see himself through Cas’ eyes. Because (hopefully) it’s the only way Dean can finally recognise his true identity and stop hiding from it as if it’s an abomination.
Cas: And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done—the good and the bad—you have done for love. 
Tumblr media
And Dean reacts the same way he reacted when Cas told him that the price to save Jack had been Cas’ life: look at the slight widening of the eyes, look at the furrowed brow -> shock and terror.
Because love?
Cas: You raised your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. 
Tumblr media
And Dean lets the words sink in somewhat, but still... this is not how he sees himself, this is not his understanding of himself, of who he is. It’s so far from it, but this is Cas saying these things and wait...
Tumblr media
...this is how Cas sees him?
Cas isn’t done, of course.
Cas: You’re the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. 
Tumblr media
And Dean is about to start crying too, but he keeps the emotion back. Look at those clenched jaws, the hard swallow, the set expression. Determined not to just lose it. 
Tumblr media
But he’s close. Nostrils flaring, lips trembling, he’s fighting back the tears like, no, I will not bawl my eyes out.
Cas: You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. 
And Dean just...
Tumblr media
This very nearly breaks the dam. He’s just swallowing down those tears like there’s no tomorrow. He refuses to cry, even now, even when his body is like Give Me An Outlet For All These Feelings. 
But naw.
Stoic stoic stoic.
Cas: Because you cared—I cared. I cared about you… I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack… but I cared about the whole world because of you.
And Dean begins to have this ice-cold feeling run through him... that Cas is saying all these things for a reason...
Tumblr media
And all Dean can do is listen...
Cas: You changed me, Dean.
Tumblr media
And he looks so defeated. Because he can’t even imagine having to say goodbye. And there was that other moment of dickheadery, not that long ago, when Cas left him that still smarts. 
One where Cas said some truths before walking out the door of the bunker, and Dean thought he’d fixed it with that prayer, but this feels reminiscent. It feels like Cas is gearing up to push even harder than he already has, and like Cas thinks Dean’s response will warrant him leaving.
And Cas confirms this is not the beginning, but the end.
Cas: Because it is. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Oh. Oh no. No, you don’t. 
But Cas does. He really does.
Tumblr media
Don’t put me in this corner.
But that’s not even close to what’s actually happening, is it?
Dean has completely forgotten how this conversation started. He’s forgotten about Death at their door, he’s forgotten about the mention of the Empty, because all he can think about is how Cas sees him as a selfless, loving human being, who has changed him for the better. 
And he comes across as though all he can think is that this is too much.
And Cas mirrors his head shake...
Tumblr media
...because all I can see here is how Cas wants Dean to take it in now. The truth of it. He wants Dean to hear him. To know that he’s loved and deserving of it, not deny it or refuse it.
And Dean, for just the breath of a second, thinks don’t, Cas. Don’t make me question my entire self-view. Because I will.
Because though he cannot deal, he can’t lose Cas again either, as this episode has gone to great lengths to tell us. (like how he stepped between Cas and Billie plus all the loss of one half of couples that’s threaded through the ep)
And then all thoughts are interrupted. The Empty arrives. Moment of true happiness style. It has been said, and Cas is... well.
And the door opens as Billie breaks through.
And Dean turns to Cas and his face is wearing this expression->
Tumblr media
As he says “Cas?” because he still don’t understand why this is goodbye. He doesn’t get that it’s goodbye because it has to be. Because Cas is about to sacrifice himself to save him...
Tumblr media
And then we get this expression as Dean responds with that stunned 
“What?”->
Tumblr media
Because he wouldn’t have pushed Cas away for saying I love you. Sure he was internally having a mild fit, and he’d need a moment or two to gather his thoughts, and perhaps he’d have to say no, you don’t a few times, and have Cas say yes, I do, back in order to really convince him, but that goodbye... 
That was supposed to happen only if Dean didn’t get his shit together.
And Dean would have gotten his shit together. He just needed a bit more time.
So for Cas to go ahead with the goodbye, even as Dean sees the Empty entering through that wall, is nonsensical. Hence the “What?”. 
What do you mean I love you goodbye? 
And then...
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Oh that handprint.
Please let it be a symbol for putting the past to rest and moving forward into a healthy now, with hope for the future. Oh, Cas, please come back. And Dean, please instigate the return. You are loved because you deserve it. And you deserve good things and to be happy. Both of them do. Gods, I hope they get to be happy together.
*please please please please*
93 notes · View notes
deniigi · 3 years
Note
will we be getting anyting spooky for this year? "ain't afraid of no ghost!" fed my halloween loving soul.
hi!!
I’m a little burnt out with writing right now, BUT I do have a piece from the Selkie Verse that’s a little bit ghostly/scary. I can’t remember if I posted it here already or not, but I’ll give it to you (again?)
It’s like 8k so be prepared!
Title: ember ghosts
Summary: Flash forces Peter, Ned, and MJ to go ghost hunting in a local cemetery. Peter decides to add a little pizzazz to this trip in the form of Resident Dead Hero Jack Murdock to get back at Flash. Things, as they are wont, go terribly wrong.
--------------
Matt’s new coat was white and incredibly heavy; Peter learned that last part upon dragging MJ and Ned over to catch Matt in the act of grooming it.
He barked at them and the volume of the sound locked Peter into place for a minute before he came back to himself and hustled in to go flop down next to Matt and ask him if he needed help first, and then secondly, if his dad was busy.
Matt felt for his chin and then jerked his face close.
“What business do you have with him?” he asked.
Stories about baby seals, obviously.
Matt tossed him away.
“You’re not borrowing my father’s spirit to scare Flash,” he said.
MJ and Ned came over to join the pleading session.
“But Mr. Murdock’s the biggest ghost ever,” Peter lamented.
“He’s a normal sized spirit, not a ghost,” Matt sniffed at him as he gathered up his fur rug from the floor and started picking through it in his lap.
The gesture he used was mesmerizing. He dragged the fur back the wrong way until he found something he didn’t like, then used the last three fingers on his hand to scrape at it until it was vanquished. He pulled his whole hand over the place again and carried on down the stripe he was making until he found another knot or bit of dirt or something to scratch at.
“Can I try?” Ned asked.
Matt’s face jerked his way and he dragged even more of the coat into his lap.
“No touching,” he said.
“I thought Foggy’s coat was the white one?” MJ asked.
Matt gathered his coat even further in offense.
“It will shed,” he said. “It is a new coat.”
“It’s baby fur,” Peter told the others. “Foggy said—”
He got a face full of baby fur and could now confirm that it was soft and fluffy and amazing. He could sleep in this.
“It’s a new coat,” Matt emphasized. “Annoying me will not unlock access to my old man.”
Boo on you, sealman.
“I’m gonna ask your mom then,” Peter declared.
He got yanked down before he was even all the way up.
Matt held his chin again.
“He’s a spirit,” he said. “And a hero. Say it with me.”
“He’s a spirit and a hero,” Peter repeated.
Matt shoved him away.
“If you ask him very nicely, he might be interested in having some time away from the church. But not too long. He can’t be away from Mum for too long, you hear?”
That was permission.
“We hear,” Peter promised. “Should we bring Sister Maggie an offering?”
Matt huffed and stood up. He left his pile of coat behind him and the urge to pet it behind his back was insurmountable. Peter met Ned and MJ’s eyes and bounced his brows. MJ shook her head.
Matt returned from the table and held something out towards the coat. MJ leaned forward and plucked it out of his hand.
“A comb?” she asked.
“Tell her its teeth are too wide,” Matt said. “Go get a bouquet of flowers—no roses, Peter. Go for hyssop if you can find it.”
Copy that.
“Be gone with you.”
“You’re my favorite teammate,” Peter said.
“I said begone,” Matt sniffed.
---
--
-
 “You think he should have just kept it anyways?” MJ asked on the way to May’s friend Tonya’s place.
Ned took the comb from her and held it up to the sun.
“What do you think it’s made out of?” he asked.
Knowing the selkies? Probably teeth.
The other two stared at Peter.
He shrugged.
“Johnny says selkies are obsessed with guarding their teeth,” he said. “So maybe it’s whale bone or something.”
Ned huffed.
“Maybe it’s turtle shell,” he said.
Maybe.
“Why not roses?” MJ asked Peter.
Oh, well that was easy enough.
“There’s not really a kind of rose that isn’t a curse for Mr. Murdock,” he said. “It’s all friendship this, scorned lover that. And from the sounds of it, he doesn’t like them. Hyssop is a sacrifice flower, so you know. It’s an offering for both him and Sister Maggie.”
MJ tapped at her lip.
“Do you think we should cover our basis with a can of sardines, too?” she asked.
Well, it couldn’t hurt.
 ---
--
-
 Tonya, upon learning that the flowers Peter was seeking were to be given to a ‘selkie and her young man’ (in her words) went a little overboard.
She stuffed the hyssop in as an afterthought among a tryptic of sunflowers in a bed of bursting blue cornflowers. She mused on a pink rose or two to top the whole thing off, until Peter informed her that the son of the recipients had warned against it.
She said hollyhock would have to do, and then she gave Peter a basket of herbs for drying back home. She said to leave them outside when he went in to talk to the selkie.
Tonya’s apprentice said nothing the whole time and stared at Peter like he was scum while she snipped the low leaves off the stems of black-eyed susans. Peter resolutely didn’t look at her or her fancy, pale-eyed familiar.
She was a poser, anyways.
“Tell me how it goes,” Tonya hummed, draping herself across the desk and humming. “I wish I could bag a selkie. Imagine it, Missy. Strong handsome man comes up from the banks and—”
“The banks of the Hudson, Ms. Rice?” Missy said scathingly.
Tonya considered this then shrugged.
“He’s shower first,” she said.
Peter and the others said bye.
 ---
--
-
 Sister Maggie was suspicious of the flowers. But to be fair, she was suspicious of pretty much everything. She accepted the comb back much more comfortably.
“You want Jackie?” she asked once that was done.
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.
“What for?”
A reckoning.
“One of our classmates is a jerk,” MJ said. “He’s forcing everyone in our club to go ghost-hunting with him even though no one wants to. So we thought we’d give him a run for his money, but we didn’t want to like, disturb anyone or raise the dead or whatever.”
Sister Maggie’s eyebrow arched and Peter swore that she was going to start in for a lecture. He braced himself.
It did not come.
“That’s considerate of you,” she said instead. “How long do you need him for?”
“Like, just a few hours? Fourish?” MJ said.
“Let me ask him,” Sister Maggie said. “I think he’ll be interested, he’s been rolling balls back to the wains all day. It’s only fun for the first five times.”
 ---
--
-
 Mr. Murdock was a good four inches taller than Matt and around forty or fifty pounds heavier. He looked like he could carry all the babies at St. Agnes’s all at the same time if he wanted to. But, having seen the guy in action (i.e. hopelessly lost in the tunnels of the great seanchaidh), Peter now knew that he was kind of a St. Bernard burdened with a troublesome wife and son.
“Have fun,” Sister Maggie said.
Mr. Murdock huffed at her and said that he ‘shan’t’ and it made her laugh as she closed the door behind them all.
“I’m not a ghost,” he told Peter, ignoring the other two’s shock and awe.
“A spirit,” Peter said. “Yeah, I know. But Flash is a dick and you don’t like bullies, right?”
Mr. Murdock’s jaw worked.
“What kind of bully, now?” he asked.
“He calls us names and talks shit behind our backs and runs into me on purpose in the hall during passing period,” Peter said.
“Easy fix for that,” Matt’s dad said with a hand wave.
“Mr. Murdock, I can’t fight him. I’ll break him in half,” Peter said. “Fighting is only for spiders.”
Mr. Murdock did not understand. That was okay, he and Matt only understood the language of hitting people. It was genetic.
“If you can just like, do the glowy thing right behind him tonight when we go to this crypt, that would be super helpful,” Peter said.
“You glow?” Ned asked Mr. Murdock.
Mr. Murdock was not convinced.
“How will me standing over a guy get him to stop bullying you?” he asked.
That…was maybe a fair point.
“It’ll scare him,” Ned said. “And it’ll be all his fault and everyone will blame him and he’ll feel stupid for having made everyone go along with his dumb idea.”
Mr. Murdock considered him and then looked back to Peter.
“Just go with it,” Peter said. “It’s a teenager thing. It’s how we keep each other humble.”
 ---
--
-
 Mr. Murdock didn’t want to wait with them until nightfall. He wanted to be with Matt. That was his second favorite place to be, apparently, after hanging around Sister Maggie, but Peter got the feeling that Matt would talk Mr. Murdock out of some good, honest revenge and into some Catholic guilt if they were stuck together. So he gave him the next best thing.
Foggy was basically a vengeful spirit.
He laughed really hard at the idea of Mr. Murdock going around scaring kids in a cemetery.
“No, no,” he said. “Here, you must—Jack, can you hold things?”
Peter snapped his head back to Mr. Murdock.
“Some,” Mr. Murdock said.
“How much can you lift?” Foggy asked.
Mr. Murdock squinted at him.
“I don’t like the question,” he said.
Foggy abandoned them all to go dig through one of his kitchen drawers. He came back with tiny bottle and held it out to Peter.
“Mix it with some lamp oil,” he said.
Peter took the bottle.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Ask not what you don’t want the answer to,” Foggy said. “Just mixy-mix, boyo. Here, I’ve even got a lantern around here somewhere. Jack, we need to dress you for the part.”
Peter paused and turned to look up at Mr. Murdock’s dark eyes and thick hair.
Dress? Him?
You could dress a spirit?
“Why not?” Foggy said. “You, my dear sir, need a coat and a flatcap.”
Mr. Murdock’s whole expression dropped.
“I’m not playing some ghostly lighthouse man in the middle of New York City,” he said.
“You are,” Foggy said seriously. “For your people, Jack. Think about your people. And fix that accent, I know you’ve got a brogue in you.”
 Peter took Mr. Murdock home with him when he and the others split off to reconvene at the cemetery at 8 o’clock. Mr. Murdock rode the train like a champ. It was cramped from the rush hour traffic and Peter entertained himself by watching Mr. Murdock lay his hands tenderly on top of those belonging to douchebags who were plenty tall enough to hold onto the upper bar but who couldn’t be assed to look away from their phones to realize this.
One guy yelped at Mr. Murdock’s touch on his knuckles and ripped his hand off, only to see nothing there. Everyone around him stared at him.
He coughed and reached up for the overhead rail.
Mr. Murdock abandoned him to squeeze through the carriage to the back. He found a pregnant woman standing beside a group of teenagers all listening to music. Peter watched as he inspected the lady’s phone in her hand and then her face. He tapped on the top of the phone so it fell right out of her loose grip, and the woman jumped. The kids all startled at the sound of the phone hitting the ground and two jumped up to pick it up for her. One offered her his seat.
She thanked them and carefully, carefully sat down.
Mr. Murdock watched this with no expression.
Peter swallowed a giggle.
Jonathan ‘Jack’ Murdock. Lighthouse Ghost Impersonator and Subway Manners Enforcer.
 ---
--
-
 “Oh, hey there, long time no see,” May said to Mr. Murdock when Peter got home. “You’re going with Pete and the others tonight?”
Mr. Murdock said nothing.
Peter recounted his poltergeist from earlier for him. May thought it was just delightful.
“I told him to take Johnny,” she said. “But you might be even better.”
“They should just fight it out,” Mr. Murdock said.
“Mm. School authorities won’t go for it,” May said. “So I’m afraid we must stoop to witchcraft.”
 ---
--
-
 Mr. Murdock didn’t know the full glory of Youtube, so Peter spent the next few hours snacking and showing him clips of old vines. Then, when it was time to go, he turned to google how to use an oil lamp. Mr. Murdock watched him struggle for a good five minutes before reaching over him and showing him how.
“Did you and Matt not have electricity in Ireland?” Peter asked him.
Mr. Murdock huffed.
“No, I just uh. I guess I had an interest in maritime shit since I was a kid.”
Ohhh.
“Is that how you met Sister Maggie?” Peter asked.
Mr. Murdock’s lip quirked up a little.
“No,” he said. “But we got there anyways, didn’t we?”
 ---
--
-
 “Do you not like roses?” Peter asked him on the way to the train station.
“They all smell like soap,” Mr. Murdock said as he followed Peter down the steps to the station. He was wearing the hat that Foggy had impressed on him. It was a strange thing; Foggy had marked it with a piece of chalk under the brim before handing it over and it seemed to have made it ghost-apparel. He didn’t have a big scary coat, but he did have a scarf and between that and the hat and the lantern, Mr. Murdock was plenty old-timey lighthouse man.
“Not all of them,” Peter said. “Some smell like lemon.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” Mr. Murdock said over the heads of folks by the train. “S’all soap.”
 ---
--
-
 “Did you every hunt for ghosts when you were a kid?” Peter asked when they were approaching the gates of the meeting place. May had given him a bag full of offerings to place on graves when people he was with weren’t looking. Some mandarin oranges and little bouquets of lavender and zinnias with sprigs of baby’s breath. They were pretty. Peter had something like twenty in among the fruit.
“No, the dead never bothered me half as much as the living,” Mr. Murdock said.
That sounded kind of angsty.
“How did you become a hero?” Peter asked.
“Kind of a long, boring story,” Mr. Murdock said. “The short of it, I guess, is that I did a lot of shit for the fae and they appreciated it.”
“Johnny’s starstruck of you,” Peter pointed out. “He thinks you’re like, super cool. He told me you smell really good.”
Mr. Murdock glanced down at him.
“It’s a sign of status for the fae to be attached to a hero,” he said.
Oh???
“Am I a hero? Does Johnny get a boost from being with me?” Peter asked.
Mr. Murdock shrugged.
“You’re both pretty young to be able to know or tell,” he said. “And you’re a witch. So unless you’re a hero-witch, I got nothin’ for you.”
Ah, well. It was worth a shot.
“There’s Ned, that’s our cue. Here, you can take the lantern. I’ll point Flash out to you,” Peter said.
Mr. Murdock took the lantern Peter held out to him without complaint while Peter fumbled through his pockets for a lighter.
He held it out.
“Do you want me to light it or are you okay?” he asked.
“You light it,” Mr. Murdock said. “This is heavy for me in this shape.”
 ---
--
-
 Mr. Murdock took the lantern and left Peter to go meet MJ and Ned. The light had vanished by the time Peter looked back.
“I think Mr. Murdock’s a little sad,” he told the others.
“Ghost separation anxiety?” MJ offered.
“Maybe it’s harder for him to be with people who aren’t his family. Maybe he’s tired,” Ned said.
Yeah, maybe.
“Or maybe he’s a softie who doesn’t like scaring people,” MJ said. “But that means that Matt got his nonsense gene from the nun side.”
It wasn’t implausible.
“Hey, are you guys coming?” Abe tossed back at them. He was prepared with two flashlights and a backpack with a bulky mobile charger in his pocket. He’d said that he wasn’t falling for ‘any ghost shit’ that night and no one was making any ‘dumbass mistakes’ on his watch.
Peter thought that Abe might try to punch Mr. Murdock in the gut. He and MJ agreed to separate him from Flash as soon as possible.
 ---
--
-
 Flash insisted on leading the charge—of course he did. Peter hung back a ways so that he could set offerings on graves. Ned told kept reminding him that he didn’t have to do it for every single one, and obviously Peter knew that. But some of the graves deserved stones on them and a quick prayer. That was just being polite.
Flash caught him at it and asked him if he was scared. Peter told him to mind his own business.
“We’re here to find ghosts, not feed them,” Flash volleyed back.
Peter pointed at him in a way that he hoped was dramatic enough for Mr. Murdock to catch sight of it from wherever he was.
“If they’re eatin’ these, they aren’t eatin’ me,” he said. He offered Flash an orange. “You want one?”
Ned snickered.
“You’re not funny, Parker,” Flash sighed. His breath clouded around him. “Come on, it’s not too much further.”
 ---
--
-
 The ‘crypt’ was actually a mausoleum, as Peter had expected. It was tall and made of stone and Peter could tell immediately that it was of no one of import to the local necromancers.
Even the vultures had declared the folks in this one too boring for their rituals. It was probably a family thing. A bunch of folks who were ordinary but devout. Maybe they had a little money and chose to spend it in death.
Everyone had their own thing.
Peter had oranges and flowers, for example. He snuck around the corner to set one onto the ground by the stone.
His breath puffed out around it and misted away and Peter paused before standing up out of his stoop. He could feel a breeze on his cheeks. He looked up and around.
“Mr. Murdock?” he breathed.
Nothing.
No lantern light.
“You’re not my ghost,” Peter whispered. “I’m just leavin’ a snack, okay?”
The breeze seemed to vanish.
Cool.
“Don’t mind my spirit friend. He’s big and kinda glowy, but he’s not one of you,” Peter said.
“Peter?”
He glanced over his shoulder.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said. “But this other idiot is gonna try to climb onto your grave. Sorry about him. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”
The leaves at his feet blew up and scattered around the orange.
“No problem.” Peter said. “Bye now.”
He hurried back to the others.
 ---
--
-
 The main problem was that none of them knew how roman numerals worked and, surrounded by ghosts, looking it up on the internet was kind of challenging.
MJ and Ned gave Peter pointed looks when he came back to join them.
They knew Peter could read roman numerals. He was assigned the task of keeping his mouth shut without anyone having to tell him.
“Maybe they don’t want to be read,” Felicia said.
“Correct,” Abe agreed. “No reading. I can’t read. None of us can read. This is a blessing of ignorance, given to us by the Lord.”
Flash stared at them.
“X is ten,” he deadpanned.
“Damnit, Flash,” Abe said.
“What’s L?” Flash said. “And M?”
“Code,” Ned chimed in.
He got flat eyebrows all around.
“We live in the twenty-first century,” Flash told the stone. “Just use normal numbers like everyone else.”
The wind kicked up a bit in offense.
“Alright, well, now what?” Abe said. “Not a single ghost so far. Only a creepy stone in a creepy yard with a creepy—oh shit. Turn off the light.”
Say what now?
“Keeper,” Abe snapped over his shoulder, pointing away from them towards a floating light. “Turn ‘em off or we’ll get kicked out.”
Oh.
The lantern.
Peter joined the others in turning off their lights and hiding on the other side of the mausoleum.
“You’d have thought it would be too late for working,” Felicia whispered.
“It’s a graveyard,” MJ whispered back. “The time you need the most coverage is night.”
“Are they still there?” Abe asked.
Flash peeked out from around the stone.
“No,” he said.
Peter untensed his shoulders and stepped out.
“What if it’s not a keeper?” he asked. “What if it’s a—”
“Huh-uh. No,” Abe snapped. “We’re not asking stupid questions tonight, remember, Parker? I specifically said this not 10 minutes ago. No stupid questions.”
Abe had seen a few horror movies, it would seem.
“Alright, alright. No stupid questions,” Peter said. “It’s just—that doesn’t look like a flashlight to me.”
Ned made a show of looking around.
“It’s gone, it doesn’t look like anything to anyone,” he said.
“This is exciting,” Felicia anxiety-giggled.
“It’s not,” MJ sighed. “Well, we’re already here. Might as well keep going.”
The others all turned towards her.
“Wait, you mean, go further?” Flash asked.
MJ shrugged.
“We’re only like, part of the way in,” she said.
Peter surveyed the space beyond their current alley of monuments. The light from the two floodlights at the gated entrance was already weak. Further out, there wouldn’t be light until they hit the war memorial way, way in the back.
That was a plenty big enough stretch.
“Guys? Did it get foggy?” Felicia asked.
Peter shivered.
He had about ten oranges left and an equal number of flower packets.
Welp.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Before it rolls in thicker.”
 ---
--
-
 The grass seemed to get wetter and wetter with every yard and Peter had started to see things out of the corners of his eyes. Shadows. Little flickers of light.
He felt MJ’s fingers sink into his jacket sleeve as he watched an extra set of legs follow behind them in the jerky shadows jostled around by the flashlights.
Abe froze twice, each time to take a deep steady breath and to remind himself that he was not asking stupid questions.
Flash laughed at him, but the sound was strained and a little hysterical. Felicia had grabbed ahold of one of each of their arms up ahead. Ned touched Peter’s shoulder.
“Where is he?” he whispered.
Peter shrugged.
“He’s lantern man,” he said. “We’ll see him.”
“In the mist?”
Mmmm. Okay maybe they should have brought Johnny after all.
 ---
--
-
 They were halfway to the war memorial when the lights above it suddenly went out. MJ’s fingers dug deep into Peter’s sleeve. Ned gasped.
“Dude,” Flash’s voice said in the dark. “That’s not cool. Don’t do that.”
“Don’t you talk to it,” Abe snapped. “Don’t you dare talk to it. Just walk. Don’t ask questions. Just walk.”
Peter felt wind against his cheeks. He shivered.
Mr. Murdock wouldn’t fuck with the lights, would he? Was he that strong?
Peter thought he was supposed to be a spirit, not a ghost. And he’d seemed kind of tired earlier. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep or something, right?
There was a loud rustle to the right of their group and Peter jumped, which made MJ jump, which made Felicia yelp.
The rustle carried on. It was punctuated with a horrible, wet-sounding slap all of the sudden.
“Wh—what was that?” Flash asked.
Another slap rang out, then another. Followed by the sound of something dropping into leaves. Something…heavy.
“Nice try, slugger,” Mr. Murdock growled.
Actually growled. Like an angry tiger or something.
Peter shivered hard.
This guy hadn’t been scared at all. He’d been preparing himself.
To fight.
Fuck.  
Abort mission. Abort, abort, abort.
“We need to leave,” Peter said sharply.
“Agreed,” MJ said.
“Yep,” Ned said.
“You speak my language finally,” Abe said. “About-face and—”
“Don’t move,” Mr. Murdock said dangerously.
Peter felt his body turn to ice.
“Who’s there?” Flash asked.
“They’re mine,” Mr. Murdock rumbled. “Hands off, ya fuckin’ lowlife. Yeah, get back to your hole. Go on.”
Oh, okay.
Fun times with the undead. Peter should have brought holy water.
“Wh—who’s there?” Flash asked again in a cracking voice.
The sound of metal clanking met them and then an orange flash crackled into sight. And there was Mr. Murdock. Six foot two and missing his hat. He looked huge and solid and his shoulders glowed ever so slightly.
Flash and Felicia and Abe gasped.
“Y’all better be moving along,” Mr. Murdock said, meeting Peter’s eyes seriously.
“Are—are you a ghost?” Felicia whispered.
Mr. Murdock flicked his eyes down at her and they didn’t reflect the light from the lantern.
“Folks call me ‘Jack,’” he said, holding out the lantern. “Or they used to. Nowadays, the little ones call me ‘John.’ This is a ritual grounds tonight, kids. Bad night for a hunt for the living. Go on, I’ll see you out. Take this; your lights won’t work.”
MJ took out her flashlight and it clicked as she turned it on and then off.
“What kind of ritual?” Peter asked.
Mr. Murdock’s lips thinned.
“Go,” he said.
Peter’s chest expanded.
“Where are they?” he asked.
Mr. Murdock shook his head.
“Go,” he said again. “This isn’t for you, little witch.”
Peter heard the others’ shape intakes of air, but he held firm.
“You’re a spirit,” he said. “You can’t stop them.”
Mr. Murdock sighed and his shoulders fell slowly.
“I’m not just a spirit,” he said. “I’m a hero. I’ll see you out. Tell my son the name of this place. He’ll come in the morning.”
Wh—
No, wait.
“Don’t go,” Peter said.
But he was already gone. Felicia was left holding the lantern.
 ---
--
-
 They ran-slipped-fell all the way back the way they’d come. This time, Peter held his breath at the sound of too many feet hitting the wet pockets of mud around them. He heard Felicia sobbing and the lantern clanking dangerously ahead of them.
The floodlights at the entrance had gone out.
They had to carefully climb the fence and pass off the lantern one at a time until they were on the other said, panting.
Peter realized belatedly that he’d dropped the bag of grave offerings.
He dipped his head and clenched his fists.
He’d have to go back for it in the morning.
“You’re a witch,” Flash suddenly snapped at him.
“Lay off,” MJ said immediately.
“You’re a witch and you brought that—that guy with us?” Flash asked.
“It was supposed to be a joke,” Peter said.
“A joke?” Abe said. “You—Peter, witches aren’t real. Ghosts aren’t real. Who was that?”
“No, you, a witch, thought it would be funny to bring some kind of spirit with us to a graveyard?” Flash demanded.
Peter huffed.
“Hey, you were a dick about this first,” Ned said. “The ghost dude is harmless.”
“Harmless?” Flash said. “Harmless? Yeah, fuckin’ streetfighter ghost is harmless.”
“He’s not a ghost,” Abe said, “He’s an actor. Peter that’s not cool, man. That’s not cool.”
“He’s not an actor,” Felicia said quietly.
The rest of them turned to see her holding the still-burning lantern. She was staring into it.
“His hands were so cold,” she whispered.
Abe executed a full-body shiver.
“Well, now what?” he asked. “We’ve trespassed, found a ghost, and nearly got ritualed to death. What else do we need to do to learn that this was a bad idea all along?”
Peter looked up at the gate.
“Dark magic,” he said.
MJ and Ned turned towards him.
“Peter, you’re not going back in there,” Ned said.
“I took charge of the spirit,” Peter said, setting his jaw. “I’m not going back on my word to a selkie.” He jerked back. “I need my familiar,” he said. “You guys can go.”
“Your…familiar?” Abe said slowly. “Peter. Peter, you are not a witch.”
“He’s not a familiar like others are, maybe, but he’s mine,” Peter said. “And he’ll know how to help the spirit.”
Ned and MJ exchanged glances.
“Okay?” Ned said. “Well, where is he?”
 ---
--
-
 Johnny answered his phone and said he’d been 20 minutes. They were the longest 20 minutes of Peter’s life and were spent primarily being interrogated by Abe, Flash, and Felicia.
They were understandably upset by the set-up, and then understandably upset by the fact that they were, in fact, living in ignorance of a whole multi-dimensional plane.
Abe demanded to know if genies were real, and Peter could only say that they probably were.
“Just so I’m clear here,” Flash said. “You went and borrowed your local seal-person’s husband for a jump-scare for us and now we are waiting on a fire demon to help us rescue the seal-person’s undead husband from some evil witches trying to raise the dead?”
Peter chewed a few fingers.
“That’s the gist of it, yeah,” he said.
“PARKER.”
“PETER. OH MY GOD.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Abe sobbed.
“I was appeasing the spirits,” Peter snapped at them. “Why do you think I brought all those oranges? Do I look like I’m vitamin C deficient?”
“You’re a witch,” Felicia said. “You’re a witch. That’s insane. How do you—”
“I’m not a witch,” Peter sighed. “I’m—I’m a—I’m almost a witch.”
“Clearly,” Abe said.
“Hey, leave him alone,” Ned jumped in. “It’s no one’s fault this happened. We all thought we were walking into a totally different situation.”
“Yeah, except Mr. Ghost Man,” Flash said. “He knew what was up. Why didn’t you listen to him? Or, I dunno, read the undead-people signs?”
“Because he’s not my family spirit,” Peter snapped at him. “And he’s not a ghost. He’s a spirit, and not like a spirit, even. He’s a—it’s hard to explain. I don’t even know what he is. He’s just different. He’s like an inbetween kind of—”
“He’s a hero.”
They all looked up to see Johnny standing there in blue with a black knitted scarf wrapped triple around his neck. His eyes flashed orange and red and gold. The ground swayed around him, light up by his internal lantern.
Everyone around Peter recoiled.
“What does that mean, Johnny?” Peter asked quietly. “I don’t understand.”
“It means that the spirits of the sea granted him another life in exchange for the protection he offered their people during his human one,” Johnny said. “You should know by now, Peter; the fae work in exchanges.”
“He already made his deal,” Peter said. “I don’t understand.”
“His deal as a human was fulfilled. His soul is safe with his selkie, only she can shepherd it. It will go to the Otherworld, where he will stay in comfort. But he’s chosen to stay here--as a hero. In this world. And as long as he is here and not in the Otherworld, his purpose is to protect humans and fae, to protect them from each other if he must, as he stands now with a foot on both sides of the line.”
Peter felt his breath coming slowly again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“Because,” Johnny said with a sudden smile. “Your soul is already mine—we share a heart remember? I don’t need you getting stupid ideas—imagine if you decided to become a hero, then died and decided to stick around these parts instead of letting me take you to the Otherworld. You’d drive yourself mad, Peter. You’d never sleep ever again.”
Peter blinked.
“You lied to me?” he asked.
“I’m a fire demon,” Johnny said. “We listen to truths. We don’t have to tell them.”
Wow.
“Know that I’m really upset with you right now,” Peter said.
Johnny bobbed his head.
“But you’re more upset about the hero,” he said. “No need for that. He didn’t become a hero by dumb luck, and anyways, look at his kid. He’ll be fine; he’s the original material. A little dark magic isn’t gonna tear him up. He’s probably just gonna—”
There was a flash like miniature lightening through the bars of the gate.
“I take it back,” Johnny said. “Whoopsy-daisy. Come on, now, heart-boy. Up and over.”
 ---
--
-
 Peter landed on the other side of the gate right into mud that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.
“What’s going on?” he asked as Johnny hopped down with him.
“Big, wet,” Johnny said. “Dark, dark magic. Gross. Sticky. Here, we need more light.”
Little embers glittered in the throw of fire that expanded Johnny’s lantern lights. It brightened the space substantially and when Peter looked down, the ground was dry.
“Dude,” Flash said. “You know what? I’m convinced.”
“Johnny Storm is a fire demon,” Abe wept into his hands.
“Stay here,” Peter told Ned and MJ, we’ll be—”
“BACK. BACK. BACK.”
Johnny slammed Peter against the fence and let out a hiss that sounded like water hitting a scalding piece of metal. Peter’s heart throbbed. Johnny slowly released the pressure on him and made a clicking noise.
“I think,” he said after a moment. “That perhaps I am not a big enough fire.”
Dude, what?
Johnny turned to him.
“Sorry,” he said sadly. “More and more are waking up every second. They’re heavy.”
Dude, what?
“I’m really sorry,” Johnny said. “But uh. I think I need to, uh—”
“Need to what, Johnny?” MJ demanded on the other side of the fence.
Johnny looked like he was going to cry.
 ---
--
-
 “JONATHAN STORM.”
Scary, scary, scary, scary, scary.
“Sue,” Johnny pleaded. “Not here. Not now. There’s hero in the—”
“Oh, I see him,” Sue Storm said, looming. “He’s doing just fine. He’ll hold on for long enough for me to—”
“It’s my fault,” Peter blurted out. “I called him here.”
Sue Storm’s blue eyes seemed to blaze in the dark.
“Don’t blame him,” Johnny said. “I’ll take it. He’s my human. I’ll take it.”
“This is dark magic,” Sue said. “None of you should be here. This earth will turn sodden under the spell of these monsters. The hero will return it to balance. You two, in the meantime, are no heroes. Not even halves of one.”
Peter felt his face burning.
“He’s the selkie’s, Sue,” Johnny said quietly. “He’s not long a hero. Please help him?”
Sue Storm chewed her tongue, gazing holes into Johnny’s face. Johnny looked away first.
“Which selkie?” she demanded.
“Her name is Margaret,” Peter said.
Sue’s face jerked his way. Her eyes widened and she turned back out towards the cemetery.
“Oh,” she said softly. “That selkie. She’s more like us.”
Peter frowned.
“I don’t—” he started.
“She honors the earth and its fae even though she’s sea folk,” she said. She sighed heavily. “Alright, fine. I’ll help. But for the hero, not either of you, you hear? Johnny, you’ll need to make things right with the selkie. She’ll be furious. She’s been nothing but kind to our people. We can’t repay her like this.”
“Will do,” Johnny said.
“Stay here,” Sue said. “All of you. The curse has got into you. We’ll break it all at once.”
Oh shit.
MJ and Ned turned slowly towards Peter.
“Curse?” Ned asked.
Peter groaned.
---
--
-
 “It’s a friendship circle,” Johnny bubbled as Peter shoved him, once again, into the sigil he was trying to draw in the dirt at the cemetery entrance.
“I’m gonna salt you in and I will not regret it,” Peter threatened him.
“Johnny, come sit,” Ned said, patting the place between him and Felicia.
“Never,” Johnny hissed at him. “My heart is right—”
Peter left him to finish the circle. Johnny hurried to keep up with him.
Flash watched after him with furrowed eyebrows and a fist pressed to his mouth.
“This is not how this night was supposed to go,” he said.
“We didn’t even ask any stupid questions,” Abe sighed.
“What’s she doing out there?” Felicia asked.
Peter shoved Johnny’s flailing body towards her and finally finished the circle. He’d never made one this big. He started in on the protective signs around the interior.
“She’s a boggart!” Johnny chirped. “She’s boggart-ing!”
Peter felt the pause of the others more than he heard it.
“What does that mean?” Felicia asked.
“Oh. She’s a faerie of darkness,” Johnny said. “So she’s probably winding her way through all the posers and chasing them back to their hovels so that she can go chase the witches away from the hero and let him rest for a bit. She’ll guide him back if he’ll let her—which he might not. You never know with heroes. He might not want her smell on him.”
Peter had the feeling that Mr. Murdock was made of more sense than pride.
“How long will that take?” Abe asked.
Johnny made happy crackling sounds.
“Who knows! Depends on the witches,” he said. “Depends on how many people she needs to terrify. Boggarts get power through fear. The more spirits she scares, the faster she’ll be.”
Peter moved Ned’s backpack out of the way and carried on.
There was a lull.
“Peter, what are you doing?” Felicia asked.
“Protection circle,” MJ said for him.
“Oh.”
There was another silence.
“Where did you learn that?” Abe asked.
“His aunt’s a full witch. She does business in herbs, potions, and materials for their part of Forest hills,” Ned said.
“Oh.”
Flash and Abe scooted forward to let Peter in behind him. They watched him.
“That’s pretty cool, actually,” Felicia said. “Thanks for that.”
A mumbled thanks went around the whole group. Peter finished the final marks and stepped carefully over them into the circle.
“It’s nothing,” he sighed, flopping down and dragging Johnny away from Ned. “I should have known better. I think the ghosts were trying to warn me from the start. I should have listened better.”
More awkward silence.
“Well, it sounds like the fighting’s calmed down,” MJ said. “Mr. Murdock should be okay.”
Yeah.
“Wait,” Abe said. “Isn’t that your boss, MJ?”
Welp.
“Ghost man is my boss’s dad,” MJ sighed.
“Oh my god,” Felicia giggled. “You guys roped your boss’s dad into a practical joke?”
“He didn’t even want to scare you guys,” Peter groaned. “Man, I gotta learn how to read spirits. Johnny, how do I read spirits?”
“No idea. Spirits don’t like me. I’m too bright and obnoxious,” Johnny said.
“I’m un-bonding us,” Peter said. “You have nothing but bad advice and secrets.”
Johnny made kissy noises at him then scrambled up straight.
“Sue’s got the hero,” he said. “She’s arguing with him. Ahahaha.”
Peter cleared his throat. Johnny startled.
“Right, sorry,” he said. “She’s uh. Trying to convince him to come with her, but he’s refusing to look at her. Smart guy, you know that? Name a boggart and they’ll go off on you. He doesn’t want to chance it. Sue’s telling him that she’ll do the invisible thing so he doesn’t see her and he’s not into it, guys.”
Peter took it back. Maybe Mr. Murdock had too much sense for his own good.
“Can you talk to him?” Felicia asked.
“Who? Hero-man? Nah. I can just feel Sue’s frustration,” Johnny said. “Sibling bond, forever. You know?”
No, Johnny. No one knew. The only people with siblings in the circle were MJ and Abe.
“You’re so annoying,” MJ said.
“Aw, I like you too,” Johnny tittered.
Peter yanked him back and prayed that Mr. Murdock would give into the inevitable soon.
 ---
--
-
 “Look? See? No trouble. Not even a little trouble. Did I lie to you?”
Peter snapped awake and shook himself. He blinked into the dark until the shapes of bodies appeared before him as the other woke up too. They all turned around to see the dark outline of Sue standing on the other side of the fence.
Mr. Murdock’s tall shape was there too.
They looked…uh.
Kinda scuffed up, actually, hair-wise and scratches and bruises--the whole thing.
“Lord, she’s still talking to me,” Mr. Murdock said, facing away from Sue, now that Peter could see better.
“God is smart enough to see through you talking to him to talk to me,” She pointed out.
“Lord, you are so unknowable,” Mr. Murdock said pointedly.
“You know, for a fae hero, you’re sure religious.”
“Please see me through this period of suffering,” Mr. Murdock carried on. “And safely away from this hostile body and place.”
Johnny leapt up.
“You found him!” he cheered.
“Yes, of course I did,” Sue said. “He was fine, by the way. Meat-head here has anvils for hands.”
“I keep hearing voices, Lord,” Mr. Murdock said miserably. “Whatever sin it is I’ve committed, I’m willing to repent. But you’ve gotta help me out, man; the priest is convinced I’m a demon in his confession box.”
“Move,” Sue told Johnny. “Come one, Hero-man. We’re going through a fence. I dunno if you’ll fit with all those muscles.”
They all watched as Sue got a handful of the back of Mr. Murdock’s shirt and dragged him through the largest part of the gate uncomfortably.
“You did it!” she cheered. “Successful hero. Another quest fulfilled. Look at all these living children. And you even picked up a rock! That’s good for a young guy like—”
“I’m going back to the church and I’m never leaving,” Mr. Murdock finally told her directly.
“Oh,” Sue said. “You’re a church hero. That’s new.”
“I’m done. No more seals. No more mountains. No more lakes. No more cemeteries,” Mr. Murdock said, shaking himself and dragging his hands through his hair to smooth it out.
“Oh, wow, you’ve really been through it, huh?” Sue asked his back as he left them all in place.
“No more superpowers either,” Mr. Murdock said over his shoulder at her. He moved on ahead purposefully.
“I want him,” Sue told Johnny forcefully.
“He’s taken,” Johnny reminded her.
“He’s sturdy is what he is,” Sue said.
“Reed is sturdy,” Johnny pointed out.
Sue contemplated this.
“But he’s not fae,” she said.
Johnny rolled his eyes.
“Sue, we can throw your boyfriend into a graveyard of dark magic and let him fight his way home,” he said. “That’s something we can do. We can even time him.”
Sue drummed fingers across her face and slowly wrapped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders until his cheek was smushed up against hers against his will.
“You are so smart, little brother, sometimes I forget how smart you are,” she said.
She threw him away and straightened herself out.
“We’re hours from dawn,” she said. “We’re going home. Baby witch, you and my brother will apologize to the selkie tomorrow. I don’t think the hero wants to stay with you until then. I’m 90% sure, actually, the hero is already catching a train without you. The rest of you--”
She rounded on all of them.
“Do not play with ghosts, witches, spirits or any receptacle of them, do I make myself clear?”
Peter shrunk under her finger.
“Yes, ma’am,” they all mumbled.
She sniffed.
“Good,” she said. “Now we all need to go talk to baby’s witch’s mom. You have one hell of a curse hanging over you.”
---
--
-
 May was not pleased.
May doused them all in six different herb waters and made them eat something foul that tasted like charcoal and rubbing alcohol.
Then they had to get sprayed off with the hose in the backyard until all the cemetery mud came off and only then did May send everyone home.
---
--
-
 “Hey Peter?”
Peter looked up from his grinding in the doorframe the next morning—it as far as he was allowed at the present moment—and jumped at the whole group from the night before staring down at him.
He scrambled up.
“Uh, hi,” he said.
“Did you say sorry to the selkie yet?” Felicia asked him.
He almost wanted to shush her and check for passersby. May swore at something in the kitchen behind him. He edged forward and closed the door as far as he could without closing it all the way.
“No, not yet. What are you all doing here?” he asked.
He got a wave of eyebrows all around.
“We wanted to go with you and to say thanks. To the hero guy. You know. For uh, saving us from certain and horrible death,” Abe said.
Oh.
Oh.
“Let me, uh--give me just a second,” Peter said.
 ---
--
-
 Matt was at his apartment and he opened the door at the third knock. He heard MJ clear her throat and started cackling immediately.
“Don’t be a dick,” MJ said. “Let us say thank you.”
Matt remained inarticulate.
“Oh my god,” he finally choked. “Do you know—I haven’t—He hasn’t been this mad since I ate fries off the street—hold oh. Oh my god.”
Ew, man. That’s disgusting.
“Pops, come on out,” Matt coaxed, wiping tears from his eyes and skirting fingers across his kitchen counter until he got to cupboard under the sink. “They just wanna say sorry, Dad. It’s okay. There’s no secret second quest.”
Mr. Murdock refused to exit his newfound home.
Matt snickered so hard his shoulders shook. He stood up and found his counter to lean his elbows against.
“No harm, no foul to us,” he said amiably. “Mum’s been trying to keep a straight face in Mass. He came here for sympathy that I’m afraid I don’t have.”
Man. It was a wonder that Mr. Murdock stuck around at all.
Peter puffed himself up anyways.
“Mr. Murdock,” he said. “I know you can hear me. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry for roping you into the whole thing yesterday, but I’m also super glad you were there. ‘Cause we would’ve been screwed otherwise. So thank you.”
“Yeah, thank you,” Felicia said. “You’re really nice, and I’m glad you were there, too.”
The others added their thanks to the pile and Matt grinned in the direction of the cupboard.
“Come onnn,” he drawled. “I can feel you giving in, in there.”
Nothing.
Matt muffled a round of giggles in his sleeve.
“He accepts your thanks,” he said. “He’s just allergic to sunlight and gratitude.”
The cupboard door rattled violently. Matt shoved a foot against it.
“Mum isn’t mad either, she thinks it’s healthy for him to do quests without her,” he said. “So you’re all good with the three of us.”
Peter wasn’t positive that they were actually. But okay, sure?
“I guess we’ll leave you guys to uh, brood? Baseball? Whatever it is you do together?” He said.
Matt hummed and nodded and waved them out. Peter shut the door behind them.
“That was easy,” Flash said.
“Man, I hope my dad just dies the once,” Abe said.
“My dad isn’t cool enough to fight zombies in a graveyard,” Felicia said.
MJ considered this.
“My mom could do it,” she said.
Ned snorted. Peter swallowed a laugh.
---
--
-
 “So,” Flash said as they passed by the church that Mr. Murdock usually called home. “I know it was all kind of an actual nightmare, but like. I dunno.”
Peter stopped.
“You want more fae bullshit?” he asked in shock.
Flash rubbed at the back of his neck and even Abe and Felicia refused to make eye contact. Ned and MJ stared at them, then Peter in shock.
“It’s just really cool,” Flash admitted. “Like, there’s all this stuff that I thought was fake. But it’s all happening here, all at once—you know. Heroes and zombies and fire demons and witches.”
“This isn’t a tv show,” Peter said. “You know that right? Like, we don’t always win? Yeah, there are heroes and witches, but there’s also really bad magic. Dangerous fae. There are turf wars and tricksters and everything you do is a deal and you always owe someone something. It’s not always fun.”
“Okay, but isn’t it better to know?” Flash asked.
Peter closed his lips.
He didn’t have an argument for that.
“I’m not teaching you,” he sniffed. “I’m already apprenticed. If you want a mentor, it can’t be me—and you can’t have my demon.”
“But he’s Johnny Storm,” Abe blurted out. “Johnny. Storm. Peter, how did you even swing that? And why does he listen to you.”
“He doesn’t,” MJ butted in.
“He does,” Peter corrected.
“He really doesn’t,” Ned said. “Peter’s an amateur witch at best who bound himself to a fire demon with impulse control issues.”
Wow. Betrayed by his own family.
“I’m leaving, I’m grounded, you guy go get a grimoire or something and learn your magic bullshit yourselves,” he said.
“Aww, come on.”
“They were just joking, Peter.”
“Come backkkkk.”
Mr. Murdock had the right idea. Peter had a cupboard to find.
------
 Hope this hits the spot, boo!! And Happy Halloween, y’all!
70 notes · View notes
tickle-bugs · 4 years
Text
Playing With Fire
Summary:  Klaus likes being chased around and such after getting caught, but messing with someone and getting away with it is too good to pass up. Five does not agree. Maybe, just maybe, Klaus went a little too far.
@amazingmsme: Saw prompts are open & im real hyped for season 2 so could you maybe do a fic where Klaus just adores messing with Five? Cause Klaus is used to being a main target so he enjoys having someone he can target cause Five is usually too embarrassed to get revenge. But he keeps it up for a bit too long & Five snaps & now he’s getting revenge on him every change he gets, so Klaus is a nervous giggly wreck all the time. Their dynamic is so underrated, I just need this. You write them so well, love you!
This turned out a lot longer than I intended but I hope you like it! There are no spoilers for season 2! Enjoy :)
Five’s threshold for patience was a lot higher than one might think.
Sure, he’d curse and grumble, possibly even throw the nearest object at whoever was closest to him, but very rarely did he react boldly.
For comparison, if Diego became annoyed with one of his siblings, he’d either throw knives at them or initiate a full-scale manhunt. He considered this to be a reasonable response.
While there was fun in the chase and wondering if one day Diego might actually resort to murder if he found his knives missing again, Klaus had quickly become fond of Five and his plethora of reactions. They were a fine wine that Klaus hadn’t appreciated until recently, but as of late, he had taken the time to become better acquainted with them.
To continue with the wine metaphor, Klaus’s persistence and Five’s temper paired like red wine and stinky cheese. Which is to say, they didn’t match at all and Klaus knew jack shit about wine.
The beauty of Five was that he was often too embarrassed to enact revenge. His reputation suggested a violent outburst at the slightest inconvenience, but in reality, Five required an extraordinary progression of events to truly push his buttons.
Like today.
It had become Klaus’s personal mission to see exactly what it would take to break Five. Some would call it a death wish, but the intellectual would call it a pursuit of knowledge. 
He started with short jokes.
“How’s the weather down there?” Klaus rested an elbow on top of Five’s head and pretended to be interested in the sandwich he was making.
“Warm. It’s closer to Hell,” Five answered in perfect monotone. He pressed together a delicious peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, slicing it smoothly down the center.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you, you’re a quick thinker. Though, I have to hand everything to you.” Klaus grinned, ruffling his brother’s hair. Five disappeared from under his arm and appeared on the counter as he easily slid the peanut butter back into the cupboard. He gave Klaus a pointed stare as he jumped down.
“You’re vertically challenged.” Klaus was very quickly starting to run out of material. 
“And you’re a little bitch. Bye.” Five smiled, took his sandwich, and vanished in a flash of blue. Klaus sighed and plopped down at the kitchen table. 
“What do I do, Ben?” Klaus laid his head in his hands, massaging his temples.
“I dunno. Leave him alone?” Ben flicked Klaus in the forehead and his fingers passed straight through.
“That’s boring.”
“Why are you messing with him, anyway?”
“I just wanna push his buttons, y’know? It’s fun.”
“He’s gonna kill you.” Ben chuckled.
“Probably.”
Nicknames, though short-lived, didn’t work. Maybe it was Five’s (surprisingly) good mood, or the fact that they were loopy from a lack of sleep, but everyone actually laughed at his nickname instead of groaning.
“Hey, Hawaii Five-O. Pass the salt.”
“Oh. Oh wow,” Allison giggled, leaning her forehead on the table. 
“I’ll admit, that was...better than your others.” Five chuckled, sliding the salt shaker down the table. Klaus had been so stunned that he forgot to pursue the nicknames, though, in all fairness, it tended to be distracting when all of the siblings got along. 
In his second approach, Klaus decided to considerably up the ante. He found Five in the living room, curled up under a blanket and completely captivated in his book. 
“This looks boring,” Klaus said, pulling the book from Five’s hands. He idly flipped forward a few pages.
“Give it back,” Five growled, trying to grab the book. Klaus leaned away, taking advantage of his long arms to keep the book out of reach.
“Oh, I’m not bothering you, am I? I’d just hate to interrupt you,” Klaus draped himself over the armrest, hanging upside down and pretending to read.
“Klaus.”
“This is boring. How do you even read this? Jules Verne wishes he could write the gays like Melville could.” Klaus sat up just enough to raise an eyebrow at Five before reclining again.
Ten fingers vibrated into Klaus's stomach and he burst into laughter, folding like a lawn chair and flipping over the armrest entirely. 
“Don’t take my shit.” Five snatched his book back and disappeared in a flash of blue, leaving Klaus to his residual giggles.
Ah, sweet progress.
An hour later, Klaus bounded up the stairs, mischief bubbling in his soul. His earlier encounter with Five gave him a key piece of information. It wasn’t how he bothered Five, but for how long. 
“Hi-”
“No.” Five sighed when Klaus burst into his room.
“But-“
“No.” Five disappeared in a flash of blue. 
“You’re really rude, you know that?” Klaus huffed, catching his breath at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t miss the way Five’s lips quirked up slightly at his misery.
“What do you want?” Five glared at him over the time of his coffee mug.
“Company? Love and affection?” Klaus leaned against the wall, trying to play off how winded he was. Were there always that many stairs? 
“Go ask Allison. She loves putting up with you, for whatever reason.”
“Again, with the rudeness. Do I really deserve it?” Klaus sighed laboriously, wedging himself between Five and the armrest of the couch, making sure to shove his toes underneath Five’s leg.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that question.” Five rolled his eyes. Klaus’s eyes glanced just behind Five, to where Ben was moving over to the coffee table. He fiddled with the rubber band on his wrist, twisting and snapping it against his wrist. Ben flickered blue for a moment.
“You’re quiet.” Five muttered.
“You say that like I never am.” Klaus scoffed, eyes trailing back to Ben. He kept trying to pick up Five’s coffee mug, but every time he tried, his hand passed through and slightly disturbed the surface of the drink. Klaus squinted, trying to concentrate enough for Ben to grab it. Another snap of the band and Ben nearly grabbed the cup, but Klaus’s concentration slipped too quick and the mug simply shifted on the table. 
“You’ve been playing with that rubber band since you sat down.” Five furrowed his brow when Klaus jumped. 
“Oh, this? It helps keep the cravings in check.” Klaus snapped it a few extra times for good measure, and Ben finally picked up the glass. Klaus didn’t take his eyes off of Five then.
“Does it help?” Five asked, so painfully sincere that it stopped Klaus in his tracks. He bit back a joke about Five caring about him—a habit, to convince himself that people did in fact care about his state of mind. 
“At times. There’s still the nights where I want to crawl out of my skin, but it helps with smaller urges,” Klaus said quietly, suddenly feeling very small. He hadn’t talked to anyone about his...problem. The most honest conversation about it had been when Diego had strapped him to that chair, weeping and writhing, a perfect picture of desperation. Even though he’d asked to be tied down, he didn’t count that as a chat. It was more of an emergency briefing.
“Klaus,” Ben whispered, awkwardly holding the mug.
“I’m sorry you went through that, if it means anything.” 
“It means everything, Five.” Klaus smiled, pretending to scratch his back. As soon as his palm left Five’s line of sight, he frantically gestured for Ben to bring the mug over. Ben slipped it into his hand with a chuckle and took a seat.
“Whatcha doing out here?”
“Just...thinking.” Five hummed, picking at the skin around his nails.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Klaus raised the mug to his lips and took a loud slurp.
“Well—“ Five’s sentence died in his throat as he caught sight of Klaus pilfering his drink. A beautiful symphony of disappointment, annoyance, and amusement played across his features, and Klaus couldn’t help the smile on his face. 
“Seriously?” Five raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you.”
“I have no clue what you mean.” Klaus bit his lip, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Five rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of Klaus’s side. He shrieked, toppling over and delivering the mug into Five’s outstretched palm. He set it aside on the table before digging properly into Klaus’s sides, melting him into a pile of flailing limbs.
“You are insufferable.” Five sighed, as if this was the hardest job in the world. Klaus screeched, trying to curl in on himself and escape. He twisted away from one of Five’s hands but he still couldn’t stop giggling. 
“I-I am a gift to humanity!” Klaus’s voice jumped into a high squeak before fading out entirely. 
“What? I can’t understand you, can you repeat that? You’re a gift to what?” Five wiggled his fingers in random intervals, pausing just long enough for Klaus to glare before starting up again. 
“Five!” Klaus squealed, shoving at his brother’s face, anything to put distance between them.  
“You’re certainly not a gift to me. Try again.” Five raised an eyebrow. 
“I said, I am a gift to-” The rest of Klaus’s sentence was lost to his own wild laughter when Five dug into his stomach, making sure to pinch, prod, and scribble over every inch he could. 
“You’re a pest.” Five gave Klaus’s hips a final squeeze and he fell off the couch, head thunking against the floor before the rest of his body slid down like a wet noodle. His legs were still propped awkwardly on the couch, making him look like the world’s most exhausted pin-up girl, until Five tickled his feet and made him drop his legs. Klaus pulled himself up, still buzzing and grinning.
“If you still wanna talk, I’m all ears.” Klaus ruffled Five’s hair, not even bothered when Five smacked his hand away. He didn’t miss the smile on Five’s face when he teleported away. 
Eating dinner made Klaus feel like the greatest man alive. He’d done it, he’d carefully driven Five to his breaking point, and lived to talk about it. Now, eating mac and cheese across from his adversary, he had earned his place as the god he was. 
“There’s a proverb that I find interesting.” He said, waving his fork to claim the attention of his siblings. He glanced over Five’s shoulder and grinned when he saw Ben taking a mug down from the cabinet. All according to plan. 
“Care to share with the class?” Five glanced up from his plate.
“‘It takes two to make a thing go right. It takes two to make it outta sight.’ Insightful, don’t you think?” Klaus chuckled. Vanya giggled, bright and sweet, and he waggled his eyebrows at her so she’d do it again.
“Your point is...?” Five glared.
“Well, it takes two to make the perfect cup of cocoa. With marshmallows.” Klaus smirked, and Ben giggled quietly at the look on Five’s face. 
“No!” Five stood, slamming his palms on the table. 
“Yep. Thank you, Ben. You’re so thoughtful.” Klaus smiled, taking the mug from Ben. 
“It’s your funeral.” Ben rolled his eyes. Five growled and swiped a butter knife from the table.
“Five, sit down and drop the knife.” Allison glared.
“Allison-”
“Now.” She gestured towards his chair and Five slowly sunk back into it, his eyes never leaving Klaus. 
“Klaus, stop it.” Allison hissed, slapping his shoulder. Klaus shrugged and sipped his cocoa, pretending not to notice how Five’s body was trembling with rage.
“Yeah, Klaus, listen to mom.” Diego snickered, sticking his tongue out. The look Allison gave him could shatter glass. 
“Guys-” Vanya murmured.
“Enough! No fighting during dinner. After dinner? Do what you want.” Allison waved her hand with a sigh. Klaus couldn’t help but steal glances every few seconds. It was delicious, watching Five tussle with Allison’s meaningless rules. Every time Five slammed a utensil down or clenched his fists, Klaus slurped louder, making direct eye contact. 
“What is happening?” Vanya looked between her brothers, scooting her chair back on instinct. 
“Does it matter? I’m sure we’re about to find out, anyway,” Diego muttered. Five started eating faster and so did Klaus, both racing to finish their plates before the other could get up. Klaus made it out the kitchen just seconds before Five got up from the table, screaming bloody murder. 
Actions. Actions have consequences.
Klaus bolted through the hall, screeching to a stop by the upstairs reading nook. He looked around for another path of escape. He could jump over the railing, but it’d be harder to run with broken ankles.
“He is definitely gonna kill you now.” Ben sat on the railing and kicked his legs, looking far too smug for an accomplice. 
“Shut up, Ben!” Klaus sprinted for the bedrooms but Five cut him off. He sauntered forwards, hands in his pockets, and okay, maybe it was a little intimidating.
“Five, wait!” Klaus held out his hands, already giggling, stalling for tradition’s sake.
“I’m sorry, Klaus. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’ve crossed a line.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”
“Yes, you will.” Five grinned, wiggling his fingers towards Klaus as he bolted. Five teleported onto Klaus’s back and they both toppled over, cursing and grappling with each other. Five managed to get an arm around Klaus’s neck, scribbling at whatever patches of neck he could until his brother was doing more laughing than fighting.
“N-Noho!” Klaus latched onto Five’s arm and started to pull away, but Five teleported on top of him before the seer could go anywhere. Something in Klaus’s soul flared, some combination of excitement and anticipation that made him want to extend the chase before he was truly caught.
Earlier was fun, but this was exactly what he was looking for. This was the true breaking point, the complete loss of patience that yielded its own specific blend of revenge. This was a real victory. Point to Klaus, and all that.
“I was saving those marshmallows for myself! How dare you?” Five dug into Klaus’s lower stomach and he arched his back, immediately falling into cackles. 
“Next time, ghost-proof them--wait!” He threw his hands up again but Five slipped past, shoving his hands under Klaus’s arms with terrifying accuracy. 
“Wait for what, hm? Wait for my marshmallows to come back?” 
“Ben did it, not me!” Klaus punctuated the accusation with a snort. He covered his face and groaned before falling into giggles again.
“Hey!” Ben wiggled his fingers over Klaus’s sides and oh no, he could feel it. It was an incredible breakthrough in the powers department, but also terribly inconvenient—and tickly. Every finger felt like ten more, light and wispy and buzzing in every inch of his stomach. 
“Well, I can’t get Ben, can I?” Five asked over Klaus’s sudden laughter, not even noticing he wasn’t causing it. 
“What if you could? I’ve been practicing making him tangible. We could make a deal?” Klaus’s tattoos glowed a faint blue as he held his hands out towards Ben, who started to flicker into the visible spectrum. 
“Oh, no you don’t!” Ben snagged Klaus’s forearm and fluttered his nails up towards the palm, tracing over the letters of the tattooed ‘Hello’ until Klaus was a puddle on the floor. 
“Tempting, but I’d rather hear you scream instead.” Five managed to get a hand under Klaus’s knee, and oh fuck, he was going to die here. 
Ben seemed to have no intentions of letting up, because he took Klaus’s other hand, making sure to give it the same unbearable treatment. It wasn’t fair—no one knew about that spot, but of course Ben knew. Ben always knew way too much.
“I know what you were doing today. You aren’t sneaky.” Five said casually, as if he wasn’t taking Klaus apart. He moved his fingers up a little higher, just above the back of Klaus’s knee. Klaus screamed and he flipped  himself over, trying to crawl away from Five. 
“Oh, you must really like this spot! Should I keep going?” Five sat on Klaus’s calf, scratching in maddening patterns over that one spot that sent Klaus flailing like a live wire.
“No!” He managed to squeal, wiggling like a worm pulled from the earth. Ben chuckled and let go of Klaus’s hand. 
“If you insist.” Five grabbed Klaus’s ankle and fluttered his fingers over the sole, following the twitching foot with killer intent. Klaus’s laughter jumped a few octaves and he covered his face.  
“Aww. This is adorable.” Ben sat near Klaus’s other foot. He tried to grab at it but his hand kept passing through—Judging by the noise Klaus made, it wasn’t in vain.
“Stop it! Shut up!” Klaus slapped at the air behind him and missed both brothers.
“Mm, no,” Five and Ben said in unison, both having far too much fun with their captive. Ben just kept moving his hand through Klaus’s foot, delighted by the range of squeals and frantic giggles he got with each twitch of a finger.
“Please!” Klaus wheezed, laying a cheek on the hardwood as he resigned to die. 
“And finally, he begs.” With a final twitch of his fingers, Five stood. He stretched and sighed, cracking a few things as if he’d been doing hard work. Klaus’s snarky jab—something about Five being old—turned into weak chuckles before it could leave his mouth.
“Happy?” Five gently squeezed the back of Klaus’s neck and he giggled tiredly.
“I think I will die here now.”
“You’re in the way,” Five frowned. He touched Klaus’s arm and he faintly registered a flash of blue. His face came in contact with a soft, shaggy rug and—oh, they were in his room. 
“Here. Now, quit bugging me.” Five stepped over Klaus’s body and shut the door on his way out. Klaus smiled and chuckled to himself. 
Experiment complete.
143 notes · View notes
freshneverfrozen · 3 years
Text
Tincture - Chapter One
Or, the one where your author lets us do what Ubisoft wouldn’t. Also, the tropey one.
When her home is burned by a mad Dane, a healer must decide if her fate lies with forgiveness or revenge. 
I’m back from the dead to inflict on you all an AC Vahalla Reader fic literally no one is asking for. Is it Reader/Ivarr? Reader/Basim? Reader/Hytham? Who knows? No, like seriously, I don’t know.
Multi-chapter Fic
Pairing: Reader +...uh, Ivarr? You expect me to choose?
Rating: M for mmm, slow burn erotica.
On AO3:
Part One, Two
........................
CHAPTER ONE:
Snow burns. No one had ever told you. It is a scalding cold that stiffens your bones and cracks your teeth, and you are glad the moment the last flurries are behind you.
The people whose company you learn to keep are never as bothered by the snow as you. Their eyes shine like ice and their faces are shadowed and grim. They had not taken to you easily, a foreigner like them, but unlike them, you did not earn your place through rended flesh and broken bones.
You mend their flesh. You set their bones.
Eventually, they began to call you something other than ‘troll’ and ‘witch’. Eventually, your hut is traded for a slant-framed house at the edge of a village that survives both Saxons and Danes. 
‘Healer’ they call you, and it’s just as well. You left your name behind in a faraway place. 
You count a spring with them and then a summer. But just as the north-country snow melts, time changes all things.
One gray morning, when the mists are heavy over the moors, something besides the creeping cold wakes you. Wood creaks under a layer of furs as you sit up in your bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes and straining to hear again what drew you from sleep.
There is only yawning silence. It stretches past the walls of your house and over the hills. Beyond your walls, the wind is still, the farm animals not yet restless, and the corner fire is long dead past the comfort of crackling embers. 
No, you realize. It has not been noise that has awoken you.
A feeling swirls in your gut. That’s it. A pack-and-run instinct that you have trusted before. And just that simply, it occurs to you that life here is over. You can rebuild. But you must first survive.
‘Witch,’ they once called you. ‘Uncanny’ would be closer to the truth.
The floor is chilly beneath your bare feet as you slip from your bed. You grab nothing, not food, nor tincture. With a hand to the cord that holds the small draw-string pouch around your neck, you know you will have only a few pieces of silver. That, and your life, will be enough.
You have felt this feeling before. This knowing.
You take only your dark woolen cloak from the back of a chair and, wrapping it around your shoulders, you peek past the hung sail-cloth that serves as a door and out into the foggy blue of early morn. 
Quiet. Still. A calm before a storm.
Yes. You know this feeling. 
You melt from the shadows of your home, around the side and between the stables and granary. You know the families. Saxons on one side, Danes on the other. One has children. The other an elderly mother. She had been the first in this place to call you ‘healer’ when you eased the ache in her old bones. 
Silently, you move on swift steps until cold mud from the cart path gives way to tall grass that stings your feet. There, you crouch. You move a little further and listen for nothing. The further you go, the more guilt turns your stomach. So many are still asleep in their beds. You are their healer.
But you cannot save them. 
Near the edge of the field stands an ancient oak, out of place and far from its brethren in the forests to the east. It stands among the high grass, a field’s width from the village. You lower yourself against the gnarled base, settling down until all can see of the village are the plumes of smoke from the hearth fires drifting into the sky. Your feet are chilled to numbness, caked in mud and grit, but your hands shake too badly to massage the feeling back into them. 
Instead, you wait, and you exhale your breath between your knees so that it does not rise above the grass. 
And you do not flinch when the first of the battle cries pierce the air. You had known they were coming. Danes. Different from the peaceful breed settled here. 
Screams follow smoke, and then follows the wafting scent of blood and shit on the wind.
You had known.
You sink lower against the tree and in an awful moment, wish that you might freeze. When the wishing is unanswered, you try not to listen as the screams grow fewer and farther between. The terror of the butchered turns to gleeful cries from the invaders. How long has it taken? The sun has yet to clear the sky. Another sacking done in England. Danes killing Danes, killing Saxons, killing all. But not you. Not yet.
And then you hear it.
A sound separates itself from the victory din. It begins as a rustling through the grass, not soft as your steps had been, but moving quickly and toward you. A wayward Dane? A survivor?
Lie still, you demand of yourself as your muscles seize on instinct. You press yourself deeper into the dirt. A fool would run. A dead fool. Whatever comes, it cannot know you have hidden yourself here, tucked yourself away amid the roots and reeds.
A set of shoulders and a dark head above them glade over the tall grass. He is a Dane. You can smell the blood on him, see the gleam of it against the shaved side of his scalp. At his nearness, your heart pounds until it rattles your teeth, but you do not take your eyes from him. If he spots you, and only then, you will run. It will be the death of you.
But he cannot see you. Not here. But even as you think them, those thoughts sound like lies.
The Dane curses, and it is then that you hear the slosh of liquid against clay walls. His steps are burdened. Carrying something. He shakes the bulk in his arms and you hear the splatter of something wet over grass and smell the cloying scent of oil and pitch.
They mean to burn the fields.
And you with them.
Why harvest, when you can ransack? Why spare lives, when it is easier to take gold from a corpse? 
You are a healer, but you would kill them all if you could. 
The Dane moves off, his back to you now. His shoulders are slim, his body lightly armored. If you run, there is every likelihood this one will overtake you. But you cannot wait, not as you hear him call out in his rough language for fire. A torch. You will have to slip away or face certain death in this snare.
You shift, quiet as a hare in the underbrush, and begin to move eastward. Wet ground seeps into the thin fabric of the under-dress you had escaped in, but you ignore the spreading damp against your chest as you crawl. The sound of a horse’s braying and the noise of hooves through grass drives you forward. You know without looking that someone has brought the Dane his torch.
The crack of a mad laugh sets your teeth to grinding. The Dane shouts, “Let the ravens pick their fill through the smoke!” 
“Careful that you do not burn with the fields, Ivarr,” says another voice, too full of reason to earn anything other than ridicule.
The Dane laughs again and soon, the rush of fire catching fuel overtakes the sound of him. It spreads and crackles at your back, wind carrying the heat, carrying the flame. Toward you. 
You’ve no choice but to run now. 
You’re going to die after all. By fire or the swing of an axe, it doesn’t matter. Dead is dead. Perhaps, this is punishment for leaving the others unwarned. If that is so, you are cut by the bitter thought that the divine has been swift in retribution.
Heat licks at your calves sooner than you expect and you push to your feet. The forest is a league away, over crag and hill and the sludge of the moors. You will never outrun them. But perhaps the flame and smoke will hide you  -- 
“Aha! Look there! One last sheep left to gut!” The bark of the Dane drives the breath from you. “Give me your horse!”
“But Ivarr -- “
A snarl from the Dane is all you hear before the noise of your bare feet beating over grass drowns out the rest. The moors. You need only make it to the moors and then the muck and hollows will slow him. 
With a gasp of relief, you clear the field, legs burning and catching beneath a skirt heavy with mud. Another small hill lies ahead, this one rocky with moss-covered stones. You dart up the first slope, casting yourself over one rock just as you hear the thundering of hooves nearing. 
The Dane laughs, a hollow, delirious sound that you have heard before from madmen you could not cure. You glance back, your eyes drawn to the sheen of teeth. His is a gruesome smile, crooked and jagged like a jack o’ lantern on Samhain. Fear boils away the cold as you register just how near he is, and you spot a hand sweeping at you from the back of a dappled horse.
“Where will you go, foxling?” he jeers. “Run! Run faster! This is no chase!”
A protesting snort from the horse ruffles your hair as you near the top of the hill. The beast proves a blessing, and you throw yourself from its path just as the Dane reaches for you again. With curse, he flails at the air, and before he can turn his mount, you are struck with an idea. 
Instinct has always served you well and as it beckons, you listen. Leaping with a snarled cry, you catch hold of the Dane’s outstretched arm. Your weight and the momentum of the horse unseats him and for a moment, a very brief one, your eyes lock with his. They widen, surprise sparking behind the wild blue of them, and in the instant before he falls, you think you see a grin turn his lips. 
He strikes the ground with a thud, crying out as the horse’s hooves catch his legs. You leap over his body as it rolls, your fingers twisting into the mane of the horse. One bound and then another, and you find your purchase, swinging yourself up into the saddle. You look back over your shoulder, eyes narrowing in focus on the Dane as the horse rocks beneath you. He staggers to his feet, yards away now, and he laughs.
“Well done, little fox! Run, while I catch my breath!”
His laughs grow louder, wilder, and when you turn from him, you dare not look back again.
.
………………………………………
.
There might as well be snow. 
English nights are cold when spent in nothing but a damp shift and cloak. The horse, at least, makes good company. The village is three nights behind you now, three nights that you feel in your empty belly. On the first, you had not slept, fearing the mad Dane would appear from the shadows. The second had passed in the cradle of old ruins. The third, you had found an abandoned home.
Now, with morning blooming outside, you saddle the horse, a mare whose name you do not know. You had spent the night considering names for her, to replace whatever the Danes called her, if it had been anything at all, but in the end, you decided on nothing. You’ve little fondness for all the names given to you, so you will not do the same to her.
She is simply the mare, as anonymous as her rider.
A starving rider, you think grimly as you swing into the saddle, with your stomach growling to remind you that wild raspberries do not take the place of bread and mutton. 
“Will you share your grass?” you ask the mare as you lean forward to scratch between her ears. “You do not seem as starved as I.”
She snorts as though to say too late, and with a glance at the earth below, you see that she has eaten the greenery to nothing.
Muttering through a smile, you say, “Ah, payment for saving my hide. I understand.”
A half-day’s ride brings rain. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself and take solace in knowing bad weather means fewer travelers, and fewer travelers mean less likelihood of bandits. It is by that reasoning alone that you are surprised to see two figures crest the hilltop ahead. Both ride horses of their own and as they near, you cannot make out their faces for the sodden white hoods they wear.
Better unfriendly than dead, you adjust your own hood, and hunker lower over the saddle. You guide the mare off the path to make way for the riders. Monks? They look like men of the Cloth, perhaps on their way to one of the Saxon holdings. If so, they are riding into Dane territory. 
But that is their problem, not yours.
Your teeth grit as one slows his horse as they pass. 
“Traveler,” he says, his accent strange, as foreign as yours. “Is it this way to Fremdeleigh?”
Fremdeleigh is ash and ember now.
In your hesitation to speak, you cut your eyes upward beneath the edge of your hood. Looking at the man, a length of curling dark hair falls about a dark, trimmed beard. More than that, you cannot see. The other rider, slightly smaller, hunched as though the ride has pained him, turns his face away. Of him, you can see nothing.
The man is waiting, and should you hesitate longer, you risk more questions. “Fremdeleigh was that way, yes.”
The man is quiet for a stretch. 
“Was?” His voice...such a simple questions gives you chills. It is a dangerous voice, one that has you wishing for highwaymen rather than priests. If they are priests. The knives and daggers strapped about the men are not lost on you.
“Perhaps it is, if it still stands. Danes took it three days past.”
The men share a look, though you doubt they can see one another’s eyes. You make to move the mare forward.
“A moment,” says the man. “Do you come from Fremdeleigh?”
“Why do you ask this? What is left of it lies down this road. Brave the Danes, if you must go there.”
“Perhaps I make a habit of braving Danes?” Charm settles in the man’s voice too late. It does little soothe your wariness. “And I ask to know what sort of Danes they were.”
Needling man. You should not let his prying bother you, but Fremdeleigh is not so far behind you that the question’s answer is easy to face. 
“The wicked sort,” you reply, and at this, you think you catch a snort of agreement from the second man. “Now, safe travels to you both, strangers.” A rolling growl from your stomach accompanies your words, and you quickly turn your face away.
You have just set your heels into the mare’s sides when the first man calls out, “You’ve a hungry look about you. Perhaps you would trade answers for a meal?” 
Another dinnerless night feels more than you can stand. But a part of you would sooner starve than risk a camp alone with these men, who are perhaps not as godly as their robes would claim. 
The man seems to read your thoughts. Surely, he has figured you to be a woman by now. An easy target, if he wishes it. “We will not harm you, this we swear. We want only your time and to ask a few questions.”
“Men have done worse to women with smaller promises than that one,” you reply. 
The rain is coming harder now. The mare throws her head. If you do not get her beneath the shelter of trees, she may take herself. Your stomach growls again. The pain of emptiness is setting in. You consider your choices for a moment -- a hungry, endless ride through this weather or hooded men, armed to the teeth. Before the man can refute this -- indeed, it seems he’s rather reluctant to argue this at all -- you make up your mind. 
“Remove your hood,” you say, “I would know your eyes.”
The twitch of a smile appears beneath the beard. “As you wish.”
He raises his hand and pulls down the hood, revealing a head of thick, black hair to the elements. He is a foreigner, and farther from home than the Danes had been. His skin has the dark cast of men from the east, his eyes darker still. 
They are a killer’s eyes. You know it the moment they meet yours and a prickling begins at your neck. But this one is not rabid like the men from whom you had fled. He is a killer, but something tells you he hunts more dangerous prey than you.
“Very well,” you say when you can stand to hold his gaze no longer. “Answers for a meal.”
“You are no longer worried we will kill you?” he asks. You do not think he is as surprised as he feigns. 
“No,” you reply simply. 
The other man, smaller and quieter, shakes his head beneath his hood. This one thinks you stupid or mad, but he winces before he decides to protest, and just as silently, he settles over his saddle and looks away.
.
……………………..
.
The thick trees are shelter enough for the three of you. Several times, as you watch the men set about tying off their horses and building a small fire beneath an outcropping of rocks and a fallen log, you reconsider your foolishness. But when one of the men, the quiet one, retrieves bread from his satchel and places it before the fire, you are finally coaxed down from the mare.
“Here,” he says, handing you the bread and a helping of...dried fish, you realize as you unwrap the parcel. “It is fish.”
You know fish when you smell it. This one does think you stupid, after all. Perhaps he is right. But obvious though the words are, you are surprised to hear that his voice is softer than that of his compatriot. It is better suited to a poet than a man strapped to the teeth in blades. As he pulls away, you get a glimpse of his face, still hidden beneath the hood, and find it younger than the other man’s.
“A Dane’s meal,” you reply, glad your eyes are shielded by your own hood.
“A Dane’s meal is still a meal.” He turns away and sulks over to the far side of the fire. His movements are hitched, a hand going to his side as he lowers himself down. You see no blood on the white of his robes, so perhaps his is an old wound. The healer in you nearly as what ails him, but you hold your tongue and take a bite of bread.
The other man moves more quietly than you would like, crouching beside the fire, his eyes and expression hardly warmed by its flames. He tries to smile at you, but seems to know that will not earn him any faith, and after a moment, his expression slips back into something cold and unreadable. 
“I am Basim,” he says, “This is my...friend. You may call him Hytham, if you wish, though I cannot promise he will hear you over his groaning.”
“I am fine,” says the other man, but you know a lie when you hear it.
You swallow your mouthful. “Strange names to hear in England.”
“Strange times,” mutters Hytham. 
Basim’s eyes run from your feet -- still bare -- to your face, and you fight the urge to draw in on yourself. The urge passes as you realize there is nothing lecherous in the look; it is...appraising. It sees more than you care to reveal, and you make up your mind to eat quickly.
“You have the look of someone who is running. Can I assume it is from Danes?”
“You knew that when you offered this meal. What is it you really wish to know, Basim?”
His lips twitch again. Is it an uncontrolled tick, you wonder? A man like this strikes you as one who has very little outside his control, so perhaps the smiles, if that is what they can be called, are intended to put you at ease. 
“We are looking for our friend. We have news for her.”
Looking for a Dane.
You frown at the dried fish and cast a wary-eyed look at Hytham. “A Dane’s meal, after all. You should have just said so.”
“Would you have taken the first bite?” asks Hytham.
You make a face and it is then that you learn that Hytham does not hide his smiles so easily as Basim. You look back to the other man. “I saw little, I’m afraid. One Dane chased me. That is his horse.”
“You stole his horse?” Basim raises a brow. 
“He deserved worse. He was scarred. A bigger man than he looked. Another called him Ivarr. That is the only name I heard.”
“That is name enough,” says Basim. He sits back on his heels and gestures to you. “Please, eat.”
As you take another bite, you’ve half a mind to ask if they are friends of this Ivarr, but doing so will open the door to more questions and both these men seem the sort to prefer asking them. You have made it this far; you’ll not have your throat cut for nosiness. As you eat, the skies darken, until midday could be mistaken for night, and thunder rolls overhead.
Hytham’s voice draws your glance. You had thought the man dozing as the conversation waned, but he is awake, though his mouth is set in a bitter line. “That’ll be Thor, or so I’m told.”
“You should have stayed in Ravensthorpe,” Basim says, but his scolding is gentle. 
“I tire of four walls. I am fine.”
Liar.
He stretches out his legs, but the motion seems to pain him. He catches you looking. “It has been a long ride.”
“A long ride on an injury, even an old one, can do a man more harm than the change of scenery will do him good.” You shove the last bite of bread into your mouth and swallow. Hytham -- and Basim, too, you notice -- eyes you cautiously as you stand. Or you think he does. He tilts his head, hood slipping until you can see a little more of his cheek. You kneel beside him and ask, “What is bothering you?”
“Not an old injury,” says Basim, “but not a new one, either.”
“Let me look. It will be my thanks to you both for sharing your food, and it will pass time in this rain.”
“Are you a healer?” 
“I was. Before Fremdeleigh burned. I will be one again once I am settled.”
“I am fine.” Hytham’s jaw takes on the proud jutt of someone determined to let their pride outweigh their sense. At last, he has enough of the hood, and sweeps it back so that he can glare at you properly. You had been right. He is younger than Basim, perhaps younger than you, though the handsomeness of his features is weighed down by a pain you had only glimpsed beneath the hood. 
Despite Hytham’s potent scowl, you shake your head. “That’s the third time you have said so and each time, your whining gets louder.”
A rich crack of laughter from Basim startles you both. “Perhaps I should leave you to her and I shall ride to Fremdeleigh?”
“I should think he has learned this whining from someone,” you reply, and this quiets Basim. “Best you stay and hold him down. In case any bones need re-setting.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hytham tells you quickly. 
“How would I know? You will not let me look.”
“I am -- “
“Fine! You are ‘fine!’” you snap. “Pass the time in pain, then. Have your raider friends look after you. Three days ride from now.”
This pales him. His eyes -- you could not name their color if you tried -- flick to Basim. “Three days? You said it was two.”
“I thought it was.” Basim holds out his hands, but somewhere in the dark of his eyes, you think he knows better. “A simple mistake.”
“You do not make mistakes,” grouses the younger man. He looks back to you. “Have a look if you wish. Or spare me the slow death and kill me now.”
You smile. “I can do either.”
“A healer and a horse-thief. Strange company to find on the road.” Basim stands, drawing his hood over his head. “Swear to me you will not kill Hytham...” He pauses, his eyes flicking to you, and you realize that he has neither asked your name, nor have you given it.
“You are leaving?” asks Hytham, voice rising above the patter of rain. “Leaving me with this stranger?”
“I am riding ahead. Something tells me I leave you in capable hands.”
“No,” protests Hytham. “I can ride.” He gets to his feet. You watch as he grits his teeth through whatever pain plagues him. He holds his ground, even as you stand to reach for him should that change. 
“Follow when you can. And you,” Basim looks to you, “If our paths do not cross again, go well. I would be careful returning to Fremdeleigh, were I you. If what I know of Ivarr is true, he will care less for his horse, and more about the woman who dared take it from him.”
Return to Fremdeleigh? The possibility had not occurred to you. Fremdeleigh is gone. 
Hytham’s protests cease as Basim reaches his horse, lifting himself into the saddle with a grace you’ve only seen in woodland creatures. He waves once and is soon vanished beneath the forest boughs. Hytham spins on his heel, brushing past you, and drops back down by the fire with less swiftness than which he had stood. You know the sight of a man wounded in more ways than one, and some wounds, even you cannot heal.
Instead, you set to business. “Off with this,” you say, tugging at his tunic. He scowls, but the fight has gone out of him. When the tunic is removed, bared skin is revealed to you. The man is, without doubt, not a priest. His chest and arms are wiry with muscle, a few faint scars marring the skin here and there. It is only a happenstance glance that you notice one of his fingers is missing, cut cleanly at the knuckle. 
“You move like a man with broken ribs,” you say, “How long ago did this happen?”
“Months.”
“And it still pains you so?”
“It is the cold.”
At this, you smile. “Foul stuff, the cold. Breeds barbarians.”
Hytham tries not to smile, but that, too, strains him. His friend’s departure -- if that is what Basim truly is to him -- has left him sullen, but he withstands your prodding well enough. Only when your hands run down his sides does he shy. 
“I am --”
“Do not say ‘fine.’” 
Instead, he says nothing.
His skin is warm to the touch, a good sign for the circulation, and you notice that your roving fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake. 
“The bones have set.” You sit back, drawing your feet under you. “Unless you would like me to break them again, this pain will revisit you. If I had my stores, I could make something to ease the burden, but those burned with Fremdeleigh. For now…” You cast your eyes about, at last coming to rest on the sash that had been removed with Hytham’s tunic. “Give me a moment.”
A moment turns into a few minutes. Hytham eyes you warily when you ask for his sash, but agrees, only to panic when you near the fire with the fabric in hand. He is quieted when he sees what you are doing. You wrap a few cooling coals in the material, testing their heat against your wrist, and returning to his side when you are finished. 
“Press this here,” you tell him, “It will soothe the ache.”
“For a time?”
“For a time.”
Bitterness clouds his expression, but it is short lived, disappearing with a nod. “Thank you, healer.”
Your fingers flex at the word. You had not thought to hear it again so soon. Last time, it had taken a year, maybe two, after you had lost everything to find yourself again. As Hytham’s eyes meet yours, you wonder if, perhaps, the Danes were not as thorough in their destruction as they had hoped.
Hytham’s eyes study your face; they are keener than you had given him credit for, and you feel them pulling at the edges of what you wish to hide. 
“What will you do?” he asks. “Could there be anything left of your home?”
“In Fremdeleigh? I doubt it. If I returned, I would likely only find Danes.”
“The Danes are not all so bad.” His smile is wry one, a little more honest than you would like. Either it or the fire has given a pretty flush to his cheeks. “You were unlucky to cross Ivarr. He is a menace.”
“You know him?”
“I know of him.”
“Will you go to Fremdeleigh? To find Basim?”
Hytham nods. “He is testing me. To see if I will return to Ravensthorpe, or follow him. I am good for more than reading scrolls and maps.”
“You look as though you are good in a fight.” You tap a finger to one scar that runs over his shoulder, paler than the rest of his skin. He glances away when you say this, like a maid who has been she is pretty. “It would be a risk to return there. Not when I’ve no promise that there is anything left to salvage.”
“A shame,” says Hytham with a smile, glancing at you, only to look away again. “All this bread and...fish,” his nose wrinkles, “is going with me.”
“Speak plainly, priest.” Your teasing is less pleasing to him than the idea of dried fish, and he waves you off with a flutter of a four-fingered hand. “If you’ve an idea, let’s hear it.”
“Return to Fremdeleigh. Recover your stores if you can. And if you can, come with us to Ravensthorpe. A healer is always welcome, especially one who is not empty-handed.”
“Healer?” You raise your brows with a laugh. “In Fremdeleigh, I am a horse-thief. What if this Ivarr recognizes me?” 
“He cannot recognize you if he does not see you.”
“Spoken like a man who watches the world from beneath a hood.”
Perhaps it is the firelight, but you think you see Hytham’s ears flush a deep red. “Do as you wish,” he says after a moment. “I ride when this rain stops.”
So it is that when the rain stops, you go with him.
39 notes · View notes
mythrilhusk · 3 years
Text
Despite Everything - Chapter One
NOT RPF (RPF = Real Person Fiction) Genre - Magical Warriors (based off Magical Girl genre) Featured Relationships (only SFW): Niki/Puffy
Niki Nihachu never wanted to be involved with the corporation-funded magical battles sparring in the skies of her home planet, Io. But when she accidentally awakens an ancient evil, she's forced to take responsibility and join an ageless war to save the entire universe.
CW: Death, violence, threats, manipulation
(Ao3 link) Words: 1,874 Next Chapter 
Rain patters on the sky bridges forming webs throughout Io's largest city, Kumo Dome. Niki's boots scrape on the ironwood planks as her bridge sways over the icy void. She strides easily across, used to the motion. 
Above her, in the cold black sky unbrightened by the cold yellow speck of the Sun, several figures glide and dance in a clearly staged battle. Niki scoffs, reaching the highrise at the end of the bridge. Two-hundred stories above the ground, her favorite little cafe seems so peaceful, with icy cyan crystals growing over the railings of the balcony. Niki removes her cape and hands it to the host. "Thank you, Jack." 
"Anything for you." Jack grins and hangs her cape on a hook. "You change your mind at all? We could really use the publicity." 
"I'm not here to talk business." Niki replies, restraining her annoyance. If he were anyone else, she'd give them an earful. 
"Alright, Niki. The usual?" 
"Yes, thank you. Oh, add a few sprinkles to it, I'm celebrating." 
"Oh?" Jack leans across the counter, waggling his brows. 
"I got a new apartment that allows pets." Niki smiles as she sits down. It's not a lie, more of an obfuscation. 
"Awesome." Jack mixes up her drink and scatters unicorn sprinkles over the whipped cream. "This one's on me." 
Niki purses her lips. "I'm still not-"
"I know, I know. I'm just being nice." Jack sets the drink down on her table, then sits down in the opposite chair. 
"I'm expecting a date, actually." Niki tosses her hair teasingly. 
"Ohh? Who?"
"You wouldn't know her." Niki shoos him out of the seat. 
The door's bell chimes and Captain Puffy strides in, her billowing rainbow hair dripping from the rain and her cloak slung uselessly over her arm. Jack smirks at Niki. "You'd be surprised."
"Hey, Jack!" Puffy hops onto the seat Jack vacated and grins at the host. "Get me a bottle of Bloody Vodka." 
"Sure thing, Cap'n." 
Puffy turns her gorgeous smile on Niki. "Hey." 
"Hey." Niki responds dumbly, lost for words. "You're all wet." 
Puffy snorts in a vain attempt to restrain her giggles. "Wow, we're going there already?" 
"I meant the rain, but if you insist." Niki laughs. "Let me buy you a pastry. The donuts here are good." 
Puffy shrugs graciously. "I'll have the salamander crumb one." 
"Oh, that is a good one." 
"Puffy," Jack calls, "Please tell her to join us!" 
Puffy raises an eyebrow at Niki, who blushes and flusters. "Look, Jack, I've told you a thousand times, I will not be your goddamn mascot." 
"Mascot??" Puffy laughs brightly. "Jack, you idiot!"
"What??" Jack cries. "It's not my fault, Niki jumped to conclusions and never gave me the chance to explain!!" 
"Niki, darling." Puffy steeples her fingers and leans on the table. "You don't have to join anything you don't want to. But, that being said, we're kinda shorthanded without the Spirit of Death on our side." 
"What the fuck??" Niki cries, leaping up from her seat. Her heart pounds in her throat; her hands spark with emerald fire. She hastily smothers the flames, stuffing her hands under her arms. "I- I can not be Death, I will not be Death, I don't- I don't want this, why can't you magic bastards leave me alone??" Why today of all days??
Puffy stares at her, taken aback. Jack whistles awkwardly and retreats into the kitchen. "Niki, no, sweetie. You're not Death." 
"Damn right I'm not." Niki snaps. "I don't want to play in your goddamn staged battles, I don't want to fight anyone, I just want to be left alone." 
Puffy raises her hands in surrender. "I'm not asking you to." 
"Good." Niki's hands drop to her side.  
"I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't realize it was a sore subject." Puffy sighs. "You're not Death. Just the reincarnation of the Spirit of Death." 
"What the hell does that even mean?" Niki cries, curious despite it all. "I'm not a Patron, I'm- I'm barely even a Hex, and I don't want any of this." 
Puffy gives her a sharp smile. "Oh, Niki. There are so many other powers out there." She gestures for Niki to sit down. Niki obeys. "What do you know about your own power?" 
"I- I can heal." Niki raises her hands. Emerald sparks flicker beneath her pale skin. "That's it, though." 
"That's green hex stuff, yep." Puffy covers Niki's shaking hands with hers. "You know Patrons, too, yeah?" 
"Yes, but I am not one." 
"Alright, alright. Spirits are reincarnations of the ancient dragons. Each dragon was a Patron of a different realm of reality. There's six of us right now." Puffy smirks and her eyes alter, mesmerizing Niki with fractals upon fractals of pulsing multicolored flames. "I am Captain Puffy, Spirit of Fire." Her voice crackles with the screams of blazing embers. 
As suddenly as the change had come over her, the normal Puffy returns. Niki laughs breathlessly. "That- that was hot." 
"Literally, yes, I am extremely hot." Puffy giggles.
"There's six of- of the Spirits?" 
"Fire, Ice, Light, Dark, Life, and Death." 
"I'm Light!" Jack calls from the kitchen. 
"Shut up, Jack, she doesn't care!" Puffy snipes back. 
"I'm just saying. She might want to know." Jack grumbles. 
"Puffy, I don't want to be involved." Niki stares at the table, at her trembling hands, at the silver lichtenberg scars on her arms. "I've seen what this power does to people. It- it is not a good thing, this Spirit, and I don't want it." 
"Alright." Puffy shrugs. "Fair warning, though, if you try to use it without being properly prepared, it will be harder to control." 
"I know. I'm not going to use it." Niki sighs, wishing the conversation hadn't turned so dour. "I'm sorry. Can we still have a nice date?" 
"Oh, of course." Puffy smiles and changes the subject. 
They talk till it's almost curfew. Jack cleans up around them, then pulls a seat up to join in the meandering conversation. Finally, Niki stands up and gives Puffy a shallow bow. "Thank you for the enjoyable date." 
Puffy bows back. "Any time, sweetie. I had fun." 
Outside, the rain has cleared and the clouds have parted to reveal Jupiter. The planet's glow bathes the city in orange light. Niki smiles up at the hidden stars. When she concentrates, she can feel them out there, massive gravitational wells of plasma. When she concentrates, it almost seems as though she is a star herself, blazing and powerful and implacable. 
A spark of terror ends the moment; her hands clench and she strides across the bridge, eyes welling with angry tears. She can't even have the stars. Not even today, the anniversary of her death.
The day Niki died started off like any other day. At the time, she hadn't learned to control her healing yet. When the errant lightning spell hit her, her magic reacted as a belated reflex. She was physically dead for a whole ten seconds. Ten seconds too many. 
The officials didn't investigate, but Niki knew the spell was from the staged battle nearby. She tried to sue the corporations who'd hired the Hexes, but nobody would take the case, claiming it was a lost cause. 
Getting more pissed the more she thinks back on it, Niki shoots a glare at the current staged fight on the next highrise over. The idiots just shoot off spells and don't even care who or what they hit, protected by the trillionaires funding them. 
One of the fighters, a cyan Hex, blinks onto the bridge, making it sway and rock. Niki grips the railing. "Fuck you!" 
He barely even glances at her before activating his jetpack to leap back into the air. A fire spell blasts past, narrowly missing the bridge. 
Niki hastily strides for the end of the bridge. She's just past the middle when the bridge tilts sideways, then swings wildly. Niki grips the railing, cursing colorfully. Overhead, laughter mocks her. 
She lets go to flip off the fighters. A fire spell slams into the bridge and knocks her into the abyss.
Niki screams, flailing as wind whips past her. Through the blinding haze of terror, she gathers enough wits to preemptively activate the only spell she knows. Emerald fire consumes her body as she slams into the ground, over two hundred feet below the bridge. 
++++
Hm. Niki? That's a nice name. I'm [redacted]. 
Huh. You're not dead, are you? That's good. If you were dead, you'd be rather less useful. 
Niki, you don't want to die again, do you?
Nobody wants to die, least of all more than once. 
I have a deal for you.
...
That was fast. I haven't even told you what it is yet.
Hm. Okay. You want revenge, that's easy enough. Just heal me and I'll give you your revenge.
Ha... 
....Hahaha....
You idiot. You really did it. You actually freed me! Heh, I guess you can have a reward. 
I'll let you rest in peace. There. Don't get in my way or I will make your eternity very painful. 
It was so nice to meet again, Spirit of Death...
++++
"Niki!!" Puffy's distraught cry shatters through the haze of drowsy distance. 
Niki groans and tries to open her eyes. She feels weightless, disconnected. Her eyes remain stubbornly closed, like she's still dreaming. Magic crackles in her body, desperately working to mitigate the damage and knit her together. 
A spark of foreign magic trickles into her hand. Niki lashes out, snatching the tendril and yanking it away. A furious yell frees itself from her lungs. 
"Wait, sweetie, it's okay!" Puffy blazes in Niki's awareness, a form of flames and crackling lightning. Terrifyingly, hypnotically gorgeous. 
"Are- are you a star?" She opens her eyes and sees Puffy kneeling over her, cutting a stark shadow from Jupiter so far above. 
Puffy hiccups, wiping away her tears. "Niki, I saw you fall and I thought- oh, gods, I thought you were dead!" 
"I was." Niki tries to reassure her, but this only makes Puffy start to cry again. "Puffy, I'm not dead, it's okay!" 
"Are you sure? Are you a ghost?" 
"No, I am not a ghost." Niki sits up with effort and reaches for Puffy's hand. "See? I'm alive." 
Puffy yanks her into a fierce, warm hug. "Don't die ever again." She hisses. "I don't like it." 
Niki laughs brightly, still recovering from the shock of her final few moments. "I will try." 
Puffy continues to embrace her. "We've only known each other for like two weeks, but if anything happened to you, I'd probably have a villain arc." 
Niki extricates herself from the embrace. Puffy looks absolutely magical, covered in grime, tear stains down her cheeks, her eyes and nose puffy from crying. "Thank you for coming." 
Puffy sniffles. "What else would I have done?? You fell from a goddamn bridge, nobody would have found your body for ages!" 
"I think most people would have left me." Niki admits bitterly, recalling her first death. 
"Fuck that, you're my friend." Puffy cries hotly. "Let's get you home." 
Niki rests her head on Puffy's shoulder as she's picked up. "This doesn't mean I'm joining your team." 
"I never said anything about that, sweetie." 
Next Chapter
11 notes · View notes