#how the hell is he going to react when the prison finally fails its one job (keeping dream inside)

[midnightwinterhawk]

I put together a little collection of Sterek and Steter fics for funsies. “Just a few fics”, I thought, “nothing too crazy.” Thirty fics later I had to cut myself off and finalize the list. You can thank @the-cookie-of-doom​ for the inspiration. 

These primarily fall under the Hurt Stiles Stilinski category because I apparently like to see my comfort characters suffer. Most of these have hopeful/happy endings but mind the tags. For reals.

Placed under a cut since I have no self control and this turned into a long post.

Sterek

adore to see your eyes fly by @1001cranes

(11,309 l E)

stiles is a pyromaniac, derek is a sociopath. a match made in some kind of heaven. teen wolf kink meme fill.

take my heart from me by @areiton

(23,188 l NR)

He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them.

To Derek.

He just wanted to keep them all safe.

That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"Why Can't You?" by @asterekmess

(3,602 l T)

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

-

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

And You Say You're Alone by bi_leigh_bi

(30,314 l E)

Between the kanima, the Argents, and Peter's untimely return from the dead, everything has fallen apart. Stiles and Derek try to put their lives back together once the crisis has passed. Stiles deals with the aftermath of being tortured, and the distance growing between he and Scott. Derek attempts to become a stronger alpha and keep his pack safe, and that includes Stiles.

A Victory March by @churkey

(2,688 l T)

When Stiles is eight he learns that nothing will be the same. His dad comes home one day after work and sits Stiles down for a talk. He explains that werewolves and all the monsters are real.

They're real and not hiding under anyone's bed.

Bury the Moon by darthjamtart

(16,592 l M)

First things get bad. Then they get worse. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s sacrificed until it’s too late.

Dying is the easy part.

Love's Violent Delights by @dexterous-sinistrous

(10,685 l E)

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted.

Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek.

Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

Empty by @discontentedwinter

(48,034 l M)

Jordan Parrish is the new sheriff of Beacon Hills, a town haunted by its past.

Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

(188,781 l E)

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

It Was a Wednesday by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

(80,129 l M)

“What happened? Where are you? What’s that sound?”

Derek jumped, having momentarily forgotten Scott was on the phone with him because Stiles had started moving. He’d stalked over to the other side of the cave, still eying Derek warily and growling, then settled protectively over a mass of clothes, leaves and animal innards. It was probably where he was sleeping.

Lovely. No wonder he smelled like death.

“Stiles,” Derek said, answering Scott’s question. Or, one of them, at least.

“Stiles? What do you—Stiles is making that noise?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“How fast do you think you can make it to the south lot of the Preserve?”

Tiny Houses by @ohmyjetsabel-blog

(77,183 l E)

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

I'm There in the Water by @spaceprincessem

(15,878 l T)

“But it’s—” Derek paused, his words unsure, “it’s not like us,” he swallows hard, chin dipping to his chest in frustration, “it’s like a…”

“An abomination,” Stiles finished, nodding his head as he finally lets his gaze really look at Derek since Scott had pulled them from the water.

He suddenly wished he hadn’t because the way Derek looks at him makes Stiles feel like he is ten years old again. Like Derek is seeing him for the first time since they accidentally fell into each other’s orbit all those years ago. Like Stiles isn’t a burden or invisible.

Like he is enough.

Or five times Stiles felt like he was drowning and the one time he finally caught his breath

Gunplay is Not Really Our Kink by theroguesgambit

(2,577 l M)

“The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling the trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?”

--

Derek and Stiles are captured by a group of hunters and forced to play a twisted game that only one of them might walk away from.

The Price by theroguesgambit

(18,452 l M)

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Nieważny by Zethsaire

(2,037 l E)

The pack is gone, everything they've ever cared for destroyed. Now Stiles and Derek hunt the hunters, taking revenge in the only way they know how; blood.

Steter

Make Me Bleed by @asarcasticwitch

(2,304 l E)

Peter’s expression contorts, impressed or surprised, Stiles can't decipher, but the grin on his face proves he’s not exactly disappointed with the unexpected turn of events.

“Which bite exactly were you hoping for, hm?” The older man curls one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck, trailing his thumb along his pale, fragile throat.

Stiles tilts his head back in unyielding submission, giving the wolf no room to debate his sincerity. “I’m sure you can figure it out, Alpha.

Two Roads Converge in a Graveyard Town by @cywscross

(15,645 l T)

The Deadpool brings one more assassin to Beacon Hills. A man's gotta eat after all.

when you're going through hell (keep going for me) by cywscross

(57,022 l T)

Peter is abandoned in the aftermath of the fire, and Eichen House takes ruthless advantage. Six years later, when he's finally able to move again, he finds himself in a cell with a boy in a straitjacket.

(Kate’s biggest mistake was letting Peter live. Eichen House’s biggest mistake was letting Peter meet Stiles.)

Don't Fail Me Now by @discontentedwinter​

(36,315 l E)

Stiles goes to Derek looking for help.

He finds Peter instead.

Peter takes what he's wanted for a very long time.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

(56,525 l M)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Bite Down by EclipseWing (@shadow-of-the-eclipse)

(27,586 l M)

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

Into Eden by @graciebirdie

(12,232 l M)

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he'd hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn't turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

(4,032 l E)

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

Call My Name by KouriArashi ( @gingersnapwolves )

(81,370 l M)

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Hide my tears in the rain. by MrsRidcully

(6,865 l M)

After  years spent successfully dodging werewolves, evil spirits and wendigos,  it was a drunk driver who stole his Dad, a drunk driver with a  suspended license and a record sheet as long as Stiles’s arm. Stiles  would have laughed at the irony if he hadn’t been so busy screaming.

In My Veins Like Disease by romanoffbarton

(1,140 l T)

He tries to leave once.

Foreshock by @twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(22,816 l E)

The day Stiles’ mom died, he almost leveled his house.

Not on purpose. Not even by mistake, really. More by instinct.

Since then he's dug his fingers into everything his has left, holding on with desperation.

Desperation never stopped an earthquake.

Your Touch is My Choice by twothumbsandnostakeincanon

(2,171 l T)

The first time John does it, Stiles is two years old and about to run into the road.

“Mieczysław!” Heart pounding, John grabbed him by the back of his neck and got a hand around his tummy, snatching him back. “No, you have to stay away from the road,” he said firmly.

Shameful Company by Whispering_Sumire (@whispering-sumire755)

(38,779 l E)

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth.

"No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?"

[About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Would You Forgive Me If I Called You Hope, Peter Hale? (Hope, By Any Other Name) by Whispering_Sumire

(10,099 l T)

Stiles has scars. He owns that, he accepts it, he's cataloged and memorized every single one, he's hyper fucking aware of them all.

//

"What do you want, Peter?" Having the more untrustworthy of the Pack getting protective weirds him the fuck out, leaves an odd fluttering in his chest, like moths, waiting perilously and suicidally to be burned.

He doesn't like it.

"You're injured," the man says, "and whatever it is, it's put you in enough pain that I nearly fainted when I-"

"- Used your werewolf mojo on me without my permission?" Stiles smirks, and Peter gives him a black look, crossing a leg over his knee and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on his pants.

"Tell me the truth Stiles, how bad is it?"

[Or: The one where Stiles has scars, is more than a little fucked up, and Peter notices. He helps.]

#hurt/comfort #angst #dark #hurt/no comfort #angst with a happy ending #fic rec #be kind to yourself and mind the tags #Sterek #Steter #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Peter Hale #hurt Stiles Stilinski #Sterek fic #Steter fic #to the pain

[ddarker-dreams]

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death.  Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise. 

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill. 

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead. 

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do? 

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent. 

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.” 

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?” 

“... You will not call on his guards?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember. 

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.” 

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.” 

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...” 

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.” 

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].” 

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.” 

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.” 

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving. 

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.” 

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward. 

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.” 

“But--” 

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.” 

Then she is gone. 

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door. 

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you. 

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture. 

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved. 

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you. 

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book. 

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.” 

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him. 

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before? 

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.” 

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.” 

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.” 

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.” 

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.” 

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?” 

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. 

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.” 

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face. 

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--” 

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications. 

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.” 

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together. 

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything. 

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.” 

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could. 

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate. 

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.” 

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #yandere giorno x reader #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #hades x reader #greek god au #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #jojo's bizarre adventures imagines #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #JJBA #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere x reader #yandere god x reader #yandere #my stuff

[fallstreakfeathers]

[More] Obey Me Headcanons

[ I didn’t edit this at all, really, but I have around 30 headcanons so far that I’m using for my fic and would like several backups- so, I’m posting it here.) 

The ‘Devildom’ is a planet that is larger than ours. ‘Hell’ refers to a part of each territory the Avatar’s govern that is reserved for retaining and torturing human souls. These areas are actually quite small compared to the rest of the land. Each environment is unique, with its own native flora, fauna, land formations, climates, and dangers.

The Devildom resides on a tall, mountain-ringed plateau that towers over the lands around it. It is not the tallest point in the demon world.

Demons have elemental affinities that also define certain weaknesses. A demon that’s used to the heat and gasses of flowing magma would have difficulties in the colder parts of the world, or fighting against a demon or creature who uses a lot of freezing attacks.

There are many places in their realm that even Demons refrain from going, or simply cannot. One such area is a vast frozen land in the far northeast that drops to temperatures low enough that even demons that are developed for icy area’s cannot survive without magical assistance. However, this also makes the area a great place for criminals and the exiled to live should they be able to fight the cold. Demons and such that failed to pass the test of the cold are frequently found encased in the tall, pointed ice spires that jut from the ground- trapped in an unending preservation until the end of days.

There’s a massive crater in one part of the world, in the land Mammon governs, that’s referred to as the ‘Fear Pit’. It’s the aftermath of a massive battle between two demons, and the entire area is cursed with illusions that prey on your fears. It gets worse the closer you are to the bottom. Demons occasionally travel to test their own resolve, though few ever make it to the center- usually opting to turn back before their fear drives them mad.

Beelzebub dislikes thunder because it sounds similar to some sounds he heard in the war

Demon’s are immortal only in that time cannot destroy them, They can still die from wounds and even disease.

Not all demons can speak human languages. There’s plenty in the Devildom/Hell who’ve never set foot in the human realm and have never bothered to learn the realms languages.

On that note, there are more than a few specific demonic dialects spoken in the devildom. The Avatars and most high nobility are required to be fluent in the most common 3 demonic languages.

Demons who came to the Devildom by falling from the Celestial Realm are not considered ‘true demons’, and many have challenged the Avatars solely because of their origins

Demons may have pacts with multiple humans. If a demon who has more than one pact is ordered to do something by multiple pact holders, the demon will obey whoever has the strongest bond with them OR the orders will cancel each other out.

Many species found in the Devildom/Hell and the Celestial Realm are not exclusive to one or the other- dragons and unicorns are found in both, for example, but with different traits and personalities. Dragons in the Devildom are ugly things that spit an acidic venom, while those in the Celestial Realm are sleek and able to shoot blasts of fire from their throats. Some creatures remain the same in each realm, but are referred to by different names. Many mythic creatures from every human culture can be found in both the Devildom and Celestial realm

Though their human forms look rather perfect, everyone who fought in the Celestial War bears a great number of physical scars, some of which affect their human guise as well

Belphegor's right eye is completely blind in all his forms. He tends to hide it in his human appearance because it’s sometimes seen as a weakness by other demons who might try to challenge him. He has the most trouble with demon’s attempting to fight him because he’s often seen as the weakest Avatar due to his sleeping habits and general outward appearance. This is, of course, a massive mistake.

Belphegor frequently wraps his tail around himself (like a hug) for comfort- particularly when he’s alone

Belphegor’s horseshoe was broken during a fight with a demon who wanted to challenge his title/status.

Demons don't usually bury their dead because many simply disappear upon death. How they disappear depends on their primary sin (Wrath erupts in a blast of fire)

Leviathan changes the order of the smiley pins on his clothes depending on his mood (green for happy/content, yellow for neutral, red for angry/upset)

Satan dislikes chocolate

Demons are practically infertile. Children born naturally (human standard) are extremely rare. As such, all demon children are cherished and protected by modern demonic societies as a whole, and intending to harm one is punished harshly.

Lucifer may have birthed Satan from rage, but a demon can create another being from any emotion so long as it’s powerful enough (love, envy, etc). This is much more common than the physical way of creating children. The offspring will generally exhibit whatever emotion spawned them and will behave accordingly to whoever the emotion was directed at. After their birth, they grow very fast until they appear 10-15 years old, and their growth slows immensely.

A specific ritual is required for a demon( or angel) and human to crossbreed with each other, as they are completely different species. It would be like trying to cross a dog with a giraffe. These births are always extremely dangerous for the human mother. There are a few exceptions to this, such as Incubi/Succubi but successful crossbreeding is still extremely rare.

The older a demon is, the more horrific their true forms are. Anyone who has existed before the Celestial War is referred to as an ‘Ancient/Old World’ demon. Those born after and those who fell are considered ‘New Age/Modern’ demons. There are a handful of creatures referred to as ‘Primordials’. These beings are neither demons nor angels, but are immensely powerful and are very secretive. Not much is known about any of them, and they rarely show themselves. They also rarely partake in the social/political conflicts of the three realms. They did not have a presence in the Celestial War.

These titles have no bearing on how civilised someone may be.

There are technically four realms known. The Celestial, Devildom, and Human realms are commonly spoken about but the fourth realm is known as ‘Oblivion’ and isn’t so much a world as it is multitudes of platforms floating throughout a nebula. It’s useless overall but is used as a prison and punishment for the worst of demonkind. Few have ever made it out, but those that have come back a blubbering, maddened shell of who they were. Diavolo and Barbatos both are capable of opening a portal to it.

All demons/Fallen have the capability to return to a monstrous form, but Ancient demons have a particularly difficult time making themselves look human again (some Ancient’s are incapable of returning at all). New Age demons are able to transform much more freely, but if the transformation is brought on by strong negative emotion (rage, fear, or a physical reaction such as pain), it takes much longer to change back

The final stage of demonic courtship involves seeing each other's truest self. This display is a form of trust in the highest regard, the goal being total acceptance of each other. It should never be taken lightly. Not every couple goes through this, but those that do form a deeply personal and permanent bond.

A demon in full form is rare outside battle, though some choose to remain in their appearance as a way of showing off.

Some demons (nobility and such) have several forms outside of their human/humanoid guises

Demons are compelled to chew on things. There are several businesses specializing in ‘demon chew toys’. Gnawing on these can release both stress and anxiety and also helps maintain healthy teeth.

Demons shed their horns, scales, teeth and fur, and will often use these shed materials in their own clothing, jewelry, and other such items. Shedding season differs for every demon- it happens to some every half year, year, couple years, or even centuries. Being given an item made from a demon’s shed is considered a personal gift

Demons can tell the basic emotional state of any human they have a pact with. Whether they react to it or care is another story.

Despite the common opinion that the Devildom doesn’t have a sun, the sky brightens every 3 human world days thanks to the passing of a dwarf star. However, it would be a mistake to believe that the demon world is devoid of light without it! There are plenty of natural light sources that provide the lands with a way to see (for those without night vision), such as glowing crystals and mushrooms, magma, etc.

The Devildom’s planet’s core burns hotter than ours, which counteracts how cold it would be otherwise (though it’s still quite chilly in many parts of the planet)

When Diavolo ordered that no human be harmed in the Devildom again, he also banned all media portraying humans as prey. These books, videos, and movies are now sold on the black markets and hoarded by those who disagree with Diavolo

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #im thinking of making a map tbh #obey me belphegor #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #arkwrites #Arks obey me headcanons #dont @ me about the incorrect planet science im doing this for fun and idc lmao

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

If you were put in charge of the Dream SMP's storyline (from the exact moment that Tommy got exiled from L'Manburg.), how would you move said storyline forward?

Hmm...

I feel like that’s kind of an impossible question to answer. Not one that I could answer well, at least. I’m not a good writer. And, mainly just because the story as it exists hasn’t ended yet. Everything to do with Pandora’s Vault? The Blood Vines? Whatever is going to happen on Wednesday? We don’t know where all these threads are going to end up tying in together, so attempting to create an alternate path where they end up is difficult, since I don’t know where they’re meant to end yet.

All these little hints and pieces of foreshadowing or set-up, I don’t know what missing pieces they’re meant to fit with.

That being said, I’ll try and give a proper answer. 

I think the Exile Arc as it went was fantastic, and easily one of the best arcs when it came to pacing and acting. The build-up was great, it had its combination of fun moments, funny moments and sad moments, and Tommy’s realization at the end was a very powerful scene. It changed the status quo of how a plot could be, the stakes felt genuinely high in a way that Tommy’s previous exile didn’t, and by separating the clingy duo, we got to see both characters react to the plot in different ways and show how they differentiate from each other in their philosophies.

Loved it! 

The ending, though, with Tommy escaping to Techno -- while I love the interactions we got between Tommy and Techno -- I feel like that could’ve gone differently. Most of the issues we’ve found with Tommy and Techno being pitted against each other and both suffering for it came about because their partnership was doomed to fail, just by nature of how their characters are.

Techno was too stubborn in his ideologies to ever come to an agreement with Tommy to let L’manburg live, and Tommy would never agree to hurt Tubbo like that, and I don’t think it’d make writing sense to change either character’s beliefs just so that Techno and Tommy could remain together. That’s not how Techno’s character has ever been written.

I think Tommy could’ve gone to live with someone else. 

I think he could’ve gone to live with Sam. 

Think about it -- the Blood Vines arc was beginning, Pandora’s Vault was commissioned, Sam is involved in both plots. He already established that he was willing to give Tommy a home on the first day of exile, he’s got Sapnap and George as roommates, and he’s a major player in both the Badlands and the prison plot. 

This gives him some added conflict, and ties the threads into each other a bit sooner. 

He’s already got some tension between his allegiance to the Badlands and his alliance with Dream at the moment, why not throw Tommy into that mix? He’s the one Badlands member who’s favorable to Tommy. It would make sense.

You’ve got a similar plot to Techno’s where Sam has to hide the fact that he’s got Tommy as a refugee, but without the disagreement in their ideologies that leads to them falling out.

I think the main issue with this would just be that Sam was very busy with building the Vault all this time, which is why it couldn’t have feasibly happened in canon. It’s just a nice idea.

Maybe just the Badlands in general could’ve housed Tommy? Get Antfrost and Bad involved? I dunno.

I also think it might have been better to have Techno actually die at the execution? Don’t get me wrong, the Totem exploding was really cool, and his escape to the Final Control Room was cinematic as hell, but I feel like his outrage at L’manburg for attempting but not succeeding in killing him made his subsequent destruction of L’manburg feel a lot less justified. 

Now, with Niki’s arc, while I like that she’s getting into the lore a bit more, it just feels a bit sudden. She hasn’t had much development since the Finale of Season One, so unlike Fundy and Jack, whose arcs have been getting that gradual build-up throughout the season, Niki’s feels too unexpected.

I think instead, Niki and Puffy could have an arc together where, as the relationship between the Dream SMP faction and L’manburg shifts, they could reconcile the fact that they’re on separate teams a bit more. Puffy’s new hero arc is fantastic and I’d rather Niki join her on that than take out misdirected frustration on Tommy. Plus, the groundwork for it was already set at the time of the exile itself, as Puffy and Niki were the ones to witness Dream first building the walls.

That being said, I do get how that would be an unrealistic wishlist plot since Niki’s been busy with her other series and hasn’t had as much time to stream the SMP. A lot of the time, real life things interfere with the SMP’s plot, and that’s just kind of a fact of the medium that we’ve gotta deal with.

But again, who knows where the plot will end up going? I’m very intrigued by the Blood Vines and the prison, and those plots are still developing. 

The use of environment in the plot especially has been what’s gotten me most excited. Pandora’s Vault and the Blood Vines would never have happened in Season One. Heck, there was a whole set up for a jail time plot point in the Manberg arc that was just never followed up on, even though that was a considerably smaller scale build. The Manberg Hotel never happened. The lakes were never filled. 

But that’s a bit of a tangent for another time.

As much as it is easy to get caught up in what things could be, I’ve been enjoying seeing where everything’s going so far. It’s very different from Season One, but I appreciate that they’re evolving the story in these new ways and experimenting with the medium of the game more and more. 

As chaotic as the plotlines can be, and how messy everything is, I also appreciate that it’s a very collaborative story right now. It’s far from perfect, but... I feel like for all its chaos, Season Two’s really been taking advantage of this extremely unique format of storytelling. So many characters who were sidelined in Season One as side characters are getting a chance to tell their stories. I like that.

There’s been a lot of comparison between Wilbur’s writing style and the current group writing style going around, and honestly?

I like both!

It’s a grass is greener situation. This is a bizarre medium to work with. There’s no established “right way” to run a Minecraft roleplay server storyline, so there are going to be pros and cons to any approach.

But yeah. I am not a writer! Who knows if it would actually have been any better with those changes. 

And again, I have no idea how the story will go, because from what we’ve heard from Tubbo and Dream, a lot is about to happen. Doomsday wasn’t a season finale, it was just a midpoint. 

#asks #dream smp #long posts

[straycat-writes]

to ever let you go (nakahara chuuya)

summary: two years is a long time, enough for a person to go through hell and back. chuuya learns that the hard way.

notes: there’s mild swearing and non-graphic mentions of injury. before you ask, yes, there is (eventually) going to be a part two.

Chuuya has never liked taking the elevator. Most of the time, it’s too cramped, and too shaky, and too bright and – too this or too that, he tells himself. In truth, he just doesn’t like closed spaces.

Unfortunately for him, Mori’s office is on the very top floor of the building that houses the Port Mafia headquarters. Fitting for the boss of the Port Mafia, but a pain in the ass for Chuuya. Nevertheless, when Mori calls, he goes. It’s not like he has a choice.

“Chuuya-kun, I would like you to come see me at your earliest convenience. Something rather…important has turned up.”

Chuuya had been with the mafia long enough to know that ‘at your earliest convenience’ meant drop everything and come right now’. He stepped out of the elevator, hands jammed into his pockets, and sighed. Something rather important, huh?

The armed guards stationed outside the door took one look at him and left way immediately, and a self-satisfied smile almost made its way onto Chuuya’s face. It made his day when people cower before him when he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Good evening, boss. How may – “

The rest of the words died in his throat.

The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn, like always, obscuring the sky and leaving the space to be illuminated only by the soft interior lights. Mori was sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on it and fingers steepled below his chin. And in front of the desk…there was her.

“Ah, Chuuya-kun, how considerate of you to join us.” Mori said with calm, calculated smile, “Would you perhaps like to sit down for a while?”

Chuuya didn’t answer. He couldn’t have had, even if he wanted to, his throat had suddenly gone too dry. There she was. Standing there with her hands clasped behind her back, alive and well.

On second thought, the ‘well’ part was debatable. She looked pale and haggard, with scars littering almost every inch of exposed skin. Her stance was slightly slouched too, as if she was unconsciously trying to disappear into herself. When she turned to look at him, however, his heart almost stops. Why did her eyes look like that?

“(Y-y/n)?” his voice came out scratchy, almost cracking, and he couldn’t stop staring at her with eyes wide enough to almost pop out of their sockets.

She didn’t reply, instead quietly turning away and looking straight ahead. A million thoughts and assumptions swarmed Chuuya’s head at once, almost overwhelming him. He couldn’t think straight. So, naturally, he thought he’d do what he did best. Yell.

“It’s been two fucking years, where the hell were you all this time!?”

When she had first disappeared two years ago, shortly after being deployed for a mission, Chuuya had dedicated everything he had to looking for her. He searched high and low and despite pressure from the higher ups, he didn’t stop until he had turned most of the country inside out. But after almost a year of trying and trying and still coming up empty, he had grown weary.

On particularly bad nights, he had even wondered if she too had pulled a Dazai and got the fuck out of there, leaving him behind. If she too had abandoned him and betrayed him like his partner once had. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth but he thought he’d prefer that to the alternative. That she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

Chuuya had never even considered there could be a third option.

When she didn’t react, Chuuya got more anxious, and despite trying his best not to, took two successive steps towards her, “Answer me!”

It was only when she flinched back that he stopped, mid-stride. And for the first time since entering the room, he took a long, proper look at her. The shadows underneath her eyes were deeper than he had expected them to be, and she seemed to be curling in on herself where she stood, as if trying to take as little space as possible.

Chuuya took a step back. “What… what happened to you?”

With lacklustre eyes, she looked at him, face completely devoid of any expression. Then she spoke to him for the first time in two years.

“What do you think?”

Chuuya faltered, not knowing what to say or do. Even her voice sounded scratchy, deeper somehow and yet with a paper-thin quality to it. Nothing like the syrupy sweet velvet he remembered it to be. A million possible scenarios and explanations ran through his head before being consecutively discarded.

Perhaps taking pity on his dilemma, Mori, who had been sitting behind his desk all this time, observing the two of them with a calm, calculating gaze and an amused smile, finally decided that it was time to intervene.

“Chuuya-kun, do you remember the operation (y/n) was handling two years ago just before she, er, disappeared?”

Chuuya frowned. “I do. She was supposed to be gathering intel on this enemy organization that was interfering with our overseas businesses.”

“Yes, well… Turns out they were just as desperate for intel on us.”

“Don’t tell me… “ Chuuya’s eyes widened as he tore his gaze away from Mori to look back at her. “You were being held as a prisoner? For two fucking years?”

“Now, now,” Mori tried to placate him. “No need to raise your voice. As you can see, (y/n) is still… recuperating.”

Out of the corer of his eye, Chuuya could see a steely, bemused smile on Mori’s face, one that did not sit well with him at all. But this wasn’t the time to focus on that. He looked back at you.

“I’m… (y/n), I don’t know what to say, I looked for you everywhere.” He said. “I looked for you for months… “ There was silence for a few short seconds, before she spoke.

“Well, clearly you didn’t look hard enough.”

The words weren’t loud or even containing any particular malice, but the moment they left her lips, Chuuya felt like he couldn’t breathe. Because she sounded disappointed. Resigned and hollow. Most of all, she just sounded sad.

Mori’s voice cut through his thoughts once more like a hot wire. “That’s enough chit-chat for now, I think.” He looked at both of them in turn. “Why don’t you take her to stay with you for a while, Chuuya-kun? You two did use to be rather close. Besides, I really don’t think (y/n) should be left alone in such a state.”

For some reason, Chuuya’s blood boiled in his veins. He wasn’t stupid. There was absolutely no way Mori didn’t know where she had been all this time. But if so, why didn’t he say anything? Did it benefit him somehow? Did he plan it all out? He wouldn’t put it past the crafty bastard. But for now…

“Yes, boss, I think that would be the wisest course of action.”

When he turned to her and held out his hand, she just looked at for a long time, scrutinizing it as if wondering what trick he might pull. But instead of insisting or saying anything, Chuuya just waited patiently for her to come around. He could still see that smile fixed on Mori’s face as he watched the events unfold in front of him, and oh, what Chuuya wouldn’t have given in that moment to be able to wipe that smug grin off his face.

Eventually, she took one last look at him once more before finally accepting his hand. Chuuya didn’t dare pull her closer or even hold her hand tighter for the fear of breaking it. At this point, he couldn’t be sure how fragile she was or wasn’t.

On light steps, they left the dark office together. The girl currently holding onto his hand wasn’t (y/n). Or at least, she wasn’t the same (y/n) he had lost two years ago. He had failed that girl when he had been unable to bring her back safe.

But Chuuya swore he would correct every mistake he had ever made. He would get her back.

#nakahara chuuya #chuuya x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #one shot #scenario

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - The Dragon Slayer

A/N This is choppy so sorry about that - but breaking it up made each blurb not quite long enough-

T/W Mentions of war trauma, death, pstd, panic attacks, and nightmares. 

September 12, 1945

Charlie’s room was just how he left it. Well, except for the sheets that looked like they had been slept in. He lingered in the doorway, bag in hand, and eyed the unmade single bed.

“I’ll put on fresh sheets for you.” Elizabeth said quickly and hurried past him to strip the bed.

Evelyn glanced at her father who was standing quietly beside her. The three of them knew that Daniel had found slight comfort in sleeping in his missing son’s bed over the last few years but the women didn’t express this fact aloud. Charlie sort of knew himself though. He didn’t speak on it.

As his mother brought in clean sheets and hurried to change his bed, Charlie walked farther into his childhood bedroom and scanned all the shelves and pictures on the walls. He lingered at the window, staring out into the backyard and the vast expanse of green grass that came with their home, the view all too familiar. He stared up towards the evening sky and the orange sunset and he almost waited for the streaks of Spitfires to jet across in front of the clouds. There was nothing.

His family watched as he refamiliarized himself with his bedroom, Elizabeth quietly tending to the sheets as Charlie continued around the perimeter, scanning the bookshelf that seemed much smaller than he remembered it. He ran his fingers over the spines of the neatly lined up books and wiped the thin sheet of dust off on his uniform pants. The posters and photographs above the bookshelf had Charlie freezing in place.

Richard’s eight-year-old smile shone back at him from the faded black and white image. The boys stood side by side, each on their own bikes, beaming with pride they both learned how to ride within the same week.

Charlie swallowed thickly. He hadn’t seen his best friend’s face since they took his body away a year and a half prior. Charlie choked back his forming tears and turned away from the pictures.

“Come on, darling boy.” Elizabeth called gently. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Charlie shuffled over and let his mother take his bag from him and set it on the ground. He stood blankly in front of her and watched her quietly as she unbuttoned his uniform for him.

Evelyn said a quiet good night to her father to leave her brother with his privacy and she headed into her own bedroom for the night. She needed a quiet second to wrap her head around the afternoon herself too.

Daniel stood in the doorway of Charlie’s room and watched with a concerned expression and his hands in the pockets of his trousers as Elizabeth spoke gently and reassuringly to her son as she stripped him out of his uniform. He felt like he was watching his own past.

Charlie didn’t protest his mother seeing him in his underwear. Either he didn’t have the energy to ask her to leave or he was too shaken and had missed her touch too much to even want her to leave. Elizabeth folded his uniform and draped it over the back of the chair nicely before returning in front of him with his folded pyjamas. She crouched in front of him and rolled up a pant leg to help him dress.

“One foot at a time, darling.” she instructed. Charlie stepped one foot in, gently resting his hand on his mother’s shoulder to stabilize himself as she dressed him. “These might be a little small on you now but I will go into town first thing tomorrow and buy new a few new sets.”

She pulled his striped pants up his legs – the hems sure enough reaching well above his ankle – and made sure they were sitting well around his waist. She then wrapped his shirt around his back and he slid in one arm at a time and watched her button it up.

“Thank you, Mama.” Charlie breathed shakily.

Elizabeth could have cried right then and there. She just smiled at her son and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Daniel came over to his bedside as Charlie got into bed and Elizabeth tucked the blankets around him snugly.

“Are you cozy?” she asked quietly, brushing his frazzled brown hair from his face.

Charlie nodded weakly.

“Good.” Elizabeth leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I am so happy you’re home.”

Charlie nodded.

Daniel just stood a few paces away and stared silently at his son, offering him a gentle pat to his hand in good night and the parents left him to sleep.

Elizabeth and Daniel got themselves ready for bed in silence, shuffling through their room as they changed into pyjamas and closed the curtains and Elizabeth unpinned her hair. They didn’t quite know what to say.

They sat up in bed side by side for a moment, both staring straight ahead and trying to process the events of the day.

“Was today real?” Elizabeth asked the air around them.

Daniel didn’t reply.

She glanced over at him only to see his eyebrows furrowed and lip wedged tightly between his teeth. Elizabeth set her hand on top of his, “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I hate this.” Daniel breathed. He finally looked over at his wife and let her fingers lace with his, “I hate seeing him like this. I…I didn’t want him to end up like me, Lizzie. I…I prayed that he wasn’t going to end up like me.”

“I know.” Elizabeth said, rubbing her hands over his lovingly. She watched him take a shaky inhale, “But you know you can’t control what happens…just how you react.”

Daniel nodded.

“And he’s safe. Our babies are sleeping warm and safe in their beds tonight, Dani. That’s the best thing we could have asked for.”

Daniel nodded and shuffled closer to her, lifting her head up by a finger under her chin to kiss her lips softly. Elizabeth slid her arms around him and he tucked his face in her neck and just held her for a moment or two.

“Is that what I was like?” Daniel asked quietly into her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Useless. Needing you to dress me?” Daniel lifted his head up from her neck to look at her.

“Some days.” Elizabeth answered, holding his face in her hands. “You still asked me to marry you though.”

“At least I was somewhat sane.” Daniel whispered.

Elizabeth cracked a small smile and kissed the tip of his nose, “I promised you before you left for the Great War that I would be yours forever no matter what. There was nothing I would rather have done than taken care of you when you got home. You’ve always been the love of my life, Daniel Seavey, and I would have sat by your side every minute of every day if it made life easier for you.”

They shared a soft kiss.

“And now,” she held his face in her hands still with his arms lovingly around her waist, “you have blessed me with two children and it is only fair to pass on my promise to them too. Especially to them and especially Charlie right now. At best, helping you is what prepared me for this. He’s just like you in all the best ways too…I know how to care for my men. Nothing is going to scare me away. Not then and certainly not now.”

Daniel just stared at her in near awe, “Elizabeth Winifred Seavey, you are…an angel on earth. What the hell did I do to ever deserve you?”

“You loved me.” Elizabeth answered with a shrug and a smile. “That’s all I wanted.”

“I don’t say it enough.”

“You don’t need to. I just know.”

May 2, 1922

Four-year-old Charlie was scared of a few things. He was scared of the dark, he was scared of strangers, and he was scared of three headed fire breathing dragons that seemed to like to crowd his dreams at night. There was a while there where nightmares were common and Charlie would snap his eyes open in a cold sweat, panicked, and all alone in his bedroom. With any and all courage left in his body, he would grab his teddy and jump out of bed and run across the small upstairs hallway to his parents’ room.

He would quietly open the door and tip toe quickly to the end of the double bed and crawl right up in the space between his parents. His father always woke up first – he never slept as deeply after his time on the mainland fighting – and right away he would scoop up his little boy against his chest.

Charlie’s favourite place was in his father’s arms since it was where he felt the safest. His mother was a close second. Like routine, after a nightmare, he would wiggle his way into his parents’ bed and find comfort in his father’s embrace.

Daniel would pet his hair and whisper down to him, “What’s wrong, little one?”

Charlie would just cuddle closer, finding the safety he needed against his father’s chest and strong heartbeat and he would lull himself back to sleep after a few mere minutes. To four-year-old Charlie, Daniel was England’s best dragon slayer.

September 13, 1945

The three headed dragon easily was forgotten about as Charlie grew up but it was never gone for good. It moulded into different things from time to time from failed exam marks to someone who wanted to take his sister, but the worst was the plane. The three headed dragon always moulded into something that was possible but this one was the worst because it wasn’t just possible, it was real and it had happened.

The green scales of the dragon was the chipped paint on the wings of the plane, it’s fiery breath were the flames was engulfed the metal, and it’s teeth were the evil bite of Nazism, threatening to take Europe and it’s men down with it. Richard was its prey and it held him in its jaws until a rain of blood was drenching Charlie’s uniform and soaking into his hair. He screamed for mercy, to take him instead, but he would be ignored and his brother would be devoured.

Charlie woke with a gasp, heaving for breath as he sat up quickly in his bed, sheets drenched in sweat which wasn’t an unusual sight. It took a second for him to process where he was, his head whipping from side to side to try and piece together the German prisoner of war barracks or the Air Force bunks. His own bedroom stared back at him quietly. He sighed a shuttering sigh.

He choked back forming tears, wiping his clammy palms on his pyjama pants, the sweat feeling far too much like the remnants of blood. He trembled. He felt as if the dragon was watching him.

Charlie tossed the sheets off his bed and stepped one foot to the cold hardwood floor after the other before shuffling towards the door. The house was dark and silent. Charlie wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore but he was scared of fear itself.

It only took him five steps to cross the upstairs hallway – it used to take him eleven as a little boy – and he rested his hand on the door handle. He fought with himself a moment, his heart racing in fear as if there would be a punishment for being out of bed in the middle of the night. At the prison camps there was at least.

Charlie opened the door quietly and slipped inside without bothering to close it behind him. He took his usual spot at the end of his parents’ double bed and took a second to watch them sleep. His heart ached and he let out a small sob that he smothered into his hand as he climbed up onto the end of the bed. Charlie shuffled right up between them, choking quietly through his tears as he squeezed his grown-up body between his parents.

Daniel and Elizabeth both woke up at the movement, Elizabeth rolling over to face her distraught son who was trying to curl himself into Daniel’s chest. They shared quiet glances before helping to shuffle him under the blankets with them.

“There you go, little one.” Daniel whispered, tucking the sheets up nice and high around Charlie’s shoulders and then wrapped his arm around him, “We’re right here. You’re safe.”

Charlie only cried harder, clinging onto his father through his sobs without speaking a word.

“Good boy, Charles Christian.” Daniel praised softly, rubbing his son’s back lovingly. “Let it all out.”

Elizabeth sniffled quietly, petting her hand through Charlie’s tangled brown hair as she watched him weep and tremble helplessly. Daniel hummed softly, resting his chin against his son’s head as he cuddled up against his chest and cried into his shirt, rubbing soothing patterns across his back.

“It’s not your fault.” Daniel whispered into his hair as if it were going to be processed by his mind easier that way. “It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault.”

“I miss him!” Charlie sobbed, “Richie!”

“Shh, I know. I know you do.” Daniel held his son closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead, cradling his head under his chin.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know.” Daniel shut his eyes tightly. “It isn’t fair at all.”

Charlie was heaving for breath, chest shuttering and throat choking over each inhale until he was just making himself panic.

“Okay, darling boy, listen to Mama.” Elizabeth spoke gently, resting her hand on his shoulder, “Take some nice deep breaths with us.”

Daniel and Elizabeth both breathed in together to lead him, holding him close as he tried to copy but his trembling and his weeping made it difficult.

“In and out, Charlie.” Elizabeth whispered to him, giving him enough room where he didn’t feel crowded as he fisted the back of Daniel’s shirt in his hand and started to breathe easier. Each inhale was shaky and each exhale was paired with a sob and Charlie just shut his eyes and clung onto his father.

Soon his breathing was calmer and his wails had fallen into whimpers, exhaustion taking over amidst his feeling of safety. Charlie rested against his father’s chest, lips chapped and pouted and long lashes resting on flushed cheeks, his brown hair a shaggy mess on top of his head and it almost flopped in front of his eyes. Elizabeth gently brushed his hair back from his face and left him with a kiss to his cheek, pausing to admire her little boy as he finally fell back to sleep.

She glanced at Daniel and whispered a concerned, “Are you okay?”

Daniel nodded and made sure the blankets were tucked nice and high around his son, “I’m fine.”

“If this brings up things for you, I can always take over.”

“Lizzie.” Daniel interrupted her quietly. “I promise. I’m alright.”

She nodded and leaned over Charlie to kiss her husband’s cheek. They shared quiet ‘I love you’s and curled up close in their double bed now taken up by three grown adults. They wouldn’t dare to complain.

Daniel stared down at his grown-up son in his arms, feeling him breathing steadily and sleeping soundly. 

You see, Daniel and Charles were more alike than either would have liked to admit. Their looks down to their passionate personalities were quite similar but even their experiences and how they dealt with grief were similar in themselves. One thing that differed between Daniel and Charles was that Charlie had parents…good parents…and a father who would put his life on the line for his son no matter what.

Daniel never had that paternal comfort growing up and even less of it when he returned from the war and he always feared of becoming like his father. Maybe he was quiet and distant as a young man and was a bit too over cautious when it came to his children, but Daniel knew perfectly well that his purpose in life was to be the father that his children deserved and needed. His son needed him to take away his pain and that’s what he was going to do. He was to be the father he never had, now more than ever.

#✉

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“My Babysittee’s a Vampire”

Spike x Reader, BTVS

Warnings: cursing, partial nudity, a little pain? but not necessarily violence. Possible spoilers.

Description: The reader volunteers to watch Spike at Giles’s house while the others do some sluthing, but nothing goes as planned. It turns out that vampires are very hard to babysit.

Spike swore that the chip in his head prevented him from hurting anyone, but you weren’t so sure. Giles decided to keep him chained up in the house for observation and that required someone to actually observe him. You volunteered.

You were still the weakest of the Scoobies, unfortunately (except for maybe Anya, but she got points for being an ex-demon). There wasn’t much you could do except get in the way of the monster fighting. But if you could be helpful by staying in and doing some homework, hey. You weren’t going to complain.

“What, Buffy can’t even be bothered to watch me herself, now that I’m all neutered?”

Spike was in a hell of a mood, seemingly forgetting that he had come to you and your friends for sanctuary. It probably didn’t help that Giles and Xander chained him up in the bathtub.

“She’s busy.” You were unsure of whether or not you were trying to comfort him or just get him off your back. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here and stare at the bloody wall all night?”

“Mhmm.”

You were up against the opposite wall, trying—and failing—to get through the sociology chapter your professor had assigned that day. Everyone else in the gang seemed to ignore their homework entirely, except maybe Willow, but you needed a good grade. Your future plans extended outside Sunnydale. But that was only half the trick. You also had to convince Buffy to come with you.

Spike lapsed into silence as you took your notes, the concept finally clicking into place in your head after the third time around. You highlighted and underlined, drawing triangles to help you understand the ideas of hierarchy and filling up your margins with little asides that helped you contextualize. You didn’t even wonder if you should be worried about the vampire’s sudden quiet until his voice broke through your focus.

“Read to me.”

You dropped your pen, startled. He was staring at you intently, like how you imagined a lion might study its prey. Like everything else had faded from view and he was trying to decide whether or not to take his chances on the hunt.

“I-It’s just soc-sociology,” you stuttered, holding up the textbook for him to see. “I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I like people.” Spike bared his teeth in a grin that you guessed was supposed to be charming or encouraging, but toed past the line to frightening. When you hesitated, he sweetened his voice, practically cooing, “Come on. What harm could it do?”

So you did. He never asked you to stop and explain anything or gave any indication that he didn’t understand, but you interjected your own learnings in anyway. You almost forgot that it was him you were talking to. Willow used to really value school, and she was still the smartest person you knew, but witchcraft was taking over her areas of interest and none of the others cared about this kind of stuff unless you were helping them with their own homework. It was nice to have a rapt audience, even if he was literally being held captive.

“Basically, he’s saying that social environment shapes how we act and react to situations. Like in the Stanford Prison Experiment.” Your eyes darted from the text to Spike, waiting for a nod or something, but he looked as much like a statue as ever. “Good people can be made to do bad things because of the pressure they feel, real or imagined, to follow the rules that have been set in their environment.”

You waited for him to tell you that you had been right before and he was bored, but instead he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. The chains around his midsection clanked against each other and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even though your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest.

“What about bad people?”

Being around Buffy and the others, around so much supernatural for so many years, had made you into a person who could handle most things with a cool head. It was a required skill. You could freak out about the little things—tests, dating, work—though they seemed to matter less now than ever. But you couldn’t let the supernatural world scare you shitless unless you wanted to shut down completely. Your hands trembled where they grasped your book, but you kept your voice even. You forced your eyes upward to meet Spike’s.

“You tell me.”

——

You couldn’t run away from him, even though you were deeply and truly uncomfortable, so you excused yourself and went to the kitchen for a snack. You knew you shouldn’t leave him alone for too long, chip or not, so you sat down at the table and tried to catch your breath. You were counting down from one hundred when he started shouting about blood.

“It’s unfair,” he said when your frame filled the doorway, arms crossed, “that you get your snack and I don’t get mine.”

At this, his eyes raked down your body. You doubted that the gang would mind much if they came back to find him with a broken nose, but you exercised some hard-won self-control and dug your nails into your palms. Spike was smart and if he was working you up, it was probably for a reason. You treaded back to the kitchen and returned with a mug filled with some B negative that Giles had “borrowed” from the hospital’s blood bank.

“This is the last of the human stuff,” you told him with some satisfaction. “Next you’re drinking pig’s blood.”

You held the mug well away from you, willing your eyes to ignore the splatters on the rim from when you had poured it in. Spike cocked his head.

“Are you going to unchain me, or—?”

“I’ll get a straw.”

When you came back, he was slumped against the inside wall of the porcelain tub. You sat on the edge, held the mug up for him, and turned your head away, enough that you couldn’t see him take his first sip but not enough that he would notice. The sound by itself was almost worse.

“It’s cold.”

“I’m not running a hotel. You’re a hostage.”

“I’m a guest seeking asylum.”

You sucked in a deep breath. “Fine.” You couldn’t bicker with him any more. You needed this to be over.

You warmed it in the microwave, swearing the whole time, and brought it back with both hands wrapped around the mug to keep yourself from throwing the blood in Spike’s face. He smiled as if he knew what you were thinking and relaxed against the tub, tilting up only his chin so that you had to sink to your knees against the tile floor to get an angle that would work.

“I could get used to this,” he mused when he had finished. A few droplets splattered on your hands. You tried not to look at them and began soaping up in the sink.

“Don’t.”

“You know, love, Passions is on in twenty, if your watch is correct.”

You unclasped it from your wrist and wiped it off with a damp tissue. “Forget it.”

“I guess we could always read more from the textbook.” You caught his crafty smirk in the mirror. “You seemed to like that well enough.”

You sighed. “Will it get you off my back?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Fine.”

You crossed to the tub and tried to puzzle out how to lift him without breaking anything. Spike’s hands were bound in front of him by a separate set of chains than his body to make it more difficult for him to escape and give him some limited mobility. His back was flush up against the tub wall, pressed to the porcelain in a way that would make it difficult to pull him up from behind. There was a small amount of space in between his legs, as his feet had been spread to either side of the tap.

“Well?”

“Shut up.”

You stepped into the tub gingerly, easing over the high rim to stand in between Spike’s legs in the space provided. It wasn’t much, and you caught the fabric of his jeans under your foot at first, but you adjusted.

Next you placed your arms on either side of his chest right under his arms.

“Lift with me,” you said, and together you managed to get him to sit on the edge of the tub. “Okay, next—”

He straightened out, trying to stand before you were ready for him, overcompensating so he wouldn’t hit the wall nearest to him and then hitting you with the full force of his weight as he toppled forward.

“Fuck, Spike!”

He was so goddamn heavy. His chest pressed against your face, forcing your back to the wall where the tap caught you in the back of the lower thigh and tore the skin. You couldn’t shove him back unless you wanted him to fall out the back of the tub and onto the floor, possibly cracking his skull in the process. It was tempting, but your reputation as a babysitter would be shredded.

“This isn’t exactly comfortable for me either, you know!”

“Ouch. Ouch. Fuck. Okay, I’m going to push you back slowly. Try to keep your balance.”

But when you moved your leg to keep it from being pressed against the spout, you hit the knob for the cold water, which came pouring down over your heads.

Spike cursed so loudly the neighbors could probably hear. “Turn it off!”

“Stand up! I can’t turn it off with you all over me like this!”

He righted himself too quickly and fell backward back into the floor of the tub, sending his legs sprawling out beneath you. Your feet were knocked out from under you and you fell on top of him heavily, bruising your elbow and knocking your chin against his sternum as the water poured on.

“Fuck,” he whispered, unable to do anything else. It took you both a moment to adjust to the pain and you closed your eyes to your own idiocy.

“Did you hit your head?” you asked finally, reaching out a hand to the platinum blond mop that was now plastered against his skull.

“Turn. The bloody. Water. Off.”

“Okay, okay,” you huffed. He groaned as you sat up, spreading your legs to either side of his hips to steady yourself and keep from slipping in the tub that was slowly filling up. “But this was all you. You had to watch Passions.”

“You’re the one,” he grunted, “who volunteered to play babysitter.”

The shower head drenched you as you twisted and leaned back to flick the knob off.

“I’m normally good with kids, so I figured I could handle one whiny brat for a night.”

You were breathing heavily, your body throbbing from all the places you had scraped and bruised in the struggle. Spike didn’t look much better, although you supposed he had his super vampire healing or whatever. You weren’t worried about it. Your clothes, on the other hand...

“Now what?”

Carefully, you stood and stepped out of the tub. You avoided your textbook on the ground as you grabbed a towel from the cabinets underneath the sink and wrapped it around yourself.

“You can’t leave me here.”

There was at least an inch of water kept in the tub by the plugged drain. It would probably serve Spike right to sit there all night. You both knew that the others would find it funny rather than an exercise in abuse of authority.

“Take the chains off,” he said, switching his tone from murderous to honeyed. “I promise I won’t bite.”

“You can’t,” you retorted, before realizing you had proven his point. “I mean, if what you say is true.”

“Do you think I would be here right now if it wasn’t?”

You couldn’t. This was the setup for a disaster. Things like this always happened to you guys.

“Look, I could’ve hurt any of you before you chained me up. I didn’t.”

He did look kind of pitiful, soaking and lying on his back in the bathtub.

“Maybe you were playing the long game. And now you’ve decided it’s not for you.”

Your words made sense, but you were wavering. Maybe you had a death wish. You left the room for a moment and returned with the key.

“Your hands stay locked up.”

“Fine.”

You were all too aware how close to him you were now, to his mouth. You barely breathed when you stepped into his personal bubble and let the chains slide to the floor. His lips twisted as he looked down on you and before you could step back, his face contorted and he stretched his mouth open.

“Ow! Fuck! Bloody hell!” he cried, putting a hand to his head as you fell back onto the floor on your already sore ass, scrambling backward. “It was a joke!”

“Buffy should have staked you,” you spat, but you led him into the living room anyway.

The two of you were still dripping all over the carpet, but you ducked into Giles’s closet after re-hiding the key and brought out two pairs of pajama pants and a t-shirt.

As it was, you had to take the scissors to Spike’s shirt and throw it out. It was impossible to get it off with the chains on, though you gave it a shot anyway and ended up tangling Spike in it. It was kind of gratifyingly funny to see his head tucked in under the fabric as he struggled.

“You bloody witch!”

“Stop squirming!”

The pants were worse. He had to sit down in the armchair as you shimmied his soaked jeans off, leaving him only in boxers.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up or I’ll leave you like this.”

Getting the pajamas on was even harder. He had to stand up, support himself by leaning his hands on your shoulder, and kind of hop into the legs of it as you held them up. They were big on him, too, but you tied the drawstrings as tightly as you could, which meant having your hands near a very sensitive area for a few seconds. Ultimately, the pants still hung low on his hips, and you wrinkled your nose in frustration. When you pulled back, Spike had his lips puckered, stringently trying to avoid laughter.

“So you’re just going to leave me in damp knickers?”

“We’re all having to make sacrifices today. Turn around.”

You didn’t want to leave him again, not even for a second, afraid of the trouble he’d get up to on his own. You yanked off your own jeans and t-shirt, watching his back in case he disobeyed you, unable to ignore how muscled and lean he was.

Goddamnit, he really could kill you if he had half a mind to. You’d been training ever since you’d found out what Buffy was, but with school and a job, there was only so much you could fit in.

You wavered between turning around to unclasp your bra and staying in place to monitor him, but ultimately you decided it was safer to just hurry up and do it. You weren’t sure how much skin Spike saw when he went ahead and broke the rules, but it was more than you had hoped. You pulled the t-shirt over your head hurriedly, but Giles wasn’t necessarily a very big man, and it was decidedly short on you.

“Spike,” you hissed. “Go watch TV.”

“Well, we’ve probably missed Passions by now. But our romantic evening doesn’t have to be ruined.” His eyebrow quirked suggestively and you balled up your wet jeans, aiming right at his face.

“Go!”

You almost took yourself out on the corner of the coffee table as you pulled on Giles’s only pair of pajama shorts. You had to roll the top down three times for them to sit at your hips without totally falling off. Spike watched you do it. You gritted your teeth and said nothing.

When the others came back, you and Spike were in separate chairs, your hair still drying.

Xander opened his mouth and then closed it, glancing back and forth between the two of you. Giles seemed disturbed, his right eye beginning to spasm as he spotted the piles of clothes on the floor. Willow stifled a laugh, almost choking on it. And Buffy’s fists curled like she was preparing to hit one—or both—of you.

Spike didn’t look away from the TV, although the corner of his mouth twitched. You dug your fingers into the chair’s arm rests.

“I deserve a raise.”

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #spike x reader #fanfiction

[elizabeethan]

Always By Your Side

Part 5/6 of It’s About Bloody Time (Season 3 Canon Divergent after Neverland). 

Catch up on Ao3 or tumblr!

Summary: “Not that,” she says, and she does roll her eyes this time. “I told them about what happened before. You know, when you left me pregnant in jail for your crime.” 

The tone she uses and the satisfaction she gets from his reaction is slightly sadistic, but when his jaw drops open and his eyes bug out, as if this is the most shocking news she could have ever told him, she can’t help but feel her pulse buzz with the sensation of sweet catharsis. 

“You did what?” he hisses.

A/N: One part to go!! The next one will likely be a bit shorter, and I'm sure you can guess what it'll consist of content wise! Thank you so much for reading, reblogging and commenting! Reading peoples' reactions is what keeps me going :) 

Anna had been brought over in the first curse. Apparently, she and her fiancé Kristoff were in the Enchanted Forest, or Misthaven, as she calls it, looking for information about her parents when the curse struck. When they didn’t return, Elsa froze her kingdom and searched for her sister for 29 years, which is apparently something that she can do.

When Elsa found Anna on a whim, working in the ice cream shop that Henry frequents, she jumped from where she was seated with Emma and Henry and nearly gave Emma a heart attack. As it turns out, Anna knew she needed help getting back home, but was too scared to ask anyone because she kept seeing the sheriffs with the Dark One and wasn’t sure where to turn. Whoops.

Now that all is well, Elsa, Anna, and Emma sit in Granny’s while Kristoff and David catch up and Henry sits at the counter with Hook. They’re considering how they might find their way back to Arendelle, but Emma can’t seem to focus on the conversation at hand.

She has been trying to muster up the courage to talk to Henry for weeks now. Killian rarely lets her forget that she’ll be starting to show very soon, constantly placing his warm hand over her 14-week, not-quite-there-yet baby bump. She wants to tell Henry, she really does, but something in her keeps stopping her. Archie says she fears that she will somehow damage their relationship, and she knows he must be right. He also agrees with Killian that this pregnancy is bringing up some unresolved trauma from her past. What a shock, she thinks.

Talking to Archie has been hard. She told him all about her past; about how she was pregnant and abandoned in prison for a crime she didn’t commit, about how she gave birth while chained to a hospital bed a couldn’t bear to look at her son. She cries a lot during their sessions together, and she knows it isn’t really pregnancy related (now that she’s officially reached her second trimester, her symptoms have been a lot less obnoxious). They’ve been working together for about a month now, and she still cries every time. But every time she starts to apologize, he stops her to thank her for letting him in and for allowing him to understand how she’s feeling. It’s weird, but she thinks she likes it. It’s... what’s the word he always uses? Validating.

“Hopefully I can get another portal working,” Elsa says, drawing Emma out of her thoughts.

Emma nods in response. Elsa finally found a clue of where her sister went when she found Princess Aurora back in the Enchanted Forest, who told her about the curse and that many people were trapped in another realm. “I’m sure you can.”

“Someone is distracted,” she says with a smirk sent Emma’s way, and she hears Anna laugh lightly in agreement.

“I don’t think she’s heard a single word we’ve said, Elsa.”

“I’m sorry,” she says in response. “You’re right, I am distracted. There’s a lot going on right now.”

Elsa nods and Anna smiles sweetly to her, taking a sip from her mug. It’s started to get really chilly out with Christmas just two weeks away, so Emma has successfully turned her new friends on to the wonder that is hot chocolate. “You still haven’t talked to your son, have you?”

Emma smiles softly, briefly, and shakes her head. She and Elsa have become fast friends since they met several weeks ago, and she finds that Elsa can read her almost as well as Killian can. “No,” she says. “I still don’t know how.”

“Well,” Elsa starts, reaching across the table and taking Emma’s hands in hers. “I suppose I don’t know much about your situation. I’ve never been pregnant, and I don’t have any children, but I am the daughter of parents who neglected to tell me the truth for much of my life. Trust me when I say it would have been better for me if they had told me the truth.”

Emma nods, shooting another glance at Henry. He’s laughing at something Killian said, and Killian’s eyes are lighting up as if he’s happier than he’s ever been. “You’re right. I know I have to tell him eventually. I can’t exactly keep hiding it.” As if on instinct, she removes one hand from Elsa’s and reaches it down to rest it against her miniscule bump concealed by a thick sweater.

Much later that night, she finds herself in bed with her pirate again, his hand running soothingly up and down along her the bare skin of her belly as she nestles her back against his front. He continues to press soft kisses against the back of her neck, his nose nuzzling behind her ear, drawing a breathy laugh from her every so often.

“You’re growing, love. Every day the little blob gets bigger and bigger, and soon I’ll finally be able to see him.”

“Or her,” she amends, hoping to keep an open mind. She corrects him pretty often when he mentions the baby being a boy, but in reality, she thinks it’s a boy, too.

“Aye,” he says, kissing her neck again. “Tuesday will be 15 weeks. The applications say you should be getting bigger now that you’re feeling better and the baby is growing more. She’ll be the size of a pear.”

“Apps,” she says with a laugh as she squeezes his hand. “You're cute. And I am getting bigger. I think I have a bump, it’s just hard to distinguish it from regular bloating.”

He hums. “You're rather slight to begin with, love. I believe soon you’ll start to show much more, if the apps are correct.”

“Slight?” she laughs.

“Slim, slender, small,” he says, trailing off and obviously attempting to not offend her.

“Mhmm,” she says. “I was small with Henry, too, but I was probably a bit malnourished.”

“Well, we won’t allow that, now will we, Swan? Perhaps I should go and get you some fruit? You may need it to revive yourself after all that vigorous lovemaking.”

She snorts, reaching behind her to pinch the skin of his hip.

“I would like some fruit, actually. And some Cheez-Its.”

“Sounds like a nice compromise, darling. I’ll be back shortly,” he says, standing and exposing his bare ass to her. She reaches for it quickly and pinches him again, drawing a yelp from him as he leaves the room.

She rolls over onto her back once he leaves, glancing down at her belly and stroking it in small, soft circles. He’s right, she is going to start getting bigger very soon, and it’ll become harder and harder to hide. With this knowledge, she’s faced with the truth: she’ll need to tell Henry, and soon.

~~~~

A week later, when she finally breaks down and realizes that she needs to buy new jeans, she accepts the fact that it’s time. Henry has to know, no matter how he may react. This should be one hell of a Christmas present for him.

She picks him up from Regina’s on Sunday morning, promising him breakfast and cocoa from Granny’s. The moment he hops into the car, she can tell that he’s in a good mood.

“Hey kid,” she says with a smile as he bounces into his seat.

“Hey mom!”

“You're in a good mood today,” she points out.

“Yeah, my mom and dad have been talking about Christmas. I might be getting two Christmases this year!”

“Oh,” she starts, startled by his exclamation as she pulls out of Regina’s driveway. “you mean with Regina and your dad? Because you can spend Christmas with me and your grandparents, too.”

“Really?” The excitement in his voice is more than evident. “Awesome! That’s three Christmases!”

“Yeah.” She smiles over at him, hopeful that his good mood will extend as they arrive at Granny’s. “Come on, kid. Let’s get some waffles, I’ve been craving them all week. And nothing is gonna keep me away from Granny’s hot chocolate now that I can finally drink it again.”

“What do you mean, again?”

Oops. She falters, then says, “nothing, come on.”

Once they're inside and seated, Ruby brings over a mug for Henry and gives Emma a look, as if asking if she wants any, and Emma nods.

“So,” she finally says, once they have full plates set in front of them. “We need to talk.”

He clears his throat around his too-big bite of waffle and looks up at her, his eyes wide. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “No, you're not in trouble, kid. Just… it’s just that things are changing around here, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“You mean like you dating Captain Hook?”

“Yeah,” she says tentatively. “Sort of like that; I guess this relates to that.”

“Okay… so what is it? Is this about my dad? I know you guys aren’t together, you know.”

“No, I know. It's not that either, Henry. It’s… I’m… Hook and I…” She inhales more deeply than she knew she could, reaching down to her mug and taking a long sip.

“Mom, whatever’s going on, it’s okay.”

She smiles up at him. Leave it up to her kid to be more mature than her. “Henry… you're going to be… you're going to be a big brother,” she finally spits out before immediately going back to her hot chocolate, her ability to look him in the eye failing her.

“Wait… you mean…?”

“I’m going to have a baby. In June.”

She still can’t look at him, still hides behind her mug, but when he speaks, she thinks she can hear a smile in his voice. “Really?”

When she finally finds it in herself to look up, she does see a smile gracing his face. “Yeah,” she says, matching his expression with her own.

“I’m gonna be a big brother,” he confirms.

“Yeah, you are, kid.”

He laughs now, standing up and walking around the table to sit on his knees next to her in the booth, wrapping her in a hug. “This is awesome!” he says into her ear, and she swears she feels tears stinging the back of her eyes, even though she thought she was past this particular symptom.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah! Of course! Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know yet,” she grins. “We can find out in a few weeks when I go to the doctor.” His face is still alight, and she’s in awe of his reaction. “Henry,” she breathes out, shaking her head. “Are you sure you're… alright with this?”

His draws his brows together, as she often does, and cocks his head to the side. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, because of…” she starts, looking down from his eyes again and reaching for her mug. “Because of what happened. Because of what I did—when I had you.” She’s surprised at herself for even getting the words out, and she thinks that Archie will be proud of her when she sees him on Wednesday.

“Mom, I thought we talked about this when you came to Storybrooke? I know why you did that.”

She nods, still in awe of his maturity. “I know, but I didn’t want you to think that I'm replacing you. This baby wasn’t planned or anything, but… well, we’re planning on keeping him or her. And I don’t want to make you feel…”

He takes her hand in his, and she finally finds it in herself to look up at him, to meet his eyes with hers, and she sees joy. “You gave me up to give me my best chance. You were in jail; you couldn’t have raised me. But now you're happy and you're in a good place. Don’t you know what that means?” She shakes her head, feeling more childish than her own child. “It means that you're this baby’s best chance now.”

She does feel tears burning her eyes now, the heat of them dripping down onto her cheeks at the sound of his words. “Henry,” she starts, choking on words before they can leave her tongue.

“I’m not a kid anymore, mom. I know that things have changed between now and when you had me.”

She lets out a breath, finding it hard not to laugh at the wise words coming from her son. “You are perceptive, aren’t you?”

“Well, my mom is a bail bondsperson, I guess it runs in the family.”

~~~~

Emma Swan was never very fond of Christmas. Normally viewed as a holiday spent with family, Christmas has been a dark mark on Emma’s past for as long as she could remember. Although she was in Storybrooke last year, she had only arrived a few weeks prior and the curse was not yet broken, so there wasn’t much celebration taking place. The obvious lack of decorations and Christmas spirit should have struck her as odd, but she didn’t think much of it at the time. Now, she realizes that no one who grew up in the Enchanted Forest celebrated the religious holiday. However, now that she’s here and her parents remember her, they are determined to give her a happy holiday season.

They plan to spend Christmas day together tomorrow, but for tonight, she and Killian will be spending Christmas Eve alone in his apartment, and they start by decorating a tree. Killian is determined to give her an authentic Christmas experience as well, and so far, he’s delivering.

He curses as he rounds the tree over and over, trying his hardest to string the lights properly as she stands off to the side and holds the strands for him. “Bloody hell,” he says as he gets stuck with another needle. “Wasn’t there an option for a non-living tree? That might not hurt quite as much.”

“This is my first real Christmas, Killian. I need to have a real tree.”

“The whole tree tradition seems silly to me,” he counters as he pokes his head out from behind again, the lights finally reaching the top.

“That’s because you keep getting poked.”

“Aye, well, perhaps the task would be easier for someone with two hands.”

She rolls her eyes with a soft laugh. “Come on, I have never heard you use that as an excuse, don’t start now.”

He rolls his eyes too, smirking over at her as he takes a box of red and blue ornaments from her, balancing it on his left arm and hanging them with his right. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s compensating for his missing hand.

Once the tree is filled with colorful balls and lit with twinkling white lights, they make their way to the kitchen to work on making cookies, and it takes everything in Emma not to eat the dough each time she breaks a piece off. She elected to buy both the kinds decorated with reindeer and with Santa, figuring the more the merrier.

“These are horrible for you, Swan. The amount of sugar…”

“They're sugar cookies!”

“There’s absolutely no nutritional value. Perhaps we shouldn’t have bought two packages.”

She rolls her eyes again as she opens the hot oven and places the tray inside, trading it for a batch of freshly baked treats. The smells wafts over her nose and fills his kitchen, making her mouth water.

“Please, I plan on eating so many of these that I give birth to a gingerbread baby,” she deadpans to him, pulling a cookie from the parchment and tossing it from one hand to another in hopes of cooling it down before hoisting herself onto the counter.

“That makes no sense, love. You just told me these are sugar cookies, why would you have gingerbread?”

“It’s a children’s book,” she says, grinning to him as she finally takes a bite, saying a quick goodbye to poor Rudolph.

He chuckles, rounding the corning so that he was standing between her knees and placing a hand against her waist. “Perhaps the little love will enjoy that story.”

She giggles—actually giggles—as she presses a soft kiss to his lips. God, she is so gone for him, it’s scary. “Perhaps.”

With his hand running up and down along her waist, finally landing on her ass, he pulls her to the edge of the counter so that she can feel the heat of him against her center through her leggings.

“We don’t have time to do this before the movie comes on,” she reminds him as his soft lips trail along the length of her neck.

“Hmm,” he hums, “perhaps not, but I think it may be worth it.”

She groans when he nips at her ear lobe, then traces the line of her pulse with his tongue. “After.”

He backs away slightly, letting out a sigh and pecking her on the tip of her nose. “As you wish, darling, but I hope you're prepared for what’s to come after this wonderful movie.”

“It’s called It’s a Wonderful Life, you don’t have to be sarcastic,” she says with a laugh, taking his hand and hopping off of the counter. He heads over to the couch and fetches her favorite throw blanket while she takes the last tray of cookies from the oven, then places the cooler ones on a plate and carries them to the couch.

“Sorry, love, I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to be here doing this with you. I’m honored that you wanted to celebrate with me.”

“Well,” she starts, plopping down next to him as he wraps the blanket around her tightly. “You are my baby daddy. I suppose there isn’t anyone else available who I’d rather spend my evening with.”

“Ah, so I’m the best available option, is that it?” he asks with a laugh, squeezing her tightly in his arms and pressing a firm and lingering kiss to her temple.

“Yes, well, my son is with his mother.”

“I’m only teasing, darling. I am truly glad to have you here this evening. And evidently, this film is a classic, or so my baby mama will have me believe.”

She turns her head, unable to move much in the security of his arms and draws her brows tightly together. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Our dear friend, Ruby,” he says as the commercial ends and the movie starts. “She asked me this morning how my baby mama was feeling today.”

“I never told her,” she mumbles.

“According to her, she’s very perceptive, and you're horrible at hiding it.”

“Shit.”

“The little peach will be able to hear us soon, Swan, if they can’t already; we may need to find new vocabulary.”

She scoffs, unsure of her ability to not swear, especially during labor and delivery, and turns her focus back onto the movie.

Killian seems to like it, and Emma assumes that it’s slightly easier for him to watch because of the lack of twenty-first century technology getting in his way. She’s always had a soft spot for the film, perhaps because she always hoped to find her family. She knew that she wouldn’t take advantage of it like George Bailey did.

He runs his hand up and down her arm when she cries at the end, kissing her temple and her ear. “That was sweet,” he says as the credits begin to roll.

“It was always my favorite. They based Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street on those characters, you know.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he whispers against her hair, and she feels another kiss against the crown of her head.

“You will in a year or two, trust me.” He chuckles and she turns in his arms so that she’s facing him. “I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Swan,” he argues, but she’s standing anyway, struggling slightly with her hips and back aching after sitting for so long. She heads for his coat closet and returns with a few wrapped rectangles, thrusting them towards him as she plops back down.

He looks to her before peeling the tape away from one of them, unwrapping them carefully and not even tearing the paper. It threatens to drive her insane, but it’s so painfully Killian.

When he finally removes the festive paper, he smiles at the sight of the book’s cover art. “Peter Pan, why the bloody hell would I want to read this,” he says jokingly through a laugh, hugging her into his side and kissing her cheek.

“It’s more of a gag gift, I thought you might want to learn about this world’s depiction of you. The others are probably going to be more enjoyable.” He opens the other two, revealing Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. “They're pirate books,” she explains. “There are movies you might like, too, but I thought you’d want to start with the books.”

“Aye, love, I’d love to. I look forward to reading them.” He kisses her softly, his tongue slipping along her bottom lip. “Thank you, love,” he nearly whispers, his voice rough and deep.

“It’s nothing,” she breathes out, overwhelmed by the gravel in his voice.

“It was a wonderful gesture,” he kisses her once more. “I got you something as well.”

She shakes her head, but he catches her jaw in his hand and kisses her again before standing and making his way to his bedroom. He returns quickly with a giftbag stuffed with tissue paper.

“Did you have help wrapping this?” she grins.

“Aye, Granny gave me a hand.”

She laughs at the picture in her head and takes the bag as he hands it to her. She removes some of the tissue and pulls out a maroon leather jacket, drawing a grin along her face. “I don’t have one in this color,” she points out, looking up at him and cocking her head to the side.

“There’s more in the bag, love.”

She looks down again, her attention being brought back to the gift bag as she digs her hand in deeper and feels more leather near the bottom. She pulls gently, expecting it to come out with more difficulty than it does. When she removes the item, she realizes it’s because she wasn’t tugging on a leather jacket made for a fully-grown woman.

What she pulls out of the bag instead is a tiny leather jacket, the same color as the one that was just gifted to her. A matching leather jacket for a matching tiny human.

“Killian,” she says, her grin somehow growing and her cheeks burning. “This is… this is so adorable.” She’s laughing as she holds the jacket up again, then she stands and holds it up against her tiny bump. “It’s perfect, look!”

He’s laughing now too, standing with her and placing his hand on her belly. “I’m glad you like it, love.”

“I do, I love it,” she says, nodding and looking up at him. Without thinking, she places the jacket back down on the couch and reaches her arms around his neck to link her hands in his hair, pulling him down to her for a soft kiss that eventually turns heated when his tongue runs along hers.

Before she knows it, her legs are around his waist and he’s carrying her out of the living room and down the hall before gently laying her down on his king-sized bed. It was certainly an improvement from his small bunk on the Jolly Roger, and if she thought she was sleeping well there, she had a new thing coming when she started sleeping here.

He trails his lips along her body, lifting her to remove her festive sweater and kiss along the cleavage peeking out of her bra. She lifts again, undoing the hooks for him and releasing her breasts for him to ravage before he trails his lips and teeth and tongue down to her belly, pressing soft and loving kisses along the slight swell of skin before reaching to remove her leggings.

His tongue dances along her clit for several moments before he adds two fingers, drawing her to her peak quickly as he sucks and nips at her sensitive skin. She tugs on his hair, begging him to meet her lips with his before he’s pulling his clothes off and sinking into her tenderly. His thrusts are gentle yet precise, and she’s nearly driven mad at the feel of his scruffy face dragging along the sensitive skin of her neck. He continues to drive into her, reaching his hand down to where they're joined to rub quick circles against her aching clit, drawing moans and screams from her parted lips as she finally flutters and clenches around his throbbing cock.

It’s as he finishes, his face buried into her neck just below her ear, his hand squeezing hers above her head as her other scratches marks into his back, that she hears it. His lips press against her neck as he lets out moans and words of encouragement before she hears him whisper, “I love you,” into her sensitive skin.

She’s in a post-coital daze, but she knows she doesn’t imagine it. She knows she heard it without a doubt in her mind, and although her breath catches and her body tenses, her heart still beating rapidly, she doesn’t pull away from him. She doesn’t try to run.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and she knows that he didn’t mean to let it slip. “I’m—” he starts, but he doesn’t seem to have anything to say.

“Killian,” she whispers, running her hands along his back and through his hair. “It’s alright.”

“I didn’t, uh,” he starts, perhaps suddenly realizing that he’s still inside her as he presses his body up from hers and reaches for the box of tissues by the bed. “I didn’t exactly mean to let that out just then.”

“I figured,” she says with a smile, accepting the tissue he hands her and cleaning herself up.

“It wasn’t exactly… how I’d planned to tell you. But… Emma, you must know that I meant it.”

Now she panics slightly, a bit surprised at herself for only becoming scared once she receives confirmation that this is, in fact, how he feels. “You did?”

“Aye, very much so. I realize that you may not be ready to say it back, which is why I wasn’t going to say it any time soon, but…” he trails off, still struggling to make eye contact with her, which she doesn’t mind. He takes the tissues from her and tosses them into the bin before taking a seat next to her. “I don’t expect you to say it back. But I need you to know that I meant it. And it’s not just because of the babe. He’s certainly helped to… solidify things… but how I feel is independent of this little bugger.”

She considers this. Considers saying something in response. It would be the emotionally mature thing to do, and she’s certainly been working on her emotional maturity lately. But she has no idea what to say, and now she’s starting to think about how she truly feels about him. About how he truly feels about her. Now, she’s starting to worry that she may love him too.

Is worry the right word?

Before she can say anything, she feels a soft flutter in her stomach, as if she’s the host to a flock butterflies and they're trying to take off. She immediately lets her eyes bug out, reaching down to her belly and pressing softly into it in hopes that she’ll feel more. “Killian,” she says, pulling on his hand and placing it under hers. It’s silly, she knows; he can’t feel anything yet. But she wants him to be a part of this. “I felt him.”

“He moved?” he asks with a smile thick in his voice.

“He was fluttering just a second ago,” she responds, grinning as she looks at him with tears in her eyes. “You won’t be able to feel it yet, but…”

“Aye,” he whispers, finally meeting her eyes with his glassy ones. He leans in to press another kiss to her lips before leaning down and kissing her belly. He whispers, “nice to hear from you, little one,” before kissing her skin again.

She laughs through her tears and squeezes his hand as it rests against their growing baby. She can’t bring herself to say anything to him yet. They haven’t even been together for very long, only about four months. Is that even enough time for someone to fall in love with someone else? With her?

She thinks of what Archie would say when she starts to doubt herself and whether she’s deserving of the love of another, using the skills he’s been teaching her to challenge her negative thoughts, then focuses back on her child and its father. Whether or not she thinks of herself as deserving of his love, or capable of loving him back, she sleeps soundly with the knowledge that she and Killian are both madly in love with the life they’ve created together.

~~~~

Emma Swan has never fully been able to relate to the term “like a kid on Christmas morning,” until she woke up on Christmas morning to Killian Jones with his head between her legs. That comparison may be slightly disturbed, but the feeling she’s experiencing now must be on par with how a child feels when they wake up to their dreams coming true.

He was determined to make this holiday season a good one for her, and so far, he’s off to a great start.

Her hips start to jolt upwards, and he reaches his hand up and places it gently on her belly to still her before he laces his fingers with hers. He continues to draw thick strips between her folds, the sounds coming from him absolutely sinister and drawing loud moans from her lips. His tongue zips from side to side over her clit before he starts sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a pop, making her hips jump again.

Eventually, she drags their hands downward so that she can let go and lace her fingers through his hair once his own reach her opening and press inside. He doesn’t bother to tease her open with just one, seemingly able to read that she’s more than ready to take two of his thick fingers. He may regret letting go of her hips as she moves them with ferocity against his face and fingers, but it doesn’t seem like he minds as she feels the low buzz of his moans.  

He makes her come so hard that, once she feels herself becoming lucid again, she starts laughing. It’s a soft chuckle at first, but then it morphs into uncontrollable hysterics until her eyes are watering and her face is red and hot. He starts laughing too, wiping his mouth and scooting himself up to her level to lie down and comb through the ends of her messy hair with his fingers.

“What’s funny, love?”

“I don’t know,” she laughs again. “I guess I was just thinking about what a nice Christmas present that was.” She’s laughed so hard now that she begins to cough, and he reaches towards the side of the bed and hands her a bottle of water.

“Glad you enjoyed,” he says with a smirk and a kiss to the tip of her nose as she hums out another laugh.

“I’m nervous,” she finally says once she’s settled down, sinking back into the thick comforter and into the warmth of his arms.

“For dinner? I thought things were better with your family now that you’ve spoken to your parents?”

She hums, nodding into his shoulder and turning onto her side, slotting her leg over his hips to hold onto him like a koala. “They are, but my mom invited Neal and Regina, plus Granny and Ruby. I get why—she wanted to make it feel like a true family dinner for Henry. But I still don’t really want to face Neal.”

He sighs, his blunted arm running gently along her bare back and his fingers tracing patterns into the back of her hand, and says, “you can still be upset, love. I’m not particularly fond of the idea myself, but you're right. It is a good idea for Henry’s sake.”

“You're always thinking about him,” she sighs, kissing his neck where she can reach it.

“Only because I’m always thinking about you.”

“Cheese,” she says, pinching the skin on his side, just above a rather nasty-looking scar.

Once they're showered and dressed festively, they head over to Mary Margaret and David’s loft for dinner. She never did understand the concept of calling it dinner, since they arrived at noon and they’ll likely eat at one-thirty, but she lets it slide. She’s realizing that there are a lot of things about Christmas that she doesn’t understand, but she’s trying to roll with it.

The loft is decorated to the nines, covered from floor to ceiling in red and gold. The tree is sitting in the corner by the stairs, and it’s so tall that it almost reaches the second level, and Emma wonders how on earth they got it up the stairs and through the door. It looks beautiful, as if it should be featured in a magazine that she sees at the dentist office.

Mary Margaret, dressed in a red and gold sweater and black skirt and covered with an apron that makes her look like an elf, rushes over to the door when they arrive and embraces the two of them in a warm hug. “I’m so happy to see you both!” she exclaims excitedly into Emma’s hair. She returns her hug with one arm, smiling despite herself.

“Me too,” Emma responds truthfully with a small squeeze.

“Killian, you look positively dashing in red,” she says to him, taking in his royal red vest and making his cheeks turn pink. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him wear it, and when she found it in the closet and insisted that he put it on, he cringed and groaned and argued. But when he pulled it over his black button down, she grinned in a way that must have broken him down. “And look at you, Emma! You look so beautiful in emerald.”

“Thank you,” she says softly, pulling away and brushing down the front of her figure-hugging cowlneck dress and making her way towards the stool at the counter. “Where’s David?”

“Oh, he forgot to get the champagne yesterday, so I sent him out for it. I also asked him to get some sparkling cider for you, Emma, so you can be part of the toast.”

She laughs lightly, feeling Killian’s arm resting along the top of her shoulders and his body sliding to her left. “Thanks.”

Her father comes home, giving her a tight hug and shaking Killian’s hand before wishing them both a Merry Christmas. When Henry finally arrives with Regina, she grins at the outfit she has him in. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit with an emerald tie that perfectly matches Emma’s sweater dress, and she couldn’t have planned something better. “Hey kid,” she says, reaching out to him for a tight hug.

“Hi mom,” he says into her shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

They separate a bit, and she takes his face in her hands and looks at him lovingly before reaching up to gently feel his gel-cast hair and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He looks like a tiny gentleman and her hormonal heart can’t handle it. “You look so handsome, Henry.”

He puts his arms out at his side and spins. “Thanks. Do you like my new suit? My dad helped pick it out.”

Ugh, she thinks, before shoving the thought to the back of her mind for the sake of her son. “He did great.”

“And look, the tie matches you!”

She nods back at him with a grin before kissing his forehead once more and releasing him, determined not to press her luck with the amount of affection he allows her to show. He is nearly a pre-teen, after all.

Plus, soon enough, she’ll have another kid to dote over.

She grins at that thought.

Ruby and Granny arrive soon after, both giving her a hug. Granny surprisingly hugs Killian first, although he doesn’t seem that taken aback by the gesture, then comes to Emma and runs a hand over her belly briefly and shooting her a sweet smile. It’s as if the world has shifted on its axis.

Regina walks over to her, much to her continued surprise, and wishes her a Merry Christmas. She thanks Emma for letting Henry spend the night at her house, telling her that he had a great time eating sweets and watching Elf, and that he was very excited to come down the stairs to presents under the tree this morning. “Well, I suppose that congratulations are in order,” she says somewhat awkwardly, finally making eye contact with Killian before turning back to Emma and glancing down for a moment.

“Oh,” Emma says in surprise. “You heard.”

“Henry told me.” Emma almost makes a snarky comment about being surprised that Neal didn’t spill the beans. “You should know that he’s veryexcited.”

Emma smiles and Killian squeezes her knee as if to say I told you so, Swan. “He is?”

“Oh, yes. He thinks that he’s going to have a baby sister.”

Emma feels a grin splitting her face at that, and suddenly feels overwhelmed by the image of Henry holding a tiny pink bundle, leaning down to kiss her nose, talking to her about magic and curses and fairy tales. “Thank you,” she says after a moment. “That’s… very comforting.”

“Yes, well…” Regina trails off, stiffening again and pursing her red-stained lips. “Best wishes to you both.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Killian says diplomatically.

When Neal arrives, Emma wishes she could indulge in some champagne like the rest of the adults in the room.

Watching him with Henry is reassuring, at least. He’s proven himself to be a fairly devoted father, now that he’s in his son’s life, and she knows that she can’t hold their past over his head forever. She also knows that she isn’t ready to fully forgive him yet, but she can put their history to the side for the sake of their son… today.

At least, that’s what she had hoped, until he came up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, making her flinch. “Hey, Ems,” he says, miraculously able to read her body language and removing his hand.

“Hey.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah, thanks. You too.” She glances down at her flute of cider, wishing again that she could magically turn it into champagne to take some of the edge off.

“You look great.” She sighs, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, and instead doesn’t give him a response. “Emma, look. Since the pirate seems to finally be out of earshot, I wanted to come over and talk to you.”

She feels the heat of anger burning through her veins, her eye twitching and her fingers clenching firmly on her glass at his judgmental remark. “You're not off to a great start,” she says stiffly.

“Sorry, that was rude, I guess. What I meant was, I wanted to talk to you privately.”

“Okay,” she says tentatively. “What is it?”

He takes in a breath and lets it out roughly, taking a seat in the empty stool to her right. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I realized how stupid and selfish I was of me to go to you like I did. And for me to assume that the baby was mine. Like, that was really stupid.”

“Yeah, it was,” she agrees, not feeling like sugarcoating it. He’s right, it was stupid and selfish. Like, extremely stupid.

He laughs lightly, which only serves to piss her off more, and continues. “I guess I just got really jealous. I thought you and I could have worked out eventually, and he said he’s back off. I mean, we have a kid together,” he says with a laugh.

“Right, we do, and that’s great. But now I’m having a kid with someone else and you and I are over. We’ve been over for twelve years.”

“Yeah. I know that now. I'm sorry, Ems.”

She nods, still struggling to look him in the eye. It’s not exactly what she wanted to hear from him, but she supposes it’s a start. “I appreciate your apology, Neal, but I’m still gonna need some time. I can’t just forget about everything overnight.”

“I know, I know. Take your time. Just know that I’m here for you and Henry for whatever either of you need.”

She wants to roll her eyes. What could she possibly need from him? Henry, sure. She’s glad that he wants to be there for him. But her? He’s just being pompous. He’s probably expecting Killian to walk out on her the same way he did.

“Hey, are your parents okay? They seem kind of off today.”

She almost smiles, but fights it back, not wanting to be petty on Christmas. “They seem fine to me.”

“Well, I don’t know why it would just be me.”

Screw it, she thinks. “Maybe it’s because I told them about what happened between us.”

“Well, your mom knows I thought the baby was mine.”

“Not that,” she says, and she does roll her eyes this time. The idea that he genuinely thought that this baby could have been his still astounds her, the idiot. “I told them about what happened before. You know, when you left me pregnant in jail for your crime.”

The tone she uses and the satisfaction she gets from his reaction is slightly sadistic, but when his jaw drops open and his eyes bug out, as if this is the most shocking news she could have ever told him, she can’t help but feel her pulse buzz with the sensation of sweet catharsis.

“You did what?” he hisses.

“Oh, I told them what happened.”

“Why? You know I didn’t have a choice!”

She hums, still looking down at her hands and trying hard to fight the smile. “If you didn’t have a choice, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“You're still making me look bad to my kid’s grandparents,” he spits out in a low tone.

“Oh, I’m making you look bad?” He’s triggered something in her now, making her whip her head in his direction and raise her voice just a touch too high. “It’s just like I said. If you didn’t have a choice, then your conscience should be clear. Doesn’t that mean you did nothing wrong?”

Before he has a chance to respond, Mary Margaret calls everyone to the table. She certainly would have continued to argue with him, but she keeps the spirit of Christmas alive in her mind.

Unlike the last time the entire family was sat around this table, her assigned seat is next to Killian’s. She also has Henry on her right, so she thinks she couldn’t be more pleased with the arrangement until Neal takes his seat across from her. It’s alright, though, she’s focusing on a positive attitude today, for the sake of their son.

“Before we begin,” David says, standing up once everyone has found their seats. “I wanted to propose a toast. Firstly, to Henry, for spending his first Christmas with his family, sans curse. The same could be said for Emma as well,” he lifts his glass and everyone at the table does the same, murmuring in agreement and passing around smiles. “I also wanted to say a thank you to my lovely wife, Snow, for graciously hosting this dinner for our family.” More murmurs and raised glasses. “And I believe she has something to say here as well?”

Mary Margaret stands now, holding her glass but not raising it quite yet, and each person at the table turns to face her. “Thank you, honey. I wanted to say a few words to Emma and Killian.” In surprise, Emma purses her lips and cocks up an eyebrow. “As I believe everyone here is aware, the two of them are expecting a baby in the middle of June.” She sees Ruby and Granny smirking at her from across the table. “When I first heard the news, I was surprised, and I didn’t handle it very well.” Mary Margaret is looking squarely at the two of them, and Emma thinks she can see her eyes glassing over as she speaks. “I wanted to say, to my daughter, I feel so much joy when I think about you having another child. I’m so sorry that my response at first wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, especially coming from your mother. Now that I’ve gotten over the shock, I hope to support you in any way that I can. I cannot wait to meet my grandbaby and to see you as a mother again.” Emma’s eyes sting now as she smiles up at her.

“And to Hook…” she swallows, clearing her throat before continuing. “To Killian, thank you. I can see clearly now the way that you treat our daughter—like the princess that she is.” She chuckles a bit before continuing. “This pregnancy may not have been planned in the slightest, but the amount of love and respect you have for Emma is palpable each time I see the two of you together.” She smiles at each of them before going on. “I also wanted to apologize to him. David and I were not exactly accepting of him when we first heard the news, myself especially. But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that everyone deserves a second chance. And if there’s one person I know who has proven himself deserving of a second chance, it’s you. If the way that you treat my daughter is any indication, you will be a wonderful father.” She’s looking directly at him when she raises her glass, adorning him with a soft grin as a tear slips from her eye. Emma squeezes his knee this time, feeling the tears burning her eyes and heating up her cheeks as they fall.

“To Emma and Killian,” David takes over. “May their baby be healthy and happy, wanting for nothing.” Each person at the table brings their glasses to the center, clinking them together and giving her and Killian soft smiles. She doesn’t bother to look in Neal’s direction. “Now, let’s eat!”

~~~~

The weeks fly by, the new year coming and going, and before they know it, it’s the middle of January and Emma is twenty weeks pregnant. Killian was right when he said she would start to show soon—her belly has grown into a formidable bump, and the two of them can’t seem to stop themselves from touching it whenever they can.

She really needs him to stop touching it now, though, because she knows the ultrasound technician will be in any moment and she doesn’t want them to walk in on him tickling her like he is now.

Her symptoms have been relatively easy since starting the second trimester, the worst of them being the cramps she gets in her legs and her near debilitating heartburn. She remembers the heartburn from her pregnancy with Henry, but the muscle cramps are worse than she can recall. She’s been dealing with heartburn by eating small meals pretty frequently, and she finds herself to be hungry very frequently now that her horrible morning sickness is finally at bay. According to Killian's applications, she's gained a healthy amount of weight so far.

The anatomy scan is important and exciting, though they still haven’t decided if they want to know the sex. She’s looking forward to seeing the baby again and learning about its growth and development, hopeful that everything is going as it should. They’ve had many conversations back and forth, but they can’t seem to come to a conclusion on whether they should find out what, or who, she’s carrying.

They both sort of suspect that she’s having a boy, although they have absolutely no reasoning behind their thoughts. Henry is convinced that he’s going to have a baby sister, and she’s considering finding out just for him.

When the sonographer arrives, Killian sits back, finally moving to stop annoying her. She greets them happily, asks how things are going, and reaches for the cold gel before applying it to her bare bump. She scans the wand over her belly, showing them the baby’s face and body and organs as she notes things down and takes measurements. The process is a long one, and it seems to take hours of rubbing and pressing and Emma turning from side to side before she finally gets all of the information she needs.

“I can see the sex of your baby— very easily. This little one is not very shy! Are you two interested in knowing what you're having?”

They look at each other and she shrugs and smiles. She genuinely doesn’t know, and now that it’s time to come to a decision, she can’t see to make one.

“If you’re having trouble deciding, I can write it on a piece of paper and seal it in an envelope.”

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand, looking back over to the screen at the baby’s round face and perfectly sloped nose. “I like that idea, love,” he says to her, and she nods.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Once they're home—or should she say, back at Killian’s place— she takes the yellow envelope from her pocket and places it on the kitchen table. Maybe they’ll have some elaborate announcement or maybe she’ll just rip the envelope open one day, unable to wait any longer. Whatever they decide, she knows it’ll be perfect.

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: 

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @profdanglaisstuff @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook 

#Always By Your Side #it's about bloody time #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan smut #cs ff #cs smut #captain hook #killian jones #emma swan #season 3 divergence #canon divergence #neverland smut #or the aftermath of neverland smut #anti neal #anti baelfire #anti swanfire #it's christmas yall #my writing

[kinglazrus]

When the Time Comes

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @pipermasters: how does Vlad react to having to spend ten years watching Dan destroy the world

Summary: Knowing you caused the end of the world isn’t easy, but Vlad's had to live with that fact for ten long years. A surprise visitor forces him to reflect on his role in Dan's creation and the destruction he brought to the world.

Word count: 2077

People say not to dwell on the past, but when the present is a hell of brimstone and fire, there's little else you can do. Ten years is a long time to watch the world burn, too long. Vlad often wonders what right he had to survive for so long, wasting away in the crumbling remains of his manor. He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, yet still he lives. Even with his ghost half long removed from his body, he lives. It must be some cosmic punishment. His debt to pay to the world. Everything is his fault, and for his crimes, he must witness humanity's slow demise.

Vlad didn't realize what he was unleashing all those years ago, what havoc it would wreak. How could he? When he sank his claws, quite literally, into young Daniel's chest, he truly believed he was helping the boy. It seemed like such an easy solution. Ghosts, despite all their emotions, have always been simple beings. They are not restrained by heartache and loss, left to frolic in the life-after-life without worldly concerns.

At the time, Vlad wished someone had been around for him in his college years, the same way he was for Danny then, to rid him of his pain. Abandoned by his best friends, left aching, alone, and—he believed—dying, a younger Vlad would have revelled at the thought of release. He only wanted to give Daniel what he himself could never have.

Daniel, sedated and unconscious, felt nothing. Despite all his villainy, Vlad wasn't cruel. At least not unnecessarily so. There was always a chance the procedure could hurt, and Daniel had been through so much already. Vlad wanted to spare him whatever pain he could.

The procedure was a resounding success. His modifications to Jack and Maddie's Ghost Gauntlets worked like a charm, not leaving a single scratch on Daniel's human body. The ghost in Daniel resisted at first. Vlad did not expect it to fight back, and he almost stopped, believing Daniel didn't truly want this.. But then he remembered his years of pain and misery and spurred himself on. His arms trembled, sweat beading his brow, as they fought their little battle of wills.

Vlad won out, in due time, dragging the ghost out of Daniel's body, a pale shade of itself. For a moment, the sudden success shocked him. He always had faith in his smarts and his abilities, but there was a little part of him that whispered it wouldn't work, that something would go wrong. When Vlad raised up his arms, Phantom hanging off his claws, that voice was silenced.

Until the monitor watching Daniel's vitals started shrieking. Phantom reacted violently. His eyes, so much duller than they should have been, snapped open and he threw Vlad across the room. Vlad knew, then, that something was terribly wrong.

Daniel's heart was slowing, his lungs failing. Phantom looked moments away from destabilizing, the wounds on his chest bubbling and seeping ectoplasm.

"Wh... at... did y... ou do," Phantom asked.

Vlad wishes, now, that he had tried to explain. If only he had found the words, he could have told Phantom, this was is you wanted, isn't it? Neither of them could have foreseen it going wrong. But Vlad's wits failed him in that moment.

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, wondering if he could have stopped it all back then. Perhaps Phantom would have listened. Or he could have ignored Vlad's harried excuses, and nothing would change at all. Vlad will never know.

His next memories are lost to a haze of pain. After getting his own ghost half brutally torn out of his body, he was left on the verge of death. Spirit broken, his very being ripped apart, he collapsed in agony. He remembers only the shadows and how they writhed as Phantom tried to overpower Plasmius.

Mercifully, he did not witness Daniel's death. Vlad awoke, cold, alone, consumed by a gnawing pain, and found the body. It was mangled beyond recognition, but he knew it could be no one else.

Vlad didn't know what horrors followed that harrowing night until weeks later. He secluded himself in his mansion, mourning everything he had lost. Without Maddie, without Daniel, there was nothing left for him beyond these walls. His wealth meant nothing if he could not have them. Locked in a prison of his own anguish, surrounded by riches most men could only dream of having, he was resigned to wallowing in misery.

He wishes that's how it happened. But Vlad had a price to pay. Fate, the world, whatever or whoever, refused to let him die. So, Vlad watched. Hiding away in his manor like the coward he was, he watched Dan destroy the world.

The killings were brutal. Violent displays of power that levelled whole cities. Nothing could placate Dan. Like Vlad, he was consumed by greed, hellbent to obtain something he could not have. No amount of destruction could bring back the people Danny had lost.

That pained Vlad the most. Dan was a monster, a cruel beast with no remorse. But inside he was a child in mourning. He was confused and scared and hurt, and Plasmius' influenced twiste him in horrible ways.

Vlad tried to stop Dan, but only once. Four years after Dan began his crusade against the world, Vlad finally crawled out of his manor, a pitiful slug, and made his way to Amity Park. By then, it was well on its way to being the last city on Earth, the only place fortified against Dan's power. Vlad stood outside its walls, an ecto-pistol in hand, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"What a surprise! I never thought I'd see you again, old man," Dan said. He looked so much worse than Vlad ever imagined. Sickly pale, purple veins throbbing under his skin, bloodshot eyes. Despite all that, he gave off a suffocating aura of power. Vlad was instantly reminded of his own weak state. For the first time, he felt afraid of an opponent.

"Daniel, you have to stop," Vlad said.

"Daniel. I always hated it when you called me that." Dan raised his hand, firing a single beam of ectoplasm from his finger. Vlad flinched as it shot over his shoulder, singeing his cheek and burning his hair. The sight of it made Dan chuckle.

"Danny," Vlad amended.

Another beam shot over his other shoulder.

"That's not me anymore," Dan hissed, his forked tongue slipping between his teeth.

"Dan," Vlad finally said. When Dan didn't immediately attack him, he continued. "You can't do this forever."

"Funny words from someone like you."

"This won't bring them back." Vlad instantly regretted saying it.

Dan rushed forward, grabbing Vlad and pinning him against Amity's barrier. Despite not having a ghost half anymore, the barrier remained firm against his back.

"Don't act like you know me, old man," Dan growled.

"But I do, because you're part of me as well! Is this what Maddie would have wanted for you?"

"It doesn't matter what she would have wanted! She's gone! They're all gone!" Dan roared in Vlad's face, pulling him forward and slamming him back, over and over, against the wall. The back of Vlad's head struck the barrier, rattling his brain. It was like getting hit in the head with a sledgehammer. His vision blurred, dark spots filling his eyes, and he didn't realize Dan had stopped until he blinked and found himself on his hands and knees over a puddle of vomit.

The back of his head felt warm and wet.

Dan, disgusted, sneered. "It's not even worth killing a pathetic thing like you." Turning, he started flying away.

"Stop!" Vlad called weakly after him. Struggling to his feet, he raised the ecto-pistol in a shaky hand. "I will stop you, Dan. I can't let you do this anymore."

"Funny, you seemed okay with it so far."

Vlad pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out of the gun, flying straight for Dan, and... it did nothing. A hole opened in the middle of Dan's back, letting the bullet pass harmlessly through him. He didn't even look back. The gun fell from Vlad's hand with a clatter. He dropped to his knees, useless. That was the day he truly gave up.

—

"Why are you telling me this?" Danny asks.

Vlad pauses his tale, giving Danny a long, considering look. To Vlad, Danny's motives have always been scrutable, his face as easy to read as a children's picture book. Dan shares the same trait. He may be more brutal and more cunning than Danny ever was, but beneath all that sadistic violence are signs of the boy Vlad once knew.

Having Danny in front of him now is such an odd, yet liberating experience. It reminds Vlad of a time untainted by his machinations. This boy's future still has a chance. Vlad despises it.

"Since meeting you, little badger, my one wish has always been to impart my wisdom. You can't blame me for that. Humans are so attached to their legacies." Vlad leans back and gestures to the decrepit room. "This is my legacy."

Rising to his feet, he points to the ceiling. "That, out there, is my legacy. It is not one I want people to remember. I suppose, with how few people remain left, that won't be an issue for much longer. Is it so wrong for me to want to change that?"

"You want... to help me," Danny says.

Oh, how Vlad missed that slow wit of his. "Yes, Daniel. I want to help you."

"Why?"

"Because, as hard as it is to believe, that's all I've ever wanted."

Danny pressed his lips together. Nodding stiffly, he motioned for Vlad to continue.

"There isn't much else to say. I returned here and took up a silent vigil. If it is my fate to see this through to the end, then that's what I will do."

"That is pathetic."

Vlad's eyes hardened into a glare. "I don't expect you to understand."

"You're right. I don't." Danny gets up from his seat on the floor and gestures to the portal. "You all just gave up! So Dan beat you once, and you decided to never try again? That's just stupid. If you had all worked together, you probably could have stopped him. You guys might not care anymore, but I do."

Bitter, Vlad smiled. "Don't you see, little badger? That’s exactly why everything rides on you. Dan is both of us, even though he likes to pretend there's none of me in him. If your human half were still alive, Dan would be as much his responsibility as he is mine. I had my chance to stop him and I failed. Now, it's your turn."

Danny accepts, of course. A hero with a bleeding heart. Vlad removes the medallion from his chest, although not without one last threat, for old time's sake. The second it's out, Danny pops out of existence like a bad cutaway. One second he's there and then the next he's not.

Vlad stares at the empty space for a moment, then turns back to his chair, abandoning his gauntlets on the way. The medallion he keeps in his hand. It's been a very long time since he's seen one.

"It was you all along, wasn't it?" Vlad asked. He didn't need to hear the rustle of cloth to know Clockwork was hovering behind him. "How did you do it?"

"Time is a relative experience," Clockwork says with his familiar lisp. "Not everyone experiences it at the same pace."

"That's a lofty way of saying you kept me from dying so I could be here for Daniel when he finally arrived."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Vlad turns the medallion over in his hands, running his thumbs across the gold surface. If he puts it on, here in his own time, he could live forever. But it would be in a hell of his own making. Sighing, he sets the medallion down on the arm of his chair and turns to Clockwork.

"What now?" Vlad asks.

Clockwork's gaze his kind, the wrinkles on his pale face tugging as he smiles. "I think you've paid your price."

Vlad closes his eyes and leans back, feeling older beyond his years. "Yes, I think so to."

Ten years is a long time to watch the world burn. He hopes it was worth it.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #phanfic #phicc #clockwork #vlad masters #danny fenton #dan phantom #tumblroneshots

[deafwestnewsies]

there will always be someone to your rescue

Sarah Jacobs will stop at nothing to find her brother. 

davey x jack, sarah x kath

read it on my ao3! 

read part one (and from his lips came forth the world) here!

read part two (and oh, don’t you want to get better) here!

“What the fuck!” the girl barked, before slamming her fist down on the computer’s keyboard. Illuminated only by the light of her screen, the bags under her eyes became more prominent with every passing second. Typing away furiously, trying (and failing) another safety measure, she unconsciously began chewing on the ends of her hair. Another girl, more fair, more well-rested, slowly approached the working woman. 

“Darling, I know this is difficult-”

“He’s missing, Kath. No one has seen him in days.” Sarah jerked her shoulder out of Katherine’s tender touch, the other girl backing away with practiced patience. She flicked on the overhead light, exposing the forgotten cups of coffee, the leftover crusts of a sandwich Kath didn't even remember making, to the 3am world. 

It began with the phone call, the one Sarah made after her brother never returned home from what was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill job. Davey disappeared into the night and never came home again, causing Sarah to spiral into a cycle of worry and anger, with a hint of secrecy. Lying to her parents about where he was. Calling him, day and night. Trying to reactivate the tracker inside of his suit, the one that randomly sputtered out near the apartment village on campus. Sarah spent her days stalking the outside of that building, anxiously looking for her brother in every face that passed. 

“Please come to bed,” Katherine pleaded with her. “He is smart, and he is alive. And he will stay that way when you wake up, I swear. How can you help him when you’re half-dead yourself?” 

Sarah turned in her chair, the days of exhaustion clear on her face. Standing without warning, she crumpled into Kath’s arms, body wracked with sobs that couldn’t produce tears. “I hate him,” she whimpered. “Where did he go?” 

Katherine pet the top of her girlfriend’s head, feeling just as useless as before. “He’ll come home soon. He’s Davey.” 

&&&

 “What the fuck?” Race asked incredulously before slapping Davey across the face. “First, you go around robbing people. Second, you try to kill my boy, multiple times. Third, we take you in because we are clearly superior and stronger than you,” Davey’s jaw clenched in anger, an angry red handprint already forming on his cheek, “Fourth, you break a window in an apartment we lease, and fifth, you try to kill Jack and set half of Kohler park on fire. I liked it there, you asshole!” 

Jack did nothing but stand by, his body language steeped in anger. He wouldn’t protect David, not after what he had done, the lies that he had told him straight to his face. “I could do anything for you, too.” The words echoed in his head, louder than the blood pounding in his ears, causing him to blush furiously. He was so embarrassed. Jack had a duty to protect this city and the people he loved, and he let himself get distracted by a boy? A supervillain boy? It was enough to retire altogether. 

“Race,” Spot came up quietly behind the (still yelling) boy. “It’s 3am. We’s got neighbors.” Race angrily shook Spot’s hand off of his shoulder, his pent up rage redirecting itself. 

“We should kill you.” Race finalized, causing Jack to react for the first time.

“We aren’t killing him,” he said quietly. “We’re dealing with him in the morning. I’m-” Jack struggled to find the words as he locked eyes with David. He was silently pleading. “I’m going to bed.” Turning towards his bedroom, his final words followed him down the hall. “He sleeps on the couch tonight.” Pathetic. 

&&&

“Wake up-” Sarah felt hands shaking her awake. “Wake up, darling. You’ve gotta hear this!” She sat up, confused, just to have a computer screen shoved in her face, the unnatural light blinding her. “I was reading the paper and look!” 

Blinking through the pain, Sarah slowly read the headline of the article- Fire Set Late Last Night at Kohler Park, Source Unconfirmed. “Was anyone hurt?” She asked, the fog slowly clearing. Katherine, not answering, clicked to a different tab, revealing a police report. “How did you get th-?”

“Don’t question my methods, just read.” Robbery occurring at 52nd and West, unidentified white man, approximately 6’2, medium build. Witnesses saw a ‘bright light’ that appeared to be moving from one place to another that followed the culprit. $17,000 stolen, exactly. “And isn’t that how much Davey needed for tuition?” Katherine asked, practically bouncing off of her side of the bed. 

“Zine behsechel,” Sarah muttered under her breath. “Once I know he isn’t dead, I’m going to murder him.” 

&&&

Davey couldn’t stop counting the ceiling tiles. There were forty-nine in the living room, and thirteen that he could see in the kitchen. Round and round he went, the numbers always remaining the same, the only constant that was left in his life. 

He was in deep shit. There was no better way of saying it. 

The money had flown away as if by magic, all seventeen thousand that he had taken from that corner bank, the memory of bills slipping through his fingers stinging more than it should. The light of the fire still shone behind his eyes, the image of a lightning bolt, his lighting bolt, splitting a tree down the middle. His powers had grown in that moment and he felt it down at his core. Blinding light filling his lungs and carrying him across vast distances, Davey had felt faster than ever before. It was fueled by fear, however, and anger. He had just gotten so furious, so horribly angry at the world, the life he was meant to lead, that everything spiraled out of hand until it was all gone. Until there was only Jack. 

Pathetic. He was so pathetic! In his most vulnerable state he had just outed himself like that, his absolute pea brain thinking that that moment was a good time to tell Jack how he felt. Good, righteous Jack, Jack who had never done anything with a hint of malice in his life, Jack who had given him ten thousand second chances, Jack. How could he resist him? Sure, he had been their ‘prisoner,’ but they poked fun at him, let Davey in on their inside jokes, helped him muddle through a midterm. He felt whole again, something he hadn’t had for a long time. And now here he was, lying on a grimy sofa, split again into a million pieces. 

“Zine behsechel!” His mother’s favorite swear, and saying it out loud made him feel okay again, if only for a second. 

&&&

Sarah stared at the hundred dollar bill caught underneath her foot, halfway burnt to a crisp. The park was taped off, policemen roaming the area, and Katherine and Sarah stood in the corner. Katherine had flashed her student reporter badge claiming she was with The World, and as an officer asked to see it a little closer, Kath thanked him loudly and pulled Sarah under the caution tape with her. They now stood still, clutching their hands together tightly, unable to tear their eyes away from the wreckage.

This was more than a fire by a long shot. One tree lie on its side, split clean in half, the scorch marks still smouldering slightly, and Sarah couldn’t stop imagining her dear baby brother in the middle of all of this. Davey, who cared so much about their family, Davey, who sat with Les as he cried over math homework and secretly paid the bills when their parents couldn’t. He was just a little kid in her heart, but he was forced to grow up so fast. 

“I can’t believe he’s so… strong,” Kath whispered to her. “Where did he get all of this power?” 

“He’s always been able to do this,” Sarah said, the pain clear in her voice. “He’s been holding himself back.” 

Before Katherine could respond, a police scanner lit up behind them. “Sargent? We found a GPS device of some sort. We’re sending it your way.” 

&&&

Jack set a mug of coffee between them. “Drink it.” He demanded, the first words he had spoken all day. David carefully picked it up, surreptitiously smelling the drink. “It’s not poisoned, David. Just drink it.” His voice was tired. Jack was tired. 

“Can we talk about-”

“No.” Jack cut him off. “We’ll talk about that when I’m ready.” 

David took a sip. “‘S good.”

Jack nodded, already getting up. “It’s infused with rosewater.” 

&&&

“If I’m right, which I am, this will lead us to where he’s been the whole time,” Sarah crowed triumphantly. “Whoever disabled this was good, but I’m better and I-” she popped a panel out, “have all of the answers.” With a second of shaking, a small end ejected itself, and she plugged it into her computer. 

Getting the GPS back had been one hell of a ride. Katherine had a small notebook on hand, so she began asking questions to the nearest detective about ‘citizen concern’ and ‘exactly what action they were taking to catch the person who had done such a dastardly thing,’ while Sarah eyeballed the evidence table behind him. After three minutes of Katherine making questions up on the spot (“Always the mark of a good reporter, Sarah.”) they watched another man lumber by, dropping the GPS Sarah had so carefully handcrafted on the table. She winced at the rattle of parts, but gently touched Katherine on the arm and said she was using the restroom, only to slide past the table and pick up her creation. Minutes later Katherine had met her in the car, wrinkling her nose and tearing up the police officer’s number, which he had given to her “in case she needs to know anything else.” 

Now peering over her shoulder, Katherine scoffed. “That’s the same apartment building. That doesn’t help.” 

“Maybe so, but I am smarter than that.” Sarah stopped for a moment, turning to face her girlfriend with feigned shock. “You know I am smarter than that, right dear?” She kissed her quick, turning back to her computer. “I could track his footsteps, too. That way, if I were his eyes on a job, I could keep him hidden. But right now, that tells us exactly which apartment he walked up to.” She banged on her keyboard some more until she had an address.

Katherine was already grabbing their jackets as Sarah swept out of the doorway.

&&&

Race was pleading with David, which was quite the feat. “C’mon. I know we’re like, fighting over whatever right now, but pleeease play along.” David sat stone-faced, holding the script to the Merry Wives of Windsor, refusing to read lines with Race. “I’m begging you. We start tech week tomorrow, and I’m not even half memorized-”

“I don’t know what a tech week is,” the disgust evident in David’s voice, “but I can’t exactly turn the pages with these on.” He held up his hands, still bound by the specialized handcuffs. 

“Sure you can! Just kinda,” Race struggled to flip the pages with his wrists touching, “and then a little bit of,” adjusted the script in his lap, “and bam! Easy!” 

Rolling his eyes, Davey moved his legs apart and let the script fall to the ground. “Oops,” he said plaintively. A knock at the door saved them both from sparking another argument, and instead slapped Davey on the top of his head with his script. It reminded him of messing around with Les, in a way. Goddamnit, I almost killed his best friend and they’re still nice to me!

David was not prepared for Race to fall to the ground holding a bloody nose as soon as he opened the door. Sarah Jacobs stood on the other side, eyes blazing, and shouting, “Give me back my brother, you dipshit!” 

i just really wanted an excuse for katherine to call sarah 'darling' so i wrote this anyways this series is getting really dark and i don't think i can promise a happy ending just yet.

#newsies #newsies live #newsies on tour #newsies 1994 #newsies on broadway #newsies au #superhero au #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #sarah jacobs #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #sprace #javid #newsbians #javid au

[trashmenofmarvel]

Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 22

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, dubcon in earlier chapters)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, blood, references to past sexual abuse, general Hydra creepiness

Word Count: 2.7k

AO3

(gif by @dailymarvel​)

Step three: Once the highest threat is identified, eliminate it.

You rounded the corner and pulled the trigger over and over, giving Rumlow zero opportunity to return fire. You charged forward and quickly took cover behind a desk to your right; wood and glass dividers shattered above your head from bullet impacts.

On your knees, you shot around the corner of the desk in his direction, pulling back when you saw movement from his side. Even with the fresh pistol, you soon ran out of ammunition, but so did he. Once silence filled the room, Rumlow shouted.

“You’re out!”

“So are you!” you yelled back.

He chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

You saw red. The hurt, the betrayal, all of it flowed into your spine, and all you could imagine was Rumlow’s body at your feet.

“No! You don’t get to say that! You betrayed S.H.I.E.L.D.!”

“We are S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he responded in an amused tone.

“Then you betrayed our team! You betrayed me.”

Your voice shook from the force of your anger, and that was fine. What you hated was how easily the hurt bled into your words. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep his betrayal had wounded you. Because it hurt fucking bad.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” There was a pause in which you thought you heard Rumlow sigh. “You were supposed to be with us by now.”

Your vision blurred and you blinked away the tears, refusing to shed them on his account.

“Did you do it?” You wanted him to say no, even now. “Did you order the hit on the convoy?”

His voice drifted over to you from across the room, and for a moment, he was your commander again. You could almost see him in your mind’s eye, pacing in front of the team with his hands clasped behind his back as he gave a mission briefing.

“Kartal was working for us. Or he was, until he got cold feet, or a conscience, or whatever the fuck. Pierce couldn’t have him going to the feds, though, could he? And I needed to weed out the weaker members of the team who I knew wouldn’t make the cut. More importantly, I made sure you were kept alive. I had you spared, Williams, because I knew you’d come around. With some persuasion.”

Your stomach roiled and your throat burned.

“I will never be a part of HYDRA,” you spit out.

“Kid,” he laughed, “haven’t you been paying attention? You’ve been HYDRA all along. You just didn’t know it.”

You couldn’t listen to one more word or you would scream. You pushed off from the desk you had been sitting against and stepped out into full view.

Maybe he heard you, or maybe he just knew you that well, because Rumlow did the same. He pulled the combat knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers, his voice almost sympathetic. “It’s not too late, you know. Pierce wasn’t lying when he said he was impressed.”

Another twirl of his fingers, his smile just as razor sharp.

“Of course, he doesn’t know how sentimental you get. You’re a scrappy little shit, like a mongrel that just won’t die no matter how often it’s kicked and starved. First I thought it was really fuckin’ sad, but then I saw the one thing no one else did. Your potential.”

You tried not to react—failed—and your frown turned into a grimace. Rumlow’s smile widened to a grin.

“But in order to get there, you had to have the softness beaten outta ya. So I toughened you up, cut off all the baby fat. You gonna resent me for that, kid? After all I’ve done for you, you’re gonna turn this around and pretend I didn’t make you the best damn agent since Romanoff?”

His grin faded and dark clouds gathered over his eyes.

“You fuckin’ owe me everything, girl.”

Something within you broke, and you launched yourself at him before you could rethink your strategy. Your ferocity caught him by surprise; he nearly dropped the knife when you kicked at his arm. Rumlow held tight to his weapon and moved backwards, dodging out of range of your attacks.

You knew what he was doing, drawing you out and trying to exhaust you. The only way to counteract that was to close the distance, but then there was the knife to consider.

You picked up a filled three-inch binder from a desk, charged at him, and used the book to shield and deflect the slash of his knife.

It was no vibranium shield, but it worked; you got close enough to kick him hard in the gut. Rumlow rolled backward and stopped at a crouch, slowly standing up as he wiped the blood from his torn lip. His expression wasn’t so controlled now—there was real anger there.

“Pierce had such high hopes for you. You were gonna be our golden goose. HYDRA’s greatest project in history, until the asset went fucking nuclear and killed everyone on the goddamn medical team.”

The asset. The phrase stuck in your throat, tarry and sick and foul.

“What did you do to him?” you asked hoarsely.

Rumlow raised his knife again, readying himself for another round. You didn’t think he was going to answer, until he did.

“Same thing we were gonna do to you,” he said with a smirk. “Pump you full of super soldier serum—a special Soviet blend—and break your mind into itty-bitty pieces.” His smirk faded into a frown. “But then he fucked it all to hell, and we still don’t know why.”

He lunged.

You had been so shocked by his words you didn’t react in time. You managed to deflect his knife once before he slung his arm around your neck and pivoted you around, slamming you against his chest.

You wheezed, barely able to breathe as he held the knife in front of your face.

“How’d you do it, huh? How’d you get inside his head?” His warm breath hit your ear and you tried to twist away, but he held you in an unbreakable vice. “The asset was compliant one day, batshit crazy the next. Pierce was gonna wipe him that night, you know. Said you were a goddamn nuisance, a distraction. Some fuckin’ bullshit that was, weapons don’t get distracted. They have a purpose. They get used. And boy, did we use that fucker until he couldn’t be used anymore.”

Icicles trickled down your spine. Your mind couldn’t grasp the meaning of his words, wouldn’t grasp it.

“He killed the doctors, the technicians, almost everyone in the prison. I expected they’d find your body in a ditch somewhere, battered and broken, but there you were at the safe house, alive and whole. So, how’d you do it? How’d you take control?”

Rumlow’s warm breath hit the side of your face and you turned away, wincing. You struggled again but he had you trapped, helpless to do anything but listen to the horrible things he was saying.

“The guys on duty did say he visited your cell a few times. Is that why he’s outside right now, tryin’ to help Cap? You femme fatale’d him into obedience?”

You said nothing, baring your teeth and trying to pull his arm off your neck. It was pointless, given that the limb was almost pure, corded muscle.

Rumlow gave a bark of sharp laughter so sudden it startled you.

“Or… no. No, you didn’t do anything to him at all. It’s what he did to you.” Another laugh, delighted in a way that made your stomach twist. You said nothing, more focused on clawing at his arm then entertaining his nasty accusations. He ignored your struggles, you wondered if he could even feel the bite of your blunted nails.

“Shit, I didn’t know he had it in him,” he continued on, grating. “Christ. If you had any idea what Pierce had in store for you two, you’d realize how fuckin’ ironic that is. He got his dick wet and they didn’t even have to order him to do it. I mean… shit. That’s all sorts of perverted—“

You slammed your elbow back into his ribs and felt a satisfying crack. He howled in pain but somehow still held on as he stumbled backward, his grip even tighter now around your neck.

You wanted to cover your ears or scream or do something. Anything to make him stop.

And still he kept fucking talking.

“Yeah, got under your skin, didn’t I?” he growled through his staggered, labored breaths. “Not that it matters. The asset ain’t gonna remember you once we get our hands on him again. I can’t tell you how many times his brain has been scrambled. It’s a goddamn miracle he’s not a drooling vegetable at this point.”

You would have screamed at him if you had the air for it, but Rumlow had shifted his grip and the edges of your vision were starting to recede. The world was going quiet, distant… but not enough for you to miss the sensation of Rumlow gently stroking your hair.

“You don’t gotta worry about that, kid. I won’t let any of ‘em touch you,” he murmured into your ear. “When you belong to HYDRA, I’ll take good care of you.”

He fisted your hair tight enough to make the burns on your scalp light up with electric pain. You gasped as he slightly shook his fist, tears blurring your vision.

“And then,” he murmured, low and sinuous in your ear, “you’ll finally learn some fuckin’ gratitude.”

The thing that took hold of your body wasn’t you. It couldn’t be, because no single person could contain that much hatred.

You grabbed his wrist and jabbed it downward. The knife sliced through your side and cut straight through your jacket and down into Rumlow’s thigh.

Rumlow’s earlier scream was tame compared to the wild noise he made now, and he released you on reflex. He also made the mistake of letting go of the knife, and you yanked it free of his leg and whirled around, slashing at his shoulder. He stumbled backwards, red flowing over his corded muscles and smooth skin like a river through a dune sea.

You coughed and gasped for breath. Your face felt like a mask, unfamiliar and tight, and you couldn’t imagine what was across its surface.

He grinned at you, a red-tinged smile from his busted lip.

You could do it, right now. End it. He was off-balance, wounded, and no matter how disciplined he was the pain would slow him down.

Adjusting the knife if your grip, stalked forward, chest heaving as your muscles bunched for the attack—

A shadow blotted out the sunlight cast through the windows. It was moving fast, alarmingly so, and you skidded to a stop when you saw what it was.

A Helicarrier hurtling out of the sky at a steep angle, directly toward you.

Without a second look at Rumlow, you dropped the knife, spun and stumbled on the smooth tiled floor, and bolted. You didn’t turn to see if he had spotted the impeding airship.

You stabbed a finger into your ear comm and shouted, “Wilson! Please tell me you’re nearby!”

“Where the hell have you been?!” he shouted back, sounding very put-out. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Tell me where—“

The impact of the Helicarrier slamming into the Triskelion was enough to make you stumble and skid across the tilting floor, and it was more than enough to give Wilson his answer.

“Shit! You still there, Agent?”

“Not for long!” you yelled as you somehow managed to avoid a collapsing pile of building falling from the ceiling. “Forty-first floor! Northwest corner!”

There was no time to wait for confirmation. You hurled yourself at the window and curled into a ball just before impact. The glass shattered around you, the sound drowned out by the massive airship cleaving into the side of the building.

Your stomach twisted as you free-fell through the air, the ground rushing up at an alarming rate—

Wilson appeared just below you, rolling onto his back and grabbing you as you slammed into his chest. He managed to wrap his arms around you as he flew out from under the shower of collapsing tile and glass.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled over the comm despite the fact he was also right in your ear. “Are all your S.H.I.E.L.D. agents this crazy?!”

“What happened to the Helicarriers?” you shouted, ignoring his first statement. You tried to twist your head around to look, but you couldn’t see anything but the river below. Panic rose in your throat. “Where’s Bucky?!”

Wilson banked and you gripped him tighter, feeling like a small lizard clinging to a very large bird. From your new vantage point, you saw there was only one Helicarrier still airborne, and it had been the one that had just sliced through a portion of the Triskelion and was now heading directly over the Potomac River.

“We’re still onboard,” Rogers answered, sounding out of breath.

“What? Why!” you cried out. “You’re heading for the river!”

“There was… falling debris,” he said, voice strained. “Bucky’s trapped. I’m digging him out.”

“Why are you doing this!” Bucky yelled over the comm. “Leave, Rogers!”

“Not gonna happen, Buck,” Rogers responded, his voice oddly soft. “Not without you.”

“We have to get to them!” you shouted to Wilson.

He must have agreed because he yelled, “Hold on, man!” He held onto you tight as he tilted through the air, the wind hitting your face and making your eyes water as he picked up speed. “We’re coming!”

“No, Sam, you gotta stay back. It’s too dangerous. This thing is falling apart around us.” The same resignation that had been in Bucky’s voice earlier was now in Roger’s.

“Don’t ask me to do that,” Wilson responded quickly. He sounded as anxious as you felt. He was approaching at a parallel angle to avoid the smoke and falling debris, and you could see the underside glass dome of the bridge and the damage inside.

“Move closer!” you yelled.

“I can’t!” he yelled back. “Too much shit in the air!”

“I don’t care!” You shouted hard enough to crack your voice, struggling in his arms now, trying to twist around so you could see the carrier better. “Move us in!”

“Woman! Knock it off or you’re gonna get us both killed!”

Despite his protests he angled his wings and banked toward the drifting carrier.

“Rogers!” you yelled into your earpiece. “We’re almost there!”

You were fifty feet away, close enough to see details inside the dome. It was a warzone, strewn with heavy crossbeams and collapsed walkways as the air filled with smoke and tongues of flame.

“There’s no time!” Rogers yelled, suddenly urgent. “You have to—“

An explosion ripped through the back of the ship. It was so hot and expansive that the shockwave hit you and Wilson like a solid object, causing him to tumble back through the air. He gripped you tightly around the waist and all you could do was hold onto his arms as the world spun sickeningly around you.

By the time he was steady again, the Helicarrier had split in two.

All the air left your lungs. The horrific sight above you blotted out the sky with fire and falling debris.

Wilson descended and landed on the riverbank nearby. You wanted to scream at him to take you back up, that it wasn’t too late. Instead, you watched the Helicarrier fall in broken pieces into the river. Your legs gave out and you collapsed onto your knees.

“Steve?”

Wilson’s voice was shaking. Desperate and pleading.

“Steve… are you there? Come on, man… Answer me.”

You touched a trembling finger to your comm to make sure it was on.

“Bucky?” Your voice was even more broken than Wilson’s. “Bucky, say something. Please? Bucky?”

You were both met with the finality of silence. The only sound that floated to you on the wind was the quiet rumble of the remnants of the Helicarrier falling into the Potomac.

Next Chapter

#devil's backbone #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #brock rumlow #the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader fanfiction #the winter soldier fanfiction #hydra trash party #htp #sam wilson #steve rogers #captain america the winter soldier #shield #hydra #my writing #my fanfiction

[galaxy-bread345]

Part Two: Time Heals All Wounds

This is the second part to my analysis of Jak/ Keira’s relationship. More is under the cut but remember this is a examination of a fictional relationship. It is by no means an attempt to bash one ships so read it at your own caution. 

This one is definitely going to be long because its messy as hell. There are six?scenes in this game that include Jak and Keira interacting and the emotions are all over the place. Particularly because of the stupid love triangle they try to create between Jak, Keira, and Ashelin and because nothing actually gets resolved between them. 

When Jak and Daxter first interact with Keira  they don’t realize its her and neither does she. This is a personal gripe of mine because its very obvious to the player that its Keira. She wouldn’t have recognized Jak’s voice because when she knew him he was nonverbal.  Jak or at the very least Daxter should have recognized her voice though. It didn’t change, she still has the same tone and speech pattern as she did in the first game. So finding a person who sounds like the girl they knew back home, who is a mechanic.....working on zoomers....... should have keyed them that this is Keira. I can be lenant on Jak because he did spend two years in jail and having PTSD can cause memory issues so his memory of her might have faded. Tbh, I’m surprised Daxter didn’t become suspicious of her and try to go behind the curtain regardless of the secret vehicle project. He’s never been one to listen to authority and its not gonna stop at a cute sounding women. There’s also a lot of conflicting emotions going on in this cutscene. Keira thinks that its just another creepy guy and wants him to stop trying to poorly flirt with her so she can work. Jak is either trying to flirt, irritated that shes being difficult, or excited over the hoverboard. At no point does she try to flirt back, she only tells him she’ll consider him for the team if he can beat her course. I don’t know why but the game tries to play this off as flirting or at the very least has Jak respond as if she did flirt. This isn’t flirting, shes compromising to get him to go away and having him respond like that is weird and ooc. They also play saxophone music over the entire cutscene to make it come off as sexy when its not. If anything its confusing because the tone of the music doesn’t match the scene. She’s not interested and he can’t read the room. We still have the same dynamic from the first game of both of them using each other to provide a service. She needs a driver and someone to test out her hoverboard. He wants to be a driver because hes working with Krew so he can further his own goals of killing the Baron and then pumps her for information when he has the chance. Right off the bat, its not a good start and it only gets worse. 

The second interaction is better in the aspect that they all finally recognize each other only because this time Daxter actually talks and Keira recognizes his voice. It implies that Keira would remember Daxter’s voice but Daxter wouldn’t remember Keira’s even though its only been two years. The player can assume from the first game that they all grew up together so this reasoning is absolute bullshit. Daxter would have recognized Keira’s voice in their first interaction and started snooping. We then have Keira react joyously to see Daxter but say “ I never thought I would be so glad to see your furry mug” which means prior to this she didn’t have a lot of feelings about him. It isn’t surprising but it just reaffirms that she never particularly cared enough about him to imagine being happy to see him. Keira barely tolerated Daxter in TPL. Shes happy to see him not because their friends but because hes a familiar face, someone to remind her of home. After this, we finally have our first real interaction between Jak and Keira and.... its not good. She appears shocked and worried over how different he is now. It never crossed her mind that the guy who kept bothering her was Jak. She isn’t as happy to see Jak as she was to see Daxter so thats got to hurt.  After Daxter briefly fills her in on what happened she informs them shes been looking everywhere for them and trying to find a way back home. What bothers me about this part is that both Daxter and Keira were running around the city trying to find everyone else. Daxter was more focused on busting Jak out cuz he was in prison but he wouldn’t have not looked for Keira. They didn’t get along at all but hes not heartless and its nice have someone you know around. So what gets me is how did these two not run into each other???!!! Keira’s an ace at zoomers and what mechanic doesn’t know how to operate her own machines? The city isn’t big enough that they would have NEVER cross paths in two years. Yeah, it might be hard locating a small creature but lets also remember Daxter  doesn’t like to get dirty which means he is going to stick to the cleaner parts of the city as much as he can. He’s also bright fuckn orange it wouldn’t be difficult to spot him considering how washed out everything is. Going off of the logic that Daxter wouldn’t recognize Keira by voice he would at the very least recognize her by her clothes. There’s hardly any difference between her design in the first game and second. Which means that by some odd chance either they never bumped into each other or Keira spent more time working on her projects then she did looking for them. She built the rift rider from SCRATCH. It must have taken ages to not only get set up in the stadium but to also find all the pieces and work out how to make a vehicle that can withstand time travel without exploding. This has never been done before and the only guidelines she has is what she remembers from seeing the first one that was degraded after being abandoned at the citadel. That is going to take a lot of work but also a lot of time considering she has to get the zoomers fixed up and operating for the race team which gives her very little time to actually search the city. Her priorities are completely out of order because she spent more time making a vehicle than she did looking for her so called friends and in those two years both of them could have died. Jak from literally being experimented on and Daxter from starvation, getting eaten, getting poached, and disease given how disgusting the city is. I know I’m ragging on her a lot but the writing for her character is piss poor. The implication that she spent more time working on the vehicle than looking for her friends bothers me. She might not have known that Jak was in jail and thats completely valid but its just another example of why her friendship with Jak is non-existent. She should have found her friends and father first then think of a way to get home. Whats the point of making the vehicle in the first place if you can’t find your father and your friends aren’t alive anymore? She could still go home but it wouldn’t be the same. 

Keira does offer to help Jak get close to Baron since its important to him which is nice since it shows she is considerate of his goals. I’m going to go into more detail later on but Keira doesn’t talk to him about what he went through. This conversation never goes back to “ hey, you’ve clearly been through shit but what specifically happened? Are you mentally ok?” cuz she knows what dark eco does to a person shes seen it first hand with Gol and Mia but we never see her really check in with him and he doesn’t offer any details to her either. 

Alright, moving onto the third interaction with the bs cat fight between Keira and Ashelin which isn’t much of a fight but rather Keira being pissy. After Jak and Daxter win the race their hanging out with Keira catching up when Ashelin comes into congratulate Jak and also thank him for helping out. Keira becomes immediately defense while Jak tries and fails to play it cool.  At this point, they are not in a relationship and its been over two years since they have interacted with each other. Neither of them knows if the other still likes them or if their feelings have changed. Keira could have dated someone and after being broken out of prison so could Jak. If Keira is going to judge Jak for liking Ashelin then he has every right to judge her for liking Erol. Ashelin and Erol are both in the Baron’s forces. Shes not stupid, she would have to be aware that Erol works for the Baron given that its literally his job and racing is something he appears to do in his off time. This is a stupid double standard and is meant to pit Keira and Ashelin against each other seeing as how their the only main female characters besides Tess who isn’t interested in Jak. Whether Keira was acting defensively because Jak was talking to another women or because it was Ashelin specifically she has no justification. Even if they were in a relationship that shouldn’t hinder his ability to talk to other women. To say that Jak shouldn’t interact with Ashelin because shes the Baron’s daughter, something Ashelin didn’t get to choose, is hypocritical when Keira is literally buddy buddy with the guy who chose to help the Baron. Ashelin makes it clear she can’t protect Jak from Erol and after this Keira should have realized her friend Erol was a threat to Jak and could have helped the Baron torture him. But nope! all we get is Daxter making a remark about Ashelin liking Jak and Keira is in jealous mode when Jak didn’t even do anything. She should be upset and asking questions about how Jak knows Erol and why hes a danger to him. She should be discussing what they want to accomplish seeing how their goals don’t perfectly align. 

At this point, a friendship has still not been established but they do care about each other in a “I know you and I obviously don’t want to see you get hurt cuz im not a complete dick”, Keira is acting like a jealous girlfriend when a RELATIONSHIP hasn’t even been established, Jak is just confused, and neither of them are discussing any problems they might have with the other and we haven’t even covered them fighting yet :)))

Their fourth interaction starts off with Jak running into Erol first who is in Keira’s workshop which means she let him in even though she knows hes a danger to Jak. Even though Jak and Keira have not gotten along at all in the game he is immediately concern for her safety because he knows how much of a danger Erol can be. Regardless of how Keria has treated him Jak still cares about her and doesn’t want to see her get hurt. He tries to tell her that Erol isn’t who she thinks he is. Yeah, hes a good racer but hes also a shit person who is helping the Baron. He has first hand experience of Erol’s cruelty and he doesn’t want Keira to suffer the same fate. Her response to this is to point out that Jak is a more aggressive person now and isn’t the same kid she knew in Sandover Beach. Jak tries to defend himself, shuts down and storms off. This entire conversation is a culmination of how bad these two are at communicating with each other and why they shouldn’t be in a relationship until they get their shit together. Kiera has: 

failed to acknowledge Jak’s traumatic experiences or ask Jak about what he has been through 

 been immediately ready to leave asap even if this means abandoning people who will most likely die in the war

 been hypocritical of who Jak associates with when she is on good terms with Erol, someone known to work for the Baron and implied to be a danger to Jak specifically 

used the fact that Jak is different due to forced experimentation as an excuse to defend Erol’s shit morals and shitty behavior  

acted like a jealous girlfriend when they aren’t even in a relationship 

Jak has: 

vaguely talked about his goals but not enough for Keira to get a clear picture of what needs to happen 

not explained how deep he is in with the Underground and Krew so he can’t just back out of it 

shown to actually give a shit about people so no hes not going to simply abandoned innocent lives even if means he will never go home 

not tried to communicate with Keira that talking about the Baron/ Erol/ his imprisonment is a sensitive topic that needs to be taken with utmost  caution

I know its easy to look at Jak being angry with Keira as him being an asshole and to think he should explain more so she understands but Daxter has already told her that he was experimented on by the Baron with dark eco. That alone is enough for her to understand this topic must be taken seriously. Yes, Jak needs to be clearer about whats currently going on but he is under no obligation to inform Keira of every little detail of what hes been through. Talking about or sharing information about traumatic experiences can be overwhelming and cause the person to have flashbacks or panic attacks. He needs to be able to discuss it at his own pace. He lashed out because hes upset and rightfully so. It is not an easy subject and if he doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her about it its probably because he doesn’t have faith that she will listen to him or he doesn’t trust her. Him ending the conversation and leaving to cool down was the best thing he could have done in this situation. They both need to fuckn communicate with each other and listen to what the other person has to say otherwise nothing will get resolved. 

Their fifth interaction leaves much to be desired because NEITHER ONE OF THEM APOLOGIZES. I would say Keira is the one who needs to do it the most because she was being an insensitive dick to him last time. Jak still needs to explain what the fuck is going on instead of getting angry when she barely knows what has happened to him but that doesn’t happen. Daxter literally tells them what they need to do. Stop moping around and make up already! For the love of God please fuckn communicate! None of the problems are addressed instead Keira tells Jak “ Your the best driver i’ve seen” and to “leave them in the dust” WHICH ISN’T AN APOLOGY!!!! SHES JUST FLATTERING HIM!!!!! The game acts as if this is a touching moment when its shallow as fuck nothing is resolved. Jak begrudgingly compliments her on the work shes done and states he will get the objects she needs but he doesn’t apologize for lashing out last time. None of the issues that they have had specifically from the last conversation have been addressed. Its glossed over and forgotten never to be brought up again. 

Not including the interaction at the portal but the last interaction they have at the end of the game we see them being all lovely dovey. Arms around the waist, she flirts with calling him a handsome hero and he tries to kiss her. Suddenly they are a okay with each other even though throughout the entire game they constantly argued, got mad at each other, once again didn’t establish a working friendship and literally showed each of them using the other for their own benefits. Keira wants to go home and Jak can help her. Jak wants to go after the Baron and Keira has information and can provide him the opportunity to get close to the Baron. Its assumed they still have crushes on each other even though they act like they cant stand each other 95% of the time. It just doesn’t make sense. 

Them being happy with each other at the end of the game is not realistic and it needs to be shown that they apologized and tried to communicate and work together. They need to have a reason to be around each other other than one of them providing a service. They need to be emotionally invested in each other. I’m sure that there are some points I could have explained better but overall these two literally can’t be in a relationship at least not a healthy one. I think Jak 2 gives the most evidence of why they shouldn’t be together romantically but i will still look over 3 and Jak X. Most of the problems these two have besides poor communication is that Keira isn’t a very well written character and they could be a functioning and healthy couple if Keira was written not only as a friend but shown to care about Jak outside of shallow attractiveness to him. Jak needs learn how to open up to people and massive amount of therapy. I don’t think its quite fair to have him open up about his trauma in this game but in later games because its just too soon. 

Last post will cover Jak 3 and Jak X and will hopefully be shorter than this one. 

Edit: Im sorry but im gonna make this a little bit longer  I said I was going to keep this as unbiased as possible so I need to include this cuz I’m judging Keira more harshly than I am Jak. I ragged on Keira a lot for not taking the time to understand Jak’s trauma so I have to do the same for Jak. Keira hasn’t suffered the same way he has but landing in Haven City with no friends, no family, and be dealt with harsh cruelty can be traumatic. Shes definitely has had a hard time with creepy people. As much as I blasted her for being friends with Erol its probably because he treated her right. In the two years shes been in the city it doesn’t sound like she made a lot of friends and only really appears to be close to Erol which leaves me to believe he went out of his way to be nice to her and get to know her. Jak doesn’t try to understand why Erol and Keira are close and it would have helped them both if he informed her that Erol was the one helping the Baron experiment on him. He also never talked to Keira about what the last two years were like for her or really check in to see if mentally shes doing okay. Hes focused on himself and his own goals which is fair but friendship is a two way street. He has to be there for Keira if he wants Keria to be there for him. As much as I sympathize for Jak, its a tight balance of respecting his mental illness/ traumatic experiences but also holding him accountable for his actions. What has happened to him is not an excuse for him to be an asshole. He has to put the work into be a better person than the people who tormented him. 

#jak and daxter #jak & daxter #jak #keira hagai #daxter #samos #character analysis #ships #im trying not to be biased #I do like keira but holy fuck is she written poorly #really wished the creators let Keira be more woven into the narrative #stop boxing her in as a mechanic/ love interest!! #let her help fight in the rebellion #this game is already angsty enough we didn't need any petty drama on top of it

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Out of Control

The world passed by in a blur. Trees sped along outside the windows of the car. The engine roared like a dragon and the vehicle’s driver felt an unnatural fuel and fire in her veins.

A blood-red rising sun reflected off of her shades, glossy and shiny and marred only by a tiny crack on the left lens of her sunglasses. Clad in little leather racing gloves, Emily’s hands gripped the steering wheel like iron vices.

Something about the hum and the vibrations and the constant growl of the machine kept her calm. She loved the feeling of sheer speed, slicing through the world like a knife; and appreciated that sense of escape from reality that it always gave her.

Now, more than ever, she needed that calm, that sensation of riding the eye of the storm—that escape. Because she was going to see Julian’s killer in person and it was going to take everything out of her to not lose her mind.

Was it the gravity of fast motion, pushing her back into her seat that helped center her? Was it the threat of deadly accidents that freed her mind from every burdening thought and worry? Or was it because she felt both in control and dangerous whenever she drove too fast?

Emily wondered, but refused to answer her own questions.

She maintained a speed just a few miles per hour above the legal limit. Just enough to make good time on her ride to Starkford Penitentiary, and just enough to try to talk her way out of trouble if a cop pulled her over.

Thoughts surfaced. Thoughts about Kathryn Shaw. Emily tried to push them back down because they only made every one of her digits tense up more—the leather of her gloves cracked as her grip around the steering wheel tightened.

Any efforts to dispel the thoughts all failed. The image search on Shaw haunted Emily. Kathryn Shaw was just some forgettable D-list celebrity and the spectrum of her headshots ranged from pretty young lady all the way to monstrosity who had gone under the knife of plastic surgery too often for her own good. Murdering Julian Stone would probably be her biggest legacy, overshadowing her pathetic acting career and her quest for the perfect face.

This only fed the tension building in every fiber of Emily’s being, because Shaw’s obsession with her own beauty was what had killed Julian.

But was it just tension? Or pure anger welling up inside? The engine’s growls grounded Emily for a brief glimpse, allowing her to notice just how obscenely fast she was going now, and she eased up on her leadfoot for a bit. Every thought of Kathryn Shaw just poured more gasoline onto the flames of Emily’s fury.

As you know, every time you pour fuel into the flames, you run risk of the fire igniting the stream, traveling back up its length and blowing the canister up in your hands. That exact image entered Emily’s mind and made her crave another cigarette. It hadn’t even been five minutes since the last one.

No matter.

She rolled down the window on her old Charger and lit up her smoke. Swore up a storm as a chunk of tobacco got stuck on the car’s internal lighter and fumed out of the slot when she returned it. Instead of pulling over to fix this like a sane person, Emily took her eyes off the road and tapped the lighter outside her car door.

When she looked up, the honking of a horn ripped her right back into the reality of her current whereabouts and she reacted just in time, swerving back onto her lane of the road. The honking persisted, blaring and trailing off as the other car traveled down the opposite lane, expressing what she considered to be a petty anger when compared to her own.

Emily flipped the other driver the bird and took a long, greedy drag from her cigarette to cool off.

She always found it strange how little such near-death experiences like this never really fazed her. Some part of her was always prepared to die. Hell, the other part of her was already dead.

All the nights she had spent alone ever since Julian’s death, looking out over the nightly skyline of L.A., she had gone through every single stage—from wanting to die, over not seeing a purpose in life anymore, to wanting someone to pay, and ending up with a fire flaring up deep down inside of her, fueled by her darkest thoughts and fantasies. A fire that made her swear more than she ever used to; a fire that motivated her and would drive her to ever greater heights in her career.

Telling the truth, no matter how much it hurt. Exposing lies and toppling the liars. Bringing down all those awful pyramids of deception, tearing down the walls of filth built by the life-thieves and the soul-violators. Destroying the machinery of oppression fabricated by the real monsters of this world.

Her thoughts spiraled. The moment she realized she was thinking about her quest for truth and revealing the darkness to the world, no sooner did she remember that Shaw was to blame for her current anger. Emily had always been angry with the world: corrupt politicians feeding their fat faces, greedy psychopaths running the business world, and selfish assholes walking all over the downtrodden were everywhere. They didn’t even lurk in the shadows—no, the ghouls just lived in our very midst, normalizing their wicked ways and turning people jaded to the point of not caring anymore.

Every time she blinked, another six such shit-sticks just sprung into existence somewhere else.

While smoking cooled her down, it couldn’t put a lid on the boiling pot of rage bubbling in her belly region.

The whole ordeal of this prison visit alone would have been enough to make her mad, just thinking about it.

Short visiting hours. She had had to make an appointment over a month in advance. Fill out huge forms and provide copies of all sorts of personal documents. Wait for approval. Get all sorts of instructions on what she was allowed to wear or not: no orange, no underwire bra, no yoga pants, no sleeveless shirts, no open toes.

Luckily, her childhood friend Carlos had warned her about all this from his short stint in working at a different prison in the past. They might have just turned her away the moment she showed up if she didn’t meet all of their ridiculous requirements, and put her through the whole rigmarole of applying all over again.

All of this just to schedule a conversation—with her fiancé’s murderer.

Emily snorted, blowing smoke out of her nostrils. She flicked on the radio. An effective distraction would be great, any time now.

An overconfident voice actor spoke, “Enjoy a flat white at a price that’s easier to swallow from the—”

Raspy voice, trained in feigning gravitas, said, “Most of the things I do are misunderstood. Hey, after all, being misunderstood is the fate of all true—”

A dulcet male voice sang, “I’m gonna kick my feet up and stare at the fan, turn the TV on, throw my hand in my pants—”

Annoying advertising. Annoying talking. Annoying pop music. She kept poking the device to switch the channels. At the very least, she could direct her anger at the shallow superficiality of the world of radio entertainment, letting the heat die down somewhat and reducing the boiling of her blood to a low simmer. She avoided any news. News would just add to her anger.

The sunglasses shielded her eyes from the blinding light of the morning sun, still low on the horizon over the woods lining the road.

More smoking, idly ignoring all the chatter and music from the radio, and sitting on the lid to the pot of rage inside of her. Another two hours of driving flew by. The landscape around her transformed along the way, with her Charger exiting the lines of trees and darting over the long roads in the hills, in the middle of nowhere.

Like blacking out, she sighed when she seemingly came to her senses in the lobby where visitors could wait.

The anger was back.

The stupid card machine kept spitting out her dollar bills while she attempted to charge it with money. After the sixth attempt and growing increasingly anxious about the guy breathing down her neck behind her, Emily slapped the top of the device three times.

One of the guards nearby cleared her throat and shot Emily a dirty look. Emily just glared back at her but swallowed a glib remark. Either she wanted to bottle all the anger up and direct it at someone truly deserving, like Shaw, or she didn’t want to get into trouble until she had done such.

In truth, Emily wanted answers. She just wanted to know why Kathryn Shaw had killed. The most mysterious thing about Julian’s death was why Kathryn murdered him. The police said that he had turned her down for repeat requests to conduct further rhinoplasty where other surgeons had already turned her down before, and she had snapped. Bludgeoned him with a tire iron and stuffed him into the trunk of her car.

Finally, the card reader swallowed her cash. Emily groaned and muttered more profanities under her breath and left, engulfed in a cloud of mounting frustration and volatile impatience. The man waiting in line behind her dodged away a full step when she glared at him while she took a walk to the vending machines.

Thinking about the circumstances of Julian’s death did the opposite of helping her temper or curbing any anger.

Supposedly, Kathryn had thought that beating Julian over the back of his head had only knocked him unconscious. In truth, he must have died slowly in her trunk. Painfully. The police detective Emily talked to didn’t say it in those exact words, but she knew enough to piece it together.

Not only anger accompanied Emily that day, but something else: fear.

Fear that she might lose control and do something like strangling Kathryn. Also, a fear of seeing the face of a murderer who had had so much surgery done that Emily only saw her visage as an accurate and frightening representation of what Kathryn truly was deep down—a monster.

The crazy bitch had killed her Julian because he refused to help her continue destroying her own damned face? The choleric reporter wasn’t satisfied with that explanation. It was so simple. Too mundane.

Maybe Kathryn Shaw could offer the straight dope. Maybe Emily could tickle it out of her, provoke her into spilling something she wouldn’t admit to the authorities. Maybe something darker.

Another wave of fury washed over her when she stood at the vending machines to get some snacks and something to drink. Everything cleaned out—empty. Nothing for her to buy after wasting cash on the stupid card machine?

Fuck this place, she thought. Fuck the entire prison system.

Under normal circumstances, she would have blurted that out; released her rage at one of the people working here. However, she wanted to avoid sabotaging her chances at speaking to Kathryn. Not only had the private penitentiary made this visit an absurd chore, she had had to get through lengthy talks with Shaw’s lawyers to get this going without outside interference.

Emily had signed waivers and papers just to promise she wouldn’t be using or publishing anything that transpired in this meeting.

In a huff, she sat down in the waiting area. Checked her emails on her phone to find another way of distracting herself. Canceled interview meeting. Bill. Bill. Bank complaining about her account being in the red. Bill. Advertisements. Annoying newsletter. Complaints about details on an invoice. Just a swamp of unanswered, unread messages she could not have cared any less about right now. Still, she found something oddly meditative about sifting through them and getting some of this busywork done.

Until she reached one mail: from an anonymous source in the crime syndicate exposé she was working on. The informant was backing off, chickening out, refusing to meet for a statement.

Emily blacked out. Next thing she knew, the display of her phone was covered in a spiderweb of cracks. Several people in the waiting room stared at her and her surroundings had gone dead silent.

A guard stood next to her and fidgeted, one brow arched as she stared Emily down and said, “Ma'am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t get it together.”

Emily nodded in defeat. Whatever she had just done that resulted in cracking her own phone—shouting? Screaming? Beating inanimate objects? The startled looks from the strangers all around her told her that her outburst had been profound. She also felt a lot calmer, like the valves had opened for a spell and released some of the steam. Judging by everybody’s reactions, she must have given off that exact air.

Though the anger was still there, albeit more subdued.

Emily Graves was an angry person by nature. Always had been. Her best friend Chris never liked how worked up she got when she ranted about anything and turned it into cascading and unstoppable tirades.

Today was different. She had never felt as angry as she did this day.

She did something uncharacteristically different and apologized. Standing beside herself and watching it happen as if she was in a dream, she wondered who in all hell’s name this Emily was—sounding meek and remorseful. But there she was, the other Emily, making sure she’d get through this day far enough to speak with Kathryn Shaw.

The guard left her alone to waiting, and Emily slumped into the hard plastic chair. The light glared too brightly in here for her to decipher anything on the now-cracked display of her phone, so she put it away.

Focus. Breathe.

Focus.

Forcing herself to clear her mind of all thoughts, Emily cycled through the things she had learned in Berkeley. She reverted into the green journalist, melting into the background and observing. Watching.

The waiting area had it all. The facial expressions on the people here, the invisible clouds of air surrounding them, carrying the entire gamut of emotions: joy, sadness, regret, anger, and everything in between. One of the other visitors waiting there emanated with an aura of rage to rival Emily’s own. It somehow helped her cool down herself, seeing this other lady completely self-absorbed in a blinding haze of wrath.

This kind of place could probably do that to anybody.

She took a deep breath and went to the bathroom. Carlos told her that going to the bathroom during the visit itself is a pain of its own, so it was best to get it out of the way immediately.

No mirrors in the restrooms.

Emily splashed her face with cold water. She wanted to smoke really badly. Even though she couldn’t inhale that sweet, sweet poison any time soon, she nervously produced the pack from her pocket book and checked it. Two smokes left; not even halfway through the day.

“One hell of a drive here,” she muttered. Another woman in the restrooms just gave her a funny look, and Emily returned to the waiting area.

Eventually, she was buzzed in.

They stamped her wrist with invisible ink. Allowed her to put all her possessions in a locker. Asked redundant questions. Sent her through the metal detectors, searched her, jammed a plastic pass into her hand. Half of the hurdles made sense to Emily, leaving her to wonder about the other half.

She sat in a small windowless room and waited. The thick doors and walls muffled the repeated buzzing for other visits elsewhere. Emily had expected them to be meeting with a wall of bulletproof glass separating her and Kathryn Shaw, but it looked like the visiting room was just an open space with two entrances—two ominous metal doors.

Table in the center surrounded by rigid plastic chairs, all bolted down.

A guard waited behind her, hands folded in front of her and probably staving off boredom whenever she wasn’t ready to pounce and intervene.

Little to stop Emily from exploding into a fireball and clawing Kathryn’s eyes out.

She wondered how often the guards here had to deal with drama like that. Emily found herself wondering what it would be like to be tased.

The other door opened, interrupting such thoughts, and two people entered. Kathryn, dressed in the orange jumpsuit of the inmates here, hands shackled with cuffs, was directed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. The guard accompanying her took her place behind her next to the other door.

Kathryn’s long blonde hair was frazzled, messy. Her bleary eyes darted around, barely registering Emily. She looked crazy, but not scared or threatening in any way. To the reporter, she looked far more pathetic than she had expected—not that that helped defuse the rage.

So Emily decided to start off simple. Ease Kathryn into things, and hell, herself as well. Maybe she’d keep her anger under control by conducting herself in a professional fashion.

“Hello Kathryn,” she said. Emily pressed her lips together so hard that they turned into thin white strips. “I’m Emily Graves.”

Kathryn nodded and emitted a feeble, “Hi.”

She looked her visitor up and down but evidently did not recognize her.

“I’m a freelance reporter who has worked for a few major outlets in California.”

Kathryn’s eyes went wide. Emily expected her to shrink from that, but triggered something else entirely. Kathryn nodded emphatically—excitedly. She was thrilled.

D-list celebrity alright. Probably thought she was going to get “justice” or exposure to use in her memoirs, or God only knew what.

“Now, just to be clear, I’m not here in a professional capacity,” Emily said, trying to suss out if Kathryn still had enough marbles left in her noggin for her to speak with her regular vocabulary, or if she had to dial down her language to the level she’d use for someone certifiable.

Kathryn’s face, disfigured from years and an excess of plastic surgery, scrunched up in confusion. She nodded some more, signaling Emily to continue.

“I came here because—”

Emily choked on the words. She choked on the thoughts. Instead of rage welling up, her mind flashed back to the moment when the coroner pulled out the metal slab. The slab on which a dead body lay.

She swallowed, hard.

She remembered the day she identified Julian’s body in the morgue, in the company of Detective Tanner.

Pale, lifeless, hopeless. Dead. Shattered skull. Shattered dreams.

Shattered heart.

Was her heart racing with terror, or slowing to a halt?

Kathryn just looked at her through wide eyes, expecting something. Something more. Something that immediately disgusted Emily.

Attention.

It brought the anger back. The simmering turned back up, like stepping on the gas pedal and revving the engine. The roar of the motor. The pressure of gravity, of speed, of powerful motion. Pouring gasoline into the fire.

“I came because you murdered my fiancé, Julian. I—I just need to know. I need to know why.”

Kathryn nodded some more, like a deranged toddler trapped in a horrific grown woman’s body. Then her nodding transformed into her shaking her head quickly. She squinted as she continued to shake her head in disbelief.

“No, Doctor Stone is fine. I didn’t murder anybody!”

Emily blinked, letting that sink in. She disbelieved the disbelief. The world slowed down to a halt. The imaginary car she was driving in crashed into a solid brick wall in slow motion. Scrap parts exploded into a dazzling rain of metallic fireworks.

The flames flared up. The stream of gasoline being poured into it caught fire. It traveled upwards, in slow motion, just like the car crashing into the wall.

The rage boiled. The lid shuddered, clattered. Emily’s heart was racing indeed, pounding like thunder. Like those Japanese drums.

“Listen, honey, I’ll be out soon and with my lawyers, we’ll clear this all up, just you wait and see. I’m so sorry about what I did. I lost it and—well, things worked out in the end, yeah? I’m sure Doctor Stone will do what I asked him for then, and we’ll find a way to—”

The rushing of blood in Emily’s ears drowned out this crazy bitch’s words. The world narrowed, with darkness encroaching from the edges of her field of vision until everything had turned into a tunnel, with the only light at the end of it consisting of this monster’s artificial-looking face.

The tunnel collapsed. Complete darkness. Just the pounding of those drums, the beating of her heart.

The sound that the human hand makes when hitting flesh is strange. Like a wet bag filled with raw meat slapping onto a hard kitchen counter. That association only registered with Emily with delay.

She must have slapped or punched Kathryn multiple times before the guards pried her away. Signing papers and getting reprimanded were things that came back to her later. Emily walked out of that hellhole, putting on her sunglasses again as broad daylight from the merciless sun instantly gave her a headache. Or maybe it was the dehydration coupled with the rage. Her mouth felt as dry as Death Valley looked.

She had lost time. Her wrists hurt, she had been detained temporarily. Someone told her this was not uncommon. Warned her, told her not to show her face there again. Said she was lucky Shaw’s lawyers wouldn’t end up pressing charges, because she’d probably forget what happened by dinner time.

Emily sat on the hood of the Charger, smoking. Only one cigarette left and four hours of driving back to Los Angeles ahead of her. A veritable tower of ash formed at the end of the glimmering little death-stick between her fingers. Her ears still rang with the aftereffects of adrenaline and rage.

In her mind, she went to and fro, like liquid sloshing back and forth in a bucket. Like the gasoline, always threatening to spill over the edge and fall into the flames; threatening to feed that all-devouring fire. She struggled to piece together what had happened but a burning darkness blotted out parts of those memories.

It couldn’t have been too bad or she might have gotten arrested on the spot. Or maybe the guards took pity on her, having a hunch about what was going on there. Or maybe this entire world was so callous and cruel that nobody truly gave a damn.

Whatever had truly happened in that cold claustrophobic room with the uncomfortably cool air conditioning, it had not helped Emily. Not at all.

She had walked out of Starkford with answers less satisfying than the meager ones she had entered with. She hated the concept of America’s prison system, but a more sadistic part of her hoped that Kathryn would suffer and rot in there for the rest of her miserable life.

Emily stamped out the cigarette, grinding it with her heel with extreme prejudice, and got behind the wheel again.

Speeding might help. Her addiction made her mentally check at which gas station she’d stop next to buy more smokes. Getting back to work, perhaps following up on the Mancini “murder house” next—maybe these things would get her mind off of the hell that was living on this God-forsaken planet, hurtling through space until the sun died and the heat death of the universe ended everything.

Or maybe just drowning everything in a bottle of whiskey.

But everything Emily enjoyed at this point was self-destructive.

Nothing would truly help. None of it would quench the fires of her rage.

Just pour more gasoline into the flames.

She revved the engine. The tires screeched and the Charger sped away.

—Submitted by Wratts

#spoospasu #spookyspaghettisundae #horror #short story #writing #my writing #literature #spooky #fiction #submission #rage #anger #fury #control #out of control #emily #graves #murder #killer #madness #insanity #loss of control #violence #plastic surgery #addiction #smoking #car #speeding #gasoline #fuel

[agentmothman18]

Merry Christmas! (Idk? Part 2)

Okay so I’ve been working on this for two days (two nights technically-) so sorry for misspelling or if it’s pretty crazy. Like all over the place crazy. I don’t write with a plan, that’s never fun in my opinion. So anyway, Merry Christmas! I hope this was a good gift to the few that wanted a second part!

Walking down the corridor, Dib realized that it wasn't just the high schoolers from the dance that got taken. He saw adults from stores he'd visited and fast food workers. There where even kids, no older than 5, crying in corners in a cell with strangers. Seeing this, and the faces given to him for walking 'free', made his gut twist and turn. The betrayed look, the hatred, it was something he hadn't seen in years. The hatred at least, the betrayal was new but very unwelcome. And could he blame them for feeling that way? No, he would too if he saw a another human walking next to a guard with no restrains.

So the boy kept his gaze ahead of himself, staring at the door at then of the hall. He would set them all free, one way or another, all that training during his pursuit of Zim would finally come in handy. But for now, he had to be tactical and see where he was going and what they were going to do to him.

"Move faster." A gruff voice grumbled behind him, a heavy hand placed in his shoulder and pushing him forwards. It hadn't been much strength behind that push but Dib could tell this alien could easily crush his skull if it wanted. Made him wonder why this alien was even hear, with that kind of strength he could easily leave. But, there was strength in numbers, so it wasn't hard to really grasp why this big alien was here still.

"I'm going, jeez." Dib huffed, shaking the aliens hand off his shoulder and walking faster. Beyond the door, was a rather big room with four doors. Even a little room with computers where a pink alien watched the screens, only looking up when the two had reached a sliding door. The pink alien had reached over with one of its extra arms and pressed a button to allow the door to slide open. An elevator, barely big enough for the alien escorting Dib. The boy thought for a moment that he'd be going up alone, but being squashed against the far wall of the elevator proved him wrong. 'Isn't this humiliating.' Dib thought, tensing when the aliens hand pressed against his back. Warning signals blared in his mind, more so when he felt something he slipped into his pants.

He had not time to react, the elevator doors opening and he was pushed out. Handed off to a different alien who found it necessary to cuff him. But he didn't acknowledge that to much, his mind racing with what could be in his pants now. It felt flat and when he was pushed into walking, he felt shark corners. However, with each set it moved farther down his pants, to which he quickly pressed his hands against his butt pocket to stop it. 'What the hell is this?!'

"My tallest, the human you requested." Dib could tell this wasn't their usual hang out area, it was far to close to the prison cells. The human could only guess they had come, guessing Zim had told them enough about himself to make them be cautious. Rightfully so, anymore sight seeing of this ship and Dib would have had a better idea of how to free everyone.

"You were shorter last we saw." Purple looked Dib over, both nearly the same height. However, the tallest's where an inch taller than Dib.

"Last you saw was over a screen nearly 5 years ago." Dib replied, keeping any snarky or rudeness out of his tone. It would be best not to anger them just yet. "Why was I requested?"

"Zim won't tell us what he's done with the information he stole, all data of it has been erased from his pak. You were the only human he talked so fondly of so you are going to get that information from him." Red stated, glaring at the human. Dib opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly after. There were a few ideas that came to mind, but only one really stuck with him. One that would really make everyone feel betrayed but it was for a good cause.

"Fine, I'll get the information. But," That didn't make the tallest happy, but Red motioned for him to continue. Willing to listen to his demands. "I get to be one of your soldier's." He internally cringed after saying that, hating it more than anything. But he felt this was the best way to get everyone to safety, maybe even free other plants if things really went well.

"That requires skills and training that you don't have and-"

"If you can beat our best soldier with you hands bound then you'll be one of us."

"Purple! You.." Red sighed, seeing as there was not taking it back now. And he had faith that their best soldier would win, especially since the humans hands were bound. "Fine, Nyx!" A little Irken with a tray strapped to its head came running over, shaking slightly. "Take this human to the training deck. That's where the fight will be held."

——

The layout of the ship seemed fairly easy to navigate, but with all the twists and turns the Irken had taken him down, it would be a miracle if he remembered the way. But he had bigger issues right now, and that was the fight he was about to have. If their best soldier was anything like Tak, then Dib felt he might not be able to do this. That irken had been a nightmare to deal with, granted that was during the time he was young with no fight training behind him. But still, he had a disadvantage with his hands tied.

"This is the training room." The little Irken known as Nyx said, pushing Dib through the doors. There were a few Irken in the room, and a few aliens Dib didn't know that race of. Though, it did hit Dib with the realization that maybe their best soldier wasn't an Irken at all. It could be possible, given the various alien types in the room. "I hope you have nothing to lose." And then Nyx was gone, rushing out the doors like a bat out of hell. The only thing Dib had to lose was his sister and dad, but when it all came down to it, did he even have them? They weren't exactly the nicest to be around, or weren't even there to begin with.

Dib turned his attention back to the aliens in the room, all looking at him and examining him. So he did the same, looking each and everyone of them over. None of them looked strong, but from years of fighting Zim, he knew better than to assume ones strength by looks. The others decided he wasn't worth their time and continued on with their training, giving Dib the opportunity to not only watch their fighting styles but to also retrieve the thing in his pants.

It had been a chip of some sort, small and black with blue lines in it. He couldn't get a better look with his hands bound behind him, and struggling to look at it would cause suspicion so Dib shoved it into his back pocket for later. 'Why did he give it to me?' More questions like that rang through his head, none of which he could think of a good answer for. However, he felt this had to be tied to the information Zim had stolen, it couldn’t be anything else and if it was then he’d be surprised.

“This won’t be to the death,” Tallest Red’s voice started Dib, the boy quickly turning to look at the alien. “And if you fail, you’re still going to get that information.” Definitely a threat, Dib could tell by the edge and glare. He didn’t expect any less, Red always did seem like the more stern and cut throat kind of leader over the calls he dropped in on. So Dib only nodded his head in agreement to that, knowing better than to buck the system at this point. It was one against thousands and there was no way he’d win that kind of fight.

“One round,” Purple butted in, his eyes looking towards one of the bigger aliens in the room. And when the other acknowledged Purple, they were motioned over. Dib was a quick to assume this was their great soldier, sizing the taller alien up. This one held a bored expression, brownish green skin marked up with scars. “First one pinned to the ground looses.” They where just wanting him to loose, making this situation even more difficult that it had to be and unfair as hell. Nevertheless, both nodded to the conditions and where moved to the center of the training room.

The few aliens that where in the room still had quickly moved any equipment out of the way, pushing everything against the walls. The human watched as one pulled a whistle from its pocket, coming to stand by the Tallest’s. As they talked about the terms of what should happen, Dib glanced at the bigger alien in front of him. They were taller, had more muscles on them and a lizard like tail. He’d have to avoid that, as well as block any attacks. One hit from this alien could probably knock him out cold.

Dib mimicked his opponent and got ready for when the whistle would be blown. His stance, unlike the other, was less menacing and looked similar to one a racer would take except he wasn’t as hunched over. But when the whistle was blown, the boy tensed up at having the bigger alien rush him. However, he didn’t freeze in place, noticing quickly how the alien left it’s torso and legs exposed. It was sad when all the human had to do was side step the alien and trip them, a loud thud echoing in the room. But a win was a win, and Dib was quick to stand on the aliens back to keep it down. ‘This was anticlimactic.’ He thought, hearing a second whistle blow and quickly stepping down from the aliens back. “I think you need better soldiers.” The remark earned him a nice slap to the face, from Tallest Purple who clearly didn’t like his soldiers being insulted.

——

When the human had said he wanted to be a soldier, he hadn’t expected them to immediately gear him up. He had been un-cuffed and given a soldier outfit that looked like a mech suit but more fitted in a way. Less bulky and more movable. From the neck to the torso was blue, with an Irken soldier symbol indented in the middle of the chest. And since he had no pak, there where three holes where the pak would have been placed. It was easily covered by the pak shell built into the suit, meant for protecting a pak of course.

If it wasn’t for this suit being Irken made, Dib would have been stoked to wear it. But it only made him feel bad, like he was really betraying his people. ‘It’s for the best.’ He kept telling himself, keeping a straight face as he was lead to the room Zim was being held in.

From what his guide was telling him, this ‘room’ was meant for holding the worse prisoners and for creatures that would be later tested on. They had bring Zim into an interrogation room, which Dib wondered why he wasn’t there to begin with. Having any living thing isolated with nothing to do felt like a better thinking punishment than being in a room with others. He thought that way until he saw just was this room was like.

Fifty or more orbs filled the room, some bigger than others and all where floating a good 5 feet off the found. The room was fairly cold and the few workers he saw wore far more than he thought was necessary. But these were Irken workers, and from what he’s learned from Zim, Irkens were cold blooded creatures.

“This might take a second.” The guide told him, starting the boy a bit. They had reached Zim’s pod, a screen projecting from the pod to make a holographic keyboard. Dib paid more attention to Zim, noticing how the aliens breathing was slow and almost nonexistent. He didn’t move a muscle, curled into a ball and looking actually comfortable. The pod, like all the others, where filled with plush looking blankets. Dib wondered why they gave these prisoners nice blankets, they where the worst so shouldn’t they have the worst?

There was a loud, echoing ‘psh’ sound as the orb cracked open. A once seamless circle now had a prominent line around its middle, and soon it had no top when the Irken guide lifted it open. Dib watched as cuffs were put on the aliens small wrists, a groan leaving the waking Irken. Zim wasn’t given time to completely gather himself, pulled from the plush blankets and onto the hard floor with thud. Dib could only watch as his Irken guide yanked the taller Irken to his feet and started dragging him from the room. It barely gave Dib time to react, but he was able to quickly follow after the two.

The interrogation room was right across the hall and in the room was a chain welded to the ground. No seats or a table, just that, which Zim was cuffed to by the time Dib fully got into the room. “Take as long as you need.” The guide then left, a click of the door signally their complete departure. And the two finally looked at each other, Zim’s eyes widening as he looked Dib over. The humans could see a look of a betrayal in the fake contacts, the alien quickly glaring at him and attempting to cross his arms.

“All those years of stopping me and look at you know.” Zim hissed, yanking at the chains even though it was useless.

“Shut up, I have a plan and that involves doing this.” Dib said as he motioned to the suit he was wearing. “But seriously, what the fuck did you do? What information was so important that they come to earth just to get you?” The human demanded, watching as Zim glared off to the side. He looked like a scolded child who got more angry than upset.

“Why should I tell you anything? I’m going to be erased no matter what happens.” Dib was shocked to see the tears spill from Zims eyes. He’d never seen the Irken cry before. “I’d rather die than ruin everything we’ve been working towards.”

‘We?’

#alien #invader zim #dib #dib membrane #zadr #zim #lgbtq #short story #iz #adventure #space #gay

[buns-with-a-book]

Into the Spardaverse 3 - A Tale of Two Worlds

Donte and Dante talk, Cassandra and Reboot Vergil talk, lots of talking but expect some action in the next chapter.

Fandom: Devil May Cry, DmC (Devil may Cry) Characters: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: Dante and Cassandra hear the tale of the brothers of Limbo City. 

Dante looked around the safehouse the punk found for them. It seemed to have once been a nice apartment but now it was in ruins, sprayed with sigils and spells to deter demons by someone who came here before them. In the presence of them, he could feel a slight tingling. It was similar to Cassandra, when she summoned the orbs of light to either light the way or burn off the face of a demon. It never burned, at least not enough to slow him down, but it always kept him focused on the task at hand. 

“Hey.” The punk’s voice rattled him from his thoughts. He looked back to him, seeing what looked like a salvaged bag of food set out on the tiny table. There were a couple cans of tuna, some mayonnaise condiment packages, some sliced bread, and plastic utensils. The punk had taken an orange from the bag and was quietly peeling it open. Dante frowned at what was available, a frown that made the punk huff in irritation. “Look, if you’re gonna keep on going to find your sis, you’re going to need to eat.” 

“No pizza?” He asked, walking over to the worn couch and flopping down. 

“Nope.” The punk crossed his arms. “Haven’t had pizza in years.” 

“Jeez, what kind of life do you live?” Dante huffed, opening one of the cans and mixing the mayonnaise with the tuna. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna tell me you haven’t had strawberry sundaes.”

“Bleh, strawberries. Don’t like em.” 

“What!?” Dante stared at him. “They’re the best thing ever!” 

“I don’t like the seeds. They get everywhere and it’s distracting.” The punk replied. “I prefer oranges anyway, especially in orange sherbet.” He added, taking an orange slice and popping it into his mouth. Dante made a face, thankful that he didn’t turn out like this punk. He couldn’t fathom a life without his beloved sundaes. He quickly made a sandwich of tuna and mayo and chomped in, wincing at the taste. It wasn’t pizza...but it would do for now. 

“So, kid, how long have you been hunting demons?” Dante asked between bites. 

“...since I was a kid. I was tossed around from place to place, fighting off demons that hunted me down.” Dante noticed the softness in his tone. His hand reached up to hold a necklace, rubbing the red jewel. Dante could only presume that it was the Perfect Amulet, in another form. “Everywhere I was sent to, there were always demons trying to kill me.” 

‘Ain’t that a familiar story.’ Dante mused, staring at the punk. 

“What was your mom like?” The punk asked suddenly, rousing Dante from his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“Your mom. We’re obviously more alike beyond looks and names.” The punk said, sitting up to face him properly. Dante took another bite of the sandwich.

“Well...only if you go first.” He waved his hand. He could feel the scowl that the punk was throwing at him before he let out a sigh. 

“My mom was an angel.” He said softly. “From what I remember, she held off Mundus’ armies as long as she could while Dad fled with us.” 

“Wait, Sparda was with you?” Dante interjected. “Lucky. My dad was never with us when...that happened.” He winced at the memory of smoke and flames, of the final scream from the mother he wasn’t strong enough to save. “Nor was Verge.” He raised an eyebrow at the punk. “Speaking of him…” 

“What about your mom.” The punk hissed. It seemed that the topic of Vergil was a sore subject, not that Dante could blame him. For years, Vergil was a subject that he didn’t want to think of, especially after what happened on Mallet Island. Dante let out a sigh.

“Ok, ok. My mom…” He closed his eyes, pushing past the memories of ash and smoke and blood. “She was a witch, as I recall. Familiars, potions, the whole shabang. Don’t really remember my dad much...I think he visited a few times before he just...disappeared. Everybody talks about him like he’s the hottest shit that ever walked around. Hell, even a whole town worshiped him like a god.” He chuckled at the thought of Fortuna. The punk listened quietly, shifting in his seat. 

“The Sparda I know...that I remember, he was just a really good swordsman.”

“Sounds like some things never change.” 

“He used to be kicking until recently...until the Demon King found him and killed him.” Dante winced at that. Some things never changed indeed. “I wanted to meet him, before he died, but…” He let out a sigh. “So much for that. Shit.” He hissed. 

“I understand that feeling kid.” Dante finished the sandwich and stood, walking to the window. “There’s a lot I wanna say to my old man, a lot I wanna ask...but I can’t.” He sighed, leaning against the windowsill. He looked down the street and blinked, watching as a tiny golden butterfly fluttered down the street. It stood out from the bleakness of Limbo City. He smiled, knowing exactly what that butterfly was. He held out his hand, letting the spectral butterfly land in his palm. His hand bloomed with warmth, reminding him of the sun that was shrouded behind grey and green clouds. He looked up, out the window, and felt a sense of direction. It was northward...and it was nearby. An image of a mansion flashed in his mind, guarded by a gatekeeper made of twisted metal and appearing like an angel. A flicker of his own demonic energy melded with the butterfly, giving its wings a bright-red glow. 

“What was that?” He heard the punk ask behind him. 

“The way me and my sis communicate, if one of us is in danger.” He said, letting it flutter away. “I know where she is.” He pointed out the window. “Up that street, a couple lefts, and we’ll end up at a big ole mansion. That’s where she is.” The punk let out a frustrated sigh. “Hm?”

“She’s at The Demon King’s Palace. Fucking great.” 

“So, we’re going to kick the ass of a jackass?” Dante laughed dryly, looking back to the punk. The laugh died off at the sight of him, looking more vulnerable than he ever saw. There was also the fact that he hadn’t seen Vergil at all, neither his own brother or the brother he knew the punk had. 

“That jackass...is my brother.” 

“Jeez. Everything just has to get more complicated.” Dante muttered, running a hand through his silvery-white hair. It didn’t help that the Demon King was the punk’s brother...who slew their father as well, he could never see Vergil doing that. It was those thoughts that he mulled over. In the distance, he swore he saw a blur of neon blue, like lightning across the cloud-covered sky. He smirked and stood up.

“Come on kid, we’re gonna meet someone at jackass’ mansion.”

“Who?” The punk quickly got up.

“My brother.”  

---

Cassandra hummed softly, watching the orb of sunlight she summoned bounce around at the mere gesture of her hand. While this little bitch that called himself Vergil was searching for her Dante and Vergil, she was passing the time as his prisoner. She had settled herself on the edge of the bed but dared not take a nap. It was too risky, especially with the Demon King lurking in the very walls of the mansion that was his palace. She had no idea how the demons of Limbo City operated, if even sleeping in their realm would damn her to a hundred years of slumber. 

‘When all else fails, assume their rules are the same as the Fair Folk.’ She thought. The handle of the door twisted before opening, revealing Vergil entering her prison cell of a bedroom. Behind him was a demon on spindly legs, holding a tray of tea. She stared at the demon, unsure how to react to it aside from disgust. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, struggling to sound as neutral as possible. 

“My agents are seeking out your allies, Rose. It will not be long before they come.” An unsettling grin crept on his face. “And with their arrival, they shall be destroyed.” She noticed his unsettling confidence, as if he knew they would be crushed by him. Did he know what the Dante and Vergil she knew held? Did the power of Sin Devil Trigger exist in this world? Or was it impossible, a lofty unreachable standard? She didn’t dare ask, not wanting to spoil the powers she knew they had, to catch the Demon King off guard. 

“So…” She hummed, glancing around the walls. “Nice sigils you got on the walls. Are they supposed to do anything?” Vergil looked at her in surprise. He carefully pulled off his gloves, walking over to her. She stood up, backing away from him. “What are you doing!?” He took her hand, ignoring her recoil from the touch. 

“Perhaps you are no angel…” Cassandra bit back a scathing comment, trying to tug her hand out of his. He let go after a few moments, Cassandra quickly pulling her hand close to her. “Would you like tea?” And he had the gall to ask if she wanted tea!? He gestured to the demon who had been standing in the room. The demon looked towards her, tilting it’s faceless head. 

“...no thank you.” She whispered, trying to keep her voice even. She dared not ask about his mother, she was certain either Mundus killed her or he did it himself. “I...I don’t have the appetite at the moment.” 

“Suit yourself, Rose.” He sighed and stepped back, walking to the demon. He picked up a teacup and began to sip the tea. Cassandra stared at her hand, gently rubbing the skin. She didn’t dare try to activate her healing Crest, not wanting to attract any more of his attention than she already had. “Who were your parents?” Vergil asked. She frowned. 

“Soren and Eos Greensleeve. If you’re asking if they were human or not, they were human as far as I was aware.” 

“Was?” 

“They’re dead.” Another half-truth. Stella was dead and Nyx was dead to her. Vergil hummed quietly at the news.

“My condolences. I know what it is like to lose your parents.” She raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Eva...and Sparda, correct?”

“You know of them?” He asked, turning to face her. She swallowed. 

“I’ve heard of them, how Eva sacrificed herself to save her sons. Sparda’s last gift, Rebellion and Yamato...all rumors and legends. I wonder how Sparda would react, seeing his son as the Demon King?”  

“Quite interesting that you speak of a dead demon, a demon who did not bend to my will. It was a shame I had to kill Sparda.” Cassandra stared at him, her body frozen from shock. “He was half-mad from Mundus’ torture, it was a mercy to kill him.” 

“You speak of mercy but I doubt you were ever capable of it.” She whispered. “You only killed him because you could do it.” The look she got from that, a look of casual disinterest in her shock, told her more than he could ever say. 

‘This bitch is a fucking madman!’ She thought, narrowing her eyes at him. She wished she could run from the Demon King, she wanted to, but she had to wait for a distraction from the outside. Preferably named Dante, but any distraction would do at this point. She noticed he was walking away from the window, to the door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To the library. I will find out who you are, Rose. You may not be the angel I originally pinned you to be but you are someone of interest. I just need to find out who.” The spindly demon trotted after him docily, stepping out of the room before Vergil closed the door and locked it. 

‘You won’t find out, because I don’t belong here.’ Cassandra thought, walking to the window. ‘And by the time you figure it out, I’m gonna be kicking your ass.’ She opened the window, watching as a blue spectral butterfly fluttered to her. She smiled at the sight, taking it into her hand. ‘Make that both of us, you little bitch.’

#devil may cry #devil may cry dante #devil may cry oc #devil may cry vergil #into the spardaverse