#if anything happens to this demonic cat (again) ill kill everyone in this room and then myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

regrettablewritings · 3 years

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Hi!😁 I'll give you another ship with my dear Lucifer morningstar from Lucifer cuz as it turns out I'm a hoe for a lot of characters but what can ya do? Thank you!

Aw hell yii, somebody's talkin' my lingo! 😎

Who the fuck put the Peeps in the microwave?: Lucifer. And no, it's not because he actually likes them or is curious about what would happen; he's seen plenty of Youtube videos enough to know exactly what happens. No . . . It's far more malicious . . . Generally speaking, you don't like the constant comparison of cats to the devil. But after getting to actually meet The Devil, you think that those believers might be on to something. Lucifer's whorey ways bleeds into his need for attention like red bleeds into white in the wash, and he's completely shameless about it. For example, if he feels like you may be focusing too much on work or, gasp, other people besides him, you run the risk of encountering a very . . . mischievous Luci. Not that he's not already a prankster, but he somehow becomes a bit more childish. Catlike in some respects. He puts your mugs up higher than what you can normally reach without having to climb on the countertop. He joins you at your kitchen table while you're reading over files for work and puts on his most angelic face, insisting he just wants to keep you company and will be as quiet as vermin in Dear Old Dad's house . . . then proceed to obnoxiously click a pen while pretending to solve a word problem, or eat cheese puffs obnoxiously loud. And then . . . the Peeps: The absolute prettyboy bastard used your microwave as a casualty of war, plopping the unplated, mutant-colored marshmallows directly on the glass and letting them go. To be fair, it technically didn't ruin anything. But at least he had your attention now -- because after fussing at him for making a mess, you were currently supervising him scrubbing not only the effected areas of the glass dish, but the rest of the microwave as well. Unfortunately, you can't say a lesson was really learned because now Luci knows that if he wants to get a rise out of you, what he needs is a bunch of candies from the bargain bin.

Who forgot to put the cat out before sex?: It's not that either of you forgot the cat was there -- it was that Lucifer wanted the bloody animal to give the both of you some privacy. And because Lucifer forgot the cat was there. He was simply too busy embracing you in a liplock and laying you down on the couch to notice the glaring eyes of the cat you had rescued from the shelter. Thankfully, you two didn't get very far before the lovingly-named Lucipurr released a meow, indicating that he had become flesh and bone in the few hours it had been since you'd last fed him. Suffice to say, after a startled Lucifer flung himself off of you and onto the floor, nearly breaking his ass on the coffee table (and the laughing fit that had induced on your end), the mood was killed. For the next fifteen minutes, that is. The next time he tried anything, Lucifer made sure that his efforts would be continued in the bedroom (but not before he did a complete check of every nook and cranny in there to make sure the furry bastard wasn't trying anything).

Who posts Vines/TikToks of the other doing embarrassing shit?: Lucifer absolutely lacks boundaries. The moment he discovered smartphones, social media, and all their potential, he was all in and recording as many videos of friends and coworkers as he could in as many awkward or unideal situations as they came. You felt bad for Dan being his constant target, but you were somewhat sure that Dan felt bad for you in a way: After all, you were dating the freaking guy and yet Lucifer had few qualms about posting a video of you, drunkenly singing karaoke in what was supposed to be a private room? Harsh.

Who breaks the most phones?: Lucifer does. He's not necessarily careless, but his part-time occupation does lead him to circumstances that tend to put his phone in danger. You, Chloe, Dan, literally everyone has told him to just leave his phone in the car if he's going to get it broken that often while on the job, but the dumbass never learns. Not that he really seems to care all that much: With his wealth, he can always buy a new one. Though, the only times he gets frustrated is when photos or videos don't quite make it to the transfer and things get lost along the way. Funny photos, suggestive videos, photos and videos of you . . . Photos and videos of you being funny or suggestive . . . Downright pornographic videos he had recorded of you -- Though don't worry: He's sure you'll be more than happy to help recreate the latter. He'd gladly help you . . .

Who dies first?: It should go without saying. It really should. But that doesn't make it hurt any less. Lucifer was always one to get caught up in his indulgences, after all: Somewhere along the way, he must've gotten too swept up in the thrill, the feeling of adoration. He tells himself this but it's really just denial. Closer to the truth is that it all really was just denial: He denied the idea that you would ever leave him, that you would ever die. Luci was never good with his own thoughts and feelings, but the way you made him feel was nearly enough to convince him that, in some way, you would just plain live forever. But of course, this was not the case: It didn't matter that you were fantastical enough to love and be loved by the Devil; you were still very much a human. Very much mortal. So susceptible to things like time and illness and injury. Lucifer was the King of Indulgences. It was extremely rare for him to experience regret. But when your time inevitably ran out, remorse filled him like smoke filled his lungs with every cigarette he ran through from the moment your funeral arrangements were decided. He could never regret knowing you, as much as part of him thought doing so would spare him this pain. He tried to think of how much better he might've been had he never met you, and it always felt like he was stuck in his own personal Hell Loop with everything going wrong over and over no matter how hard he tried to change it. He regretted that for as much time as he lived up with you, he felt like he didn't use nearly enough of that time to just . . . enjoy you. You in your mortality, your fleeting beauty and love that would nonetheless haunt him for however long he might go on for. So maybe . . . for eternity? This didn't feel like his own personal Hell Loop: This was his own personal Hell Loop. And until he learned to forgive himself, it would never end. So he'd be stuck here for maybe . . . eternity.

Which one I could see as being lactose intolerant: Neither. Unless they get brought down to mortal enough, Celestials generally don't suffer ailments, let alone from things like food allergies.

Who thinks they can do something really well even though they can't?: Lucifer . . . It's not that he's not smart. But by Dad, he is lacking in so much self-awareness that it can be maddening. He thinks he's pretty good at following Dr. Linda's advice (and, to an extent, he's progressing). But the fact of the matter is, he's incredibly troubling at best. Not nearly as bad as some patients, mind you, but when Linda admitted to you that one or two sessions of Lucifer completely misinterpreting her advice nearly drove her to consider adding a secret bar into her desk, you believed her and didn't blame her for one bit.

Who is more likely to get kicked out of bed?: Lucifer is a changed devil. But it's a very slow change. You're more than happy to understand and accept this, but that doesn't mean you have to let him and his issues walk all over you. Sometimes, the big dummy just says or does things without thinking -- or because he thought too hard and thought this was the best decision to avoid further strife. And you try to be patient with him about these tendencies, you really do. But that doesn’t erase your ability to be upset by these habits, or your right to be. And no amount of him buttering you up is going to be acceptable, even when he comes by your place, armed with a dish he so thoughtfully prepared for you. Nope, he can literally go to Hell with that (really, you’re sure the demons there would appreciate a nice beef wellington); you just need some space. Ironically, this may create a cycle wherein his need to make you happy again and have your attention on him drives him to constantly hover around you and attempt to win you over, which in turn just further frustrates you. It’ll likely keep going until you either snap or a loved one pulls Luci to the side and gives him a heads up that maybe he should respect your boundaries. After all, intention isn’t the problem here: It’s the actions taken. And as much as it hurts him knowing that he accidentally hurt you, he has to respect your need for time to cool off. He forces himself to go back to his place and tries to think less about how he feels and more about how you might feel, and try to work out ways to avoid similar incidents in the future. And even though the conclusions he comes to may not be perfect, you at least respect the effort -- particularly when he next sees you, no longer armed with snacks from your favorite bakery or bouquet-carrying teddy bears. Instead, all he has is an apology. It’s sheepish, and it feels foreign to someone who rarely experiences shame or regret, but you know his whole heart is in it even if he himself doesn’t understand entirely why that is. Which is good because that’s just part one of the process; part two involves him warming up that spot in your bed that’s reserved for him!

Who uses the computer the most?: You, absolutely. Lucifer's adorably but altogether completely crap when it comes to technology. Besides, he can easily find other things with which to amuse himself, and doing the paperwork is for other people anyway.

Thank you sooooo much for participating again!!! It really means a lot!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤��

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagines #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer imagine #lucifer imagines #character ship meme #character ask meme #regrettablewritings #thanks for your patience by the way! i would've had this up last night but i went out with family for the evening!

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chaos-caffeinated · 4 years

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Emotions help you remember: Final Draft

Alright everyone, the story got too long to post, so this is the final piece to connect all three. Please enjoy!! It was a pleasure working on this part!

A silver knife was revealed from the black coat, the face hidden in the shadows as he twirled the knife in his hand. Frozen from shock, you stood there with your lips trembling slightly as your voice froze in fear until you felt your foot jolt and you turn to run from the mysterious man behind you. You let go of the coat that were on your shoulders and used the strength you had to run for your life. You cried out in pain as your feet throbbed in the heels you were and the frustration of having such a bulbous dress when a memory flashed in your head: Madam Hopkins had given you insightful information, an additional information regarding the dress she was lending you.

“(Y/N), I want you to take this dress instead of just a dress you typically wear, you should wear something nice, you are a tailor: be one. I shall even grant you this special one I made with my new inventions on it. Just pull on this thread here and it will fall off.”

“Fall off? Madam such a dress could stir controversy-”

“Controversy, controversy, it won’t be long before women will be able to wear this with confidence like moi!~" before she spun after she tore away her skirt to reveal the shorts underneath with the visible garters.

Desperately looking for the thread, you felt your chest compress as you were beginning to tire out. You heard the rapid footsteps before you heard a nearing voice, “As entertaining you were, I must end it already-”

“No!” You cried out before your hand grabbed a handful of your dress and pulled it away desperately. You now felt many chills on your bare legs as the shorts, fitting perfectly against your skin, were exposing you into the cold night and you blushed at the vulnerable position. She had made a replica of her shorts with garters, at first you were confused as to why you felt the garters in place when you first put on the dress.

Blushing a dark red from the vulnerability, your body felt much lighter to move as the skirt flew back, tangling the man’s legs only to cause him to trip over it.

The man was in shock to see the skirt fly back, not even thinking for a second that it was possible before he watched his vision focused from the girl ahead to the dried up leaves and mud. Landing face-first on the ground, he let out a short grunt before he got frustrated, blushing from his embarrassing situation and turned to sit up and using the knife in hand to rip the skirt in pieces. He growled, “Now I will not take you down with ease!” He slammed his knife-bearing fist against the dirt.

“I’m afraid you won’t take anyone for that matter.” A voice rang within the shadows, a mixture of a windy laced with an ominous tone, “Mr. Kindred.”

Flinching from the novel voice, the man on the ground looked around in an attempt to view his next victim, shouting, “Who are you?! Make yourself visible!!”

“My, what a rude guest, tormenting the guest of honor as well as shamelessly ordering around.”

The man on the ground was still looking around before he met with a pair of piercing red eyes, a chill ran down the man’s back, fear entering immediately as he began to drag himself back, “What the hell are you?! Get away from me!”

“And now ordering to step back? What a delusional human you are indeed. However, my young master has ordered me to ensure that you, as well as Miss. (L/N) return back to the manor.”

Dried leaves were crunched as the footsteps got closer, “Unfortunately, I only need one of you alive,” His voice growled towards the end as he appeared out of the shadows in his sharp butler outfit, his shoe stepping over the gravel. It was silent, surprised to see the man on the ground watching the butler walk out of the shadows and his eyes were back to the dark eyes of his.

This is what his victims must’ve felt, unease, nothingness, but also knowing that everything will stop. Every woman he killed and dismembered were all pleading for their life hopelessly, knowing very well they were going to die for his sadistic pleasure. He felt chill after chill from his presence and he opened his mouth to say something only to stutter or mouth words.

Fear...that is what he felt, fear of a being stronger than him. Fear of losing control.

“Oh...cat got your tongue?” The butler taunted as he leaned forward slightly, “You seemed very sure of yourself that you would get away from yet another merciless murder tonight in my master’s grounds. However, as the Head Butler of the Phantomhive Manor, I can not allow that to happen...for you see, I am one hell of a butler.”

Gripping the knife in his hand, Mr. Kindred had the realization that he had the weapon in his hand, something to fight as his expression slowly began to change, “You have nothing, butler...nothing! I at least ha-” He raised up to slash at him only for a ripping and broken sound was heard ahead of him. It seemed so slow as he saw his own arm twisted horribly, body instinctively cringing and screaming out in agony as he fell back onto the ground.

“A pesky knife. I know what you’re feeling...hopelessness, a rush- not a kind one either- controlling your whole body as the idea that I can take your life-” he snapped his fingers before flashing his teeth, startling the man below him.

“Like that...and you don’t like that idea because all this time you believed you were much stronger...simply slashing women's throats...while I can do...so...”

He inched closer and closer to the shaking man below him, the dangerous smirk plastered on the demon’s face, his eyes shifting to his fuchsia color, “much worse than you humans can even grasp.” The air around shifted, a weight so immense you could die of suffocation. The man flinched when he saw from his peripheral feathers falling through. He looked up once again at the demon only for him to be covered completely by the falling feathers. The amount of fear possessed by a single man, scarred forever at the interaction.

The agonized screams traveled far and beyond, but not even the hypnotizing music can break free the audience’s attention, but one.

The screams reached to your ears no doubt, only pushing you further and further away into the deep forest.

Sebastian remained in the position for a second before huffing, “What a mess indeed-...” He glanced to the side, only for his eyes to widen at the skirt you were earlier in the ball entangled between the man’s legs. His eyebrows quirked, “Is she...?” He asked himself, placing a finger over his chin, before his smirk became more mischievous, releasing a chuckle as he removed the skirt, “Miss. Hopkins, you have aimed to surprise me even without your presence.”

You panted desperately, leaning against a tree. You tried covering your mouth, you shook in place as you tried to get smaller to not be spotted. tears streamed down your cheeks as shook. Having not realize that absence of the murder, your mind raced images, and the mere fact that he could be taunting you by making you believe you were safe was terrifying enough. Your eyes wandered in many places, side to side, up and down, any clues that he was nearby. You didn’t even know how far you were from the manor, to get to Ciel, to get to Sebastian-

“My, my, has mon chaton lost herself in the woods? What a pity indeed.” A sound so soothing, and calming with a tinge of mystery wrapped around it like a bouquet. You thought you had gone mad, to need him so much that you envisioned him rescuing you. His voice alone calmed your essence, yet your eyes aimed towards the source. You yelped and jumped up, running a few steps before turning to face body. Anything and everything kept you edge, even if you were unarmed, you were willing to even use a stick to once again distract him.

Sebastian, once again, appeared from the shadows under the light from the moon, lightly smirking towards you with his arms raised slightly in defense. In his right hand, however, he was holding a bunched-up skirt, “Everything is alright, my lady, your assailant is no longer in the premise. It has been handled.”

You gulped, still shaking from the anxiety, “N-no, he is still here-”

“If he was, this skirt would have been deemed useless as a capturing device.” He took a few steps forward, “Which I very much recommend wearing, my dear. It’s not only cold outside, but you are improper at the moment.” He guided your emotions into a calm one, “I promise you, my lady, no one is here other than you and I.” He reached out his hand, awaiting for yours.

Hesitating, but trusting him, you raised your shaky hand on top of his hand, “...I could have died...” you commented.

“But you did not, my dear. For as long as I am by your side, you will never go through that.” He raised your hand towards his lips to place a kiss before slowly helping you back into the skirt, “There. You look as wonderful as before. Now then, shall we go back?”

You took another shaky step before you yelped from the sudden rush of Sebastian lifting you in his arms, “You are still unsure, so I will carry you, my lady while you rest up. Do leave your concerns with me, I will be by your side for the rest of the night if that helps reassure you.”

You nodded slightly, confirming as you pressed against him, “Please...Sebastian.”

He smirked slightly at you as he proceeded forward to the mansion.

With you standing next to the earl himself, and Sebastian by your side, most of the guests could not help but glance towards your way. You noticed some women responded ill with their eyes, someone commenting to the person beside them about you as they walk by, and you could not help but sigh deeply, “...I believe I feel better...I must retire to my room now. I do not want to continue spoiling the party.” You were saddened to have to see the party end so soon, already stepping away when you heard the same voice that managed to wrap around your essence speak.

“But my lady, I seem to recall you wanted to have at least one dance?” Sebastian asked, turning halfway to meet your eyes.

You looked downwards with a sad look, “I did..but...it just... feels off now with what occurred...”

Now it was Ciel’s turn to speak, “He has been arrested quietly, (Y/N)…his presence will no longer disturb your moment of happiness.” He stared at the ball before he slightly turned to you with a small smirk, not of arrogance, and not of confidence, it was a soft, gentle one, “Do not let an opportunity pass by like that. Enjoy it wile you can.”

You stared at the earl for a few seconds before your eyes trailed off, thinking of your choices, “...Yes, Lord Phantomhive.” Then you walked towards Sebastian, surprising him the slightest at your upfront being, “Sebastian. I would like to have my dance with you.”

Sebastian was slightly surprised, but at the same time he was not. Smirking softly, he tried changing your mind, “But my lady, I am simply a butler, there are multiple chaperons whom would enjoy to dance with you.”

Feeling the slight confidence to smile softly at him, you responded, “Lord Phantomhive said not waste the moment, and it is you who I do not want to waste the opportunity to dance with.”

Ciel smirked at your quick-thinking, glancing at your incoming strength as he viewed his butler look slightly surprised, yet accepting. He watched as Sebastian, now smiling softly, bowed slightly with his hand over his chest, “Very well then, my lady,” he offered his hand in the same position as he raised his crimson red eyes to yours, “It would be an honor to have this dance with you.”

As he guided you onto the dance floor with a few other couples dancing to the music, you sensed something change within the musicians. As a matter of fact, you sensed the atmosphere change with the strand that the lead violin was stroking.

You both stood in front of each other, feeling his hand gently place on your hip and the other awaiting for your hand. It was then you felt the sparks, the tingling sensations he sent over, the way your body responded to his touch, triggering memories from earlier. You blushed, your cheeks tinted softly with a red shade as you place your hand on his.

The room was silent for a few seconds before-

youtube

Voom-Ba-bum, Voom-Ba-bum, Voom-Ba-bum, Voom-Ba-bum...

The way the violins and cello captured the way your heart was pounding loud in your ears was extraordinary because as soon as it started, the more it became evident of how much he had influenced you: he completely corrupted you for himself. The way Sebastian lead their dance in a perfect unison, despite you never learning the dance before surprised you even. He swayed with the notes in the air, the violins carving a path and him following it, or could it be the other way around? It was all so warming, enveloping your body as a whole to the rhythm of the strokes before you listened to the next part with your heart. You looked up to see his gorgeous, captivating eyes once more before you felt yourself weaker, and weaker, and weaker-

(Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum)

The way he approached his head near yours while moving was enticing, you needed him close to you, your body needed him-

“My lady, I must say, as we dance so close together...I cannot stop envisioning our ‘studies’...” He smirked softly as he squeezed your hip ever so softly. His grip tightened when he heard you gasp softly, trying to regain as much strength needed, “...P-please...not here.” your voice trembled. You were weak enough that any word he let out would not help your situation.

As the music rose in speed and volume, you heard him chuckle, “You remember so well, mon chaton... as expected from my favorite student. I must admit, that even your being has captured me in a way that I never thought would have such an effect...your skin, your hands, your body...the way you begged for me without raising your voice, the way you gasped, the way you moaned...you will never cease to exist in my being...even your bite I will remember very well. Your markings truly changed me...” he whispered.

You whimpered softly, mentally begging him to stop, the images overwhelming you in a state of steam. You were embarrassed, your cheeks tinted ever so dark, once again you can hear your heart pound, but this time it grew louder and louder, beginning to deafening you until you tried biting back with his own medicine, “And what about you...” you chest heaved slightly, the heat radiating from you, “The way you took me without mercy, your weakness and your strength becoming one. The way you felt me like I was your life source, the woman that marked you as hers. The way you clawed me as a desperate need to get ahold of, it all penetrated my thoughts. And for that I blame you Sebastian Michaelis.”

As your list grew, Sebastian’s fascination towards you more and more, internally smiling and breathing deeply. The way you handled yourself with his words was truly amazing. You tried to get at him with his own words, and though it did not work, the effort was there. His own heart pounded, and he refuses, at full, to leave your side.

The music around them rose in tempo once again, the rhythm beating identical to their heart soundings. Neither wanting to leave the other. The want, the yearn, the desperation, the urge was lingering closer and closer and they could not do a single thing. Inching closer and closer to their lips nearly locking, the music ended. They did not make it, yet they remained like that, Sebastian first to react as he smirked and let out a chuckle, “You have done a certain type of damage in me, my lady.” He blushed slightly as he panted ever so slightly.

Panting as well, you responded as quickly, “And you as well...diable.”

Sebastian sucked in air, ready for a comeback when he stood back, bowed, and stood back up, “Well done, my lady. Would you like another dance, or would you like to take a small rest?”

“...No...I think I will retire.” you spoke, but Sebastian capturing the truth behind those words, “Goodnight, Sebastian.” You took both sides of the skirt and bowed slightly before heading to your room.

Subtly, but effectively, Sebastian was able to mask biting inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, my lady. I shall return to you.”

You simply smiled small at him before leaving from the ball.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~

Sebastian had dismissed the guests along with Ciel, his behavior seemed rushed, with each wording having no charisma he usually portrays with many. Some men could understand why, holding a smirk with a tinge of jealousy, but the women saddened from the shortened conversations. It felt so quick, and Ciel noticed as they stepped inside the manor, “I’m guessing this has to do with (Y/N)? You were rather quick to dismiss the guests.”

“I do apologize my lord, but she did make a request of my presence.” He justified, “She said she was not feeling well.”

Ciel suspected for a different reason, but he understood why you would be shaken, “Very well. Do so after I’ve retired.”

“Yes, my lord.” he guided him to his chambers before helping him to his bed.

Meanwhile, you rested in the tub of hot water, sighing with content as you rested your head against the tub, your hands feeling your skin, each giving you a flashback of your affair.

His hot, full lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss, his dominating groan as he pressed your body close to his.

The flashback ended abruptly as you heard a knock on the door, “My lady?”

Blushing, aside from the temperature, you answered, “Come in.”

The door opened, and coming in was the butler himself you imagined not even ten seconds ago, “From the unfortunate events earlier, I brought you some tea to calm your nerves. How are you feeling?” He asked, closing the door afterwards with a hand, the other holding the tray with great balance.

You took another deep breath, swaying the water in front of you, “I’m feeling better now.” You smiled small, “I am just...focusing on the water...” your voice went softer and softer, your eyes feeling heavier as your body, feeling safe, decided to rest up.

Sebastian gently opened the door to the bathroom to see you close your eyes and he smiled subtly, “I am glad to hear that, my lady. Shall I finish you up and help you to your bed?”

“Mm...no...are you currently free at the moment, Sebastian?” You asked, opening your eyes to meet him with a soft smile.

“My duties have been completed, my lady. I am all yours tonight...” He reciprocated the smile, creating butterflies in your stomach.

“Then,” you rose in a sitting position, your arms crossing over your chest as you leaned forward slightly, “Come join me in the tub please. It’s still hot.” You invited him, “Nothing ever beats a hot bath.”

Eyes widening from the invitation, he rose his fist, the side of his finger covering his lips as he chuckled lightly, “Not even the studies, my lady?”

Blushing already, you simply remained silent as you gently patted the water.

“Your generosity overwhelms me, my lady.” He turned slowly before proceeding to remove the articles from his body. You even shamelessly watched as he removed his clothes.

“Staring is an improper thing to do as a lady.” He teased without turning.

“Mmm...then at this moment I am but a simple being enjoying a wonderful view. I might even reconsider this being better than a hot tub.” You teased back.

“I feel ashamed for not fixing anything about that mouth of yours.” He remarked with a smirk, turning his body to you as he took your chin between his fingers, lifting it in the process. He purposely tilted your head to make eye contact, to make you feel weak in front of him, but you bit back like always.

“I would have enjoyed it, Sebastian...but right now...” you say to increase the anticipation, raising your wet hand to place on his abdomen, only to caress his lean muscles, “I just want to relax...and you are perfect for that need.”

“I am honored to serve you in this way.” His lips slightly part, “Let us begin.”

It felt heavenly, it felt sublime, it felt like a happiness that you have yearn for so long, the missing puzzle to your day-to-day life. You wished to remain in his arms, those strong arms, the ones placed on your sides, resting on your skin. Those same arms that have caused damage, but in such a pleasurable way. You let out a breathy sigh as his fingers brushed against the bruises that were prominent over your body, reminders of his attempt of corruption.

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, tilting your head to the side slightly before arching your back. His heat, his presence alone made you want to back out what you said earlier and take him head-on, but for once your mind had different plans.

Sebastian smirked as his hands lightly brushed against your skins, occasionally massaging some parts of your breasts, “If you allow me, my lady, a massage is a suitable, don’t you agree?” He placed his hands on your shoulders, kneading the trapezius. The stiffness in your shoulder caused you to yelp from surprised, the pain threw you off, yet you concentrated on the kneading. The way he pressed harder on a few places than everywhere, making you groan softly made it pleasing.

“My, my. You have a lot of knots, you really must have worked so hard, Lady (Y/N). Working day in and out to please your Madame. You remind me of the essence of a butler, and for that I highly place my respect for you.”

You rested the side of your head on his shoulder, interrupting his massage. His words, his gentle words. Though he may not see it, the fact that he managed to to pull flashbacks forward to you made you numb, and silent. Each event that occurred, the passion that sparked to initiate your education with Madame Hopkins. Madame Hopkins is a savior, a savior that brought you onto your feet once more. The extra thing you needed in your life, her ability to see new when everyone else got stuck in the past. You enjoyed it enough to be a part of it.

Sebastian was surprised to see an extremely soft side, he was not used to the sudden change of heart, to see you so quiet, so vulnerable. His raised his hand behind your head, inching closer and closer to your hair as he smirked with confidence before he stopped.

He felt the cold breeze before feeling drips, his crimson eyes following the path to your teary eyes, “Crying, my lady?” he maneuvered his hand to wipe your tears off, “Has today really brought so many emotions to your eyes?”

You sobbed, “No...Sebastian.” You raised your face to see him eye-to-eye, facing him with your tears, pride enveloping you, “Sebastian, weakness is not shown in the act of crying, is the act of developing.”

Remaining silent from the impressive resilience you possess, he stared at you with such a surprise look on his face. His hand cupped your chin subconsciously, holding it in place for a couple seconds before pulling you in.

As your lips connect, the chills stored send to each other’s body, surprising the demon butler all in all at the immense amount of influence from a single human. How does one human like her possess such power in hand, then he remembers just then:

“crying...is the act of developing.”

His appetite increased tremendously as his master further his goal, but for something that you would say, something was emphasized, and that emphasis he made loud and clear. His kiss deepened, his arms holding you closer and closer to him. His high regard he held for you has overwhelmed him at the slightest, and that brought concern to his being.

“Her soul...I want her soul...”

You pulled away at the slightest, only for Sebastian to pull forward reveled the realization which forced him to back down.

“And I thank you, Sebastian. Without you, I would not have realized just how much my memories mean to me; the ability to remember so much. So with that, I really thank you, Sebastian Michaelis.”

You picked yourself up, the water dripping from your body as you were careful to get out, “Feel free to use the tub, please. Don’t let my absence rush you.”

You took the towel and wrapped around your body before walking back to the room to select your night gown.

When the door close, the lonely demon butler stood in his sitting position with his head tilted downwards, bangs covering his face. His lips were parted in a emotionless rest, and yet...he slowly rose back to his usual self. His smirk penetrated the still room, the water flowing around his body dropped in temperature. His raised his hand up to his face before rubbing downwards, chuckling darkly, “Oh, My lady (Y/N), you truly possess a soul so exquisite, so divine...” He eyes, so dark, and so filled with the hatred shifted into his instincts, possessing those bold fuchsia eyes.

Fin

~~ ~~ ~~ ~

AHHHHHH I FINISHED! I feel so satisfied with this piece, so much so I cannot believe that I wrote so much. I also did so much when I used so little, I wonder if you can figure it out (mueeheheh). Anyways, I would like to thank you all for reading, for taking this time to be part of this adventure, to leave your comments, and your sharing. I appreciate that with all my heart.

That being said, I have to say adieu, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!!~~

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis xreader #Sebastian Michaelis smut #Sebastian michaelis x reader smut #Black Butler #black butler smut #kuroshitsuji nsft #Black Butler nsft #Sebastian Michaelis nsft #kuroshitsuji sebastian

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Note

me, nodding of to sleep: IM HERE IM HERE

did my head just loll to the side? you will never know. first of all this chapter was the most beautiful thing i have ever read. Mavid have my HEART. It's also 4 16 am so im sorry if the reactions are a little bland but this was PERFECT.

me, throughout the whole thing: mavid mavid mavid

They had kissed for the first time almost a week ago. And they had kissed again. A couple of times.

Okay fine, they had kissed a lot since then.

Not a lot a lot. But a lot.

Wait a minute. How much kissing was a lot of kissing?

this is adorable

“I heard he cried when he found out Lexi and Liv were dating,” David chuckled.

yup that's jace

“We have to pay to talk on the phone?” Max asked incredulously. “I thought it was free.”

“Of course it isn’t free, Max!” David chuckled. “We have to pay for WiFi too.”

“This is ridiculous!” Max said. “Next you will say we have to pay for electricity.”

“Um, we do have to pay for electricity,” David chuckled again.

we pay for water too

but max you didnt know-

“Don’t let them guilt trip you!” Max had chastised. “They like doing chores. Let them do it. They fight demons all day and then come home and do chores. I feel like it’s their form of therapy. They need this.”

cant relate nope

“I don’t know,” Max groaned. “My family is so dramatic.”

the lightwood-banes in one sentence

THERE ARE SO MANY FEELS MY HEART CANNOT CONTAIN

“Well, too late!” Max announced. “This date is going to be the best first date in the history of first of dates.”

In retrospect, he really shouldn’t have said that.

nah its gonna be great

“Perhaps you should just take him to the New York Library. They have, uh, books.”

yes that is what they keep in libraries

OH MY GOD THE FRIEND IS ELYASS

HERE'S MY FAVORITE DEMON Y'ALL

His parents would not be pleased if they knew Max was summoning demons for relationship advice.

But they had also encouraged Max to make friends with everyone regardless of their identity. So, technically this was their fault. They gave him very mixed messages.

well-

you know i really shouldnt have laughed at the demon attack news but for some reason i did

i blame my sleep deprivation

shit i feel sick

you know maybe i shouldve just waited till the morning...

ok but the demon attack is NOT coincidental

there is something going on

“I thought dragon demons were extinct!” Max yelled over the commotion.

well-

ANJALI

“Man, fuck the orders!” Max said in frustration.

if you get hurt ill kill you

oh it's not her

well fuck

“That was an Armani, you piece of shit!” Rafael yelled at the demon. Max almost laughed.

THE AUDACITY

It really did. Dragon demons smelled like they lived inside a boys locker room.

well that's nice to know

FUCK THEY ARE TALKING NOW???

ok what is going on

“Say the thing!!!”

“I’m not saying the damn thing, you maniac!”

“Say the thing!”

Rafael groaned and raised his hands, the alliance rune lighting up.

“I’m not just a shadowhunter,” Rafael said through gritted teeth. “I’m Magnus Bane’s son.”

LMAO THEM

“Well, demons are stupid,” Max pointed out.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Rafael said with a mouthful of food. “You are half demon after all.”

Im so sleepy i cant even react to this

but THEM I CANT-

WHERE.IS.ALEC

Max wanted to laugh. Only David would worry about another person while being injured in the infirmary.

MUST BE PROTECTED

Max nodded; his throat still dry. He couldn’t stop staring at David. At the wound. At the blood.

Also, maybe the naked chest.

AHEM

OH MY GOD JAIME IS ALIVE

we're getting lightwood-bane fluff LET ME CRY

alec...

on one hand alec smoking is fucking hot BUT WITH THE MUNDANE DISEASES OH HELL NAH

“But it tastes so good when it’s from your plate!” Max said with a mouth full of food.

“Oh, you want my food? Here!” Rafael grinned and threw a piece of chicken at his face.

Max caught it with his mouth cause wasting food was a crime. “Thanks, bro!”

“You little s-”

HE CAUGHT IT IN HIS MOUTH

“And no fighting over chicken!” Bapak pointed out. “We can always summon some more.”

“Order,” dad corrected. “We don’t summon. We order. And then we pay.”

“How do we destroy capitalism if we have to pay for everything?” Max asked.

Max has a point y'know

“That’s rich coming from someone who is wearing an Armani jacket,” Max stuck out his tongue.

“It was a gift!” Rafael said, furiously chewing on his chicken.

“Does that mean Bapak is a capitalist?” Max asked.

LMAO

Max: What even-

Max: Can shadowhunters get high on iratzes lol

CAN THEY???

David: Mr Herondale yelled “Yes! Two out of three!”

MOOD

PLEASE RAFAEL AND MAGNUS ARE LIKE "About time"

SAME THOUGH

“David is what you get if Dad and Uncle Jace and Uncle Jem had a baby.”

STOP NO

“Oh,” Max said. “Uh, David and I…We are dating.”

Dad choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

Bapak chuckled next to him. “Of course you didn’t know.”

“You two are dating?” dad demanded. “Since when? Who else knows about this? Why didn’t you tell us before? Were you dating when you were in London? Magnus, did you know about this?”

“There you go!” Max yelled triumphantly. “That’s the dramatic reaction I was looking for. Thanks, dad!”

There's alec. Yup

OH MY GOD NOT THE SEX TALK

good thing i had wattpad I MEAN-

“Kissing?” dad gaped. “On the mouth???”

“Um, where else would we kiss?” Max asked incredulously.

“Well, actually,” Bapa cleared his throat. “There are many ways you can enjoy-”

IM CACKLING

And that’s how the next hour turned out to be the most painful and most embarrassing hour of his life.

Max decided he would rather get attacked by a hoard of dragon demons than sit through it any longer

“You guys know we have something called the internet, right?” Max demanded.

“Well, the internet can have mixed messages,” Bapak sniffed. “We on the other hand have real life experien-”

“Magnus!” dad looked red in the face.

“Fine,” Bapak sighed. “Now moving on to the importance of lubrication and-”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Max groaned.

THE NOISES WHICH LEFT MY MOUTH ARE NOT OK TO BE MAKING AT 3 30 AM

“I’ll have you know this conversation utterly traumatized me. I demand financial compensation.”

HE'S SO DRAMATIC

“Well,” dad said carefully. “David is…”

“French?” Max asked.

i blame my sleep deprived ass for laughing at this

next thing i know someone's being tortured and im laughing because i dont have sleep in my system

Max honey...

listen to him

i for one, dont want a repeat of pg 511 cols

oh he's finding out about the incident

that's what i call it

Max thought of all the stories he had heard then. The one of the warlock who killed people who he could bring back his dead girlfriend. The one about a nephilim mother who paired up with prince of hell to bring back her dead son.

oh yeah...

shudder

They called it The Jem effect.

AYYYYY

It was true. In fact, he used to have a crush on both Tessa and Jem. It’s how he had found he was bisexual.

very very valid. have a good day sir

AWW MAX DIDNT KNOW HE COULD BLUSH

you know it's a sign ive been watching b99 too much that i was imagining mina talking like gina...

pls send help

ALSO MINA BESTEST SDCHJDFVYDYUGFYUGFVDYVFD

“Can we not talk about my boyfriend’s sperm, please?”

im surprised my parents havent woken up by the sound i let out

BUT HEY THE DOOR'S CLOSED SO

SUGGENS MINA

“I’m hearing an inflated sense of self-importance,” he heard Ragnor call from the bathroom. “Is Magnus here?”

“Just the spawn,” Max called back.

THE SPAWN BYE-

“He is married to the Consul!” Tessa chuckled. “And one of his sons is a shadowhunter.”

“It’s still very bad for our reputation,” Ragnor grumbled. “He is too close with shadowhunters.”

“You are the headmaster of Scholomance!” Catarina said incredulously. “You teach nephilim! Even though you don’t need a job!”

“I was coerced!” Ragnor huffed. “Manipulated by the children of the angel.”

really ragnor?

The grin disappeared and Ragnor buried his face on Catarina’s shoulder. “I can’t go through this again, Cat! Not again!”

“So much for not taking up after his father, huh?” Catarina chuckled and looked at him. “That’s nice, Max. We are happy for you.”

“We are not!” Ragnor said in a muffled voice.

RAGNOR DJHDCUHUKIHDVVFDDB

OOOO MAX DIDNT KNOW ABOUT CAMILLE

a kind of endless love...

dont make me cry

“I know you are worried, love,” Tessa’s voice was a whisper. “You are worried about surviving after David. You are worried about your own heart. But you should never let that fear stop you from finding love. Because love is what sustains us immortals. It keeps us alive. When you love a mortal, you love them forever. You might not remember all the memories. The colour of their eyes or the sound of their voice. But you will remember the love. You will carry that love inside you forever. It does not make you weak or fragile. It makes you stronger. And you will forever be grateful for it.”

my eyeballs are too tired to cry

stop it

THEY SAID I LOVE YOU

I FEEL LIKE A PROUD MOM

bitch you hate children wtf-

Max laughed. “I’m going to kill dad for making us do this. God, this is so weird!”

better get it done now

HE'S DAVID'S FOREVER

dont do this to me at 4 am

“You should two should some spend time together. Get to know each other and all of that,” Max suggested with a smile. “Maybe you can bond over archery or something.”

“I’m pretty sure he would use me for target practice,” David mumbled.

“Don’t be ridiculous, David!” Max said incredulously. “My father doesn’t need target practice!”

At this point, a David and alec scene isn't a want its a NEED

“I got it all planned,” Max said – for someone who had no idea what he was going to do.

me throughout life

max Rafael isn't the one smoking-

OH MY GOD MY DAD JUST CAME TO CHECK ON ME THE WAY I SLAMMED MY LAPTOP

“Also tell him to stop smoking!” Max pointed out seriously. “It’s not good for his health! Especially with all the mundane illnesses going on.”

“I know, Max,” dad sighed heavily and blinked. “I mean, I’ll talk to him. For sure.”

Alec if anything happens to you...just know ill raise hell

“I don’t want easy,” David smiled. “I want you.”

IT'S 4 AM DUDE

AYYY THE SHANGHAI SHADOW MARKET

CELESTIAL PALACE

��Dad? The Consul? That dad?” David looked surprised and relieved all at once. “Oh my god, he doesn’t hate me!”

“Of course he doesn’t hate you!” Max chuckled. “But he did say he will put your nerd ass in the silent city if you don’t bring me home by 11.”

of course, he did

oh my god SLEEP. there is so much to do tomorrow dying...my grammar was really bad and I don't have what it takes to use Grammarly's corrections except for the ones it's already doing as type.

this chapter had my heart BURSTING!! AHHHHHHH

the talk was so important I'm so glad they took care of that. ok imma head to bed now BYEE

Eeeeeee this was a lot sfkjdfkd I hope you are okay. Get some sleep next time or I will call the police.

Thank you as always for reading, reacting and supporting 💚

#lbaf

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bi-robins-club · 4 years

Text

jason had just settled onto his couch with a jane austen novel and his favourite peach iced tea when damian crept in through his window. he sighed internally and decided to simply ignore him. he had told damian to use the front door (nevermind the fact that jason rarely used the door) and more importantly? he was freaking comfortable. after a few minutes as jason flipped idly through the book, damian cleared his throat. jason sighed again, outwardly this time and reluctantly dragged his eyes up to his youngest brother. baby bat was shivering slightly from the rain outside and jason simply rasied an eyebrow as he sipped at his tea. scowling, dami stomped over to jasons bathroom to dry off. he rolled his eyes. how dramatic. damian was acting like he sentenced titus and alfred the cat to their deaths instead of how he was actually saving jason from deep cleaning his rain soaked carpet. (he was still going to deep clean the carpet the next time he tidied up but still)

when damian stalked back into the room, looking less like a wet, angry kitten and more like a dry, angry kitten, jason titled his head back and established eye contact.

"so what brings you over to my neck of the woods, demon spawn?"

instead of snapping back like jason expected, damian simply stood there looking extremely uncomfortable. he shuffled his feet, opened his mouth then closed it and sat next to jason on the couch he splurged way too much on.

"i don't know how to tell you this" dami began, hesitant "but i believe harper is experiencing thoughts of suicide"

jason jerked up, almost knocking over his tea (and what a damn waste that would be) before fixing damian with a look. he hadnt noticed anything different in roy lately but he knew more than anyone that depression acted strangely and was hard to pinpoint. his mind raced with thoughts of why roy might be suddenly suicidal, from a sudden relapse to not getting a happy meal toy included in his 3.99 box of clogged arteries. "why do you say that, damian?"

"i have been keeping an eye on his health since he became a close confidant to you and last night he said something worrying that i am still not able to parse the meaning of" jason smiled lightly at that, in damian speak he was basically declaring that he cared for roy- if for nothing else than for how happy he made jason. still he shook it off and asked what roy had said that was worrying dami.

"he was patrolling last night" jason knew that. roy had been picking up his patrols since jason had a nasty leg wound. it was the reason he wasn't out tonight. "and he was on the phone with an unknown person, though i am inclined to believe it was either Starfire or Canary" okay, still not surprising "and then he said that the only place he could die happy was between your thighs" oh hello blue screen. yes jasons mind was in the middle of rebooting but could you hurry it along? he almost missed what damian said next. "not only does he wish for death upon himself, he wishes for you to give it to him!"

"damian" jason managed, frantically trying to figure out a way to explain to his baby brother without including his sex life. "uhh its just an expression"

damians face brightened up slightly. "really? he does not wish to smother himself between your thighs?"

"yeah, its like...like just a way to say... mind your business? mmhmm" he struggled to get out, pulling an explanation out of his ass.

"you have told father to mind his business a thousand times but i dont recal you ever using that one. is it new?"

oh god. jason would rather die again than continue this conversation.

"uhh its only used if you're close to someone" jason didnt know what he didnt wrong but dami's eyes widened in clear worry. "i thought you and father were reconnecting? has something happened? are you fighting again?"

well shit. jason had not thought this one through. fuck roy and fuck his mile wide kink that centered around jasons thighs. he was going to kill him. and he wouldnt even use his thighs. "oh nonono dami we're fine, just not as close as me and roy" he hedged, pleading to gods he didnt believe in to stop this conversation with whatever means necessary. strike him dead if need be but *please*. damians eyes narrowed "and exactly how close are you with harper, jason?" jason stared in disbelief. how had his nice relaxing evening turned into such a shitshow? damian was fine with roy when he and jason were just friends but now that he was (correctly) assuming a relationship, his over protective instincts were kicking in? christ. he remembered how when dick and babs finally started dating (again), damian seemingly lost all respect for her and called her an evil harlot more than once.

thankfully he was saved by answering in the form of the best person jason had ever met aka duke thomas. he announced his presence by awkwardly coughing. jason met his dark eyes and mouthed 'help me' over damians head. duke smiled as if it was getting pulled out of him by torture but nodded.

"hey dames, dick wanted you to join him by the docks when you finished up here" damian scowled "cant you see i am clearly not finished yet"

"hah, well dick was facing up against scarecrow and i think he needed some back up but you know him"

"yes, he wont admit he needs help when he very clearly does" damian sighed "very well, ill go check on dick. you stay and question jason. " and with that damian clambered out the window and after he disappeared from sight, jason threw his head back to stare at his ceiling and groaned. duke laughed at him.

"hey daisy duke?" duke grumbled at the nickname and jason cracked a smile "how did you know i needed back up?" duke winced and ran a hand over his dreads. he made a face and jasons soul was slowly draining out of his body. "oh haha funny story" duke rocked back on his feet and faked laughed "damians com was still connected to the channel" jason froze.

"who was on the channel oh my god" duke smiled thinly and his hand paused on his head. "other than me? everyone." jason buried his head in his hands and let out a high pitched whine. duke consolingly rubbed his shoulder. this is why jason loved him. he hadn't even laughed at jason like tim, dick or steph would or started plotting death like damian started to. he and cass would just offer support. jasons favorite brother and sister right here folks. duke sat down beside him

"listen. i know what it's like to be outed when youre not ready and when i heard damian grilling you about roy, i thought i would help" jason turned and stared at his brother. duke was staring at his hands and avoiding eye contact. "i got caught with a boy when i was 15 in high school. its pretty shitty to be gay and poor in a homophobic neighbourhood but its worse to be gay, poor and black." jason knocked shoulders with him. "if you tell me the name of whatever asshat outed you, I'll shoot him for you." duke let out a waterly laugh. "they kept bullying me for being gay but if they even listened, they would have realised that im pan" he joked "its a completely different thing after all". jason snorted

"that was horrible"

duke winced "yeah, it was wasnt it. im bad at this" it was jasons turn to avoid eye contact now.

"talia once caught me with a league operative. a male operative. i was so paranoid for days until i caught shiva leaving her rooms. i got the courage to tell her i was bi and she just patted my cheek and asked how my training was going."

duke huffed out a laugh. "bruce gives you shit but i for one think your lesbians moms are cool"

jason laughed with him "just wait until you meet Ducra. shes a badass"

"ducra?" he questioned with a weird look. "how many moms do you actually have? i knew about diana and your assassin moms but thats a new name" jason burst into laughter at the expression on dukes face. "its not fair man. steph is the only other one with a mom and you have four! you need to share" jason choked on his laughter and shoved duke.

"first of all, its only *three*. ducra is like my badass abuela"

"dont you already have a badass grandma? have you forgotten about Ma Gunn? she threatened to shoot bruce in the dick last week!"

"yes well excuse you i need strong female role models in my life, fuck you" the two of them continued to joke around for a little while longer before jason caught a flash of black kelvar outside his window and sighed. duke followed his eyes and smiled before patting jasons shoulder and pushing off. "have fun with the one strong male role model in your life. im going to see if cass needs help" both of them knew that cass wouldn't need help but jason accepted the excuse for what it was. "me and steph are still coming over to study tomorrow. college is kicking my ass and i need you to explain this English assignment to me"

jason scoffed "im not writing your essay for you"

"eh worth a try. bye jace" duke gave a two fingered salute and slipped out the window. jason took the brief reprieve to sip his tea and mourned when he discovered the ice had melted and watered down the peach taste. for the third time that night, someone crept into his window. oh well. third times the charm right? jason wasn't going to acknowledge bruce until he said something himself. it was a repeat of damian. jasom read his book as it got increasingly uncomfortable.

"jason."

"bruce" jason drawled, not lifting his eyes from his book. bruce grunted like the neanderthal he was and jason finally huffed out a heaving breath before marking his page and looking up. bruce looked supremely uncomfortable. actually his face looked exceedingly neutral but jason knew how to read bruce and that was the brow furrow of how do i deal with jason without fucking it up? jason was well famailairsed with that one.

"you know i love you" jasons own eyebrows rose. bruce only said 'i love you' like four times a year tops. and he usually never wasted it on jason. bruce deflated at whatever face jason must have made. goddamn it. this was why jason always fought with bruce with his helmet on, he couldnt control his facial expressions for shit. "no you dont know that." bruce smiled thinly and to jasons suprise, quickly crossed the room and knelt, placing his hands on jasons shoulders.

"even if you dont believe it, and its my own fault that you do and i hate that i ever caused you to even doubt my love for you, i swear that i do, jay lad" jason was completely frozen. he had expected bruce to yell at him for letting roy go unchecked on patrol last night and how irresponsible he was yada yada, not this declaration of feelings that he had no clue how to deal with. he couldnt remember the last time bruce called him that. it had to have been when he was still in those scaly green panties and pixie boots. and not the adult verison that jason picked up from a halloween store on a whim just to see roys eyes.

bruce sighed and drew jason into a hug. when bruces shoulder started getting wet, jason was horrified to realise he was crying. "i wanted you to know that i wouldnt love you any less for loving a man. but you have to know that i love you in the first place for that to happen" bruce said self deprecating.

"shut the fuck up" jason said sniffling and gripping his dads back. "i hate you"

bruce laughed softly at him before pressing a kiss to the side of jasons head. "i want you to know that i expect roy-and you- over at dinner on sunday. i need to meet the man that stole my babys heart" he murmured. jason laughed wetly "youve already met roy, you just want to con me into actually coming to family dinner"

bruce smiled "that was before i knew you two were dating. roy needs to know what hes getting into" jason leaned back enough to stare into bruces eyes and weakly punched him in the chest "dont threaten my boyfriend. he refused to look at me for two weeks after t was done with him" bruce sighed longingly "its times like this when i remember what caused me to love talia in the first place."

"bruce!" the aforementioned man laughed and hugged jason tightly before stepping back a few steps. "Sunday dinner. you and roy. 8 pm." on a whim jason reached out and snagged bruces hand. "hey" he started, swallowing "you wanna stay for a while? we could watch a movie or something" bruces eyes softened and he nodded. "let me change out of the suit."

and if roy had crept in after patrol only to see jason napping on his dads chest to a shitty action movie playing in the background and took several pictures, well that bruces fault for not waking up when roy stumbled it. (nevermind the fact that bruce had every single one of those pictures saved on his phone) (nevermind the fact that after roy put his phone away, he was greeted to the sight of batman glaring at him as he twisted a batarang around his fingers. it was sorta ruined by the fact that jasons curls was hiding the lower half of his face but roy was still adequately terrified)

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Lightning Storm Ch. 1: Lightning in a Bottle

Summary: Henrik is a naturally curious person, and with there being something between him and Anti, he just wants to know what kind of person he’s dealing with.

Chapter: 1, 2

Henrik had more than a bit of a problem.

Anti had stopped making his presence so apparent, almost like he was trying to avoid Henrik but still watch him. It gave Henrik time to think about a lot of things. About what he wanted, and if even pursuing a relationship with him was even remotely a good idea.

The glitch demon was angry, violent, prone to random fits of destruction, and left gifts outside of Henrik’s office like a deranged cat. But he also saved Henrik from fights, wasn’t attacking him, and it was clear that although he left organs and teeth for Henrik that he meant for Henrik to actually like the gifts.

So Henrik was unsure of what to do about Anti. He was mostly curious about how a relationship like that would progress. But Anti had a history with the Septics that reminded Henrik that this tepid infatuation could end with Henrik’s blood and guts smeared all over the walls.

Henrik had spent a lot of time thinking about it as the gifts and stalking kept coming. So to clear his head, he headed towards the base.

The German doctor meant to find Logic, ask for some surveillance equipment, but when he walked into the comms room the Side wasn’t alone in the room. He was with Tubbo and Nate.

Logic was busy managing several different screens as the situation was calming down as Tubbo was holding some remote and shouting information into a headset. Both of them were on their feet. Nate was next to them, looking braced to rush out of the room.

Henrik paused as Logan fell back into his chair and let out a sigh of relief.

“Holy shit,” Tubbo commented, and started to drive his remote again. He was bringing his little bee drone back to him. What came back faster to him were three little bee familiars which buzzed around his head and settled into his suit. “That was ridiculous.”

“Now do you see why I keep you away from the Duke, his particular breed of unpredictability makes him exceedingly dangerous,” Logan explained.

“Is everything alright?” Henrik asked as he walked in.

“It is now,” Nate answered with a sigh of relief.

“Vat[1] happened?” Henrik looked at the screens.

“The Duke decided to live up to his title of “Intrusive Thoughts” and terrorize a baseball stadium full of people and make them hallucinate,” the logical Side explained. “At the most inopportune time, of course.”

“Of course,” Henrik rolled his eyes. Then he turned to Nate, “Ahhh, Nathan, it is so good to see you. It is a rare thing to see you in ze base zese days.[2]

“Been busy,” Nate commented. “Just wanted to meet the new guys, they seem alright.”

“Damn straight,” Tubbo smiled back at him, before continuing to pilot his bee drone back to him.

“Heard this place was haunted now,” Nate smiled.

“Ahh, yes,” Henrik smiled. “Big Man has a bro’zer currently viz Marvin. He calls himself Ghostbur und can phase z’rough valls.”[3]

“No shit, he like Big Man?” Nate smiled.

“Nein,”[4] Henrik smiled. “He vas[5] much calmer, und[6] quieter.”

“Really? That’s hilarious.” Nate laughed, but he was just staring at Tubbo, he seemed to be studying the young apprentice.

Henrik was about to leave and give up on his questions for another day. But Nate got up.

“Coffee?” Nate smiled.

Shrugging, Henrik followed but they didn’t go to the common room area for coffee, they left the base entirely.

“I like researching demons,” Nate told him, their topic veering to what Nate had been up to since Henrik had last gotten to sit down and talk to him, “and glitches have always been interesting to me. Even more so after I found out that Logic was a demon. I used to think they were all chaos incarnate, and they are, but they’re more than that. Logic is a way different demon than Anti, and both of them are different from the Jims, who I’m fairly certain are just super weird glitches.”

“Really?” Henrik asked, confused.

“Yeah,” Nate smiled as they kept walking down the road to this little coffee shop. “Makes me really glad I started distancing myself from the hunters. The only research they care about is if it makes killing demons easier or safer for them.”

“So you wish to become a university professor on ze[7] demons?” Henrik smiled.

“Dude, if that was possible, I would,” Nate promised. “The process from a human soul to a demon one. What they lose? What they gain? Can you predict who’s actually going to turn into a demon? What type of demon are they going to turn into?”

They took the time to get their coffees and take their seats outside the coffee shop as Henrik thought about Nate’s words. “I assume zat[8] you have taken copious notes about ze[7] demons already in Egoton?”

“Course I have,” Nate smiled. “As much as I was able.”

“Vat[1] do you know about Anti?” Henrik asked. “I know vat he is now, but vat about before. Vho vas he before he vas a demon?”[9]

“Huh,” Nate let out a loud puff of air and tapped his fingers to his coffee mug. “Never tried to look him up that far back.”

The singer looked down at his coffee before looking back up in thought. “I think Mare said something about Anti being a little over a century old. That’s probably just in demon years, so who knows how old he was when he actually died. But he’s a glitch demon so . . .”

Nate let out another pensive breath of air, rubbing the inside corners of his eyes, “He was probably killed by lightning. But that was around the same time as an industrial revolution so he could have died in a factory accident and still turned into a glitch. His turning would have probably been sometime in the early 1900’s, late 1800’s maybe.”

“Und[6] could he be found?” Henrik asked.

Nate looked a little concerned, “Maybe, finding him would definitely be easier than finding Dark or Mare. They’re older than him and Anti is also a glitch so that narrows it down. Even if he did die in a factory accident.”

“I cannot imagine a vorld vere he did not get into some type of trouble viz ze law,”[10] Henrik commented, pushing up his glasses.

“Yeah that might make it easier,” Nate agreed. “Usually a soul doesn’t change too much from how it used to be in life. There’s some drift but not too much.”

“Yes, but—” Henrik thought out loud before Mare seemed to appear out of nowhere and turned over a bag of cookies right into Nate’s lap.

“The fuck are you doing?” Nate shouted.

“Shut up and eat them, you still reek,” Mare spat at him, digging some loose cookies still in the bag and pushing them into Nate’s hands. “Anything’s better than how you smell right now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Nate tossed the cookies back in Mare’s face so hard they bounced off his face as they crumbled.

“I don’t like that kid’s aura,” Mare crossed his arms. “He smells weird.”

“Which kid?” Nate argued loudly, Henrik was watching Logan leading Tubbo down the street, the two obviously coming from the base and going out on a patrol. When Tubbo spotted Nate and Mare arguing the two stopped to watch them cautiously from across the street.

“The little goat demon with the bee theme,” Mare slapped down a hand to hold it about at Tubbo’s height. “I didn’t know you guys were picking up spawnlings off the street. I thought that was Dark’s shtick.”

“Bomble? What do you mean he smells?” Nate demanded. “What does he smell like?”

“How are you still alive?” Mare let out a frustrated sigh. “You know how toast smells when it gets burnt?”

“Yeah?” Nate agreed.

“Okay so imagine that burnt toast also set the toaster on fire, and that’s pretty much it,” Mare told them. “Anti doesn’t smell anything, but I can. I don’t know why! I checked with Dark, he can smell it too. But he doesn’t think he smells like toast.”

“Vat[1] did Dark say he smells like?” Henrik questioned.

“Death,” Mare told him. “At first I thought he was joking, like he was just being overdramatic, but then he told me he smells like a village that was on the verge of death from illness. Like a household taken over by the Plague. And after thinking about that, I’m inclined to agree. He kinda does smell like sickness. More like the burnt toast and toaster thing, but I get it. Dark is really old and he would go for that explanation. Don’t know how Anti doesn’t smell it, but he smells like bad news.”

“Zat[8] is very interesting,” Henrik hummed, everyone in the Coalition knew that Tubbo was a bomb expert and that the Coalition had some samples of a couple of his projects under lock and key so no one else could use them.

“Doesn’t help that everything he comes into contact with also winds up smelling like him,” Mare complained. “I thought Pixels had had something blow up in his face because he smells like him, all the time now.”

“Did you tell Logic about it?” Nate asked.

Mare huffed out, “Yeah but he had no idea what I was talking about, couldn’t stand to be in the base because the kid’s got the place carpet bombed.”

“King und[6] Host do not seem to have a problem viz[11] it,” Henrik thought out loud.

“Then their noses are broken, or maybe they have a tolerance to it, I don’t know,” Mare threw up his hands in defeat. “Point is the kid reeks, where’d you dig him up from? He die in some kind of explosion or something?”

“Not zat ve know of,”[12] Henrik sighed. “But he does have an affinity for explosives und bombs.”

Nate looked confused, “Does a person’s death influence their aura?”

“Kinda,”[13] Mare shrugged. “Sometimes it’s a little weird in how it manifests. I can tell if a demon was splintered from another demon, or came from a human soul. Wil probably became a demon in some insane asylum. Dark, it wouldn’t surprise me if his ringing is tied to how he died.”

Mare’s nostrils flared as the direction of air changed and the demon turned to glare at Tubbo who was quickly buzzing across the street and Logan yelled after Tubbo and raced to keep up.

The older demon hissed and took a step back. Logan physically put himself in-between Mare and Tubbo, physically baring his arm in front of the young man to keep him back.

Tubbo just nonchalantly hovered in the air as his wings buzzed. Mare wrinkled up his nose and glared at Tubbo, who was looking quite smug.

“Hey,” Tubbo smiled. “Heard yeh we’re talkin’ about me, mate?”[14]

“You smell,” Mare spat.

Tubbo finally touched his feet to the ground and leaned over to smell his arm, but his helmet shield was still down, so all he did was uselessly shrug. “I showered this mornin’[15].”

“Not what I meant, your aura reeks,” Mare told him. “What’d you do to it?”

Shrugging again, “Just me, bossman.”

“I’ve never,” Mare looked personally insulted. “I’ve never smelt a glitch aura like yours, you must have done something to it.”

“Huh,” Tubbo thought on that before he realized something, “interesting, so I don’t smell like honey anymore?”

“How the flying fuck do you smell even remotely similar to honey?” Mare demanded, almost sounding angry.

“Dunno,”[16] Tubbo shrugged. “E’eryone in the Server always said I smelled like honeycombs. Why do yeh think I started goin’ with the bee aesthetic?”[17]

“Yes, I was wondering how you arrived at the theme you did,” Logan commented.

“You’re lucky I’m in your territory or I’d take your face off,” Mare snarled and he disappeared into a puff of dark black-purple smoke.

“Nice ta[18] know I’m a natural demon deterrent,” Tubbo boasted proudly.

“I don’t think you smell bad, you smell like any normal person,” Logan commented.

“Maybe it’s a glitch thing, then,” Tubbo shrugged.

Logan was quiet at that.

“So I was right, you are a glitch then,” Nate commented.

“If I’m not a glitch, then I don’t know what qualifies, big guy,” Tubbo chuckled.

“Fair, but you and Big Man came from the same gang,” Nate was just watching Tubbo, the young man’s wings buzzing nervously. “How many glitches does the Server have?”

“Like, still? Or before me an’[6] Big Man left?” Tubbo’s tone sounded extremely guarded.

“Not including you two,” Nate qualified.

Tubbo paused to think, “Uhmm. Skeppy, Foolish, Sam, Karl . . .” He kept silently counting for a little bit. “Seven? Eight? Dream is really big on collecting glitches an’[6] empaths. There are even more empaths.”

“Did he ever say why, specifically?” Nate asked. “Glitches are really territorial, so are empaths for that matter, I wouldn’t think it would be so easy to have so many close together.”

“Well, yeah, it was hell,” Tubbo agreed. “But it helped that a lotta us were turned demons, we always kinda existed in the same type ‘a space e’en before we turned so we would have less reason ta kill each other.”[19]

“Yeah but people don’t just collect demons because they can,” Nate told him. “Do you know why he’s doing it?”

“I dunno[16],” Tubbo shrugged. “I always figured it was some kinda[13] power trip thing.”

“I think we should keep moving,” Logic interjected, he’d been watching Tubbo get more and more fidgety and nervous so he stepped in and whisked the young man away from Nate. They went off to go meet up with the other Core Sides and survey the damage that Remus had caused.

Nate and Henrik watched him go.

“That huge pact Dream has really bothers me,” Nate admitted. “Seven or more glitches all in such a tightly packed area, with that many empaths thrown in as well is a recipe for disaster.”

“How so?” Henrik asked.

“Anti and Dark are at each other’s throats and they’ve got different territories the size of cities,” Nate reminded. “By my research, Dream’s got a couple dozen young demons all in an area the size of three football fields and they haven’t all slaughtered each other. You don’t get that without a lot of coercion. It just . . . I don’t like it.”

Henrik thought about that, “Are you still going to do more research today?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Nate shrugged. “Write some music too.”

“I vill[20] join you,” Henrik offered.

“Sure, but why? If you don’t mind me asking?” Nate gave him an odd look.

“I vish to find Anti, und figure out exactly vat type of person zat I am dealing viz,”[21] Henrik explained.

“If you start knocking on that door, just know that demons don’t like talking about what turned them into demons. Some demons are too traumatized by it, others see their old human selves as weaklings. Anti is probably going to fall into the second category. You are going to start a shitstorm.”

“Zat[8] is alright,” Henrik dared as he stood up. “Anti und I already have been on bad terms, und zis vould be no’zing new.”[22]

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Tubbo’s familiars are named Spinz, Spunz, and Spoonz. His bee drone is named: Bee Innit. (Named after the canon bees Tubbo had in his New L’Manberg apiary.)

Tubbo’s aura actually smells like radiation, with a thin honey undercurrent, but demons older than the 1960’s can’t place specifically what his aura smells like and the radiation drowns out his original aura too much.

Accessibility Translations:

1. What

2. Ahhh, Nathan, it’s so good to see you. It’s a rare thing to see you in the base these days.

3. Big Man has a brother currently with Marvin. He calls himself Ghostbur and can phase through walls.

4. No

5. was

6. and

7. the

8. that

9. I know what he is now, but what about before. Who was he before he was a demon?

10. I can’t imagine a world were he didn’t get into some type of trouble with the law

11. with

12. Not that we know of

13. Kind of

14. Heard yeh we’re talkin’ about me, mate?

15. morning

16. Don’t know

17. Everyone in the Server always said I smelled like honeycombs. Why do you think I started going with the bee aesthetic?

18. to

19. But it helped that a lot of us were turned demons, we always kind of existed in the same type of space even before we turned so we would have less reason to kill each other.

20. will

21. I wish to find Anti, and figure out exactly what type of person that I am dealing with

22. Anti and I already have been on bad terms, and this would be nothing new.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #birthday post #footnotes #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #Logan Sanders #tubbo underscore #Nathan Sharp #Natemare #Antistein #Doctor Glitch #Tubbo's bees #magic #overprotective Mare #Tubbo is a natural anti-demon repellant #because he smells like radioactivity #Henrik are you dealing with your emotions in a healthy way?#what story do you think you're in?

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anestheticrage · 4 years

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Be me: Japanese honor student🎓, 15, with half a brain and even less of a plan. Hunting bitches by day and witches by night. Livin that dank only child✌️ life while mom n dad yeet all over the globe, leavin me plenty of time to forget not to make 2 lunches for myself #quirky 😜

no time for socialization or basic electronics skills ???📱??? when your best friends are an alien demon rabbit🐰👽 and the inexplicable Hole ™ in your brain. lmao, btw did i mention im ✨M✨A✨G✨I✨C✨A✨L✨

dreamin bout my 2D waifus again when familiar pink haired cancer patient dances through my brain passin out fliers: Kamihama Meguca Dating Service: Sponsored by Cult of the Magius. 250 stones per session 🤔

seems legit, Mr. Moneybags. wasn't spending my unwieldy sack of gemstones on anything else anyway. lets pull 💎💎💎

first up we have Redhead Radagast and her plethora of plants. 🌿☺️🦎

anndd, nearly dies immediately.

well not off to a great start but i guess shes pretty cute at lea- oh FUCK its her girlfriend, Tsundere Poseidon😒🔱💦, and their exasperated, straight and single Sword Mom 😔🗡️🔥. fml gonna have to save up for the next pull. might as well play a few rounds with what i got tho.

get in some good girl talk about things like school, color coded hair styles, body count, permanent soul damage, and our personal demon pacts. ya know, the usual 😚 . realize my dark backstory seems to be missing, so the girls take me to Ketchup Queen Sappho 🍅🥧 (wtf?) to molest my glowy egg stone. whatevs, more action than ive had since Kuroe 🖤 got added to the story anyway

the gang agrees it's time to hunt down the cutest rabbit pimp 🕶️🐇💵 in the city. >> say 🎵mukyuuu🎵 one more time and ill hug you so hard my backstory will pop right out, you adorable fluffy bastard. plz be my new best friend 💕

Form brand new friendship pact with Kyubae, and remember that my lil Sis 🐥 was always the best wingman for pickin up magic chicks, and kept her side of the room so spotless i forgot she existed. whoops 乁༼☯‿☯✿༽ㄏ Maybe if I find her i can stop paying these exorbitant pull fees.📵💎

speaking of which: hot damn this week's featured bachelorette is a 19 year old model and magical detective🔎 with massive levels of PTSD and self loathing 🥵💙💦 more likely to stab you or dramatically jump off a rooftoop than utter a single positive comment. wow, maybe i really COULD find true love…

... if i had MORE THAN A 1% FUCKING DRAW CHANCE. 😡 smh

hard to make much progress finding sis or winning the broken heart of a hard boiled detective amidst the never ending lover's quarrel of the Trident Vine Lesbians. 💔 Sword Mom tells them if they don't behave a monster will take them away. LOL classic mom 🤣

>>>HOLY FUCK IT DID

declare all-out war on urban legends, starting with staircases ⚔️ to reunite the dysfunctional trio, and hope that I net a way better lineup with the next 10x pull. at least sad sleuth lady came to help out. they say combat is the best way to bond wi- and there she goes off the rooftop again 🙄 fml

alright that got way off track, we need a fresh start, away from all the loli drama. how bout a little B&E🔓🔨🤷🏻‍♀️ at the local house of worship to clear my head. ahh nothing like the unanswered prayers of the masses to get you in the mood for another wasted pull, and the 🔥 MIGHTIEST 🔥 headache you could ask for with a side of Double Cooked Pork 🐖🍜 (meh 5/10🧾)

venture forth into the spiritual unknown with your new human flamethrower🔥🌻🧡 and ask your favorite private eye to please, for the love of Eve, trade Meguca accounts with me~~~ Head through the eastern spirit portal to meet up with hologram propaganda sis and detective crush's evil ex, who joined a dating-app cult (#fuck) and also turned into the moon?🌕?(that's rough buddy)

get ambushed by Acid Horse on Wheels 🌈🐴 and vomit up my soul so hard that its time for a crossover episode. T U R F F F W A R R R *que operatic harmonies* 💛 Blondie with the hair drills and enough attitude and guns to fill up a noble phantasm tries to ban my account permanently, but PI heartthrob denies her admin privileges. aww babe i didn't know you cared. 😭♥️

get kidnapped by my new true love and go back to her place 😏 defs enough empty rooms to house five emotionally traumatized girls and at least two ghosts hehehe👻 XD 💚🃏💜🎸 decide to form the anti-gossip brigade and recruit my blazing sunflower after getting ambushed by the witch living in my fruit loops🥣

❌outvoted 2:1 that cults are bad. mf. fiinneee one last pull to round out the team and then I'll delete the app. cmonnn Karin 🎃~

OH HELL YEAH TWO FOR ONE.

Always wanted a daughter 💜🔨🐄 with a penchant for pissing off the local Martial Arts & Books Club and drinking suspicious liquids offered by total strangers. Well if it's good enough for her AND the sexy mayadere with enough game to seduce a mermaid, might as well get in on that myself.

#curseddrank 🤢 0/24 would not recommend to a friend, 'cept maybe Ria

win alot of cash 🤑, blow up a fountain, meet the pied piper²🎶🖕, moon cult, monochrome feathers, something about liberation✊🏻; adopt temper tantrum cow girl. aces 💜🥩

Next up!!! skydiving with DJ Hammer! Jump to apparently-not-certain death after suicidal A.I. 💚💾🗼 tells you to rescue her hostage before they run out of Radiohead albums and have to move on to Thom Yorke's solo discography. save the invisible shield kitten 💚👑😿 from happiness and get chased through the internet by the sexiest homicidal Paint Pallette 💚🎨😈 since Caravaggio. (apparently green is the color of the digital apocalypse. i’m deleting Kako from my friend's list)

that’s it, fuck this app. 250 stones 💎 per-life-threatening-experience is more than i’m willing to deal with 😓 don’t wanna mess with the perfect nuclear family anyway. we've already got:

✔️the two emotionally traumatized moms with memory and commitment issues

✔️the adhd daughter with anger management problems and a giant hammer

✔️the psychologically abused scizophrenic cat

✔️and the eccentric aunt with crippling anxiety

#squadgoals

now that were done hoarding bitches, its time to hunt the witches. and the bitches makin the witches. btw did i mention the witches ARE the bitches! AND WERE ALL GOING TO DIE!? 📽️⁉️💀 wait fuck lets back up a second

This is Nemo📕 and Token🧪 and they have all the answers but prefer if you only ask vague questions in exchange for vague responses so they can fill in the rest by discussing their superior intellect 🧠 at length. not to mention they built that dating app, so of course everyone in my harem decides to be a FUCKING. TRAITOR.🤬

cept waifu prime ofc 🥰💙. [PTSD > brainwashing] 'yOu CaN bE tHe LeAdEr NoW'. i have been from the very beginning you traumatized Hinedere nightmare. maybe if you weren't so caught up collecting surrogate daughters you would've noticed IM👏THE👏ONLY👏 ONE👏PROGRESSING👏THE FUCKING👏PLOT✨

rescue the rest of dysfunctional found-family™ from selves before my adorable firebender burns down Disnihama🎡🔥😱 during her weekly anxiety attack. (love the makeover T B H)

CHAPTER 8: Magical Girl Massacre🩸🗡️

- everyone has like, the shittiest day ever

- the new Pope really needs to be extradited from the church

- make friends with a really pretty tree 🌺🌲✨

i swear, if i don't finish this god damn story in time to get that free pull im gonna beat the shit out of every mirror i find in that giant mansion that i haven't even had any time to even mention yet. 🖕🏚️ let alone EVERYTHING happening with the prequel [fuck you, I'm the star] girls 💗💜💙💛❤️️ and their multidimensional melodrama. We don't need that many repetitive af episodes to emphasize that Homo-ra is a shitty person. we've all seen Rebellion. 🙄

NO, I DONT CARE IF YOU WANT SAPPHO'S BACKSTORY, I ONLY HAVE 79 STONES LEFT AND IF YACHAN FINDS OUT I HAVEN'T DELETED THE APP YET IM GONNA HAVE TO GO SLEEP IN WITH SANA 😭💎💸😠

uhhhggggg where were we… Topple a cult and burn down Hotel Denoument only to realize that Sis was fused with the dating app servers this entire madokafuckin time (told ya she was the best wingman 😊).

Dilemma: Sis =🥚, Triumvirate of Trouble want 🐣. What do? vote now:

Help Hatch - IIIIIII

Not Do That - IIIII

What The Actual Fuck Is Going On - IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Lets just fight everyone until something good happens.

🔥🔫🔥🗡️🔥😱🔥🌆🔥😱🔥🛡️🔥💣🔥

Kill (???) the artist-in-chief of the italian reindeer murder police after teaching her the true meaning of Christmas 🎄 hatch 🐣lil Sis and realize she WAS your wingman all along🐰 MUKYUUUU! we're just gonna ignore how much trouble it would have saved if you'd just mentioned that. "yOu DiDnT aSk..."

FUCK YOU SPACE BITCH. ONCE AN INCUBATOR ALWAYS AN INCUBATOR 🖕🐇🔪

anywho, somewhere along the lines we of course summoned the Antichrist ⚙️ because why not raise the stakes to max and still not kill off a single character. Madofuckinkami, can we PLEASE wrap this up. 😩💤

feathers (not the culty kind, tfm) rain from the sky, and the power of friendship and not having the Urobutcher 🔪🩸as a lead writer saves our peacefully sectioned off alternate reality 😇

TL:DR fuck cults, real life waifus DO exist, don't sell your soul to space rabbits, or your stones to megacorporations. Enjoy arc 2 on the JP server with your shitty translation patch you filthy fuckin weebs

Yours Truly,

- Thirsty Weeb Eroha 💗💎😘

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Changes - part two Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part two: Four years after the demon attack, a young woman is playing a cat and mouse game with another supernatural creature. Only this time around, she’s the hunter. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: About A Girl - Nirvana Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version; thank you for helping me with this story and for taking it to a higher level. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Rochester, Minnesota November 24th, 2005

Rain falls during a chilly night in November. Thunder rumbles in the distance, as heavy showers dim flashes of lightning that jump from one cloud to the other. Several miles outside of the city in the wide-open spaces, the world seems deserted. The atmosphere is threatening as nature shows her power. Straight roads cross the farmlands, not a living soul using them. No one is on their way home or driving away from it. Then again, in this weather, who would want to be out on the road?

In the distance, a light appears and steadily approaches. A bright shimmer reflects in the water on the asphalt, the sound of an engine building as the vehicle gets closer. It’s not an ordinary engine, not even close to the sound that modern cars produce these days. Actually, it’s not even a car. A black Harley Davidson cuts through the night, roaring like a lion. The classic motorbike leaves a spray in its wake, the water catapulted from the back tire. The polished paint job shines proudly, catching even the smallest glint of light. Raindrops try to cling to waxed metal, failing miserably. It’s obvious the owner of this beauty takes good care of her. It’s the type of bike you would expect an old rocker to ride. The kind that listens to Metallica and is a member of a biker gang. A tough guy with a beard and big sideburns, who rides from roadhouse to roadhouse, consuming nothing but steak and beer. Nevertheless, this lucky Harley is ridden by a young woman.

The rider seems to be in a hurry; despite the slippery roads; she’s speeding down 75th street NW at ninety miles an hour. This woman and her Harley have reason to haste. The biker tries to focus on the road ahead, yet glances in her side mirror frequently, checking if she’s being followed. The sharp pain in her abdomen keeps her awake. She mutters to herself, biting down the pain. How could you be so fucking stupid? It’s your job to know what you’re dealing with, and yet you were caught off guard!

The suburb of Rochester appears in the south; she’s almost there. The rider bends over her bike, clamping one arm around her waist and applying pressure. “Fucking hell,” she curses. She refuses to look down at her injury and keeps herself together. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, she doesn’t have time to get stuck in the ER. It’s during moments like these she regrets falling in love with her ‘94 Harley Davidson Road King, because a faster bike like a modern Kawasaki sports bike would be much more convenient right now.

She follows the road, which is shadowed by trees on both sides, until she passes through a small town, called Douglas. Again, she checks her mirrors, but there’s nothing on her tail. In front of her, several cars and trucks are driving up route 52. A sigh of relief escapes her mouth; back in the civilized world. After turning right just before the highway, she speeds up again on the road running parallel to it. Finally, the motel appears in the distance, a building with a large neon number ‘6’ on the roof. The female biker parks her Harley in front of the motel and turns the ignition. Not nearly as graceful as usual, she gets off her bike and heads toward the entrance of the motel. With her right hand on her bleeding wound, she stumbles across the parking lot as she takes off her helmet.

A flash of lightning cracks the sky and reflects on the cars parked in front. For a split second, she thinks she sees a shadow standing in the rain. Quickly, she turns towards it, but it’s gone, yet her hand goes for the gun tucked behind her waistband, instinctively. On high alert, she scans her surroundings, her intuition telling her she’s not alone. Is she getting paranoid? He wouldn’t come out here and follow her by car, would he? That would be insane, he’d be too exposed. Her hand slips from the grip of the weapon and she makes a run for it. After hastily entering the motel, she closes the door behind her. It’s warm in the lobby, country music playing in the background, a huge contrast to the chilling weather outside. Standing in the bleak light instead of mysterious shadows makes her feel a bit more at ease.

The old man behind the counter looks up from his paper, peaking over his reading glasses. An empty soda bottle decorates his desk along with some paper wrappers which once held a Wendy’s cheeseburger. She stares at the wrappers for a moment. Fuck, she would kill for a burger right now. “You’re behind on your payment, Mrs. Johnson,” the old man remarks. She throws a Mastercard on the desk while closing her coat around her body, hiding her injury and keeping the hand she used to staunch the bleeding firmly against her side. The motel manager thankfully doesn’t seem to pick up on anything out of the ordinary and takes the card without thanking her. “I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you the extra night, too. It’s way past check out.” “No worries, book two more. I’ll be sticking around for a few more days,” she returns. “Business taking longer than expected, huh?” he assumes, while working the computer. “Something like that, yeah,” she answers shortly, not willing to elaborate. “Those two nights were the last slots. It’s busy this weekend.” The man behind the desk hits the enter button. “You’re in luck.” She frowns at the comment. Right, luck. Looks like luck got me fucking shot. Thankfully he doesn’t have any further questions, she’s not in the mood for a chit-chat with the fossil.

The restless woman scans the parking lot outside for the third time, slightly out of breath, her face tense. Every once in awhile the motel manager glances over his screen, observing his client. Her black leather biker jacket is soaked through, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Brown hair falls down her shoulders, the tips escaped her helmet drenched from the rain. Her dark eyes seem worried, makeup slightly faded. A young woman, who - according to the information he got from her when she checked in - married early, apparently. How old could she be? Twenty four, twenty-five, maybe? She doesn’t really seem like the marrying type, and he has seen many folks come and go. The poor girl looks pale, too, as if she’s ill or carrying a heavy weight upon her shoulders. A lot of shady business has happened in his motel, so he knows the signs. Maybe it’s drug related, maybe she’s fleeing from an abusive relationship. Who knows? He doesn’t bother to ask anymore. It would put him out of business if he would. Besides, she doesn’t seem like the person anyone would want to mess with. He does make a mental note to keep an eye on her and make sure his motel doesn’t turn into a crime scene. “Here ya go.” He hands her back her credit card. “You know the way.”

The mystery woman nods, picks up her helmet from the desk, and turns down the hallway. While entering room number 82, she takes off her jacket together with her tartan wind scarf and strides to the bathroom. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze drops to her abdomen, where a bloodstain has darkened her grey shirt. She lifts it up, the fabric sticking to the punctured skin. Fuck, that feels anything but pleasant. She reveals the bullet wound underneath, several inches to the left of her belly button. “Shit, shit, shit.” Carefully she takes off her shirt, her breasts only covered with a bra. Still staring at her reflection, she ponders on her next move. Maybe paying a visit to the hospital isn’t such a bad idea after all. That bullet could have ripped through a number of organs. The small intestine, descending colon, she remembers clearly from the books and lectures. The inferior mesenteric artery branches out there too. “Would’ve been more blood if it was an artery,” she mutters to no one but her own lonesome mind.

The fact that the bullet bounced off the wall before it hit her, could mean that it didn’t sink too deep into her skin. She decides to give it a try and fish it out herself; if she can’t solve the problem, a doctor’s visit is always an option. The young woman grabs a clean towel and wipes away the crimson around the wound as she moves back to the bedroom. She takes a small briefcase from under the bed, putting it down on the table in the corner of the room. A sigh falls from her lips when she sits down on the chair, then opens the lid, revealing a wide range of surgical instruments and medical supplies. Gauze, suture thread, sterilizers, tape, syringes, catheters, and several small bottles with different substances ranging from morphine to epinephrine; enough gear to do minor surgery. She swallows apprehensively; this is going to get nasty. “Hell, I’m not doing this alone.” Next to her bed, a bottle of whiskey beckons her. With a moan, the injured woman gets up, grabs the Johnny Walker and the glass next to it. She turns on the radio on the cabinet, twisting the volume button all the way, and walks back to the table, halting to face the mirror inside the briefcase. Filling up the glass with alcohol, she grabs gloves, forceps, and other supplies she is going to need. In the background, the first tones of About A Girl by Nirvana comes through the small speaker. With the bottle of Johnny’s Black Label on standby, she clears her throat while putting on the blue latex gloves. Here goes nothing.

There is a sharp increase in pain as the forceps slowly enter her body. With her eyes focused on the reflection in the mirror, her jaws clamp together as she tries to reach the bullet. She groans, fighting the intense agony that almost seizes her attempt, struggling to contain herself and steady her breathing. Not wanting to draw any attention is the only thing preventing her from screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, the forceps touch something solid. With tears burning in her eyes, she succeeds in getting a hold of it, then carefully pulls back and drops the bullet into the glass. Quickly, she grabs the whiskey and takes large swigs, wincing at the afterburn. “Fuck, that hurts,” she hisses, placing the bottle back on the table with a loud bang.

The worst part is done, but it’s not quite finished yet. Shaky hands reach for the disinfectant, but unfortunately, the bottle of chlorhexidine is empty. Stupid, she should have stocked up immediately after she used it all last time. Oh well, whiskey will have to do then. And so she takes the Jack and pours the last bit of whiskey over the wound. The alcohol needs only a second before taking effect. But when the stinging pain does come, she’s unable to tone down the growl leaving her throat. But you know what really pisses her off? Now she’s out of whiskey, too.

Frustrated, the young woman clenches her fist, waiting for the pain to fade until it’s bearable. After several minutes, she has finally calmed down enough to proceed. She takes the thread and stitch scissors and finishes the job. The pain from the stitching needle piercing her skin isn’t too bad; it almost feels like a tickle compared to the forceps. After ripping a sterile wound pad out of its package with her teeth and soaking it in betadine, she places it over the wound and tapes it to her skin. All done. Unfortunately, she will live to see another day.

With a sigh, she strolls over to the bathroom while pulling her latex gloves off her hands. Again, the woman - who basically just performed surgery on herself - looks in the mirror. “Well hello, gorgeous,” she mutters sarcastically, registering the bags under her eyes, the run-down mascara and messy hair. She looks like a train wreck and that’s an understatement. But considering recent events, she's lucky to still be standing. After opening the faucet, she bends over the sink. The water feels refreshing on her skin as she washes her face. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she closes her eyes. Time for a moment to stop, debrief, and take a breath.

The fucking night she had.

What the hell happened out there? Where did this go wrong? She found a pattern, located the next victim. At least, she thought she did. Burdened, the brunette turns around and slowly walks back to the main room. The interior of the motel is rather boring, but the bed is comfortable enough and there’s a television. Normally she insists on more luxurious hotels, but with two big events happening in the city, this was all she could find.

By the bed, she halts. A puzzle of newspaper articles, pictures, books, and blueprints lay spread out over the mattress as some sort of mind map. An outsider would think this so-called Mrs. Johnson might be a special agent. That, or a psychotic killer, but neither is true. In fact, her name isn’t even Mrs. Johnson.

Biting her lip, she narrows her brown eyes and tries to find some sort of link, an explanation for what happened tonight. Terry Cliffer, the guy she expected to be the next target, turned out to be the bad guy. The bastard who shot her certainly looked an awful lot like Cliffer. Somehow the suspect was on to her and made a change of plans, but what was the trigger? She picks up two articles, both from the local paper, the Post-Bulletin. One is about a murderer with an ironclad alibi, the other a tiny report of a strange robbery. Both incidents took place during the same night, both suspects were caught on surveillance cameras, both claimed to be elsewhere at the time of the crime, and neither fit the profile of a killer or a thief. Two separate mysteries for the local police, one crystal clear case for a hunter. Until now, that is.

She mutters unintelligibly, annoyed with the fact that she’s one step behind. There’s another question poking at her subconscious, maybe one of even bigger importance: how the hell did it shift so fast? She picks up a book from her bed and rereads the passage she labeled ‘Shapeshifting’. ‘Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folklore. In its broadest sense, it is a metamorphosis (change in the physical form or shape) of a person. Shapeshifting involves physical changes such as alterations of age, gender, race, general appearance, or changes between human and animal form.’ Still standing up, she leafs through the book, trying to find what she’s looking for. “Forms of shapeshifting, powers, punitive changes, needed items, yadda yadda yadda. Damn it, where is it!?”

Throwing the book back on the bed, she sits down, wincing, and pulls her MacBook closer on the table. Focused, she fires up the hard drive and opens her archives. After a bit of searching, the screen finally shows the information she’s been looking for. “Shifting process: The shifting process takes several hours, but can be hastened by the shapeshifter itself, by tearing off its own flesh - Oh, that’s just gross.” She shivers, disgusted, staring and rereading the passage just to be sure. It might be gross, but this is what’s happening. Something disturbed the monster she’s hunting, but did she mess up this job or did someone else blow her cover?

She has to go back to the roots of this case for everything to make sense. At least three people are connected to each other. Three people who don’t work together, who don’t live close by, but there’s one thing they have in common: they’ve all been seen at 110th Ave NW just outside Rochester this month. Traffic cams confirmed this, so the shifter must be hiding somewhere along that road. But where? She opens a satellite picture of the area on her Apple computer and observes the houses alongside the road. The estates are spread out and have long driveways. It would take months to figure out where the shifter’s den is, and the creature will be long gone by then. Yesterday, she thought she had a lead. She discovered the thing uses the sewer system to travel. More than fifty percent of the houses out there aren’t connected to the sewer system, but have their own septic tanks, so she could scratch those off the list. Only nine of the remaining houses are empty. The problem is, she already checked those homes and ended up with nothing.

“C’mon, what does your gut tell you?” she mumbles to herself. One house, deep in the forest, captures her eye. It’s not connected to the sewer system, but on the last drive by, she saw a ‘for sale’ sign by the side of the road. Good chance it’s empty. It wouldn’t make any sense for the shapeshifter to hide out in the woods, miles from the sewer, but she has a feeling something’s going on in that place. Her intuition is the only thing she’s going on, since there are no leads left to investigate. Why is a voice in the back of her mind telling her to go there when it makes absolutely no sense? “This is fucking insane,” she states out loud as she gets up to put on a new top. Insane, maybe. But she is not going to sit on her ass and watch this monster get away with more abductions. What concerns her, is the people of which it stole their identities, are now missing. They could be dead for all she knows, but they could also be held some place, and in that case, every second counts. This stops tonight; she has been hunting this fucker for way too long. Determined, she gathers her stuff and leaves the room, heading back to the hunting fields.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter three here!

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Supernatural OFC #SPN OFC #Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Kate Huntington #The Sullivan Series #STSS #1x01 Changes

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beerecordings · 4 years

Note

Do you mind explaining a little more of seven seven Henrik’s backstory? I checked the tag, but tumblr only gave me two posts for it -River

yeah, i’d love to! i haven’t talked about him much, this au comes mostly off the top of my head and then occasionally yanks me down into more complex scenarios, which i enjoy a lot.

okay this is long and honestly it’s a horror story so i’m going to put it under a read more. careful it is creepy and there’s a lot of talk of blood and stalking. seriously it’s a little messed up i used to be scared as hell of the Pooka when i was a kid lol. the short story, if you don’t want to read, is that a creature called a Pooka chased him out of Germany and nearly made him a prisoner, but Jackie and Marvin saved him!

but anyway yeah so Henrik is the seventh son of a seventh son, like I’ve mentioned, which pretty much means he A) is bizarrely lucky, impossibly lucky, B) can sense some magical activity and tell when things are supernatural even if they’re disguised to other humans, either seeing their real nature or just being able to tell that the thing in front of him is, on some level, not quite human, and C) a lot of people or creatures who are clued in to the mythological world might want to hurt him :( there are a lot of myths (Henrik doesn’t know how true they are) about how his hair or skin or blood could be used for really powerful spells or luck talismans or how even just keeping him around could increase luck or magical energy. to be fair, this does seem to be true in the households he’s lived in, as his family was really lucky with a lot of stuff when he was with his wife and kids, and recently his friends have been really lucky. he doesn’t consider this real luck at all, though - he’s constantly paranoid that something will come to kill him for a ritual or hurt him to get something out of him or just lock him away as a lucky charm for the rest of his life.

and he has good reason to be paranoid after what happened! A couple years ago, he caught the eye of a Pooka, a nightmare shape-shifter hardly more intelligent than an animal and generally not classified at the level of a human the way a Selkie or higher spirit or satyr or something like that would be. (okay there are some legends that make Pooka clever tricksters who come after bad people and others that say they’re even friendly but in the stories i was always told, Pooka were monsters and you did NOT want to be targeted by one, because they never let their victims go and enjoyed tormenting innocent humans for reasons never explained to me). Henrik still doesn’t know exactly what it wanted with him, because it never spoke. It’s just one night he woke up at the witching hour and sat up in bed beside his wife and outside his window there was a donkey.

but it was horrible, it wasn’t… it wasn’t normal. The Pooka takes a lot of different forms. usually a huge black dog, or a huge black bull, or a huge black hare, or a huge black-haired man, or the donkey. And the donkey, to Henrik, was the worst of them. It would be the body and head of a donkey, but it would stay on its hind legs like a man and wear a coat, and there would be something in his eyes far too clever for a donkey - an ability to watch, an ability to be interested in him, an ability to want to hurt him. That first night he thought it was a sleep paralysis demon. He held stock-still and stared at the blank yellow eyes with the rectangle pupils on either side of its head and wondered why it seemed to stare directly at him, as though hungry. It reached up a hand - grey and covered in fur, but the hands of a man - and pushed open his bedroom window.

His wife woke up and asked him why he was shaking so hard and when he whirled around to look at her, the Pooka disappeared again. He had to stay home from work the next day he was so afraid, and even though he and his wife had been having a lot of problems lately, she pulled him right into her arms and stroked his hair and let him cry because he was just so terrified. she’d never seen him that scared. his vision was telling him that thing was real even though he’d never heard of anything like it and wanted it to be a nightmare.

and the thing was, he was the only one who seemed to be able to see it.

He kept trying to go to work as usual, providing for his kids and looking after his family, but the Pooka began to get closer and closer. he would get on the subway and look up and the Pooka would be a dog sitting across from him, staring at him with donkey’s eyes, bigger than he was, big enough that its head touched the top of the subway and pressed its ears down. or he would be in the middle of an intensive surgery, and suddenly the window would open, and this hare the size of the operating table, with the yellow eyes of the donkey and all its horrible ribs jutting out, would crawl into the room and stare at him while he worked, sweating and trembling so hard he could barely perform, though he sometimes didn’t have a choice depending on how serious the surgery was and how far he was into it, the hare staring at him the whole time and just breathing. or the huge black-haired man, donkey-eyed and twice his size, stepping into his home while his wife and kids were all asleep, stepping over to him, its boots thudding across his dining floor, leaving blood in their wake, its yellow eyes fixed on him as he shook, shattering a coffee mug, trying to make his voice work, to say something like “what are you? what do you want with me?” but it never answered, it never spoke, just stepped closer and closer, fixed on him, staring at him, and then, for the first time, it reached out with its sausage-sized fingers, and it touched his fucking throat, and he felt blood come spilling out of his mouth for reasons he still doesn’t understand, and it swiped up the blood with its thumb and began to drink.

it turned to go after a drop of it, but it wasn’t satisfied.

Henrik, understandably, just about lost his mind with fear after that. he had seen the bull standing over his wife and kids enough times by then that he knew none of them were safe, and besides, no one believed him. his wife thought he was having a nervous breakdown or developing a psychotic illness or something because even though she knew about what he was, the story was just too ridiculous, too insane, and whoever heard of a donkey like that anyway? so he ran away. didn’t even think about it or mean for it, really, didn’t have time to leave them notes, to tell them that he loved them, just… ran and hoped the Pooka would leave them all alone. but it just kept following him. and now he was all along, and it started to get bolder.

it sat beside him on trains destined for countries he picked at random. it swam across the channel with him when he ran to Ireland. in his hotel room, it stood over him, and when he ran to sleep on the streets instead, terrified and exhausted, still it followed him, the donkey towering over him, the yellow eyes fixed on him, and it started to eat his blood whenever it wanted to, touching his throat and making it come welling up and drizzling from his mouth again while he was paralyzed by the strange power come over him, frozen still by the Pooka except for tears running down his face. he tried to run away again, but now, he found, it was no longer just watching, it would grab him and force him to stay in the hotel room, or snatch him off the streets while he searched for any help and drag him to the forest to drain him, and then it began pulling him deeper and deeper into the forest every time and letting him wander for less and less time, and then one day it brought him a big cup of milk in its horrible donkey hands, and he realized, in a moment that nearly killed him, that it was going to make him a prisoner for the rest of his life. but he didn’t know what to do. he’d been hunted for months. he was exhausted and terrified and exhausted of being terrified. there was no way to get free of it. in his dreams every night the Pooka made him see himself sat on the back of the great black bull, clinging on for dear life, blood running from his mouth, unable to throw himself off. it felt like a dream. in retrospect, it’s like it didn’t even happen to him, just like he watched it happen to someone else. it was extremely traumatic for him and he knew he was going to die and gave up on finding help.

until, of course, a little star spirit who loves to explore happened upon him. Marvin had never met a Pooka before and he was very curious when he noticed its spirit!! he went zipping off into the woods all excited and fascinated, but then he came upon the little man curled up beneath an outcropping in a worn doctor’s coat, shaking and passed out, anemic and freezing and very ill with the toll all this took on him. Marvin has rarely been so distressed in all his life. Henrik woke up to a very sweet white cat kissing at him and keeping him warm. he let Henrik hug him and pet him and mumble to him about dying and wanting to go and Germany and his family and blood from his mouth for a long time before he heard the Pooka come and decided this was too much for him to deal with alone. he zipped off to go get Jackie, but not before he saw exactly what the Pooka had been doing to the stranger. Jackie was horrified, of course, and finally here was someone who actually had an idea of what this creature Henrik had been ranting about to everyone he could think of actually was. In the end, it’s his luck that brought Henrik to Ireland, the homeland of the Pooka, where someone might know where it was and where a friendly star might wander onto him. they found Henrik silver spurs like in the stories Jackie had always been told as a kid and the next time he dreamed, Henrik could dig the silver spurs into the side of the Pooka and make it scream, a horrible shrieking noise like a half-dozen animals being slaughtered that has never left Henrik’s head since. The Pooka tried to come back and punish him a couple times, but Jackie and Marvin protected him and eventually it was killed with silver because, while Jackie rarely kills anything at all, it was clear that it wouldn’t stop coming for Henrik, perhaps having developed some kind of an addiction to him.

It took months for Henrik to believe it was really over. Jackie kept him in his home the whole time - apart from a brief sojourn to the hospital once or twice, since Henrik was seriously ill - and nursed him back to health with Marvin’s help. for the first couple weeks, Henrik was just silent, wrapped up in Jackie’s bedsheets staring at the wall, blue with blood loss and illness and a certain sort of grief that will never go away, letting Jackie and Marvin feed him and comfort him. eventually he started to get better, but he never left Jackie’s house. only place he really feels safe now. he has, however, set up a secret little clinic just a few blocks away, where mythological creatures in need of help can come to a doctor who has some understanding of what they are and real expertise, too. Between him, Jackie, and Marvin, they started picking up some pretty expansive knowledge about mythological creatures and he’s learned how to treat so many different things!! It keeps his life really interesting, especially now that he’s developing a national reputation among the other folk. and it’s how Chase and Jamie both came to be a part of their family!

What happened really haunts him, but luckily he has happened upon the best group of friends he could ever ask for and he has a great support system :) so that’s where he’s at!! that was very long but yeh!!!! i am filled with love of him!!

#blood tw #stalking tw #mythology au #seven seven henrik #schneeplestein #horror tw

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carnoshin · 5 years

Text

Slashers With A Magical Girl S/O

Prompt(s) provided by @galaxy-of-pastels, based off of Puella Magi Madoka Magica. I was in the fandom when I was younger, so excuse the length!!!

((I know the cut won’t work on mobile, yet again, so I’m also gonna tag this as “long post.” soz))

(Also. Side-note that I think is funny: technically, all you need to become a magical “””girl””” is human emotions, so. Technically. These boys could make a wish. Too bad I can’t draw men, this seems like it would be fun to do;;;)

Jason

You probably assume that the famous “Jason Voorhees of Camp Blood” is a witch, so that’s how you end up there. Maybe you still have some hope left in you, maybe you’re trying to claim the territory.

Obviously, you’re surprised when the infamous Jason is... Well, he’s just himself. And he’s surprised when you walk off being gored. It does some serious corruption to your soul gem, but you’ve been through worse-- that’s what being a magical girl is, simple enough: not fun and seriously harming.

((As for the general relationship and the specific questions, lol))

Usually, in the Madoka universe, magical girls do not age unless spurned by their transformation (Godoka seems to be a few years older than usual Madoka, for example. Also, there’s a wish that basically splits someone into two people in the manga: it’s transformative, is what I’m getting at). If you are chronologically an adult and pass for an adult, you probably turned later in your teen years.

Once you make your wish, your body is essentially dead: you’re a ghost possessing your preserved corpse.

Jason relates to that on a certain level, but he’s also vaguely worried about the fact that he is rotting. It becomes a very “monstrous alien or beautiful corpse” situation, if you’re familiar with that saying-- both are psychologically terrifying, but the one people prefer says something about them. That monstrous aspect is part of what drew you two together.

He’s caught off-guard by the idea that you could just. Disappear forever? Only leaving behind destruction and despair? Given the fact that you’re with him, he’s vaguely terrified what your Labyrinth could be like. He wonders if you would hurt him-- he deeply wants you to be able to come back to him, if you ever reach that point of corruption. (And no, he doesn’t care about the consequences.)

You have to leave fairly often to find grief seeds and he insists you leave when he “has to” commit his occasional massacre, in case it corrupts your gem even more.

Technically, only magical girls or kyubey can enter the witch’s labirynth without assistance. Everyone else is affected by either suicidal thoughts or illness. At first, it doesn’t strike him as odd: it’s just a group of teens coming up in the middle of summer, it’s not rare at all. But he finds himself being a bit more reckless than usual-- he’s practically making himself known at this point, no doubt as to whether or not he’s an urban legend.

(I would sincerely hope you don’t bring him into the labirynth: are you trying to get your mans killed?)

Most magical girls can go beyond their fully corrupted gem. (It’s implied that Homura never uses a grief seed after she gets herself set “right,” simply by supressing her sadness.) So if you come back from a fight and you’re particularly quiet, it can be even more stressing on your end when he tries to comfort you-- that release of emotion is what forms a witch, after all. Giving a matter of fact “I almost died” and leaving it at that is your best bet.

If you became a witch, he’d feel so... Guilty? He’d probably be there to watch the grief seed “hatch” and might get caught in the resulting chaos-- emotion is a very strong thing with magical girls, so if you have lots of emotions for him... He could get sucked in. Once you are slain he just. Sits there. In the same place you were when he last saw you. The quiet of the house, the fact that all your things are still there... It just wrecks him.

(Lmao, did you think a Madoka post was gonna be happy...? Nah.)

Bubba

Again, you are probably there in the assumption that a witch is in the area. Most magical girls ditch Kyubey after finding out what he did to them, so you’re left trying to find them on your own-- not impossible, but certainly harder than just following the little rabbit-puppy-cat bastard. Witches do spread around violence-prone areas, so it’s not a terrible stretch of the imagination.

There very well might be a witch in the area. Though witches can move around, if you catch one early it’s likely to be in an abandoned place-- where magical girls tend to hang around. And, sure enough, there are lots of abandoned places around the Sawyer property. It’s not the best place to set up a base camp, however.

You probably wouldn’t be terribly friendly with the Sawyer family altogether-- probably just Bubba: his secret friend who comes by at night to talk with him. His “imaginary” girlfriend, if you will-- his brothers certainly call you that, at least.

Bubba doesn’t quite get all of the stuff around witches and rumors and familiars and all that. He thinks the soul gem is quite pretty: he can sort of see the resemblance between you and it.

He’s the most likely to take off with your soul gem on accident. It’s really pretty and, since it’s yours, he very much sees it as something precious-- not in the fact that it’s literally your soul so much as “this belongs to my lover. I keep it on me to remind me of them.” So you can see why that would be an issue.

There are a few events where he finds a grief seed nearby his house-- witch’s gravitate towards violence and death, so the Sawyer house isn’t an unlikely place for them to go. You frequently tell him to make sure his family is healthy and he starts to be a bit more “doting” around his family than usual, though it makes them upset at him.

He knows what your soul gem looks like. So he recognizes your grief seed immediately. And then he just... Loses time. He “wakes up” thirty minutes later, dangerously close to the woodchipper in the backyard. He remembers that you told him if he ever lost time like that, he should make sure he’s safe-- that his family is safe and relatively health. And after he does, just like you told him to, he remembers where he saw the little silver and black trinket that looked like your soul gem. And it’s just gone.

It becomes a regular part of his daily schedule to check over by the place he would meet you-- you on the opposite side of the fence that denoted the Sawyer property. You never come back, but... He’s certainly keeping his hopes up.

Brahms

The Heelshire mansion is a good place for a base. It’s only a twenty minute drive from a major city; being an older magical girl, you have a type of authority that the other girls succeed to, so there’s very few territorial issues; there’s a hospital ten minutes away; no one ever comes by, so you can do as much magical stuff as you like without worry of being exposed. Etcetera.

Since your magic is so very advanced, as an “adult” magical girl, you probably end up making a kind of... Temporal space to disappear into. This is the main thing that interests Brahms about you: you enter a room-- one that he can see into and enter, if he so pleases-- but you’re never in the room. For a while, he considers that he might be going insane. Or perhaps you’re a ghost-- things he never believed in, especially because most assume he is a ghost.

He becomes terribly interested with you-- not even in a romantic sense, because he does have a kind of fear towards you: he truly thinks you’re a demon or a spectre-- perhaps a ghost from the witch hunts way back when, as you occasionally mention witches when you have a visitor outside the house.

He takes note of a type of creature outside the house that you seem to absolutely hate. He assumes it’s some strange toy, as he can just barely hear it speaking. One day, it mentions that someone else is in the house and before he knows how to react, you’re searching through the house with something shiny in hand. You never find him: he’s not a witch or a magical girl or anything of the sort, so he doesn’t show up on your radar.

When you go to sleep at night, he is so very careful about taking that lovely gem you seem to have. He takes it back to his room and leaves it there for further inspection. For the next two days, you don’t move even once. He even gets so bold as to check your pulse, shake your body to try to wake you. And then he hears that strange creature that you seem to hate speaking to him: he hasn’t the slightest clue how it got into the house, but he listens to it and returns your soul gem. He sits by your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Needless to say, you’re quite frightened when you do and see a man you’ve never seen before watching over you.

He listens very intently about your life as a magical girl. He’s seen you do such strange things. It only takes one single transformation-- to him it seems to only take a single blink, though you do go through the whole process-- to convince him. He’s not terribly afraid of you turning to a witch--- if you’re unhappy with him, it serves you right. (He... Sucks...)

The thing is, he won’t let you leave very often to get grief seeds. You’re always just on the verge of becoming a witch. If you’re lucky, you can convince some of the younger girls to give you “extra” grief seeds. They suggest you run from him-- plenty of them are homeless; it’s a norm for magical girls.

If you do become a witch, it probably happens in the manor. He accosts the girls who came to destroy your labirynth as soon as everything is over-- he’s awake and alert immediately after. The girls aren’t so kind as to give him your grief seed-- you were extremely difficult to beat, so they can’t just let the grief seed grow and destroy once again: you’d only get stronger and more dangerous.

He gets so lonely, so depressed. He doesn’t eat. He hardly sleeps. He becomes a husk of a man. He doesn’t die from grief, however, no. He has to go through the process of grief. All alone.

#jason voorhees x reader #jason vorhees #bubba sawyer #bubba x reader #bubba saywer x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms the boy #long post #you know what's interesting? the day I saw the original post with the questions i had to pick up and put away some lances at work and #immediately got sis puella magica stuck in my head for a good two hours.

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millieswickedbooks · 5 years

Text

chapter one: the nightmare and the breakdown

Girl on Fire (Teen Wolf x Hunger Games) [Stilinski]

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word count: 5,846

warnings: death (somewhat explicit), murder and attempted murder, violence, assault, mention of hunting, implied signs of depression/mental illness, brief mention of panic attacks, mention of pregnancy, mentions of child death, brief mention of alcoholism, nightmares, mental break down, brief mention of needles and medical procedures and implied signs of trauma and PTSD

What woke me up was the cold. When I opened my eyes the first thing I saw was white. It was the sky. Since when is the sky that color white and so... plain? I shivered as a breeze swept by, blowing ice-cold kisses on my skin, most likely leaving goosebumps in their wake. I felt was dirt and the unforgiving ground beneath my body. I was so confused—where am I? Why am I on the ground? And outside?

I stood up, groaning as my body felt like it was being used for the first time in eight-hundred, thousand years. I looked around and quickly realized I was standing in downtown, specifically the Square. But it was different; everything was foggy and empty. It looked like a literal ghost town. Where the hell is everyone? And lastly... how the hell did I get here? I was left with unanswered questions as I saw a familiar figure walk up to me, emerging from the fog—it's my younger sister?

"Alise?" I called out. She ran up to me, her usually untamable, curly hair was styled into two neat, french braids and gave me a hug, a big smile on her face. The face that brought joy to my heart.

"We mustn't be late!" She told me and she grabbed my hand pulled me through the fog.

"Late for what? Alise, what's happening? Where are you taking me? Do you know where everyone is? Alise?" Alise ignored all of my questions and kept pulling me until we arrived at our destination—the Reaping stage? What the hell is actually happening?

I heard shuffling, turned around and saw that the townspeople had suddenly appeared, surrounding the entire field the Reaping stage was at but not actually inside the field. They acted almost like a fence, forming a large circle around Alise and I. I turned to look at Alise and I saw her looking forward—at the stage.

I look up at the stage and saw a single peacekeeper, in his usual all-white uniform and gear. But this time something is different—is he holding a gun? They don't just hold those, especially in broad daylight like that. What was next to him caught my attention too. It was a familiar looking fancy stool. Wait, this is all very familiar to me—this is the Reaping. But everything is wrong, why is it only Alise and I in here? And peacekeepers don't announce the tributes. Ever. And the fancy stool next to him is the ballot. But this ballot only has one tiny little piece of folded paper, which was closed with a small section of black tape, at the very bottom of the massive see-through bowl. There should be literally hundreds of pieces in there. That's the sole reason why that bowl is so freaking huge.

I felt a sense of dread wash over me as I looked at the peacekeeper and for some reason, it felt like he was staring right back at me. And I know he has a mask on so I can't see his face at all, let alone his eyes but I just know he's staring right into my eyes. He reaches into the clear bowl and grabbed the only piece and held it up to his face and read the poor person's name. He looked back at me and leaned towards the microphone.

"May..." I shivered as his voice boomed from the large speakers. His voice... sounded like someone was playing a demonic tape in reverse. "...the odds be... ever... in your favor... Alise Galloway."

I felt my heart drop as I heard her name. This can't be happening. I looked to my left, where Alise should be and saw that she wasn't. She was just here, where could she have gone within a couple of seconds? I looked around frantically, my heart pounding in my chest and fear rose from the pit of my stomach up to my throat. They were not taking my sister away from me, they'd have to kill me first. As I looked around I saw that the crowd of people was staring right at me, judgmental looks on all of their faces. And in the midst of the crowd, I saw a boy and he had his right arm up, pointing at something behind me. I quickly realized he was pointing at the stage.

I whipped around, hoping Alise would be right behind me, and saw that Alise was on the stage, standing next to the peacekeeper. And he was aiming his gun at her head. I gasped.

"Why didn't you save me, Aurora? Why didn't you do something, Aurora?" Alise whimpered out, her voice becoming distorted and demonic, just like the peacekeeper. I began to sprint towards the stage but it was impossible to get there in time. I knew it, but I had to at least try. I felt like as if the stage was just getting farther and farther away. I then felt multiple hands grab me from behind. It was the townspeople. They were keeping me from saving Alise. I was struggling against them, trying to escape from their unshakable grasps but it was quickly becoming too much. I had tears running down my face as I screamed, frustrated and scared. I sobbed as I felt like I was going crazy. My sister's going to die. And I can't do anything about it. Soon the crowd swallowed me up, pushing me down as I felt myself fall into a large, dark hole I didn't know was in the ground. Everything quickly became dark as I descended deeper into the hole and then POW!—a gunshot rang, the sound ricocheting loudly in the large hole, my ears ringing almost immediately afterward.

"ALIISSE!"

And my eyes sprung wide open and I gasped for air, feeling as if I hadn't been breathing for the past five minutes, as I sat up quickly in my bed. At first, I was confused as to where I was, breathing heavy, letting my oxygen-deprived lungs fill once again, and still riled up from the... was it a nightmare? I quickly looked around at my surroundings and quickly recognized I was in my room, the one I shared with Alise.

I quickly got out of bed, nearly falling on my ass as I scrambled to see if Alise was okay. I knew it was a nightmare but something deep, deep down is telling me otherwise. But I just needed to make sure she was fine. I nearly stepped on Beau, our six-year-old Ragdoll cat, on the way towards her side of the room, which I think I scared half-to-death when I shot out of bed and proceeded to hop out of bed all in under five seconds but I was too busy to feel bad for her. I'll apologize once I know Alise is all good.

I went up to her side of the room and I saw her lamp light on but her bed was empty. God, nopleasenono—and I quickly descended into panic. And at the moment, after fearing the worst for about five seconds—which felt like a literal millennium in my mind—I heard our door's familiar annoying creak; signaling that someone was coming in. I whipped around and I saw Alise's tired figure at the door.

"Aurora? What are you doing at my bed?" Alise whispered drowsily, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. I smiled as I realized that even in her sleepy daze she still remembered to stay quiet so she wouldn't wake our father. I checked her over just to make sure she was actually okay before I answered her. Her nightgown, which was mine before I grew out of it, is an off-white color. It also wasn't what she was wearing in my dream so that made me relax a bit. But her braids were styled the same way, which sent a chill down my spine. But I quickly noticed that the difference; they weren't as slick and neat as they were in the dream. And with that I sighed, feeling relief flood back into my body. "...Aurora? Did something happen?"

"It's nothing Alise. I just had a weird dream, that's all..." I admitted, not telling her the whole truth. She walked into the room, shutting the door behind her and sat down on the edge of her bed, facing me. Beau climbed up on her bed, like she did every night, settling beside her.

"You wanna talk about it?" She offered, looking at me with a look of concern on her face. I shook my head at her.

"There's nothing to talk about, Alise, I can barely remember it now, anyway. And we have the Reaping tomorrow, too. We have to be up early for that, you already know the drill. Now, let's go, back to sleep, I will too," I told her, motioning for her to get all cuddled up in bed. She groaned, rolling her eyes at me, but did what I told her to do. I did the same, but in my own bed, of course.

"By the way Aurora," Alise began, staring at me as she laid on her side, facing me on her bed, "it's already past 12 a.m."

"Yes? And...?" I asked, trying to sound as nice as possible because I honestly had no idea where this was going.

"Happy Birthday. Goodnight." And just like that, she flipped around, shut off the lamplight and cuddled even more into her bed. Beau stared at me with her big blue eyes for a little, probably trying to make me feel bad for scaring her a few minutes ago, which I was starting to.

"Sorry, Beau," I whispered at her and at that moment she laid down, probably deciding to call it a night.

I laid there conflicted; on one hand, I was appreciating her remembering but on the other, I was at the mad at the fact that the dreaded day was finally here.

You see, I've hated my birthday with a burning passion, ever since I was twelve. When I was eleven, turning twelve in about nine months or so, I had a tiny, little... feeling about a boy named Nino. Nino was this Spanish boy, with light brown, curly hair and eyes that were probably one of the prettiest shade of green I've ever laid eyes on. He was my age too, just a few months older than me, in my grade and we had multiple classes together. And bonus, we took the same route back home from school every day, so I got to look at him while walking home as much as I wanted. And my God did Scott tease me about this tiny crush. Literally every day. Anyways, one day, he saw me trip, while walking home and he helped me up and ever since then we just really hit it off. We became really close over those nine months. But then, just as my crush was rapidly becoming bigger and bigger and bigger—my birthday came up. My father explained the Games to me. I had only put in my name once, but that was more than enough for my father. I didn't know how to feel but I felt confused mostly. And I had the heavy feeling in my chest that made my hands ache and my knees tremble slightly. But I convinced myself I was fine. Nino and I had plans for my birthday and we were meet up right after the Reaping and it would be all good. I would finally introduce him to Stiles and Scott and they would love him because he's funny too. It would be great.

But that was until, at the Reaping, I heard 'Nino Lockway' echo through the Square. I felt my mouth dry and I also felt the grip my older sister, Amara, who was standing behind me, had on me loosing up as I heard her sigh in relief. But I hadn't felt that same relief. I was stunned to complete silence. I was so shocked, I couldn't even move or even breathe as I watched Peacekeepers grab the hysterical boy and drag him away as his mother screamed, running towards Nino and then a Peacekeeper taking her to the ground. I felt Amara pull me close, shielding me away from the horrid view but it wasn't enough. Nino's mother's screams were something that soon would because of many of my nightmares, for weeks afterward. At the age of twelve, I had just barely developed a crush and it was ripped away from my grasp before I could even hold it. It was heartbreaking. Sadly and unsurprisingly, he didn't even last a day in the Games. He was slaughtered in the Cornucopia within the first couple of minutes. I cried myself to sleep for a week afterward.

Ever since, I would spend all my morning stressing over the Reaping, begging whoever was up there to not let any of my friends be picked. Ever again. And my anxiety only got worse after Alise turned twelve but it's been two years since then and she hasn't been Reaped yet, but it doesn't make it any easier. Especially since District Twelve hasn't won in years... my birthday is basically a death sentence for two innocent youths. It's weird to sing 'Happy Birthday!' to someone when you can hear a mother already mourning for her still-alive child all the way from down the street.

Well, I sighed, knowing if I continued this, I wouldn't get a wink of sleep, so I got comfortable in my bed and closed my eyes, beginning, for the second time that night—thank you, nightmare, really appreciate it—my pre-Reaping routine; pray over and over again for Alise and my friends until I fell asleep.

➳

The day of the Reaping dawned early—like it did every year, sadly. This year I had put in my name in the Ballot forty-five times, an extra five more times than last year and an extra ten more than what my father thinks I put in. Ever since Amara, my older sister, had turned nineteen and moved in with Derek Hale, her husband, last year, my father, Hudson Galloway—but I call him Bubba—told me that I didn't need to put in my name as many times anymore.

"I'd rather starve to death than to hear my girls' names over that damned speaker, fighting to the death over some Goddamned food," he had grumbly explained his reason to me one day. And I understood where he came from but I do it anyway. He might not want to admit it—or might not want me to know, whichever it is—but I know we need the extra help. Ever since Mama died, we've always kind of been struggling. A Healer doesn't pay much, not surprisingly though. But Bubba does a good job at covering it up though, I'll give him props for that, if I wasn't so observant and curious I wouldn't have noticed, that's for sure.

I sighed loudly, frowning as I realized that the heavy feeling in my chest that I woke up with still hasn't left. I tried everything all morning to try to distract myself from it but when I wasn't doing anything, my mind would go back to it. I woke up this morning feeling like I almost couldn't breathe properly because of it. I thought at first it was because of the Reaping later on today because everyone and their mother knows I get like this today but this... this was different. It felt like something really bad was going to happen. The last time I ever felt like this was when... I was told Mama had passed. To this day, remembering her still hurt, like as if it happened just yesterday.

I shook the thought away and began playing with the tips of my bushy, thick curls, hoping my low ponytail wasn't messed up from the low branches. I continued to play with my hair, trying to pass the time as I waited in the forest beyond the district fence for Scott and Stiles, my two best friends. We agreed to meet up here before heading back to my house and then to the Square, for the Reaping.

Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski and I, Aurora Galloway, have been friends since we were in nappies. To this day, I still strongly believe our mothers set it up; 'it'is our friendship, if it wasn't clear already. District Twelve was the smallest of all the Districts so everyone kind of knew everyone. All of our mothers were Healers and best friends too. And after my Mama, Rose Galloway, got pregnant with Amara, Bubba began to work two jobs, Mama's, and his own; a coal miner. Scott's soon-to-be mother, Melissa McCall, and Stiles' soon-to-be mother, Claudia Stilinski, befriended Bubba, quickly teaching him the ropes. My father was soon introduced to Stiles' and Scott's soon-to-be fathers, Rafael McCall and Noah Stilinski. Needless to say, they all just hit it off. We were all born in the same year, just a couple months apart, Stiles being the oldest of us and me, annoyingly, the youngest. And to this day, my father swears that Mrs. McCall, Mrs. Stilinski and Mama planned it. I do too because you just expect me to believe that all of them women just got pregnant all at the same time, by coincidence? Don't think so. But their 'totally-not-planned' plan did work, we did hit it off and we have been best friends for the past sixteen years basically. We just... bounced off each other's personalities, never getting bored of each other throughout the years. And everything was good... up until everything went to literal shit—well, everything had already gone to shit, with our economy and the government and all that terrible shit but this was when everything went to shit for us, specifically.

We all were about seven years old when it happened. One day everything was fine but then there was a huge BOOM! The coal mine exploded, instantly killing Mr. McCall. Scott and Mrs. McCall were devastated. Stiles and I were devastated. I saw that near man every day, and now he's just suddenly gone? I actually couldn't believe it. The cries of Mrs. McCall were worse than anything I've ever heard. But now that I look back at it, I'm kind of grateful we had time to grieve for him. Whoever is up there gave us three years to grieve Mr. McCall.

When we were ten years old, Mrs. Stilinski fell terribly ill, while pregnant with her second child. A baby girl—which we, later on, found out. But weeks later, sadly, Mrs. Stilinski, along with the baby girl, named Summer, had passed away. That one truly shocked me down to the core. I remember how ruined I was when Bubba told me, tears building up in his eyes as he delivered the news. Scott, Stiles and I were basically bouncing off the walls as Mr. and Mrs. Stilinski told us the great news. Mrs. Stilinski and I even chose her name while Stiles and Mr. Stilinski chose a boy's name. It took me a while to realize this but it was then that I lost all hope—of being happy, of growing old, of there being a better future for me, or for my kids—I lost all hope. Seeing Stiles and Mr. Stilinski get their happiness ripped away from in one single moment and then, afterward, seeing them struggle to cope with this massive loss was... heart-rending. Stiles started having really bad anxiety and panic attacks, which he still deals with to this day, while Mr. Stilinski turned to alcohol to drown his sorrows. Stiles, Scott and I miraculously got him to stop drinking so much and the whole situation brought Mr. Stilinski and Stiles closer to each other.

And then at the age of eleven, my world came crumbling down upon me. Mama was a healer and I always wanted to follow in her footsteps so I begged her to let me help her as much as I could. She warned me, telling me that some of the patients she took were dangerous at times. But I insisted. And everything was alright, I would help her, with at least one of her patients, after I finished my homework and I had a lil' routine going. It was nice. But one day, while Scott, Stiles and I were hanging out in the forest we found an unconscious Peacekeeper just laying on the ground. Scott instantly began to freak out while Stiles offered to leave the body there. I calmed them down and told them to take him to my house, Mama would fix him. My first mistake. And I barely remember sneaking him through town to my house but I do remember my mother's panicked look when she saw us three holding an unconscious man. And after that, it all happened so fast. I remember bits and pieces of what happened and I'm thankful because I really don't want to know... all the details of what went down that afternoon. I remember that we threw him on our kitchen table and Mama kicked Stiles and Scott out. Mama was yelling out instructions and I was trying my hardest to keep up with what she was telling me to do. She then shoved a needle in his chest and... that was it. He opened his eyes right then and there and jumped up from the table. He looked scared. And angry, very, very angry. He grabbed a roller pin from the counter and then that's it. Nothing else.

I woke up the next morning, laying on my bed, all bruised and sore, no memory of what happened and Stiles, Scott, Amara were all at my bedside. Amara was sobbing while Scott and Stiles comforted the best they could. I could tell they were crying too. I remember being confused as to my everyone was so sad and I asked them what happened. Scott went to grab me some water while Amara explained that the peacekeeper was attacked by someone in town and that's probably why we found him in the forest—a secret she somehow found out, probably through Scott, he used to have a fat crush on her when we were kids—but most importantly, a secret she promised to keep... only if I brought her back cool stuff I found. He said that when he woke up, not knowing who we were, where he was, what was happening, or what happened to him, he felt 'threatened' and thought we were attempting to kill him. So, he beat us within an inch of our lives... or more, my life. He fatally struck Mama on the back of her head with the roller pin causing her to die instantly from the impact. He killed Mama. And I survived. And God, the aftermath was something I really don't want to think about. It's still too painful. I just remember blaming myself for ruining my family's lives. It is my fault. It still is.

But after that, all the pain, all the shock, ups and downs, mourning, loss we experienced, it really brought us all together. And closer than ever. We know each other more than we'd like to admit it. I can read right through them sometimes. Scott was like our leader, even though sometimes he was pretty slow, but it was okay. He was an optimist, he made Stiles and I chose the right decisions in many, many situations, where without his advice, the issue would've honestly gotten worse. He has a big heart and is like the older brother I never had, but secretly always wanted. I was their little sister, the one they felt the need to protect. And, not to toot my own horn but I was the sane one. I was the peacekeeper, I ended the drama between my boys. I helped them with girl problems, I helped them with school work and I felt like their mother at times. Stiles was the comedic relief and... my crush. I've liked him before and after Nino, so basically for as long as I could remember. He was just so... pretty, with his lil' moles and whiskey-colored eyes, and his personality, his humor. Everything was great. But he loved Lydia, for years and years, and then he got over it, and I thought I had an actual chance but then he loved Malia. And now he's back to loving Lydia. So I decided not to tell him, because first of all, all of what I stated before and secondly because the rejection would probably obliterate my pathetically fragile heart. And honestly, I highly doubt he would ever like me that way either.

"Aurora!" A familiar masculine voice called my name, startling me slightly, as it came out of nowhere, and derailed my thought process completely. I whipped around, seeing Stiles and Scott coming up to me, causing me to stand up and flatten out the skirt of my dark green button-up dress.

"Hey, guys..." I greeted, not really bothering cover up my feelings that were clearly showing on my face and in my voice. They looked nice: Scott was wearing a thin, dark gray hoodie, almost like a thermal, with some khakis, with him dark boots to top it off. Meanwhile Stiles... oh God, Stiles is so fucking beautiful, goddamnit. He was wearing a baby blue Henley and some gray pants, paired with some dark boots too. Ohmygod, I'm never getting over this stupid fucking crush.

"Hope we didn't make the Birthday Girl wait too long!" Stiles exclaimed, a big smile on his face as he made his way towards to hug me. Which he did, tightly, wrapping his arms around my midsection, which I gladly accepted, covering up my wince at the mention of 'birthday' by draping my arms over his shoulders and around his neck. I hugged him back just as tight and buried my head into the crook of his neck but right before I did, I made eye contact with Scott. He wiggled his eyebrows at us and I rolled my eyes at him. I inhaled his scent and my nerves were calmed down slightly. He smelled of peppermint and cinnamon. And I wanted to stay in his arms for the rest of my life. He whispered "Happy Birthday, Rory," in my ear and I tried not a shudder at the feeling of his warm breath on my ear. But it wasn't that hard since he said Rory and the terrible name snapped me out of the trance he had put me in.

I groaned loudly at the mention of the cursed 'R' nickname and unwrapped my arms from around Stiles' neck, pushing him away from me. He laughed as he grabbed both of my arms and pulled me close to him and began to tickle me. I struggled to not scream as I tried to get away from this torture.

"Mieczyslaw Stilinski! St-stop it r-right!" I choked out between the laughter and at the mention of his real name, Stiles let me go and I punched his arm.

"Um... ow," Stiles said, making a face, pretending to be in pain as he pouted at me and rubbed the spot I punched.

"Oh shut up, you deserve it," I defended myself as I stuck my tongue at him. He raised his eyebrows at, pretending to be offended at my actions and I heard Scott chuckling beside me. Of course, he would be enjoying this. Sadist. "I don't like being tickled, you of all people know that I can't control my limbs. I straight up kicked Scott on the chest the last time!" I reminded them.

"Yeah, I remember that it was absolutely hilarious," Stiles commented, snorting as the memory most likely replayed in his mind.

"No, it wasn't, he immediately had an Asthma attack afterward. I thought he was gonna die, I thought I killed him!" I yelled at him, my eyes squinting at him as I wondered if we were thinking about the same situation because let me tell you. it was nearly terrorizing to me. Being the cause of his Asthma attack.

"Yeah, it wasn't funny at all, but I kind of deserved it. You did tell me not to tickle you," Scott said, looking a little guilty.

"Scott, are you kidd-" I started but Stiles cut me off.

"Maybe I wanna get kicked in the chest, ever thought about that?" Stiles jokingly commented and I turned to look at him again.

"I will not hesitate to punch you in the arm again," I fake threatened. Stiles' eyes widened and he backed up a little bit and his arms went up in the air, signaling his surrender. I laughed at his reaction and winked at him. He then dropped his arms and sheepishly looked at me, his cheeks becoming a dusty pink. I smiled at him and turned to Scott, remembering he had properly greeted me yet, going over to hug him. Scott smiled as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my right temple.

"Happy Birthday, Aurora," he spoke, and I laughed as I could feel his deep voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. He pulled away, the same smile still on his face. I looked at the both of them and sighed again, as I felt the warm happy feeling begin to dissipate and the cold, heavy feeling of dread from this morning settling in once again, deep in my chest.

"What's wrong, Aurora?" Stiles asked, immediately sensing my change in mood and taking multiple steps closer to me. He had concern lacing his voice as his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion and worry. I felt bad as I realized I totally ruined the moment we were having and most likely brought their happy moods down with me.

"What isn't wrong, Stiles?" I retorted, and I instantly felt bad. I didn't mean for it to come out so rude.

"Aurora-" Scott began because he knew where I was taking this but I interrupted him.

"No, Scott, don't 'Aurora!' me!" I exclaimed, mimicking his voice, pointing at him. He rose his hands up, signaling defeat and that he didn't want to fight with me. I squinted my eyes at him and felt weirdly proud of myself. I scare him? Hahahahaha. Good.

"Come on, Rory..." Stiles began, trying to reassure me and I interrupted him too. I honestly didn't want to hear what he had to say, and I know that's really rude of me but I don't care at the moment.

"No, Stiles! How many times did you put your name in that God-forsaken bowl?" I questioned him, trying desperately to get them to understand my side.

Stiles sighed and mumbled out, "forty times."

"And you, Scott?" I asked Scott, looking towards him for his answer.

"Same as him, forty," Scott stated, further proving my point.

"And I did it forty-five times, Stiles! Forty-fucking-five times! Lydia did twenty-eight, Allison did thirty-five, Kira did thirty-one, Erica did forty-one, Cora did twenty-eight, Isaac did thirty-six, Boyd did forty-two and Alise did fifteen! And just once is enough, Stiles! I know you remember Cole from last year, he only did it once and they picked him, Stiles!" I explained to him, listing the facts.

"Aurora, we do the same numbers every year and we still haven't been picked. What makes you think we'll get picked this year?" Stiles really sucks at trying to comfort people sometimes. Like... really sucks And he sucks at arguing with me.

"Just because we haven't been Reaped yet that doesn't lower the chances, Stiles," I told him, not even knowing why he even mentioned that and I wondered if they even cared, or if they even realized the kind of danger we were in every time my birthday came around. "Anything could happen," I finished.

"Aurora, what is this really about? You don't normally freak out like this..." Scott pondered aloud, and he was sporting the same worried look as Stiles. I sighed and I knew he was right, I don't act like this and I wondered if I should tell them about my dream. After thinking it through, I decided to go for it.

"It's just that- I just..." I didn't know how to word it. 'Yeah, I had a nightmare last night where Alise got Reaped and now I'm paranoid outta my damn mind because this is literally my number one fear'? I closed my eyes, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as I continued, "I woke up today with a... heavy feeling in my chest. Like as if something was gonna go wrong... I know something bad is gonna happen today. I feel it, guys," I rambled, looking at them.

Scott and Stiles turned to each other and then to me. Unable to contain my anxiety-filled word vomit, that I hadn't realized I was holding in until now, I continued my panic rant; "One of us is going to be Reaped. It could be you, or you, or Lydia, or Allison, or me, or even Alise! I even had a nightmare last night that it happened to Alise and I thought I was losing my mind. Oh my God, ohmygo-" Stiles wrapped his arms around me and I instantly shut up. God, I have it bad.

"Aurora, we are gonna be fine. I promise, we just have another two more years of this shit and then, we're free," Stiles whispered, rubbing my back and I took a deep breath, breathing his scent once again and beginning to finally calm down. Scott came over and hugged Stiles and me, turning this into a group hug.

"Yucky, group hug," I commented jokingly, trying to lighten the mood I single-handedly destroyed. Stiles laughed and poked my side and I yelped, and I punched his arm again. I warned him not to tickle me. He is just asking for it this point.

"Ow! Now that one hurt!" He yelled, frantically rubbing at the spot. Scott laughed at his reaction.

"Must fucking suck," I retaliated, wrapping my arms around my midsection protectively. He draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me towards him, which caused me to feel hundreds of butterflies in my stomach. God, the effect this boy has on me. Scott turned to me and looked at me expectantly.

"I can't promise anything but don't worry, we'll be fine Aurora," Scott reassured. "We always are."

I sighed, looking at the both of them, and spoke, "let's hope that that's the case for this year. Come on, it's almost time and we gotta go before our families get worried about us. And I hope y'all are right and that I'm just overthinking things or I'll 'I told you so' y'all to death. Trust and believe that."

And with that, Scott, Stiles and I made our way out of the forest. And Lord, were they wrong.

➳

there's chap one !!! woop woop !! lemme know what y’all think ♡

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles #stiles fic #mieczyslaw stilinski #hunger games fic #teen wolf fic #stiles stilinski fic #oc #girl on fire #black women #teen wolf crossover #hunger games

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lorenzobane · 5 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

(AO3 Link)

Magnus knows. Magnus knows. Magnus knows. Until suddenly-- He doesn’t.

And Alec knows better than most that Magnus’s moments of weakness, those rare moments he falters when he’s human in a way that Alec desperately wants to sink his teeth into because yes. He’s not alone. Magnus is here in the mud with him- struggling and making mistakes and fucking up. Those are the moments that people latch on to. It's unfair, and its cruel, centuries and centuries of being right more often than wrong somehow barely matter. What’s crazy, and what Alec hasn’t figured out how to say, is that he wants that. He wants the blood, and the tears, and the sweat on his brow. He thinks its ridiculously cute that Magnus bruises easily. That Alec barely needs to press his fingers into Magnus’s trim, muscular hips to leave bruises makes him happy. Mostly because... Well, mostly because he doesn’t want to seem like a crazy person. Intellectually, he knows that Magnus wakes up with morning breath and he needs to shit, just like any other human being. But Magnus just won’t show him. He tries his best to understand. He tries to imagine how he would respond to Magnus suddenly became cruel, the way Camille did. If a person who loved him, and helped him, and literally pulled him off the ledge, suddenly began corroding at his heart and his soul. If Alec is honest, he’s not entirely sure he’d ever recover. But Magnus did. He kept loving, and trusting and giving- and fuck. He wants to say all of this one day, he wants decades and decades to say the things he’s not ready to say yet. But Magnus is somehow both stubborn and dying. A combination he’s mostly convinced that no one else has mastered. “Let me in, Magnus,” Alec says, pounding on the magical separation for what feels like the thousandth time. Magnus glares at him, infuriatingly put together considering he has blood pouring down his mouth. “We have no proof I’m not going to kill you. We will wait until Isabelle is finished.” “Izzy,” he says to be contrary, “thinks that you shouldn’t be alone.” Because it’s a Warlock illness. Lilith, having figured out that Magnus is the one putting her evil plan together, decides to punish him. She corrupts the ley lines in such a sadistically specific way, so she’s physically ionizing Magnus from the inside out. Magnus shakes his head as much as he can and lays back down. The only victory he has won thus far is that Magnus should rest. “Magnus,” Alec tries again. “This is an illness designed for you. No one else can get hurt. I won’t be hurt. Please, let me be with you.” To hold you, to wipe the sweat from your brow, to be trusted by you. Magnus stares at him. “We don’t know that.” “Yes, we do!” Alec yells. “Everyone with more than two brain cells says so. So please, just... Drop the barrier. Let me be there.” Magnus stares at him again, and he looks ashamed. Weak. Alec hates it. “I... I’m not myself. I can’t... be me right now.” Alec glares at him. “You think I care? You could be projectile vomiting, and I would still want to be there.” Magnus glares back, “there is no need to be disgusting.” Alec rolls his eyes, “baby. I’m a shadowhunter. I am covered in disgusting fluids most of the day--” “Well, you’re really more of a bureaucrat now-” Alec doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leans back against the wall and stares at Magnus. “I don’t... It’s hard. I don’t want you to see me like this. Disgusting, and weak.” Alec responds, “you’ve never been disgusting.” They look at each other for a moment, and Magnus looks away. Well, to be fair more vomits away. Alec hates watching because he sees the bright red leave Magnus’s mouth and he knows that the blood loss is going to start getting bad. Magnus has been using spells to keep his blood pressure up, but sooner rather than later, he’s going to get tired. Magnus is quiet long enough that Alec just continues, “please. Magnus. I love you. Don’t... I can’t take it. You being in there, suffering alone. At least let me be with you.” The spell drops. Alec rushes to Magnus’s side before he can think, and Magnus looks terrible. There are times when they are fucking (”making love” his traitorous and obnoxious mind insist) Magnus has looked wrecked, panting and trusting and Alec’s. He doesn’t look like that now. He looks shattered, and Alec can’t fix him. He smells sick. Alec’s shadowhunter senses aren’t terribly helpful now, because he can smell the rot right under Magnus’s skin and he’s scared. “Magnus,’ he says, to distract himself. “Everyone is looking. Us, the Warlocks, the Vampires, hell- for reasons I can’t understand, even the Silent Brothers.” “I’m likable” Magnus replies, he has a small smirk on his face while he pretends to be brave. Alec ignores that and reaches for the bowl of cold water Magnus summoned fifteen minutes ago, and gently dips a cloth into it, pressing the water against his sweating head. “I do have to tell you though,” Magnus says, his lips are dry and chapped this close up, “that I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my blood levels up. Exsanguination might be a more pressing problem than anything else.” “Can you please,” Alec starts, sighing heavily, “not use the word exsanguinate when you’re talking about yourself?” “Is there a better word?” Alec thinks about it for a second, and says, “probably not, but luckily that won’t be a problem because we’re going to fix it before it gets that far.” “Speaking of,” Magnus says, laying down fully and closing his eyes, “why are you here? I thought you’d be out busting balls.” Alec shakes his head ruefully, “unfortunately ley line magic theory and greater demons are a bit above my understanding. I was just slowing Cat and Izzy down, and making them waste time explaining their theories in regular people terms just wasn’t a good way to help you. At least here, I can be with you, try to make things a little less painful, and you can borrow my strength.” “You’re cute,” Magnus says, his eyes still closed as he talks, his lips just barely parting to form words. Alec smiles fondly, as worried as he is, now that he is at Magnus’ side the problem feels solvable. Magnus’s skin under his hand, cold and clammy it may be, remind Alec that for the moment Magnus is breathing. Alec opens his mouth to respond when Magnus shoots up suddenly and leans over the bed to grab the bucket next to him. He gags violently, the scent of blood and bile filling the space. Magnus’s body trembles as tears of pain and frustration edge at the corners of his eyes. “How much longer do you think you can hold up?” Alec asks softly, he wants an honest answer. Magnus shakes his head as he lays back down, “honestly, Alexander, it’s a miracle that I’ve even lasted this long.” “That is because you’re the most stubborn person on Earth,” Alec replies, filling his voice with false confidence. “That still doesn’t answer my question though.” “I’m giving myself probably another half an hour before I don’t have the strength to replenish my blood,” Magnus says, his voice calm and even. Alec pulls out his phone to check if Izzy has any messages, his heart clenching when he has no new notifications. “Give me a second,” Alec says, and Magnus gives a disinterested hum as he seems to slip into a light slumber. Alec moves swiftly out of the room, hoping not to wake him up. He punches Izzy’s number, and it rings for a moment, before she answers, breathless, “Alec! How is he?” “Not great,” Alec says, understating drastically. “Please tell me you have a solution.” “I think we’re close,” she says, distracted. “The problem is Lilith didn’t corrupt the Ley Lines in a straightforward, “poisoning the well” way, it is just affecting Magnus. So, short of temporarily redirecting the entire line and letting it reset, we don’t know what to do.” “So why don’t we just do that?” Alec asks. Izzy goes silent for a moment, “are you asking me why we aren’t redirecting a line of pure archaic magic?” “Magnus did it once,” Alec reminds her. “Yeah!” she says, slightly hysterical, “He’s Magnus. We don’t have anyone else who can do that!” “Can’t Caterina?” Izzy makes a noise in the back of her throat, “Maybe! But if she can’t, she’ll be burned alive. Magnus would never, ever forgive us if that happened.” Alec wants more than anything to remind her that what Magnus thinks won’t matter if they aren’t able to actually save him. He shoves it down. “What if she had help? I can give her my strength, or Clary can. I mean Clary has pure Angel blood! That has to count for something. Or, we both can. Come on, Izzy- we have a solution! We just need to make it work. I am not letting him die because we weren’t creative enough to save him! Fuck that.” Alec takes a deep breath, he didn’t even realize he started yelling at some point. Izzy goes silent on the other end, and says, “Let me talk to Cat. I’ll call you back.” When he walks back in, Magnus is still asleep. His skin is paler than Alec has ever seen it, and now that he is getting closer he can see that Magnus’s body is shaking violently, and Alec can see why. He has sweat through his blanket and the sheet underneath, the cool fabric feeling undoubtedly worse against his overheated skin. “Hey,” Alec says softly, as Magnus stirs. He blinks up, confused and slow like he isn’t sure exactly where he is. “Hey, yourself,” he says after a moment. His voice is rough and dry, so Alec gently helps him up and gives him water. “We have a solution,” Alec says eventually. Magnus turns to him as sharply as he can, “really? That is wonderful, what is it?” Alec hesitates. He knows Magnus if he implies that either he or Cat will be in any danger, he’ll riot (as much as his weakened body will allow). Alec spends a second more, hedging his bets before responding, “I’ll tell you when it’s confirmed. Izzy is talking to Cat about it right now.” As he says that, his phone pings. Alec glances down, and he sees a text from Izzy, with a simple “Come upstairs. Cat agreed.” Alec swallows nervously but goes to put his phone back in his pocket. “Cat just agreed. I have to go upstairs to help out, I’ll come back when it’s done.” “When what is done?” Magnus asks nervously. He has a weak grip on Alec’s wrist, his shaking cold hand on Alec’s pulse point solidifies what he has to do. He would do anything for Magnus, this is easy. Alec gently pulls out of Magnus’s grasp, “we found a solution for the Ley Lines.” Magnus makes an impatient noise, “Well, what is the solution.” “I’ll tell you later,” Alec says, pressing a kiss against Magnus’s chapped, cold lips which are parted slightly in outrage. “No,” Magnus says, his voice haughty and imperial, “you will tell me right now, Alec.” “We’re going to redirect the Ley Line to let it reset,” Alec says in a rush as he continues towards the door. “And by we, you don’t mean… You can’t mean…” Magnus says, his eyes going wide. He tries to pull himself up, desperate to stand. Alec rushes back to push him down gently. “We’ll be fine, I’m going to give her my strength. It’s going to be fine, and I’ll come right back when we’re done.” “Alec,” Magnus says urgently. “This is dangerous, Cat has Madzie, you can’t let her… Not for me. Please, I’m not worth this.” Alec shakes his head, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Magnus. But we all disagree. You are more than worth this. Besides, you once did this by yourself, I think the two of us can handle it.” Magnus shakes his head again, his eyes are wide with terror, and Alec feels terrible for a moment before he shakes it out. Magnus dying isn’t an option, so they will do what it takes. He walks towards the door without looking back, he can hear Magnus’s panicked breathing as he walks away and everything in his body wants to turn back and pull Magnus into his arms but he can’t. They don’t have the luxury of time. When he gets upstairs, Caterina, Izzy, Clary, and Jace are already there. Izzy is standing by the metal lever while Clary stands to the right of Cat and Jace guards the door.

“I’m going to need both of you,” Cat says sharply, looking between Clary and Alec. “I am going to need to hold it for a full five minutes, much longer than I will be able to stand alone.” With that, she pulls her sleeves up and gestures for Clary and Alec to each grab an outstretched forearm. Her fingers spread wide as she gets ready to channel the energy through her. “On my count,” Cat says, her eyes fixed firmly in front of her. “One… Two… Three… Now.” Izzy flips the lever, and as soon as she does, pure white energy begins coursing through Cat. Alec feels the magic under her skin, burning and intense, so he immediately channels his own power, forcing it through her and allowing the magic to travel through him as well. It is agony, he can’t imagine that Magnus once did this by himself because the pain is unreal. It is like pressure on all sides, threatening to burst his skull, the magic is white hot and heavy. Alec will never again be curious about what it would be like to be covered in molten lava. Time stretches and snaps, popping in and out of Alec’s head like daisies. It could be seconds or hours, but all Alec can focus on is Magnus. He breathes through the pain and thinks about Magnus’s weak, cold hand on his wrist and knows that he has to stand his ground. When it ends, Alec collapses slightly, as to Clary and Cat. Distantly, he hears Izzy run frantically up to them, gently pulling Alec back up. “Did it work?” Alec manages. “We won’t know until we…” Izzy starts, before cutting herself off slightly. “Yes, I daresay it did work,” a new voice cuts into the room. Alec turns around, his face already split into a weak smile because standing on the door frame, leaning heavily, and still clearly weak, is Magnus. The blood loss and, the physical pain of the poisoning remain evident in the tired tilt of his eyes, but he’s standing, and he looks like he has already regained some strength. “Oh thank the Angel,” he hears Clary say, her voice thick with tears. Alec moves without meaning to until he’s in front of Magnus and pulling him into a bear hug, “Thank the Angel. I love you so much. I am so, so glad it worked.” “My hero,” Magnus says with a dry twist on his lips, but his eyes give his act away. They are shining with love and worry. “Never do that again though, Alexander. If I find out that you have endangered Caterina ever again…” “Hey, old man,” Cat says cutting in. “It was my idea too, don’t blame the infant.” Alec rolls his eyes, “Yeah. We had to do something, what was the other option?” Magnus raises his eyes pointedly, “fine. Thank you all very much. God knows that dying like that would have been humiliating. Not at all my style.” Alec opens his mouth to say something, but what comes out instead is a sob, because Magnus is right there. He’s standing, and joking, even though he is in a thin t-shirt and loose pants he has never looked more like himself, or more beautiful. Magnus’s eyes turn back to him in an instant and Alec is pulled back into his arms. The smell of rot that was under Magnus’s skin before is dissipating, leaving behind his natural scent and it makes Alec shake even more. “I think,” Magnus says, “it might be time for all of us to go to bed.” Alec nods into Magnus’s shoulder, “that sounds like a great idea.” When they are back in Alec’s room at the institute, and after Magnus has showered and changed, Alec lets himself breathe. Seeing Magnus come so close to death, so close that if they had been slower, he could have died in a brutal, painful, way, it terrifies him. Alec already knows he is going to have nightmares about this for years, but for the moment, Magnus is settling next to him, tired and warm. His heartbeat is steady in his chest, and his breathing is constant, and it is better than any symphony ever composed. “I love you,” Magnus says softly, his head is resting on Alec’s shoulder, so the soft puffs of air hit his neck. “Magnus,” Alec starts, swallowing hard. “I love you, too. I love you more than you can even imagine.” “Thank you for saving my life,” Magnus continues, his voice still soft. Alec pulls Magnus close, so his body is resting more entirely on top of Alec like a sizeable muscular blanket. “Trust me when I say, there was no other choice.”

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec fic #shadowhunters #goddamn i'm actually?? making content again??#protective alec lightwood #hurt magnus bane #why do i like hurting magnus bane?

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helloanonymouswriter · 6 years

Text

Undone || Malec

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/651720275-undone-malec-ten

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520396/chapters/38821172

CHAPTER TEN

Rafael slowly blinked his eyes open, mind foggy as he tried to make sense of where he was. What had happened? Where was he? He blinked the blur away until he focused on a dark ceiling. Then, his eyes darted about as he wondered about his brother's well-being.

Now he remembered.

He let out a breath of relief upon spying his little brother asleep next to him on a bed. The golden sheets covered the blue boy's body which rose steadily in his sleep. Rafael took in his whereabouts and deduced they were in Magnus' apartment. The layout was similar to his parent's room back in their future.

His head began to spin as he remembered the events over the past few hours. A quick glance out the window showed it was early morning. So much had happened that, only now was he given a chance to process. Valentine was dead, the angel was raised, Jace came back to life, a hell-hound attacked his father and Max killed it. They had been revealed. At the time, Rafael hadn't cared in the slightest that the cat was out of the bag but now he knew that the Shadowhunters would be asking questions.

There wasn't much left to do but tell the truth. However, they needed a back-up plan as to not screw up their timeline. He and Max were in serious danger of not existing, especially considering their parents' current fragile state of relationship. Looks like Max would have to erase some memories after all. Firstly, they needed to make sure their family could trust them and help them find a way to get home.

Rafael turned to Max and smiled at the Warlock's snores. Pulling the covers away, Rafael couldn't spot any injuries and felt grateful that Magnus had been able to help. Thinking of injuries, his hand ghosted over the point on his stomach where he'd been bitten. There was a dull ache but the skin was unmarred. An iratze or two were probably activated to speed up the process.

He turned back to Max and gently coaxed him awake by stroking through his hair. They needed to gather themselves. They had a big conversation coming up. Slowly Max roused from his sleep but, like Rafael, once he remembered what had happened, he sprung up and looked round wildly.

"Sh, sh, it's alright." Rafael soothed.

"Raf! You're alright!" Max grinned and pounced on his brother.

"Of course I'm alright you blue idiot. You're the one who went crazy." Rafael scolded.

"Sorry ... I saw the blood and couldn't stop myself lashing out." Max replied and pulled away sheepishly. Despite the fond feeling blooming in his chest, Rafael had to push on.

"Thanks for your concern, but now thanks to your tantrum the others will be wanting answers." Rafael sighed. Max bit his lip, unsure what to say. He felt like he was being a little harsh on his brother so softened up a bit. "Look, good job on killing the demon, but you need to be more wary about your well-being. Also maybe keep it more subtle next time?" Rafael smirked, mirth creeping into his tone.

Max gave a cheeky smile and nodded without saying anything. After a moment of silence, they caught the tail ends of conversation muffled through the bedroom door. The brothers shared an anxious look. "Can you activate a hearing rune to see how much trouble we're in?" Max asked. Rafael nodded and grabbed his stele off the side table which one of them must have left. That was a good sign, it showed they trusted them enough to use the stele and not activate any aggressive runes. Rafael felt a little guilty violating that trust by using the hearing rune but he needed to gauge the situation.

"I still think we should have restrained them." Came Jace's annoyed voice.

"We need to hear their side of the story." Clary tried to calm him.

"They're dangerous! You saw the younger one, he was literally on fire. How can you trust them after that?" He demanded.

"They've been helping us for days, why would they do that if they had evil intentions?" Isabelle snapped, feeling protective over the sibling in the other room.

"Hello? Am I only person who remembers Sebastian?!" Jace exclaimed. Everyone fell silent for a moment. Alec stood in the corner, not really knowing what to think. He didn't want to believe the boys were evil or spies but all his Shadowhunter instincts were telling him to question it until he was 100% certain. Magnus was silently seething, although he was suspicious of the boys' intentions, he hated how Jace was insinuating distrust because the boy was part warlock.

"How can you trust so easily after Sebastian weaselled his way into our group like they have? One of them was there when we revealed the location of the mirror, and the other kept disappearing. They must have set up the whole hell-hound thing and only now are they showing their true colours! Max especially can't be trusted, he could be one of Valentine's experiments."

Rafael grit his teeth in anger upon hearing and Max flinched as he heard through their connection. He hated that anyone would connect his brother in any way to Valentine but held himself back to see where the conversation would lead.

Magnus, however, couldn't hold the anger back anymore. "And what is that supposed to mean!?" He snarled. "That he can't be trusted because he's part warlock? How progressive of you! Just shows that the ideals of the nephilim never change!" Magnus laughed humorlessly and scowled at Jace.

"This isn't about Downworld politics! The fact remains that they are suspicious! Alec back me up." Jace urged. Alec gripped onto his elbows tightly. He was feeling honestly conflicted because he knew he felt a weird connection to the boys. Was it organic though? Had they enchanted him or were his feelings genuine? He felt sick at the idea of them being harmed but he had no reason for such protective instincts, so maybe they were plotting against them?

"You must have swallowed some lake water Jace because you're clearly not right in the head!" Isabelle snapped. "How could you believe that they would betray us? They're our friends." She insisted.

"You thought that way about Sebastian." Jace shot back, matching his sisters glare.

"This time it's different!" Isabelle fired back.

"How? What proof is there that it's any different? They could attack at any moment and we're providing BnB service!"

"First of all, I'm the one providing my home to all of you." Magnus interrupted, trying to calm himself down and speak with a level head. They shouldn't argue, but calmly settle the issue. "Second of all, I have wards up all over this apartment. They won't have the chance to attack, trust me." He reassured and a little bit of tension left the room.

Alec felt like he should speak up, he'd been silent ever since the lake. He hadn't known how to handle the situation. He didn't even know what he was supposed to be handling. He didn't want to have to deal with another betrayal. He didn't want to hurt them either. There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to figure out what to say.

"How do you know he isn't in league with Valentine? Have you seen the warlock before?" Jace accused Magnus. Insults were poised like venom on Magnus' tongue but he held himself back because he had seen the warlock before.

He gave a frustrated sigh. "Yes, I've seen the boy before." He confirmed and everyone else tensed. Max internally cursed once again at revealing his identity. He knew Magnus was too perceptive not to have noticed. Jace looked ready to argue once again but Magnus continued before the Shadowhunters grew suspicious. "Before you accuse me as well, I only met him once. He came to me a couple days ago looking for a potion to help him rebuild his strength. He got through my wards easily which shows he had no ill intentions. Of course he looked very different at the time, no runes in sight so forgive me for not recognising him straight away."

"Everyone was too focused on more important things, like, oh I don't know, the wrath demons invading New York, preventing Valentine raising the angel and my parabatai rune disappearing." Alec added, feeling frustrated with Jace's attitude and vague explanation of why the rune vanished. He clammed up after that and Alec felt all the more angry at his parabatai keeping secrets. He deserved to know.

"It's no wonder we got blind-sighted by the hell-hound given all that had happened. Let's just be thankful for now that Magnus wasn't harmed." Alec continued, throwing Magnus a softer look. Magnus shifted a little under his gaze, not knowing how to handle the affection hidden beneath the concern and relief.

Something had been bugging Clary since the lake, "Didn't um ... didn't Max shout 'Papa' when the demon arrived? What does that mean?" She asked curiously.

Jace opened his mouth to answer something along the lines of being affiliated with the demon. Isabelle quickly cut in, "He directed it at Magnus when the demon lunged at him."

"It was probably a command or something." Jace threw back.

"You think he'd look that freaked out by a demon attacking his friend if he was commanding it? Also, Rafael jumped in front of the hound, he saved Magnus' life! How could you think there was any malice there?!" Isabelle demanded.

"And why would I call the demon papa?" Max grumbled in annoyance. He felt a little embarrassed by his slip up of the tongue and knew they'd have to explain themselves. Before the conversation could continue, Simon, who had been filled in on what happened, heard movement in the other room.

"Um, not to alarm anyone but ... they're awake. I can hear them with my vamp ears." He explained. Everyone went silent and turned their gazes to the bedroom door. Rafael and Max tensed and shared a glance.

"Busted." Max whispered and Rafael smiled weakly in response.

"Time to talk it out."

Jace's hand instinctively rested on the blade as the doors started to open, feeling cautious. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the brothers to either show their true colours and attack, or explain. Max looked different to when they were by the lake. He had a glamour on that hid both his runes and warlock features, he didn't want to freak anyone out any further without explaining himself.

Magnus, noticing Rafael rubbing the spot he'd been bitten, felt a jolt of concern. They had both been hurt and he felt ill remembering the way the hound sunk its fangs into the boy's side. The boy who reminded him so much of Alec and made dread ring in his bones at the prospect of his Shadowhunter being in similar peril. "Are you alright?" He asked softly, not able to help himself.

"The iratzes did their work. It's a dull ache now." Rafael reassured. The boy then rubbed behind his neck awkwardly as he tried to figure out what to say. The Lightwoods in the room, as well as Magnus, couldn't help but notice the action being similar to Alec's tendencies. The similarities were startling and Isabelle was trying to work out how that was possible.

"You two have some explaining to do." Alec spoke up after the tense silence. Max felt a jolt of nerves as he recognised his father's scolding tone of voice. Usually it was followed by some sort of punishment, be it doing the dishes for a week or ichor duty for a day.

"Yes, we do. I know we kept stuff from you guys but it was all with good reason, I assure you." Rafael admitted, trying to stall just a little longer.

"And who are you to decide what's good for us?" Jace snapped, glaring at them. Max scowled back, not one to back down from a challenge from his uncle. Rafael held back an eye role and swatted Max's head, telling him to behave.

"Who are you?" Isabelle finally asked.

"Our names are Max and Rafael, but we're not from the LA Institute." Rafael decided to start small.

"And we are brothers, although I'm adopted." Max joined in.

"How can you use runes when you're a warlock?" Isabelle asked curiously.

Max looked a little ill as he remembered the circumstances of his birth and Rafael looked ready to jump in and explain. Max, however, gave his brother a look which told him he would tell it.

"You told us that a warlock experimented on Max when he was younger." Clary prompted, remembering their conversation after warning Imogen of Valentine. "You also said you had downworlders in your family."

Max sighed and hesitated before removing the glamour. Slowly his blue skin and horns appeared and his runes decorated his arms and neck. Shocked and awed gazes were cast round the room. Magnus felt protectiveness wash over him once again when he saw the blue warlock who had looked so lost when he came to him and made Madzie giggle.

"I um ... I guess I am a result of an experiment. My mother was a Shadowhunter and my father ... was a greater demon." Max admitted, feeling small. Magnus felt his gut twist at the shame on the boy's face and wanted to hug him close and say there was nothing to be ashamed of. He too was the son of a demon but it didn't define who they were. No one chose their parents whether they loved you or not.

"That's impossible, our blood and demon blood isn't compatible." Jace scowled.

Clary suddenly gasped where she stood and everyone turned to stare at her. "Unless ..." She started and looked over to the blue Shadowhunter.

"Unless, a warlock created a formula that could make the blood compatible. There's only one warlock crazy enough to try." Rafael filled in, fists clenching in anger.

Realisation started to dawn on the rest of the group. "Iris Rouse." Magnus filled in, disdain in his tone. "That woman never knew when to give up." He sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration.

"Iris Rouse was working for Valentine, how do we know you aren't doing the same?" Jace accused.

Max lost his temper, "I would rather die than side with Valentine! He's hurt my family countless times! He was a monster and would have killed me and the downworld regardless of whether I helped him so tell me, what could I possibly gain from working with him?!" Tears were beginning to sting his eyes and he fought to keep them back. He relaxed a little when he felt Rafael's soothing touch on his shoulder.

Everyone was silent once again, Jace had the common sense to look a little ashamed but suspicion still lay in his every move. All Alec wanted to do was comfort the boy himself and let him know that Valentine would never come back to hurt them again. His family was safer with the monster gone. He couldn't explain the tight feeling in his chest at seeing tears in the boy's eyes. Why did he feel so attached to them? He hardly knew them, he trusted them easily. He hadn't trusted a new person so easily since Magnus and he was still hurt by their distance. He shook the thoughts away. He couldn't think about that now, there were more pressing issues.

Isabelle decided to change topic and get more information without hurting Max further. "So, do you both have the same Shadowhunter mother? Is she a Truewright?"

Both boys shifted, knowing that the truth couldn't be held off any longer. "Um no, neither of us know who our mothers are but we're not related by blood. And ..." Rafael paused, trying to figure out the best way to explain.

"-we're not Truewrights." Max blurted and shrugged at his brother's exasperated expression.

"Why would you lie about your names? What are they?" Jace demanded, confusion clear on many faces.

"Promise you won't freak out?" Max smiled nervously.

"That's never a good way to start things." Isabelle snorted, crossing her arms. Everyone waited, with expectant expressions. Rafael took a breath and calmed his features, he needed to convince them after all. It was time they knew the truth.

"We're Lightwoods."

PREVIOUS NEXT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~HelloAnonymousWriter~

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edudesage · 6 years

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OC Interview Meme

Tagged by @dickeybbqpit Thanks!

Tagging: @red-wardens @underthedreadwolfsgaze

1. What is your name?

My name in Kaaras Adaar and I am the leader of the Inquisition.

2. What is your real name?

...Kaaras Adaar. I know it is not a common name but its my real name a assure you.

3. Do you know why you were called that?

My Tamo, uh, my Father has said he named me Kaaras because he thought it would be a good reminder to me that I must always find I way to navigate through what the world would throws at me so that I can make the best of it. Kaaras when translated from Qunlat means navigator or person who reads maps depending on context. I think I have done a good job of that so far.

As for my last name. Well, when my Father was describing my mother to a group of Tal-Vashoth he said she was a “saar adaar” which means dangerous weapon and the Tal-Vashoth thought that he was saying her name and it stuck. My father, Maraas, eventually adopted Adaar as his own last name and so when I was born I inherited the name.

4. Are you single or taken?

I am pleased to say I am happily taken by a fine woman who would rather I not go into detail about our relationship in this interview thank you.

5. Have any abilities or powers?

Well... I have the Anchor obviously. It connect me to the fade and allows me to slightly manipulate the Vale. Kind of like how a mage can use magic but... Different. Of course I don’t exactly know if opening a temporary rift in the vale to damage a demon and shooting lightning to kill demons are in anyway similar experiences not being a mage myself. Although I have heard people argue that my abilities do qualify me as a mage now but that’s a whole different topic entirely.

6. Stop being a Mary Sue.

I’m sorry who?

7. What’s your eye color?

Yellow. Its a common colour among Qunari but they still seem a point of interest for people.

8. How about your hair color?

White. Once again a common colouration with Qunari but not so much with the other species. Well, the young ones at least.

9. Have you any family members?

Yes. My just my Tama and Tamo. Mother and Father in common tongue. No siblings or cousins or anything like that.

10. Oh? What about pets?

Well... I don’t consider him my pet but everyone else does and I think he thinks hes my pet as well.

After the Inquisition had settled in Skyhold we had helped a farmer in Ferelden out and she asked us if Skyhold had any cats. We said no and she brought up that we would likely need cats for any potential mouse or rat problems. We agreed with her and she said that her cat had a littler that was ready to leave the mother and that we could take them. We accepted. I ended up taking care of a small white kitten on they way back to Skyhold and I think he took a liking to me.

He is now a very large very fluffy cat who likes to sleep on the loft in my room and on my bed sometimes if its cold. You might see him around at some point you can’t miss him.

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

People commenting on my size.

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

I suppose learning new languages is an ongoing hobby of mine. Even before I had the resources of the Inquisition I would try and teach myself what words in different languages on signs meant and I would learn enough spoken words to impress a native speaker but never enough to hold a conversation. I’ve been becoming more fluent in in most languages now that I have the resources to get people to teach me proper.

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

Yes

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

Yes

15. What kind of animal are you?

Well is suppose the obvious answer would be a goat or ram or something like that but from what I’ve heard people have started to call me “The Dragon” so I guess I’m a dragon. Don’t tell Iron Bull though I think he’d be jealous.

16. Name your worst habits.

Smoking a guess. But its probably the least dangerous thing I do to myself on average honestly.

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

My father I suppose. Its kind of complex to say exactly why but I do.

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

Straight. I experimented when I has younger but only discovered that I was not comfortable touching or being touched be men sexually.

19. Do you go to school?

Not formally no. I currently see a few tutors on and off but there more so to teach me the ins and outs of the upper class. Oh, and my language teachers I guess. I suppose I’m getting an education currently but but not a formal one so to say.

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Well... Currently such things are... Unrealistic.

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

Solas, our resident fade expert, seems to really like me for some reason. I don’t know why as I honestly don’t like him that much.

22. What are you most afraid of?

Disease, illness, infection, you know stuff like that.

23. What do you usually wear?

Something warm or something that will protect me from getting stabbed too badly.

24. Do you love someone?

Yes, I believe I do.

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

Well that hardly seems like an appropriate question.

Um, well I don’t personally recall it but it was likely that I did... Wet myself after I stabilized the breach the first time. I was unconscious for three days after that so it likely happened a few times then. Um.... Next question please.

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

Please no more questions like that.

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

I’ve never really thought of myself in terms of class. I guess pre-Inquisition I was low class. But many people still think of me as low class although I guess technically I can be considered high class is some circles.

28. How many friends do you have?

A lot actually. More now then I’ve ever had before I think but I couldn't put an exact number on it.

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

Its fine.

30. Favourite drink?

Tea I guess. But I have to make it because I seem to be the only one who can make it right around here.

31. What’s your favourite place?

The mountains. Not any specific mountains just mountains in general.

32. Are you interested in someone?

Yes... I believe I have made that clear already.

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

Sweet maker no.

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

I can’t swim. Never learned. Although I suppose a lake is less ‘bottomless’ the an ocean.

35. What’s your type?

Girls I guess?

36. Any fetishes?

Please! This is hardly appropriate.

I like to be penetrated my sex toys.

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

What the heck is a Seme? Anyway I suppose I’m more dominant then not.

38. Camping or indoors?

Camping a suppose. Been living like that for so long its become familiar. Comfortable. It feels strange to me to sleep somewhere where its warm and insulated. If my room in Skyhold wasn’t so drafty already I might sleep with a window cracked open.

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

If you ask anymore piss questions I’m walking out of this interview.

40. Now it’s over!

Okay thank you.

#oc #oc meme #text #kaaras adaar #my adaar #inquisitor adaar

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eeee-lye · 7 years

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Short Fiction: Old Fashioned

Summary: Amelia March is tired of suitors breaking into her house after dark to express their undying love. Sure, it might be the fashion, but whatever happened to getting to know someone first? Why won’t they listen to her when she says she isn’t interested? And what does it mean that her cousin Kit thinks there’s a word for her approach to romantic relationships?

Old Fashioned is a story about finding words and the importance of fake cobwebs in the windows.

Genre: Slightly absurd fantasy with trans, autistic and aro-spec characters.

Length: 4, 510 words.

Content advisory: This short story depicts a woman somewhat enthusiastically wounding a home invader, despite awareness of the fact that said invader isn’t there to kill her. It also depicts this love interest engaged in the creepy but traditional (at least in literature) act of invading her house, unasked and uninvited, as a sexual/romantic gesture towards a woman who doesn’t want it and is explicit about this. The protagonist also threatens and imagines violence and murder on several occasions as a form of bluster. There’s also a non-detailed reference to the fantasy-setting way a character lost a limb.

Note the first: Amelia and Kit are characters from my fantasy web serial [The Unnatural Philosophy of Kit March], which also contains trans, autistic and aromantic characters in an entirely no-romance plot. This story takes place forty years earlier.

Note the second: Posting for #AggressivelyArospectacular hosted by @aggressivelyarospec, in case people are interested in more aro creativity.

After the parsnips, though, Amelia fears the creaking can only mean one thing. The lovelorn.

When Amelia March, upon waking from a sound sleep, hears the second rustle, she reaches beside her bed and rests her fingers on the smooth wood of her favourite staff. In her old life, as a student in Siya, having a weapon by one’s mattress borders on the absurd; here, in a rural Greenstone village, anyone who doesn’t sleep within reach of a weapon—a broomstick, a knife, a furious cat—lacks something in the sense department. True, she’s an indifferent witch at best, but after dealing with ghosts, injured villagers, possessed chickens and That Time With The Parsnips, she’s learnt to be armed at all times. The bloodstained grimoire in her kitchen, after all, doesn’t frighten people nearly as much as a good clip over the ear.

She sits and raises the staff so that she can swing out with the knobbly end, listening to the soft brush of feet over stone. It isn’t Kit; she hears no tap of wood. It isn’t Midnight: no cat will rustle and risk being mistaken for an intruder. No mice or spiders dare her house, between her ward spells, her cleaning and the cat; even the local moths know better than to find shelter within her walls. Anyone with legitimate business, of the sort that involves accidents or illness of human and beast, will beat on her front door and bellow.

She hopes, prays, that it’s the Jackson twins trying to attempt another demon-summoning by stealing the requisite texts.

After the parsnips, though, Amelia fears the noise can only mean one thing.

The lovelorn.

Nighttime stalking has become all the rage amongst the lovesick, impressionable, young and downright foolish—a fashion worse than unnecessarily-constricting corsetry and wide-legged breeches. Worse than last summer, even, when everyone went about quoting romantic poetry in lieu of just asking someone to the town hall dance. Goddess save her, what’s so wrong with just asking? Now, though, love is all about climbing through second-storey windows and watching their lover sleep; roses are passé. Romance, these days, is about being new and innovative and showing to the world just how far one will go—even if it means proclaiming their star-crossed interest from the damp, oft-neglected village lock-up the next morning. Bruises, trellises bearing briar brambles, irate parents armed with brooms and even magic seem no deterrent.

The problem isn’t the trend: Amelia admits to a certain satisfaction when she wakes up in the morning to discover a forlorn youth on her doorstep bearing a sprained ankle or hideous scratches. Calling them five different ways of brainless is moderately entertaining and more than makes up for the waste of her time—if they plague someone else.

Amelia, curse the Goddess, is still young enough to be interesting.

A faint grunt echoes from the open door, as if muffled by a hand. In daylight, Amelia knows nothing more about fighting than the next person—save for a doctor’s knowledge of where she might best apply a blade or staff for agony or death. In the dark—and in a room with most breakable objects on the shelf above her head, because Amelia knows her aim to be atrocious with any tool larger than a scalpel—her lack of training doesn’t matter. She waits a moment longer, listening for the distinctive gasp as the intruder stubs their toe on the raised stone slab just before her bed, before aiming at what she guesses to be collarbone height and swinging.

The crack of the staff landing on bone is followed, immediately, by an ear-splitting shriek.

Amelia swings again. A thud sounds, followed by a series of thumps, something clattering, and then vicious swearing—not the words one uses to address the village witch—and a sniffle before several soft sobs.

“I just had to get another bloody weeper, didn’t I?” Amelia places the staff on the bed—right where she can grab it in her left hand if needed—and reaches up to tap the jar of dozing sprites into wakefulness before leaning over to fumble at the lamp sitting on her chest of drawers. “Do none of you ever think how much this is costing me in kerosene and matches and sprites?”

It takes a moment for the lamp to catch and light the room, which is just as well, for half the sprites sink to the bottom of the jar with only the faintest of yellow glows. Amelia sits back down in bed, pulls up the covers and stares at her intruder.

A young woman—one of the village shopgirls, although Amelia can’t remember her name—sits huddled on the floor, one hand wrapped around her opposite elbow. She is gorgeous, Amelia admits: round and curvy, with a mane of curly chestnut hair tumbling down her back and falling in her eyes. Big, beautiful, green eyes, paired with the kind of pouty lips Amelia enjoys pressed against her own when the kissing happens to be mutually agreed upon.

Well, she liked Lyra’s lips pressed against her own, even if she’s yet to meet another woman who makes her feel that kind of want.

The shopgirl is beautiful, but all Amelia feels is irritation. She should be asleep with a cat at her feet! She shouldn’t be staring at a girl who, for some incomprehensible reason, forgot to wear a few useful things like shoes, underwear and clothing! Amelia sighs, grinding her teeth. Perhaps something is wrong with her—her fellow students in Siya surely implied it when they didn’t state it outright. Some people, she knows, are less annoyed by the discovery of a naked person of the correct gender and age in their bedroom—especially if the intruder shows a willing intent of getting under the covers and beginning a seduction.

She doubts that the girl meant to touch her without waking her; this is misguided romance, not assault.

Assault she can handle.

Refusing the attentions of a sobbing girl, though, wasn’t covered in the university curriculum.

Everyone does this nowadays. Lovers skip the whole tradition of meeting, dating, getting to know each other over a meal or two, the nervous small-talk where two people try to figure out where the other stands with regards common interests and how soon they can talk of bedding without being offensive. They don’t become friends first and then wait to see if that spark of interest flares. No, everyone in the village sighs over the love and romance of a mysterious stalker. How else can someone prove their love for another, if they aren’t willing to take the risk of creeping into their love-interest’s house after dark?

Lyra didn’t do that. Lyra sat down beside her in the library, a pile of books between them, and they spent weeks talking about the best way to drain a corpse and the benefits of mattress stitch before anyone attempted even chaste kissing. They knew they were medical students bonding over their dabbling in witchcraft and shared belief in gnome voting equality before anything as messy as love entered the discussion.

Amelia suppresses a groan and looks down at the woman.

The shopgirl—Goddess, what is her name?—flutters her damp eyelashes but doesn’t answer. Amelia has read enough romance novels to know this as some attempt to look alluring, but she just looks like a near-stranger with an eyelash stuck in her eye. A pretty stranger, but a stranger. They’ve exchanged a bare handful of words at the shop, mostly requests for a pound of sugar, more tea-tree oil and can Amelia order in a selection of mandrake roots—none of the conversations leading to the kind of friendship needed for a midnight tryst. How does the girl know they’re compatible in bed? How does the girl know if Amelia is even interested in bedding? What if Amelia doesn’t have the required breakfast foods in the house for the next morning? Why would anyone risk such an act based on so little information?

“Well?” Amelia resists the urge to grab the stick and thump the intruder over the ear. She asked a question, a perfectly reasonable question. Social custom dictates that the girl answer. “Do you think about how much all this is costing me? Don’t you think it’s bloody inconsiderate?”

The shopgirl blinks and says nothing.

Just how are they all getting in? Amelia fastened the windows and bolted the front door before going to bed, checking every lock twice; she made sure that nobody can open the catches from the outside after the last debacle, and she won’t sleep through a window breaking—if anyone wants to annoy a witch by breaking her windows. Perhaps the intruder decided to risk the nesting devil in the cellar and entered by the cellar door? Just what has the world come to when not even a devil keeps out the lovelorn?

Why are these villagers are interested in her? She wears plain dresses and aprons for a reason! She doesn’t try not to bore people with talk about the best ways to disinfect a worktable! She wears the bloody black broad-brimmed hat and leaves a bloodstained grimoire—one with purification spells worked on the cover, of course, because a bloodstained grimoire isn’t all that sanitary—out on her kitchen bench! She named her cat Midnight! She’s an awkward, divergent witch who doesn’t try to be more approachable and friendly! She doesn’t get anyone to fix the crooked walls or floors, she keeps seasoning herbs in bubbled glass vials and she recites fake spells when cleaning wounds just to make her patients feel more comfortable with the efficacy of her work! Short of building an altar in the yard and sacrificing chickens to some dread demon every Sunday, she can’t be more witchy!

“If you’re not going to refund me for my swiving matches, get up, stop crying and go home. Try asking someone else out the proper way. Tell them your name first.”

The woman peers up at Amelia, now trying a wobbly sort of smile. “You’re the most beautiful woman I ever saw, and I love—”

Some tiny part of her, the part of her that looks in the mirror and sees late-afternoon shadow and square shoulders and a chest that requires padding to properly fill out a gown or dress, relents—but that’s silly. She’s a woman. The Goddess made her. Being a woman in a less-conventional way doesn’t mean she shouldn’t have standards. She doesn’t want someone who invades her privacy; she wants someone who takes the time to befriend her first. Lyra did. Why should anything else matter?

“And you’re a swiving stranger invading my house.” Amelia folds her arms, positioning her gaze above the girl��s head. Isn’t she cold, with only the rug between her feet and the uneven stone floor? If Amelia’s feet are freezing despite her knobbly-knitted bed socks and her patchwork quilt, why isn’t the girl shivering? “Now get out before I throw my cat at you.”

A soft thump sounds like Midnight streaking for the hallway, even though her cat should know better.

The woman’s smile fades as she struggles to her feet with her fingers still cupping her elbow. “But … I did all this for you. I love you.”

Amelia rolls her eyes and grabs her staff, staring at the girl and trying to look witchy despite her floral-print nightgown. No, Amelia isn’t a good witch in some ways, but in many ways being divergent makes her as much a witch as the real thing. The village doesn’t question her post because she is good at pretending to be magical, because she does know a little script magic and studied with the Sanguarian in addition to her years in Siya. The latter makes her seem just as magical as if she does know how to summon zombies—and a good sight more useful.

Has it occurred to the girl that she’ll have to return tomorrow to ask the witch who wounded her to do something about it?

Of course, working as a village witch instead of as a village doctor is its own gaping wound, because Amelia can’t forget that words matter, behaviour matters: that witches, not doctors, are permitted to be strange. This isn’t the job she wanted; this isn’t the job for which she spent ten years in Siya. It gives her a crooked house, a monthly income and a purpose, though, and all she needs do is decorate her curtains with embroidered cobwebs, resist the need to dust her crooked bottle collection and block a few glowing spells.

“If you don’t get out of my house in two minutes, I’ll turn you and your family into toads. Dead toads. They’ll have to bury you all in a shoebox.”

“But…”

“What has ‘but’ got to do with it?” Amelia slides out of bed, sure to place her feet on the rug, and reaches for the phial she keeps on the shelf above her head. Damn the girl, getting her up out of bed after midnight—the floor is freezing! “I hope this works properly, this time. Last time I attempted a cross-species transfiguration, the target ended up with the head and body of a toad and seven legs best described as belonging to an oversized tarantula…”

The shopgirl turns for the door, yelps as she snags her toe on the crooked stone in the hallway, and thunders her way down the stairs.

“Tell everyone that if they wish to romance me, they can send a request in writing!” Amelia sighs and returns the bottle—filled with nothing more ominous than dyed water—to its place on the shelf. “With references!”

The front door, with its ominous-but-useful-for-scaring-people creak, slams shut, followed by the crunch of the woman’s footsteps as she runs down the gravel path towards the village. Amelia waits until the noise fades before sliding her feet into her old boots, taking the lamp and following the girl downstairs. She chews her lip, grumbling, as she checks the windows, pets the devil, jams the cellar door shut with a sliver of wood, and sets down lines of pepper and dried basil leaves in the hope that the villagers think them a magical protection. Tomorrow, she’ll have to do something about the cellar. A dangerous-looking creature that likes the dark and doesn’t make too much noise will do nicely, although Amelia never imagined that the nesting devil won’t be threatening enough. Something must be done; no more having her sleep interrupted by the desperate whims of people thinking themselves in love!

She stomps back up the stairs and stops only to greet Midnight, now sitting on the topmost step with his long, black tail swishing back and forth. “Goddess! I wasn’t really going to throw you!” She sits back down beside her cat, rests the lamp on one step and holds out one hand for him to sniff; only when he starts rubbing the side of his face against her hand does Amelia offer an apologetic scratch under the chin. “Do they think that because they’re pretty, I’m not going to care if they invade my house? Do they think that because they’re naked, I’m going to tear my clothes off and ravish them? Why is this the fashion? Why don’t they want to get to know people first? Why?”

Midnight just tilts his head so that Amelia can shift her fingers into his favourite scratchy place behind his ear.

“I’m just too old fashioned,” she says, and even though Midnight doesn’t answer her, that’s the benefit of a cat: no contradicting, no arguing, just a quiet, tactile presence in return for food and petting.

“She is gorgeous. Well, if you’re into women, so my appreciation is aesthetic, but you are. You know you don’t have to kick these people out because I’m here? I don’t mind if you want to take some lovely woman and ravish away. Or just kiss. Or sit by the fire and stare into each other’s eyes while the stars whirl overhead…”

People, on the other hand!

Amelia jerks and turns her head. At the top of the landing sits two doors: one leading to her room, one leading to the guest room. Kit, Amelia’s cousin and professional annoyance, stands in the guest room doorway, wobbling, on two crutches. Even as she watches, he leans against the door frame, his nightshirt rumpled. His left foot rests square against the floor, bare despite the cold; his right leg, ending halfway below his knee and swathed in a bundle of bandages, just hangs. They’ll need to work, she thinks, on the way his upper body twists to balance himself, a way that will be a problem if allowed to become a habit.

He beams at her, though, a short man with pillow-flattened hair sticking out at a variety of angles, and that’s the most frustrating thing. Tears she can deal with. Misery and grief are expected. This insufferable good cheer, as though this is no more inconvenient to him—despite the ashy undertone to his dark skin and the weight he’s lost—than losing a fingernail, makes her want to beat him upside the head. Several times.

“What the swiving hell do you think you’re bloody doing? Get back to bed!” Amelia grabs the lamp and leaps to her feet as fast as is possible without slopping kerosene. She knew it was a bad idea to leave crutches within Kit’s reach after the horror of teaching him how to use them, but the fear of what happens if she’s called out and cannot get someone to sit with him made it seem the safest decision. Still a terrible idea, given his propensity to escapades and inability to consider the consequences. “Now! If you tear a stitch I’m going to punch you so hard you won’t have any teeth left!”

Kit just grins, showing most of those same teeth. He doesn’t move, leaving Amelia to wonder if it’s because he’s feeling good enough to annoy her or if it’s because he’s too worn out to do anything but lean. “No, you won’t. You won’t take the risk of my falling over. Of course, not wanting sex or romance is a valid option. Do you know that it’s an option, Amelia? Or—no, I think you don’t feel that kind of attraction until you befriend them first, based on the letters you sent Grandmother while in Siya—”

She doesn’t speak so much as give a rattling scream of frustration. Every time she thinks he’s reached a new degree of interfering, he always, always, finds a way to surpass it. Maybe she should make him walk past a basilisk guarding every entrance, even though Kit told the tale of his neighbour’s pets, a miscalculated step and Plumeria’s surprise axe-wielding skills with an uncharacteristic and sobering quiet.

No. Amelia sighs, catches herself grinding her teeth and starts chewing on her nails instead. Even she knows that’s meaner a thought than is warranted. She can fantasise, though. Given that Kit spent most of their childhood coming up with new ways to poke his nose into Amelia’s life, she’s earnt the right to imagine how she might best torture him.

Besides, they both know that she’s a master of bluster.

It occurs to her that might have something to do with why the villagers don’t fear her.

“Once you became friends with Lyra, good friends, everything took a distinct turn for the romantic, I remember. Maybe you didn’t notice? I mean, she’s the only woman you ever kissed, yes? There’s a word for it, now, although referring to someone as ‘demi’ is rather confusing, since demigods tend to do that, too.”

Amelia draws a breath and points towards the spare room doorway. What is he doing? “Get back to your bloody bed!”

“Demiromantic. Maybe demisexual, too?” Kit sounds not even slightly perturbed, and he makes no attempt to turn around. “Surely, it’s in your medical books, somewhere? Anyway, did I ever tell you how I found out about it? I was sitting in a taproom in Raugue with a swordsman I picked up in Arsh. I don’t recall how I got on the subject of listing previous lovers, mind you—probably had something to do with the unexpectedly good whiskey—but he nodded and asked if I’d considered the fact that there might be a word for the truth that I’m chronically uninterested in keeping a partner—”

The only thing to do is stalk past him, enter her bedroom, give Midnight time to join her and then slam the door shut loudly enough to make Kit stop talking.

“Demiromantic!” he yells, just as Amelia curses the too-wide crack between door and floor. “We know our own, Amelia!”

She chews her smallest fingernail down to the quick, straining to hear the creaking, tapping noise of a man on crutches crossing the less-than-flat floor. One thud, a grasping or dragging noise too light to be that of a body hitting the floor, silence.

“Amelia? I promise I won’t say anything if you’ll, well, help me…”

She opens the door and glares across the landing.

“Please?” Kit doesn’t so much as lean against the doorframe as clutch it like a drowning sailor clinging to a spar. “I tried to turn and it got dizzy.”

She doesn’t have to tell him he deserves it: Amelia just grins.

He doesn’t speak as they inch their way through the door and over four stone slabs of varying heights, and he still doesn’t speak once they reach the narrow bed, one taking up the entire length of the room. He must be tired, she thinks, because by the time he lowers himself down on the bed and releases his grip on her nightdress Kit still hasn’t broken this most unnatural silence—and this is the man who considers bathing a suitable time for discussing the specific usage in spell constructs for every possible synonym of the word “red”. No, he just settles himself, his teeth pressed against his lip, and slumps against the pillow.

She wonders if getting up, crutching across the room and talking at her, however unnecessary, was his way of trying to find a shade of normality in a life that has abruptly ceased being normal.

“Trade,” Amelia says, knowing she’ll live to regret it. She stalks over to the basin beside the bed, fills it with the remainder of the water in the pitcher and scrubs her hands until the room smells of tea-tree soap. “If you let me poke at you, I’ll let you tell me about whatever word you found for your bed bouncing. As long as you don’t tell me what you did with the swordsman in Raugue.”

Kit’s sudden smile is broad enough that Amelia wonders, for a moment, on the honesty of his quiet. She can’t put him past pretending just to manipulate her into talking, after all. “Nothing, actually. I was too taken aback by the idea that it is possible to be romantically disinclined. Aromantic. It explains so much about the time I panicked and, uh, climbed out the window to escape a Malvadan merchant who wanted to introduce me to his parents. I admit it wasn’t the most well-thought-out decision I’d ever made…”

His voice softens and his smile fades, his eyes flicking up to the rafters.

Amelia dries her hands, grabs the bean bag from the dresser and tosses it onto Kit’s chest. He grunts, but he picks it up and starts teasing at the beans encased in the flannel, while she pulls her chair up to the end of the bed, folds back the covers and starts unwinding.

She’s old fashioned. Simple, uncomplicated. In a world where a divergent shift woman who trained as a doctor and works as a witch offers complication enough, it isn’t a terrible thing to want to reject something that adds an extra layer of difference to the person she is. She’s just old fashioned, and that isn’t a bad thing to be—certainly not if it means she doesn’t find herself in the village lock-up after entering someone else’s home!

Yet there’s an understanding the village shares, a feeling that doesn’t include her. She understands running away from someone wanting something she can’t return—or forcing them to run away from her. She doesn’t understand running toward someone else in the hope that they too share her desire. She doesn’t understand, not in the heart, the books she reads. She doesn’t understand love or want at first sight, she doesn’t understand love or want without prior friendship or connection, and she doesn’t understand the love or want that drives shopgirls to risk it all on an irascible witch.

She doesn’t understand the kind of love and want that dominates song, poem, legend, novel.

Admitting that feels strangely liberating.

“You climbed out someone else’s window? Just to avoid meeting his parents? Because you didn’t…?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Kit jerks the bag in time with each word, sighs. “I didn’t love him like that, but he thought I did. I haven’t loved anyone like that. I’ve thought, a few times, if I just gave it longer, maybe … but it doesn’t happen. Not the way books say romance does.” Kit shrugs, raises his right hand to his ear and rattles the bag. He still doesn’t look at her, her hands or the stump being revealed under layers of linen, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about the likelihood of his climbing out of future windows. “There’s words for us too, Amelia. Fewer stories, but words nonetheless. Maybe I should write a book while I’m cooped up here…”

Amelia draws a breath and wonders. There’s the love in books and songs and hope, wild and incomprehensible, but there’s also the love of a cousin who knows she doesn’t really mean it when she threatens to lock him in the cellar, or the love of a cousin who gets under her skin but knows her door is always open. There’s the love that’s history and the sharing of words with someone else, words spoken by someone who knows just how much they matter.

She isn’t soft, isn’t gentle, isn’t kind. She tries, though, to survive this confusing world of people who behave in ways unpredictable, and maybe that, too, is a form of love. The love of a pretend witch for her people, brittle and fragile and born of exasperation, but what else keeps her rolling out of bed to deal with her village? What else makes her sit in the evening and embroider cobwebs on her curtains? What else has her here beside a man who enjoys frustrating her? What else has her wondering that this story, this time, might be hers?

Amelia March knows she isn’t an agreeable person, but she isn’t void of love.

“Tell me about this, Kit. Demiromantic?”

Love isn’t something she ever considered in need of categorising and labelling.

Maybe it should be.

#AggressivelyArospectacular #aromanticism #aro fiction #autistic fiction #trans fiction #autism #trans #fantasy #free read #short fiction #my writing #kit march verse #series: the unnatural philosophy of kit march

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peterwilliamrandall-blog · 7 years

Text

RACE YOU TO THE END

(Page 2)

RACE YOU TO THE END.

Zap fluid

Tattooied

Cape

Escapalar

Just come round

[]

Feliceline

Certitude

(Page 3)

I was not over there and I am home, to think of lying

Writing.

All is bare.

Here no change or clean for weeks, ashamed

Of my death drinking, no bush beating futilise meeting

To save life, when the lollipop Ludy is in more of a

Perils a swinger than the shore.

I stand up for the lost and the lonely.

Listen to not be lonely when

Lost, it can comfort, and it

Can provide love lost.

But not console in.

I feel sick. Everyone is thinking

Why does this bloke not just fuck off.

Like that treacle moose

Banger stranger

Hanging on tight

With the compose

Closed.

Doing it again

I must want to go.

I'm tired.

Piss-take

Masquerade.

In the night there's a star

Spaces few and far

And shining in the light.

Lean across the sky.

My demon.

The exile

Why be so superficial,

Ask how human unbecomes

Kings to see trees

Branch-leaf, clouds

All against togetherness

Why where I want now.

Uni-disconcern.

Fuck Fuck (sake) so easily ignored

If moodily read even this (excuse arrogant GH)

Elexus flunk grab town

And haunt demonic rumours

Above dusty old worlds

Listen to me all toward

A life that I can

(Page 4)

Afford.

A suck shock tight cock sick every night.

(Page 5)

Mincy fincey partwork and Mrs Rante can I go in your ship or)

lit a roll ran out of fags, got some killer so timeless litters the sense

or says courage is asking what am I doing here. Cushion, plate, lighter, fuel,

crackles in Gaza lesser morgue the radio queen again submit to have to make

critical list of the unwell and rubbish straight in at once. Mungo, Mary, Midge

more to confused be and more sensitive to refuse to the purpose of a man is to

love his woman and the purpose ofr a woman is to love her man. Agreeable

countenance is illustrious disasters in decision.

This year of suspenders, a garter, used up protection to be this

repulsed by day and night must have taken some slavish design. You are

not a cause, it causes you and are have the wreckage zoomed across the waves

I miss it but am aware of the foul consequence.

In their faces, voices, a caution of a tale I tell young pretty as ever be

lipstick, heels, Mick oni and heroin. rqbble with the rabble. Jim'll fix it

and he did twenty one and gone to be a celebrity in deadland auntie certain

suspects Alexkiss cross end round and round and aint royalty by lay or andalooseya

When care abundance greed vantage stealer, other things that life'll

kill ya.

No bones about its drug addict is the admiral compass conflict the original

all day sunday echoes, why are we not here with them. Dont even start

me on Monday in the case of inconsequence you find that guilt in a delay

a negligée one say one two many looks too true you toot, chop chop!

secret agent codename I am on story's of buses gloves cutlass tunnels disbelief

what was more was a glimpse of January 2010 its laast week, the premise

delerious. Then I always find out they dont understand about. Yet there is one

that can and it three times shade the Monday's mood. From anywhere in

the world sky, sea, earth fast as real.

that inception had a just thing for memo wolfe death

is in when you can't get out and you can fight I don't know what

happens if you give up in that place. Give up to get there Fuck that I

cant make a report. So everyone fuck off, death guaranteed.

(Page 6)

A suck shock tight cock sick every night.

How much.

I really wonder. For.

you and there's me.

Chicoola

Ngichlela ngo tando

Niacula Kelengi lungu

Nthando luyaboga

Jikele Kulombluba wethu

Left at that now

shall I cash in on my memories

I decided to a long time ago. ago

that is why

I have lived in a style

arty nemo starts from how I

where I, what I, it and so,

and then all the more, unbrace, trance

Tracy, then after the dance has gone.

Accordian go gringo, hombre, Bruv, Geez,

Thingy, An all that, if you are

Cark from Kryptonyour name sir cant even

even. greese fifteen, cobra car, the

blind eveal to fits of secret nits must be

another sight.

Fate Bastard, orphan or vicious chance, lapse cruise.

The use of alcohol and drugs

or the bond of lovebound for the coast

of the last moment if you can realise. When

that was

Grand and the deathspear is

someaside!

Tapdance to this struggle

lift from that desperate to the beauty

of course its ageless

I am in disgrace.

Still live with truth

No breaks in the sequence, I want

to accept my apologies

Nuck For you!

(Page 8)

What a widow handgun, see it repeat giveback. To charity that blaze

is only for teen, age is a ripped up early photograph of

Charles Pierre, guess I guess, Decisions and Banished bloodshot

eyes in fights and then what smoking and ravy swallow that

cheap old gravy. Fight for what you don't know about, don't

happen no more. Its a knockout.

No lost come there- where is that if you are in,

sight do trades in, panic and solving convertthat art that ain't it.

Grease the rope stake therfor who needs rejection,

this life is straight up gone, where

no-one knows.

The howl, evil flowers athe edge

A phony pinch on charles that said ham.sick of then, that.Confusion is the wisdom

we generally offer children to study.

You fucking fucker horrid arseholes.someone can have a say.

I'm well into my friend changing them.

Try to show off with a galloping Gee-Whizz.A musical say, say,

is interest cool, warm or

boiling hot, I dare to say that I do not

give up, on friends, loves, legends

scupper the timbre, class is out, in

Broke and scuppered and bucketing.

Under and in.

In a cruise age

glue, blew

it hurt the one armed

Bandit. Toby Chang.

Must be listening to

Someone watching Resevoir Dogs

No disrespect,

but what a fucking lot of shoot

this piece of shit and cough

up some green

vocabulary.

While I mean wayany rector

you cheap steal of a catapilla

what! slugs and slugs

The purpose of a man is to love his woman

And the purpose of a woman is to love her man

[IAM DYEING]

(Page 9)

I have made the grievous mistake

of thought that blazoned paper

is my answer.

What - keep control, do not

Fuck yourself, even that you become

sure its my fault. Come be, what

is the sunrise, the moon fades,

The seas do not rise no

speck smashes this earth into

not being cool.

The odds on that.

If you did not understand

a speck of dust, A incalculable

as has the size never been thought.

At more millions of miles per second,

lets just say it was half. Tell me, I told you

They said I can't help it.

Just by chance

They went to the neighbourhood dance

to be all young and lady

lary is ugly, used, old.

Lary is funny to avoid

as long as you do.

Assault Pike, giraffe.

\Cohorts, dolce vita

Downtown screwed on a bench

piping, people passing

Blinding.

Cancell the too nervous assassin

Ten Silk Cut on the way back.

Although

Lucky Strike

might

do the trick.

(Page 10)

A fight with death.

The first that I remember, I will describe as

Being paralysed .. in a dark room a floor down from where

I should be calling for help and [moirne] cowing for

A long time. I was scared angry and would have given

Anything that I did not have for someone to lift me

Out of there. More than a day in intense discomfort and

Despair – why could I not get out of there.

WORLD NEWS new years eve 2010 – The murder of a

Beautiful young girl early twenties. Strangled and dumped.

Against that nothing really abates my, and sure I,

Evidence of disbelieve, then more killing and rape

Around the world, floods, and sadness. But it’s

Alright they played games with balls without balls.

Oh how fucking sick am I. *

Cannot one take the hint –

Novice – The trajectory of this existence.

FUCKED.

Well and true. Could be any day now. We are

A race about to cross the line. Chequered flag

And past.

Why wait.

No excuses

Forgiveness

Un.

Calm as far too far and far too later

Than warned. Hamas up.

Black magic while if you can even

Rival a home of monstrous

Symbols. I’ll watch that

Filthy canal and waited. Gonna

Be cathartic. Cure abandoned by

It is my weight and Peter my

Mine how it justices. You

Did bring catastrophe. And I

Do not know fucking fuck cunting

Why. Eccentric Rakcer silence

Changes [burne]. You will be aware

Of the tidal magic. You careless

Chucked and kalashnikoved my world.

If I am mad kill me.

Suicidal unhappiness desperate yes OK and misfortune then since ever cat as trophy

kerchief

(Page 11)

I KONFRONTED THE ACCUSED WITH MY GAZE AGAINST ALL THE WORLD WILD MANIAC.

OLD GIT, UNFIT.

And very well

At illness

COUNTER

(drawing)

(Page 12)

CRAP CHAPTER TALKING SHIT

TO ALWE and of all the emotions more bold than have ever before

fought like fuck to hold on and for my life as close as the

dead of night when you wake up alone silence scary

how to feel as nearest and sick and ask your destruction

to take hold and answer bleak grim and cruelly shake

eyes on a ceiling nowhere to look. Cold no money

police addition regret cripple. Wait. A while hurt will

be fresh being prolific adulterer if hurt with

others in contortion.hurt with this time that one

Always a push toward the courage I want.

To show away is still here and was always

anyhow.

Nonsense is there. In every window street

sky person screen communication, words the whole

shebang.

If it were not for one other. And he

knows. I could be that I am not sure.

Unsure could come enough times to be so.

To be some authority or disappointment. My failures

are described as spectacular.. Thing is I like that kind of idiot.

Aspire to Olympianic hero. set

sail.Tell a beautiful story. music to

live to.

Or sit hunched, abusing poison corrupt and pollute every part of me and the time

I strangle - continue to demonstrate with

expertise being an arsehole.

The swagger staggering of the non-one-hit.

blunder.

"But he's really talented" - fuck off.

or we can shoot acid, crack heroin

have pills valium ecstasy any fucking thing there is,

drink a couple of bottles of cheap vodka

But, smoke some weed and chill.

A smashing day in, in your your flea infested

forget not to eat anything. Fortnight of

that and if the magic carpet carpet can't come.

This time will be that and that's that.

you fucking moron, moron me not any other moron.

Brief description as I am vain. Maloderous

skeletal schock of distress. Continual vomiting - flem

machine. That which I consider sane and joining in

daily or night time actions - discussions etc,

others, in fact everyone I have a contact with

considers repulsive anti-social and go as far

as to mention a kind of insanity that as

far as to be concerned could be the secret

agents of one or another afterlife.

Confirmed

when claims of previous acts so peculiar and

that I have no memory or hint of recognition

of their look name or outlandish tales. All

leads me to stick to my layout of events

Years are a confusion. And I can defend

my slight lapses of memory to age and

very hard and stressful work.

I can remember a couple of things, but live

in the moment, then the next one. Why care

making effort to memorise when you are getting on with it?

(Page 13)

Lets get at it from the pink panter pantin pink

My krum[] Im dark I be like

Wight. [] Bachs harmonys if I

Am mistaken the nature of Nienval Here

Together ever aware surier is that puer

At you + AVE, T, Geronimo fact old

Compassion I met romance I got love on me looking

out how can [] to be lured is all. Without

call imagined I love and be loved I laugh I

[]

Is to have all fear disappear the worry

The shape of the world and to be that

Hard cumid like no not love to know who

Woman is because then I could really be

The wall spreed brokos would put thain

Shirt on it. No exchange can bargain

In every gang in misunderstanding of the word

Blame mistrust

And they assumed me that I

Am a multimillionaire but they were that

Empty armchair.

Still, but that’s all aside you could try

To convince me that I have a Saturday

Night fever and the man with a golden gun is a kaleidoscope of

Gens looking at me was violin

Music.

I must amount a charge

Cut my path the say shit

Fluid.

Lattrapid yet reputed, for

Skullduggery, not lit but well

Bugger me

The eraze the age of

Me.

Curiosity

Egyptian in a gunpowder

What’s to say

Then was ever

And no invention.

(Page 14)

And I have to stay alive. The most simple,

Can even enjoy. For me this is a day to day I don’t

Want to. I’m not to write here about. I’m afraid

Sad .. to be called Frank or Ernie or just a drunk

Heroin crackhead. Delight hard open wicket there,

Balls remain. I gonna run. Or I ran. The rent

Run risk rough ripped rhode Londron, relic, rash

Rubbish.

I am glad to say I am as ill today as ever

Has before. Quite accomplished solutions intrude the

Bloodstream. Crooks and nanny aside I would not

Abide to fee fy falsify in certain terms, there is not

Motivation or need, my reputation a guarantee. Worth

Both make and believe.

And icy reflection patterns this room

In a late early new year blank laziness for

Uniform.

The where I have not the, exactly

Is what I cannot say. I would sleep fortune.

A life away .. Dishonesty weakly needless

Declare my passion the destiny. Then the glorious

And victory erased from language. Imprisonragbe

My sure staff wags crackling.

Discountry is dissinisterly

Endured it’s nare the creep creeping

Upon me, tired so tired. It begins to engage

Agree. Would be so easy. No more of that

Or of then and though and more so no more

Of this.

Discomfort I adore, sickness I make certain

Sure.

Accidents the luxurious claim of

Innocents, fact follow the accidentee with a brief

Study of past actions, the ban of acts or act

In not too far future will I doubt fail to unveil

That word accident came by stumble spill ink of

Most likely a greed to gain advantage of

Someones misfortune. Insurance a very chance relies

On accidentalance.

To why limit snap grot and furniture

Of nonsense. To waste time to fulfil a space to

Be over so a despond errant in my way.

That I will so called exist

There afar Gulliver, Crusoe, Hyde and Oliver I

Do not fear to relive my beautiful friends.

Catechism the word got rhythm, and you, make you and it

Rhymes with prison.

I can feel a mission coming into vision

Like dream for a religion I was living I was

Dying and soul I will revive the life

And try to describe as well as I can when

Fighting to survive to stay alive.

That’s later

I going to Gunter Grove – coming.

(another page)

I ain´t gonna make it. A reprise

Knew I was seirxing act dizguise. It was

Already no realise. Come that time that

art my life. The chat I-chat in mind

is it cause I could not replicate

The lives of the money makers

fame equalcors - so I had

to make my own original sound

That made me as the song says

Bohemian trinketá.

A required taste.

Drugs and boozer - loser

Refuse.

A guide on how to fail

And fuck the ass out

of how to lose

Because its real

Will be thirty pence

and second hand

Then used to wipe

The Ass Baboon.

What if it went the other way

And no more reborn; acknowledged

As past and future G. Yeah

Boy that rack everest need

A machine the size of God.

All ThEM BLOOD Red Painted

Wolfcitys. MAYhem is PEACE

AND education becomes

what it needs to be

Emotion, respect, love

Learning Lyric´fuckin´ly

Are you gettin me

Not from no ghetto

And thats not how I speak

All school should be to

a Killer beat.

The gift of posture

very thgm, energy.

#poetry #peterwolfe #wolfman #petedoherty

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