#let me tell you the ear caps for moon were a nightmare to figure out how to attach

[husku-u]

I didn’t remember to take pictures on Halloween but-

Me & @sunsetwaffle345 went as NSH and Moon!

#this may or may not be the only picture we took #I spent till 4 am the previous night making these- #and then like 3 more hours day of #they turned out so cool! #let me tell you the ear caps for moon were a nightmare to figure out how to attach #making a costume for a character with only one canon image #and that image is mostly obstructed and dark #is slightly difficult- #THANK YOU FANARTISTS #time for the fandom tags folks #rain world #rw iterator #rw lttm #lttm #rw looks to the moon #looks to the moon #rw nsh #NSH #rw no significant harassment #no significant harassment #rw lilypad #? i guess #we gay irl so yeah #original post

[sariahsue]

First kiss Adrienette please? I’m a sucker for the love square, all sides, but I have a soft spot for their civilian selves

Edit: I made a mistake when answering my asks.  This is actually the SOULMATES request.  First kiss can be found right here.

*throws this at you and then runs away*

(Please keep in mind that pretty much all my Adrinette stories somehow turn into no miraculous AUs, and this one was no exception.)

***

Adrien woke with a start a 3:03 a.m. and couldn’t figure out why.   His room was deathly quiet.  His wide window was dark except for a smudge of moon behind a cloud.  No dreams had startled him, so what was it?  He sat up quietly, expecting to see something happen, and waiting for nothing.  Why on earth was he awake?

Tomorrow was the first day of his second year of public school, and he needed his rest.  He should go back to sleep, but instead of lying back down, he sat and listened for her. 

Quiet enough to be overlooked, loud enough to be heard when he wanted tolisten, his soulmate’s heartbeat echoed distantly in his ears, steady and reassuring, a promise that she was out there waiting for him, that they would meet someday.  Or had they met already?  There was no way for him to tell yet.

What he did know was that she was sleeping peacefully somewhere.  The steady thrum of her heart was soothing, pulling him back into his exhaustion.  He was almost there, dancing along the edge of sleep, when her gentle pulse became a breakneck gallop, and Adrien blinked back awake at the sound.  Her heart raced.  At night, a sudden change like that could only mean one thing: a nightmare had woken her up. It had happened a few times before.  He’d be up late, he’d hear her and worry, but she would go back to sleep quickly.

This time was different.  After about five minutes of listening to her heart wildly thumping, he grew concerned.  Shouldn’t she have gone back to sleep by now, or at least started to calm down?  It must have been more serious than a simple nightmare.  Was something wrong?

If they’d been together, he would have waited up with her so she didn’t have to be alone, soothed her and calmed her down.  Apart, he still waited with her, though he knew it was impossible for her to feel the warmth and comfort he was trying to send her.  If only he could tell her he was there for her!

But, he thought, struck by a sudden idea, maybe I can help after all.  He could hear her heartbeat, and she could hear his.  They were two halves of a whole.  Maybe listening to her soulmate’s heartbeat was her favorite pastime, too.

Blankets were thrown onto the floor as he bounded out of bed and sprinted across his large room, tapped the opposite wall, then back, flopping on top of his covers.  If she’d been listening, the short spike of his heart rate would let her know he was awake too, that he was with her.  He made the dash again, then a third time, before tucking himself back into bed and taking deep breaths.  That should be enough to get her attention.  

Phase two of the plan was to hope she was listening and get her to calm down.  Adrien breathed in slowly, held it, then breathed out even more slowly, like he’d been taught.  Control the breath to control the heart and anxiety.  As his racing pulse slowed, hers did too. Peace settled between them, and in a few minutes, she returned to the same steady pace she’d been at when he’d woken.

He had helped her.  Even without being able to touch her or see her, without even knowing her name, he’d given her enough comfort to be able to sleep.  

Not for the first time, he wondered what she would look like.  He’d never tried to imagine a look for her, but he couldn’t shake the smell of cookies when he thought of her, or the feeling of his lips against her cool skin and her bangs tickling his nose as his kissed her forehead.   In his mind, he gave her that kiss every night before he went to sleep, and he did it again now.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

***

Adrien had a good feeling about this school year.  Granted, it hadn’t technically started yet, but he’d gotten a seat next to Nino again, so that was a good sign.  Nino spun his cap in his hands as they waited for the first bell to ring.  Familiar faces filed into the classroom one at a time, distracting Adrien from the story he was trying to tell.

“And so after she woke up…” Nino prompted again.  

“Sorry,” Adrien said.  “I thought there had to be something I could do to calm her down.  She felt so panicked!  And– Oh, hey Marinette!  Are you okay?”  

Marinette’s eyes were glazed over with exhaustion as she trudged into the classroom, but at his question she stood up straighter and managed a tired smile and a flustered “You’re– I’m f-fine,” before tripping her way up to the spot Alya was saving for her right behind him.  

“And you calmed her down how?” Nino prodded.

“Sorry,” Adrien said again.  Without any more interruptions, he continued telling the story, angling himself in his seat to include Alya and Marinette.  He’d hoped they’d all be impressed with his creative solution, or at least think he was some kind of romantic hero, but he was disappointed.

“I’m telling you, dude, you are the biggest sap I’ve ever met,” Nino said.  “And I’ve met Marinette.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true,” Alya said.  “You’re both disgusting.”

“I’m serious, though!”  Adrien said.  “She didn’t start calming down until after I let her know I was there.  I helped.”

Alya scoffed.  “She probably just fell back asleep and wasn’t even listening.”

But when he looked at Marinette, her eyes were wide.  A blush crept across her face, as cute as it was familiar.  She seemed to be blushing every time he looked at her, but this one was different somehow.

“You believe me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair to get a better look at her.

“How long have we known each other?” she asked.

Confused by the question, Adrien let his chair drop back to the ground.  “I missed the first day of school, so a year ago tomorrow.  Why?”

“I… I woke up this morning.  Early.  I’d had a nightmare, and then I was worried about school and couldn’t fall asleep, and–”

“What time?” Adrien asked.  Without hesitation, he kneeled backward on his seat, so he was level with Marinette.  They’d met almost a year ago.  Was she saying… Could it be?

“Just after three,” she whispered.  “I listened for his heartbeat – my soulmate’s, I mean.  I do that a lot.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes nervously.  “I was worried about class today, and I couldn’t go back to sleep.  And was alone, and he woke up.  I listened until I fell asleep.  He… he helped me.”

Alya and Nino watched them silently.  Adrien found he didn’t know what to say, but when she leaned back in her seat, eyes downcast, he realized she’d been waiting for a response.  “That’s… that’s good.  I’m glad you were okay.”  

“Um,” she said, voice very quiet.  “Thanks.”

Had it been her?  Was her gratitude for the sentiment, or his help last night?  Her story seemed too perfectly matched to be a coincidence.  

The teacher walked in and started class, and Adrien regretfully turned to the front of the room.  But for the entire day, he couldn’t concentrate on what anyone (except Marinette) said, not while she was sitting just a few feet behind him.  

He knew how you found out your soulmate.  It was one year, down the the exact second, after you met them.  If it was Marinette, he would know the love of his life’s name tomorrow.  They might be together forever, starting tomorrow.

At the end of the school day, he gathered his things quickly and found Marinette standing at his elbow when he stood up to leave.  She didn’t speak to him, or even look at him, but he knew why she was there.  He wanted to be close to her, too.

They walked out together in easy silence.  The bustle of the student body, with its yelling, and pushing, and slamming lockers reflected his own excitement.  He could find out tomorrow!

Outside, they stopped at the bottom of stairs and waited for Adrien’s driver. It was only a short walk to Marinette’s home.  There was no reason for her to wait with him, but wait she did.  She stayed next to him, her sleeve occasionally brushing his bare arm, until the limo weaved its way through the throng of leaving students and pull up to the door.

“Well,” she finally said, and Adrien turned to listen.  “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” he said.  “Tomorrow.”

***

Adrien’s soulmate was up late that night.  While he lay in bed, willinghimself to fall asleep, he listened to her heart racing.  Would Marinette’s image be imprinted on his mind in a few hours?  Was that her heartbeat he was hearing?  Was it so fast because Marinette was excited about the morning?  Nervous?

What if it was Marinette?  What if it wasn’t?  He’d never considered her before, instead always wanting to wait for his soulmate, but he had never denied what a nice person she was.  Caring, creative, and courageous.  He would be so lucky if it was her.

Adrien didn’t feel tired until his soulmate’s heartbeat slowed to the steady rhythm of sleep.  Just before he drifted off himself, he completed his nightly ritual of kissing her forehead, but this time, it was pale skin, dark hair, and blue eyes that he imagined.

***

Adrien was wide awake the instant he woke up.  He had known Marinette for 364 days and 23 hours.  He had only one more hour until he knew whether or not it was her, and he couldn’t have been more nervous. Or more ready.

Rushing through his morning routine, gulping down his breakfast so fast he couldn’t remember if he even ate it, he was ready to go 30 minutes earlier than normal.  Waiting for his ride was agony.  There was nothing to distract him, just the pounding of her heart, which beat in time to his.

When the car finally pulled up, the ride seemed to take forever.  They were stuck behind the slowest drivers and had to stop for every pedestrian in the city.  The armrest was going to have holes in it if he drummed his fingers on it any harder, he was sure.

The soulmate process didn’t require him to be around her when their year was up.  But he wanted to be.  If Marinette was the one… he didn’t want to waste even a second.  

Much to his driver’s annoyance, Adrien was opening his car door and sticking his feet out before the car had fully finished parking in front of the school.  What was the time, exactly, that they had met last year?  As he checked the time on his phone, he realized he couldn’t remember.  It had been right before class had started, though.

Finding a spot along the wall where he could see Marinette’s bakery, the school’s front door, and everything in between, he waited for her. She was usually late, though he thought she’d been on time today. Students filed past him, and he checked every one of their faces, looking for her.  With any luck, she would arrive after everyone else, and they would be the last ones outside together.  

The minutes ticked on.  (He knew they did.  He checked the clock 18 times in the 15 minutes he waited.)  Clouds rushed by overhead, going as fast as he wished Marinette would, but still she didn’t come.  With only a few minutes left before the bell rang, she still hadn’t come, and Adrien had to admit defeat and go inside alone.  He must have missed her.

The walk up to his classroom seemed long, even though it took him less than a minute.  Lonelier than he expected, too.  So many people around him were walking hand-in-hand.  He grabbed his backpack straps just to hold something.

As he shuffled into the classroom, he was greeted with a very cheerful, “Good morning, Adrien.”  There she was.  Sitting in her usual spot, bright and shining in her excitement.  “Did you just get here?”  Her bouncing leg gave away the underlying anxiety.  Alya put a hand on her knee under the table, but it didn’t help.

“N-no,” he said, stopping in the doorway to stare at her, like the idiot he was.  “I’ve been outside.  You came early?”

“Oh, yeah.  Pretty much early,” she babbled.  “No reason.  Just happened to get here ago 30 minutes.”  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced above the doorway, where the clock was sitting.  No reason, she said.  Sure.

When Kim poked him in the back, Adrien finally stumbled into the room, his knees feeling like jello.  He passed Nino without even looking at him, swept past his desk without dropping his backpack, and came to stop at Marinette’s side.  Still sitting, she looked up at him, and their eyes locked.  Around them, the class’s usual chatter died out. Everyone watched them as the timer counted down.

When would it happen?  Would it happen?  What would he feel after it happened?  How much longer?  The seconds ticked on.

“Class,” the teacher announced, “seats.”

Adrien blinked and looked toward the front of the room, though he didn’t really see it.  Class was starting?  But he’d met Marinette before class a year ago.  

Crushing disappointment rushed him as the truth sunk in.  It wasn’t her. Marinette would have been so perfect for him, but she wasn’t the one.

A small sniff shook him from his thoughts, and he turned back to the girl in front of him.  Marinette looked down at her hands as they trembled in her lap.

Another awful realization hit him, more brutal than the first.  Marinette was brokenhearted.  She had liked him already.  How had he never noticed that?

Her chair squeaked as she stood up.  “I just remembered that I don’t feel good and need to go home.”  

“Marinette,” he said.  He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure what he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.  Seeing him would probably make it worse at this point, a reminder that they weren’t–

“Miss!” Alya called.  Their teacher turned away from the board, chalk already in hand.  Alya stood next to Marinette, arm around her shoulder and trying to push her back into her seat with no success.  “That clock is fast.  We can’t start yet.”

“I don’t think it’s–”

“Please!” the class called.  

“Just a few more minutes!”

“Not yet!”

Do we really have more time? 

Marinette’s eyes, still teary, found his again.  For a moment, he was confused. He could swear the classroom looked suddenly different, just like last year’s.  The room spun in his mind, until it fixed on Marinette’s clear face, full of anger at something he hadn’t done, but now he’d never been so happy to have someone mad at him.  The flashback caused him to see her twice, expression of outrage overlaid on her current wide-eyed wonder.  “What do you think you’re doing?” the memory whispered before it faded.  “I was just trying to take the gum off!”

Maybe the rest of the class was staring at them.  Maybe they’d already started the lesson.  To Adrien, they didn’t even exist.  His soulmate was standing right in front of him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Like he had imagined doing so many times, Adrien leaned down and brushed his lips to her forehead.  She grabbed his collar to keep him there a second longer.

Cookies, he thought.  I guessed that right.  But she was warm, though he had always imagined cold.  Warm and real and right here.

“Hi,” he whispered back as he pulled away.  

Instead of stepping down to his own seat, he walked around to Alya’s side of the table and grabbed the back of her chair.  “May I?”  

Alya scooped up her things without a word and went to sit in Adrien’s old spot.  

He didn’t want to waste a single second that he had with her.  Marinette echoed his sentiment.  As soon as the teacher turned back to the board, she interlaced their fingers under the table.  This was a brand new feeling, his soulmate’s fingertips against his, the promise of a future where they would never be alone. He loved it.

He loved her already.

***

Requests are closed, but you can check out the other ones I’ve fulfilled here.

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrienette

[lywinis]

SCREW YOU TUMBLR STOP EATING MY CUTS.

AO3

[1986]

Crowley liked Soho. As far as places went, it was hardly a den of iniquity, but he’d always felt that there should be some sort of decorum to one’s descent into Hell. He’d seen other demons go at it slapdash, tempting with drugs and alcohol and sex, but it had all seemed rather crass, especially when one considered that humans tended to get there all on their own without outside influence.

He was hardly feeling unfulfilled at his job, however. He was secure in his spot; he hadn’t been ousted in nearly six milennia. While he’d almost been discorporated a handful of times – and actually discorporated a handful more, but he’d hung onto this body for quite a while now. There’d been no paperwork of that sort and no stretching out a new vessel, getting used to the kinks and working out how to feel comfortable in his skin again.

Humans had gotten simultaneously more and less violent. Wars were global, with bombs and protests and more bombs. The world held its breath as Russia and the US sized each other up.

The tension was something that hung over the world like a miasma, but it was hardly something anyone could do something about – even though Heaven and Hell had been working on it. Heaven was fighting against it, whispering suggestions into ears on both sides; Hell was ramping it up, enunciating the machismo and chest beating so that someone would get angry and hit a button. Crowley stayed out of it for the most part. Bringing about the apocalypse early would put a feather in his cap, with the right words whispered in the right ears, but Crowley thought of the bigger picture.

Earth was interesting, far more so than the crowded, dank and dripping hallways of the Pit, a proper bureaucrat’s wet dream with all the paperwork and queueing. No, Earth was much nicer. It had alcohol, rock and roll, good soft mattresses with duvets that felt like a caress.

Earth also had Aziraphale, and Crowley was damned glad for it.

In short, he was feeling very good about his place in the world; naturally that was when it all went to shit.

He was going out, in that way that he had when he’d had enough of telly and enough of remaining cooped up in his flat with his houseplants, but he hadn’t a clue as to what he wanted to do. Drinks were likely, but he’d seen Aziraphale almost six months ago. Too early to call on him, even at the bookshop. He took a risk every time he went; that day could be the day he was found out. Best not to draw too much attention to the bookshop nestled on the busiest corner in Soho, looking less like a shop and more like part of the background, no doubt something the angel had done to discourage customers.

That was hilarious in its own way, really. Crowley never got tired of watching Aziraphale annoy people away from his book collection. Technically angels weren’t supposed to own Things, but Aziraphale had never been shy of his admiration for humans and their words. Nor had he ever been shy about partaking in the physical world’s pleasures, such as eating or drinking.

Crowley cursed to himself. His feet had taken him toward the bookshop regardless of his own intent. He was almost there, in fact. He needed to think of something else. Aziraphale had distracted him, and the angel wasn’t even present.

That was dangerous, even moreso that he was trying to avoid whatever had been following him.

The last month or so, it had felt like he was being watched. Not in the way that Hell had, when they wanted to transmit new orders to him – if it were that, they would have just blared it through his stereo, interrupting wherever he happened to be on the Very Best of Queen. No, this was different.

This felt like being stalked by a predator. Crowley had been stalked before; wolves in Scotland, tigers in Burma, seagulls in Melbourne. It was hardly a new thing for him, but the way it made him feel was startling in its newness. The feeling had a razor sharp edge to it, enough to make the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end.

He was in danger, he could feel it in the shudder that rippled up his spine and rattled his pinfeathers.

Whatever it was, the chance of discorporation had become rather real. All the more reason to lure whatever it was away from A.Z. Fell & Co. He swaggered past, using the reflection in the glass, making a pretense of checking his hair in the mirrored surface. (A slicked back style this decade, something just as flashy as he was, a couple strands artfully escaping to make him seem just a little more approachable.) He gave himself a rather cocky set of finger guns, another recent invention that irritated people the world over, and moved on.

He sauntered through the streets, walking in random circles. He stopped for a pint here, grabbed a packet of smokes from a side shop that was still open this time of night. He irritated a whole night club by wiggling his fingers at the DJ’s equipment and putting it just out of calibration enough to be annoying.

Still, the feeling didn’t fade. In fact, it only seemed to intensify, moving slowly closer. Crowley had walked nearly to Whitechapel at this point, but the feeling was still behind him, sending chills up his spine.

Clouds passed over the moon, darkening the streets a bit. Crowley ducked behind a couple of rubbish bins, making for an alley. Maybe he could lose whatever it was by taking to the air.

It wasn’t to be, though. Whatever had been following him thought that stepping down the alley had been a marvelous idea, and he felt himself slammed up against the brick outer wall of a little cafe. The air rushed out of his lungs, but it was a good thing he didn’t need to breathe. He snapped his fingers, reappearing a couple of feet away from this new, unknown enemy.

Well…not entirely unknown.

“Nybbas,” he said, wiping at the thin stream of blood from his lower lip. “They let you out of preschool?”

“You’re always so funny.” Nybbas smiled. “Always with the jokes.”

It didn’t reassure Crowley. Nybbas’s smiles were always…off. A touch too wide, a hair too long, with an eerie tilt to his head. A minor duke in hell, he was low enough on the totem pole that he shouldn’t have been let up here at all, at least not without good reason.

He was plain looking, a shock of brown hair and dull brown eyes. It was when he smiled that it was…creepy. Where you could tell something was off.

“Why the warm welcome?” Crowley asked, gesturing with his bloodied fingers. A snap of his hand and he’d righted himself, but it was the way he was being studied.

Nybbas was smaller than he was, though no less strong; strength was measured in age and in how powerful you were when you Fell. Angels had certain skills you never lost, and demons squabbled over artifacts and knowledge to extend and hone those skills. Falling twisted most powers, though the general idea remained the same.

Nybbas, however, had always been an idealist. He oversaw visions, sending wonky prophecies to earth in order to keep people on their toes. Menial work in this day and age, but still.

“Well,” Nybbas said, scratching at his cheek. “I was coming up for confirmation of something. And for you.”

“For me?” Crowley asked. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Oh, yes,” Nybbas said, smiling again. “You see, I found something, and I want to test it out.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Shit,” Crowley breathed.

“Oh, did you know?” Nybbas’s smile faded. “Well, that takes out at least half the fun of it. Hm. The other half should be all right.”

He tilted his head, withdrawing something from his sleeve. Crowley squinted, until the thing caught the moonlight. A long, sharp dagger, rusted and pitted with flecks of brownish mess. Rust, perhaps – or blood.

No. Not a dagger. It was too long, the blade too tapered. His heart started to hammer in his chest.

“So, you know what this is,” Nybbas said.

“I know what you think it is,” Crowley replied. Bluffing, perhaps. They’d been searching for that for ages, there was no way they’d found it.

Long ago, in Golgotha, a Roman had taken pity on the poor Christ, piercing his side with a spear as he hung dying from the cross. The Lancaea had been lost to time, the shaft snapped during the act and the weapon thought discarded.

If this was indeed the Spear of Destiny, he was in quite a bit of trouble.

Crowley had liked the young man when he’d met him. It was a shame his death had come so early. Crowley figured it was a bit of justice if this hurt as much as he thought it might.

Just a little bit.

Nybbas was watching him, turning the spearhead in his hand. Either the wood had rotted away with time, or the fanatics had carted it off piecemeal to various shrines and holy places, as though that would somehow make them holier or change them for the better.

There wasn’t anything to that sort of rubbish – it was all about their free will and how they used it, after all.

“I’d heard you were taking to sleep, Crawly.”

“It’s Crowley, now.”

“I don’t care,” Nybbas said. His smile never faded, but his eyes were flat, dull. “Yes or no?”

“A bit, yes,” he said. He glossed over the century he’d spent asleep, instead rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Everything,” Nybbas singsonged. “You forgot what I rule over already?”

Shit.

Nybbas’s other domain was dreams. Specifically, nightmares or dreams of temptation.

“Such lovely, vivid dreams,” Nybbas sighed, wistful. “I’ve never seen a demon have dreams before. How do you do it?”

“I…just do.” Crowley had no idea why they’d started, though he wasn’t about to tell Nybbas that.

“Who’s the blond?” Nybbas asked.

Crowley froze. Of course he’d have seen. Crowley dreamt of Aziraphale often, not that he could really help that.

“No one. I made him up.”

“Liar. Demons can’t do that.”

“I can.”

“What’s the Arrangement?” Nybbas focused on him like a cat that had caught a mouse and intended on playing with it.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“LIAR!”

Nybbas was fast. Faster than Crowley had anticipated, and he had been ready for him. The smaller demon darted forward, and though Crowley hopped backward, he still took a hard gash across the forearm from the rusty spearhead.

It was a brilliant bolt of agony.

Crowley would have screamed, but all the air was sucked out of him in a wheeze, pulled from him by the slice to his forearm.

He’d been hanging here for hours, in the hot Golgotha sun. His arms were tired, his body flagging. Crowley stumbled, mashing his face against the brick of the wall. He scraped himself raw, sliding down against the filthy alleyway, sharp and shallow breaths not getting him the air he needed. The Romans laughed beneath him, even as he lifted himself up to take a breath.

He was weeping blood.

“Oh, so it is what I’ve been looking for,” Nybbas said.

His smile returned.

—–

Aziraphale was worried. He thought he’d seen Crowley, primping in his store front. He’d been poring over another misprinted bible, but had noticed the movement out of his peripheral. He’d been just about to invite the demon in for a drink, but Crowley had glanced at something over his shoulder, given his reflection those ridiculous finger thingies, and had sauntered on.

It had only really made Aziraphale curious.

It had only taken him a moment to put on his coat and grab his umbrella, but there was definitely a lack of Crowley as he stepped out of the shop and locked the doors with a twitch of his fingers.

So, he followed his nose.

Admittedly, he wasn’t as good as Crowley with that sort of thing, but over the milennia he’d learned to look. Along with Crowley’s presence came his scent; Aziraphale had to admit it had become something of a comfort these days. New leather, good earthy greenhouses, the hint of a campfire. There had been the sharp smell of good pipe tobacco, but it had gone and been replaced with the faint scent of engine oil once he’d bought the Bentley at the turn of the century.

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he preferred one or the other. They all smelled like Crowley, that was enough.

He ignored the track that thought was taking and followed his nose. He found the mischief wreaked at each spot he’d stopped, following Crowley’s looping path all the way through Soho and into Whitechapel.

An hour or more of walking, and Aziraphale’s worry hadn’t abated. He was hardly exhaustible, but if this was Crowley playing with him, he’d rather be at his shop. Something in him, however, told him to keep going. It was the same quiet voice that had told him to help those poor people in the Garden, and he’d gotten better about listening to it.

“Dear St. Anthony, look around. Something’s lost that can’t be found,” he muttered to himself, flexing his hands over his umbrella, looking this way and that, trying to pick out where the scents were coming from.

Close enough, and he could feel the demon’s presence. It was a small pressure behind his eyes, something he’d been looking for, but as he turned another corner, he realized why it had faded as he got closer to it.

Something else had overwhelmed it.

A smaller man, his head tilted oddly and his lips pulled back in a rictus, stood over Crowley. There was a bloodied knife in his hand, and Aziraphale’s brain stopped making anything but a roar of white noise as he started forward.

Not a man. Not a man. Not a man.

——

Barely able to breathe.

The effects were fading, but Crowley was still gasping like a grounded fish. He was getting feeling back into his arms and legs, but he knew that Nybbas wasn’t about to let him get away with just a cut. He was going to slice into him so he could feel that agony over and over, until his body gave out. Then he’d wait until Crowley recorporated, and then do it again.

It was now or never, while he still had some sense left in him. He couldn’t die, not now.

He could run. Head to his flat. He had the holy water, he could–

“B E G O N E !”

The voice cracked the pavement. It was a roar of white noise, a howl in the night that set off car alarms and roused dogs and cats of all kinds, sending them vocalizing into the once-quiet London night.

Nybbas turned, and Crowley struggled to see through the red haze that was his vision, but there was too much white. Blazing nothingness, shining straight into his eyes and he squinted, trying to see.

——

Aziraphale cracked the demon across the face with the handle of his umbrella so hard that the wood cracked. Splinters shattered into the being’s jaw, and there was an unearthly scream as it fell back against the wall, clutching at its face. Its true form was nothing to sneer at, all smiling jaws and gnashing teeth, but Aziraphale jammed the rest of the umbrella into its sternum, angelic strength cleaving the breastbone in twain.

There was a crackle, a rush of flame, and a pop. The rusty knife clattered to the ground at his feet.

He and Crowley were alone, nothing but a scorchmark on the wall to mark the demon’s passing.

——

Crowley forced himself upward into consciousness. He was in danger, he needed to–

He groaned, audibly. Well, he wheezed. It was close. In the ballpark.

His tripled vision doubled, then singled in on Aziraphale, his divine radiance leaking through his vessel, haloing him in light. His eyes blazed with a blue-white radiance, his mouth drawn tight with disapproval. A broken umbrella in his hand might as well have been a blade; Crowley saw why they’d given him the flaming sword.

He was beautiful and terrible to behold, and Crowley loved him effortlessly, though it would consume him.

Aziraphale turned to him, and the light faded, revealing the same familiar, soft man, moonlight threading through his white-blond curls. He’d never seen a better sight in his entire life.

“Angel,” Crowley wheezed.

“Crowley!”

Crowley’s eyes started to roll back into his head, and he fought unconsciousness for all he was worth. Unfortunately, unconsciousness sucker punched him in the solar plexus and everything faded to black.

——

It was warm and soft where he awoke, and Crowley hesitated to open his eyes just yet. His head was throbbing, but compared to the last time he was conscious, that was a marked improvement. He slowly sat up, cataloguing his hurts.

The gash on his forearm was bandaged, and he could already feel it healing. His gaze was caught by the sight of his shirt.

He looked down at himself.

Tartan pyjamas. Of course. He sighed.

Aziraphale had rescued him. He could let him have that one, at least.

He pressed his feet to the rug, unsurprised to find it as comfortable and plush as everything else.

He had to get up. Everything in here smelled like the angel and he really, really needed to go, before he buried his face in the pillow and didn’t leave.

He snapped his fingers, the pyjamas replaced with clean attire that was more his style. Inhaling, he reached for the doorknob–

–only to almost be knocked over by Aziraphale bustling in with two mugs of tea and breakfast on a tray.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, stopping short and righting the tray. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rusty. “How long was I out?”

“A month and a half.” Crowley frowned. A month and a half, spent under the angel’s roof? He’d have to explain his disappearance. “How are you feeling, my dear boy?”

“Turned inside out,” Crowley said. “Tartan, really?”

“It was all I had.”

Crowley shot him a look over his glasses. Aziraphale colored a bright pink. He shuffled into the room and set the tray on a table.

“Won’t you join me? I made coffee.”

“How did you–”

“My umbrella,” Aziraphale said, stirring sugar into his tea. “Made from a staff I had long ago. It’s blessed by St. Anthony. Was blessed, I mean. It’s broken now.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, unsure what to say to that. “What about the–”

“Shh-ssh!” Aziraphale said, shooting him a Look. “You don’t need to know where It’s gone. It’s been taken care of.”

Crowley considered that. Probably for the best, lest someone figure out he knew where the Spear was. He let that one go, nodding slowly.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Aziraphale said. “And you should try the biscuits. At least a nibble.”

Crowley waved a hand and another squashy armchair floated over to where the table was, settling opposite Aziraphale.

There was no word to describe what he was feeling now. He couldn’t thank Aziraphale. Not for this. They’d get wind downstairs and it would be a nightmare. He could spin it that he’d just gotten away, trying to warn poor Nybbus…yeah, that could work.

He sat, taking the cup and saucer the angel pushed toward him.

The coffee was the perfect temperature.

#Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #Kamidoodles #lywinis writes

[artpharos]

Antumbra Chapter 1: Morning Sun

So uhhh I posted this fic’s prologue a while back, thinking that I would wing it... it didn’t happen and I have spent the better part of two weeks plotting out the fic because of course i would   ANYWAY. Now that I’ve written Chapter 1 for realsies I feel more comfortable sharing it with everyone now :D  ...and I guess I should probably publicize it since I’m probably going to be sinking years into this thing...

Summary:  The survivor of a ravaged world, Moon is flung to an Alola blessed by sunlight. But in order to stop the Ultra Beasts coming after her and return home, the girl who never started her Island Challenge needs to get her act together. It's a good thing Gladion's there to help.

You can read the Prologue here on AO3 CH 1: Read on AO3 

Flashes of light burst through the dark. The smell of ozone stung her nostrils as Nebby carried them through the endless nothingness. It was cold, and she wanted to wrap her arms around herself, if not for the fact that she'd fall if she tried. Moon wanted nothing more than to turn back, back where the bright sun shone and the Wingulls flew happily along the beaches. Wanted nothing more than to return home.

Then, she woke. Bright light scorched her eyes, and a wave of nausea swept through her. Her head hurt, her vision blurred, and her body ached. She flung her hands out, grasping for anything to stabilize the spinning world. Coughing, retching, to expel the taste of ozone that still sat thick on her tongue.

But the air no longer flew by her ears, and gone was the endless darkness. It was still. Calm. Light, and warm.

She breathed, her eyes adjusting to the light. There was a window nearby, letting in warm sunlight that cascaded gently down her shoulders. Beyond the treeline, she could make out the Hau'oli coast. The chirps of Pikipek made up a familiar birdsong, and the remaining fear that clung to the edge of her consciousness faded away.

She let out a sigh of relief. Alola was exactly as it should be. Not ruined, no tear in the sky in sight. It was just a nightmare, chased away by the dawn of day.

But... she stiffened when she glanced around. Gone were the Pokemon plush toys in her room, and her favorite books and posters- replaced by sterile white walls and a single potted plant. The only thing that was hers were her backpack and Rowlet's pokeball, by her bedside. Gone were the morning sounds of her mother, cooking breakfast, or the local boys from Iki laughing as they ran to school.

And on the other side of the bed, a boy no older than her stared at her, watching.

Her breath caught. Partly out of surprise, but also partly because of how close he was. He looked young, around her age. His face was framed by blond, jaggedly cut hair, accented by the piercings he wore on his ear. She could make out the muscular definition of his body underneath his dark clothes, and the pokeballs on his belt. But it was his eyes that caught her attention- a familiar shade of green, with a sharp coldness that sent a chill down her spine.

He didn't speak, didn't so much as flinch, eyes wide and just as surprised as she was.

A memory ghosted through her mind. "You," she breathed.

He didn't blink, remained as still as a statue. He opened his mouth, one hand moving towards her-

Moon lunged for Rowlet's pokeball, stumbling from the bed. Her ankle struck something, pain bursting in her leg. She yelped, crashing into the table, before tumbling onto the floor. She kicked at his hands, turning her body to face him-

"WAIT!" The strange boy had gotten up, and now he took a step towards her.

But she had gotten what she needed. "Rowlet!"

A burst of light, and separating her from the stranger was her trusted, beloved Pokemon. Rowlet hooted angrily, wings flapping and razor talons primed. Surprise flickered in the stranger's eyes.

"Who are you?" Moon asked, clutching her backpack to her chest. "Where am I? What did you do to me?"

He glared at her. Even in the warmth of the sun, his eyes remained cold, sending chills travelling down her spine. He folded his arms, unperturbed by the Rowlet right in his face. "My name is Gladion," he said tersely. "You're in Hau'oli Hospital. I saved your life."

Moon frowned. "Saved?"

"When you fell from the sky. From the Ultra Wormhole."

The words made no sense, but before she could say so, her head throbbed.

Fire rained down from the sky. A shining pokemon, descending from the heavens. Blasts of scorched air and blazing light. Lillie, smiling in goodbye- then a cold, interminable dark.

Moon gasped, a shiver running down her body.

"Hey," he began.

The shiver turned into panic. It was cold- so cold, never-ending. And Nebby, Nebby was slipping from her grasp, and panic was rising so much that she couldn't think-

"Hey!"

It was loud, the voice, the silence. So loud, so deafening, like the bright light that had consumed her world. Flashes of light, an aura that stilled the wind. That had been launched at her friend-

Lillie.

Her chest hurt. She shook her head, but the nausea didn't fade. Her lungs burned. Almost like she was back there, in that empty space, that nothingness that stretched on forever-

"Look at me!"

Suddenly, everything snapped back into focus. The first thing she was aware of was Rowlet, perched on her chest, her big, round eyes peering worriedly at her as she hooted. The second thing was the tears, streaming down her face, and the heaviness of each breath she took.

The third was that Gladion was holding her, bracing her. Gone was the cold expression. Now, he was watching her with a frown, mouth agape. Eyes not so cold but still as intense, still as unsettling.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

He swallowed. Hesitantly, he answered, "You fell."

Up close, the mesmerizing green of his eyes pierced through her. His breath echoed softly in the space between them, and she was all-too-conscious of the warmth of his body, of his hand against her back.

Cheeks suddenly flushed, Moon punched him in the face.

He yelped, falling backwards as he clutched his nose. Moon grabbed Rowlet and scrambled away, struggled to a stand.

"What was that for?" He glared at her, one hand resting on the pokeballs at his hip. "I was trying to help!"

Maybe he was. He certainly hadn't done any harm to her, but still! Lifting a trembling finger, Moon retorted, "I didn't ask for your help!"

He stared at her, mouth agape. His brow furrowed, his mouth curled with annoyance.

And then a helpless laughter that rang out through the room. One that was definitely not from Gladion. Stiffening, Moon lifted her head.

They were not alone. There, standing halfway through the open door, was a boy with warm, slate-gray eyes. He looked completely normal. He wore a striped t-shirt and his messy hair, kept under a cap, looked as if he hadn't bothered combing it properly. Pokeballs sat on his belt, and when she met his gaze, he smiled.

"Hello," he said at last. "My name's Sun. What's yours?"

It could be said that Sun was charming. That he was warm. He exuded an aura of someone who was confident that he could get what he wanted, that everything would follow his lead and fall into place.

But what struck Moon about Sun was that he felt safe. Only two minutes into meeting him, and he had gotten her to sit down, offered her a malasada, and managed to get her to not punch him in the face. Rowlet had immediately taken a liking to him, deciding to snuggle against him before inspecting his backpack.

"Sorry about Gladion," Sun said, thumbing to his friend, now safely three feet away from her.

"Sorry about punching his nose," she murmured back, picking Rowlet up from her investigation and into her lap.

"Eh, it'll heal." Sun grinned. "Didn't even bleed, right, Gladion?"

Gladion, for his part, glowered at her as he leaned against the wall. The boy hadn't spoken or moved ever since Sun entered the room, as if he was more than willing to relinquish all responsibility of her. Which was fine by Moon, all things considered. Still, his unnerving stare remained fixed on her, as if waiting for her to slip up somehow.

She glanced away from him and took in a deep breath. "So... how did I get here? Who are you? What did he mean by I fell from the sky?" She ended the last one pointing towards Gladion, though she withered somewhat under his stare.

"Easy, easy." Sun patted the bed, waiting for her to sit before he continued. "First thing's first- what's your name?"

"My name?" Moon frowned. Her mom often told her not to tell her name to strangers but...

Rowlet, settled safely in her arms, gave a reassuring hoot.

"It's Moon."

"Hey, what do you know, we're a matching pair." Sun grinned. "And people tease me all the time for a ridiculous name."

Moon flushed. "It was my mom's idea. She thought it was cool."

"Don't all parents?" Sun rolled his eyes. "I get ya, though. Wasn't easy going through life with a name like 'Sun', let me tell you that."

"You don't look much older than me." Moon snorted. "You think it was easier being called 'Moon'?"

"If the two of you are done?"

Gladion didn't even shrink when both of them turned to look at him. In fact, Moon was sure his glower just intensified.

"He's pouting," Sun muttered, soft enough that only she could hear. "I don't think he liked you punching him in the face."

"H-he was holding me!" Moon bit back. "Without permission!"

"I'm not saying it wasn't justified, but it's kinda hilarious." Sun flashed her a conspiratorial grin, before settling back in the chair, arms crossed behind his head. "So, you have questions."

Moon nodded slowly. "I get that you guys saved me, but... from what? From when? Where's my mom? The doctors?"

Sun thumbed his lip. "Well, I asked the doctors to hold back until I got to talk to you."

Moon frowned. "And they actually listened to you?"

"Perks of being the Champion." Sun grinned.

Champion? Moon arched an eyebrow. It was an ostentatious title for someone no older than she was, she figured, but the way he said it made it sound as if it was supposed to mean something.

Catching on to her disbelief, Sun sighed and waved his hands. "Anyway, the docs are trying to get in contact with your family right now. You local?"

Moon nodded.

"Right, well. Shouldn't be long till they get her running down here, then. In the meantime..." Sun sucked in a deep breath. He played with his thumbs, his eyes rolling the ceiling as he muttered under his breath. Finally, his gaze snapped back to her, and he leaned in close. "How much do you know about Ultra Space?"

"Ultra... what now?" Moon frowned.

"Ultra Space." Sun's smile dimmed, the look on his face completely serious. "It's an interdimensional realm, connecting multitudes of worlds together."

"That... sounds impossible," Moon said flatly. "Or insane. Like something out of a science fiction movie."

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but it's true." Sun sighed. He rubbed his head. "I'm not really good with all the science-y stuff, but basically, there's this huge space where a million different worlds exist together."

"Right." Moon arched an eyebrow. "And you're going to tell me that it's possible for people to travel across these worlds."

Sun arched his eyebrow in return.

She swallowed. "Y-you're joking, right?"

"Look, I totally wouldn't believe me if I heard me right now either," Sun said. "But trust me, it exists. I've seen it, with my own eyes."

"What do you mean, you've seen it?" Rowlet gave her a reproachful hoot when she tightened her grip unconsciously, and Moon winced. She ran a reassuring hand down her Pokemon's feathers.

"So like, there are some Pokemon, yeah?"

Moon nodded cautiously.

"And they can kinda travel through the Ultra Space, and all these worlds, using wormholes."

A suspicious chill ran down her spine. A flash of her nightmare- "You don't mean- No. That's impossible." She got up, turning away from Sun. Paced a few steps away, before he spoke again.

"One of them dropped you here."

She turned, hoping to see some teasing glint in his eye. But the look on Sun's face was completely serious, completely sincere.

"You came from Ultra Space, Moon. You fell from the sky, and we found you."

Something clicked. A realization.

"No," she whispered. "No, that can't be right."

"Moon?" Sun's voice was gentle, his brow furrowed with worry.

She looked out the window. At the passerby down by the familiar Hau'oli City streets, at the Pikipek and Wingull flying through the air. At the familiar landscape she once knew.

Before the holes appeared, bringing destruction and chaos. Before she ran, and her mother, and Hau and Lilie and everyone...

Moon swayed, her arms trembling. Rowlet watched her worriedly as a deep cold settled in the pit of her stomach. The memories ghosted to the surface of her mind, no longer in pieces, but in whole.

An acrid taste lingered on her tongue. It tasted of ozone, of fear. And the image of the light pokemon, its visage terrifying and so beautiful, remained emblazoned in her mind.

Her Hau'oli City was gone.

"Moon." This time it was Gladion who spoke.

She blinked back the tears, one hand gripping tight on the window sill. Rowlet hooted softly, and she nodded.

Turning back to Sun, she asked, "I'm... I'm from another world, aren't I?"

Sun frowned. "I mean, that's possible, but you could also be from this world-"

"No." She breathed. "I... I remember. There were Pokemon, attacking us from holes in the sky. They destroyed everything. The city, the streets." She lowered her head. "I hoped it was just a nightmare."

There was a heavy silence. Rowlet nibbled her fingers comfortingly. Drawing in a deep breath, Moon lifted her head. "How... did you find me, anyway?"

"My company has Ultra Wormhole tech." Gladion spoke coolly from his corner of the room. He exchanged a glance with Sun, before continuing, "We sensed a wormhole forming, and I asked Sun to come with me to check it out. We expected it to be an Ultra Beast- a Pokemon from Ultra Space. But all we found was you."

"Well, sorry to disappoint you." Moon shivered, steadfastly refusing to look at either of them.

"Nobody's disappointed." There was a shuffle of footsteps. Glancing up, the warmth in Sun's eyes caught her, chased the chill away. "We're just glad you're safe. I mean, Gladion's practically the one who saved you! Granted, it was Silvally who actually caught you, but if he hadn't spotted you coming out of the wormhole-"

Moon winced. Lifting her gaze back to Gladion, she muttered. "Guess I owe you my thanks."

He stared at her, nonplussed, before arching an eyebrow. "You can thank me by telling us how you came here."

Moon breathed, her fingernails biting into her palm. Her memories were vague, but she remembered the light pokemon, and Lillie and-

"Nebby." She hadn't thought about it till now, but it had to be. The Pokemon had been the one who carried her through Ultra Space, had been the last thing she remembered before everything had gone dark.

"Did you say 'Nebby'?"

Sun's voice was quiet. Moon was suddenly aware of Gladion and Sun's expressions- how they both mirrored shock. Sun, slack-mouthed, eyes wide. Gladion, leaning forward on crossed arms, the hostile glower gone, if only for now.

"Y-yes." She swallowed, hating their eyes on her. Hated how they exchanged a glance, as if they knew something she didn't. "My friend, she asked her Pokemon to save me. She called it Nebby."

The tension hung thick in the air, so thick that Moon dared not move. Then, cautiously, Gladion stepped forward. "Your friend. What... what's her name?"

His gaze held her, even across the room. Filled with intent, as if daring her not to lie. The green of his eyes was so familiar, that for a moment, Moon could glimpse her in his face.

"Lillie," she breathed. "Her name's Lillie."

When Sun and Gladion left her room, she heard them engage in a heated, whispered discussion right outside the door. Well, it sounded more like Gladion being heated and Sun responding to his words, but really, she didn't care.

There was too much for her to wrap her mind about. Other worlds? Interdimensional space? Nebby, and Lillie, and the nightmare-that-wasn't-a-nightmare. What happened to her world? To her home? Part of her longed to know, but another part wanted to believe this was all a horrible, incredibly detailed dream.

Even if she was in another world, what did that mean? She'd have no home, no family. She wouldn't even exist in any record. All she had was Rowlet, her hastily packed backpack, and a zillion questions that nobody gave straight answers to. She didn't even know where she'd spend the night.

Thankfully, that particular question was solved when Sun and Gladion returned. Tossing her backpack into her arms, Gladion didn't even spare her a glance when he said, "We're going."

"Going?" She frowned, Rowlet perched on her shoulder. "Going where?"

Sun huffed, rolling his eyes. "He's going home to his fancy little island in the middle of the sea. You're coming with me. Doctors couldn't find your family, as we expected, so I figured I'm the next best thing."

Moon bristled. "What makes you think I'd want to go with you?"

Sun stared at her, before he burst into a laugh. "Relax, I'm not making any moves on you." He smiled reassuringly. "But! I live with my Mom, who's a great cook, and we have a spare room, and a hot shower. I'm sure she's fine with putting you up for the night."

Moon hesitated. It did sound like a good deal, and it wasn't like she had any better plans. But the idea of trusting Sun, a complete stranger...

"Are we going or not?" Gladion groused, impatiently shifting from foot to foot.

Sun flashed her a warm smile.

Swallowing her reservations, Moon nodded.

As it turned out, Sun lived right there on Melemele Island. Right in the Hau'oli Outskirts, even.

Moon sighed in relief as they passed through a familiar landscape. It was hard remembering that she was in a different world- the sights, the scents, the people... it was all just as she remembered, barring a few differences here and there. If not for the lingering thought at the back of her mind that home was gone, she'd have almost imagined...

"Is it hard?"

"Huh?" She glanced up from her musings, towards Sun. The boy had been cheerful, but quiet for most of the trek, trotting a few paces in front of her. Now, he hadn't even turned to look at her when he spoke.

"Thinking about home. It... it's not easy, yeah? I can only imagine."

Moon swallowed. "I guess." She wasn't trying to think about it. About the destruction and chaos, the terror that had swallowed her breath. About everyone she had left behind.

"Do you want to go back?

She hesitated. Sun's voice was calm and mellow, reassuring.

"I'm not sure I have anything to go back to." She chuckled miserably. "And even if I wanted to... I don't know how to go back. You said Nebby's missing?"

"We haven't spotted it ever since it dropped you off." Sun nodded. "But we could find it, and-"

"I don't know, Sun."

He sighed softly. Gently, he reached over and tugged her hand. "Come on, we're almost there."

Some part of her was relieved as he led her down the same old routes that she'd taken every day of her life in Alola. But there was also another part, a suspicious part, that whispered that something wasn't quite right- or maybe, that it was too right.

Sun walked without hesitation, skipping along with a spring in his step. Tugged her along the way until they reached a house that Moon could never mistake.

And there, a familiar brown-haired woman swept the porch with a Meowth lazing on the banister. She smiled as they approached, that warm, all-accepting smile that Moon knew so well.

"Welcome home, Sun," she called, placing the broom aside and stepping down the steps to greet them. "And who's this?"

She turned kind eyes onto her, and Moon gasped, blinking back the tears she'd been trying so hard to hold back. But then the woman frowned and reached towards her, one hand grazing over her cheek. Her resolve snapped. The familiar scent, the familiar face, the familiar warmth of a mother's touch...

Moon threw her arms around her, buried her face in her shoulders like she had done her whole life. Cried, like she had always done.

A hesitant hand braced her head. Comfortingly, the woman rubbed her back, letting her cry. "Shhh," she crooned soothingly. Gently.

Moon cried, a shaking sob wrecking her.

"Mom," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

#pokemon #moon #sun #ultra sun #ultra moon #lonashipping #gladion #fanfic #hi i am here to write myself into an early grave

[the-walking-memelords]

Screams to Whispers

Pairing: Louis/Clementine

Rating: G

Word Count: 1000

Summary: Clementine doesn't have to fight her demons alone anymore. Read it on AO3!

Clementine’s body shivered in a cold sweat. Her mind racing with the horrors of her past as they plagued her subconscious mind. A hailstorm of bullets ripped through the worn wooden walls of the ranch house as the screams of its residents tore through the icy night. Within, the young girl clung to her little boy as she raced through the halls. Footsteps echoed towards her from behind and a sharp pain grazed the left side of her cap. With nothing more than a small backpack with few supplies, Clementine dove out of the first-floor window into the powdery snow below. The frozen air bit into her exposed skin as she trudged through the snow-covered fields. Unfortunately, the clear sky meant neither her nor the moon had a place to hide as it shown overhead. Crack

Crack

The bullets flew towards her but none hit the mark, each causing a puff of snow several feet around her. Even at the treeline, she could still hear the agonized screams of those she had left behind, the people who had taken care of her and her boy, who cried while gripping her shirt. The golden flickers of the burning buildings cut through the blue of what had been a serene winter’s night.

Pine twigs snapped under her boots as she carried the sniffling child through the brush. Her heart still raced and the screams still echoed in her ears. Fresh screams of her most recent tragedy mingled with that of those who had come before. Deafening screams of the people she’d failed to save time and time again.

Clementine’s breathing became ragged and her vision blurred as figures began to move around her. Dipping and weaving through the trees as if part of some strange dance. She pulled AJ closer to her chest. Without a weapon to defend herself, she was at the mercy of this new encounter. The dark figures began to whisper. Whether it was to each other or her, she couldn't tell.

“She’s all alone... In the pines…”

“She’s all alone… Once again…”

“She’s all alone… Forever and always…”

Dodging between them, Clementine raced her way through the night. No matter how fast her legs could carry her the whispers only grew closer. “She doesn’t know… Where she’s going…”

“She doesn’t know… How to save his life…”

“She doesn’t know… If they will see the sun again…”

Her strength wavered as her knees buckled and she collapsed into the frozen dirt.

The whispers surrounded them both. Even with the cries of her child, the voices were all she could hear. “She needs to…  Move forward…”

“She needs to… Keep the dead out…”

“She needs to… Wake up…”

Something about the last voice stood out to her. It was smooth like honey and had a gentleness that comforted her like an embrace. The familiarity of it helped her focus on what was real. “Wake up, Clementine.”

She looked around for the source of this particular whisper but could see nothing but the slightest of movements from within the shadows. The thick trees made for little of the pale moonlight to break through. “You just need to wake up.” AJ squirmed in her arms, cold and afraid just as she. Clementine held him in her lap as she resigned to sitting in the snow, her legs too weak to hold her weight any longer. The girl felt as if her body was becoming ice, frozen into place like a walker in a raging blizzard. All she could do was accept her fate as the looming whispers drew closer, their frigid breath biting into her face as she felt herself fading into the blackness

“Wake up!”

The voice spoke right against her ear, the warm feeling of this defending voice spread over her body like a blanket. Adrenalin shot through her body as her eyes opened and she sat up with a start.

Her vision was still blurred though this time with the droplets that ran down her cheeks. Her heart was racing a mile a minute as her gasped breaths pushed the dusty air of the dorm room in and out of her lungs. Someone held her as her body shook still feeling the frost of that winter night five years prior. “It’s just a bad dream.”

Her golden eyes met his chocolate brown ones for just a moment before she buried her face into the crook of his neck and let the sobs wrack her body. Louis held her in silence for several minutes as she let out all of the emotions she had been holding in. They sat that way until she had no more tears left to cry. Resting herself in his arms, Louis planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. When Clementine finally spoke, her voice was weak and hoarse. “I love you, Louis.” “I love you too.” he replied, running his fingers through her dark curls.

“I wish I could follow you into your head at night, so you don't have to face those nightmares alone.” The sorrow in his voice was not something she heard often. “I hate that the one place I can’t protect you is the one place you need me the most.” Their embrace loosened as she turned to face him, the pale moonlight reflected off of the tear tracks down her face.

“I need you out here, to be the one who pulls me out.” She pulled the covers over her shoulder. The wooden boards over the glassless window did little to keep out the nighttime chill.

She flashed a weak smile at him. Holding his head in her hands she brought him in for a soft kiss to which he gladly returned. Breaking the kiss, the two laid back down to rest.

Clementine laid with her head on Louis’ chest, letting the thump of his heart lull her to sleep. She knew as long as he was next to her in reality, she had nothing to fear in her dreams.

#louistine #clouis #fanfic #louisentine #louis x clementine

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Prove It

A/N: This is a long overdue anon request. I wanted to post it before I left it sitting. I do plan on adding to this one but I wanted to give Anon an answer.

Summar: While Sam was away at college, John calls and tells him Dean is missing. When Sam finds Dean, he’s both elated and shocked to find his brother pregnant. 

Extra: This takes place maybe a year after Sam left for Stanford. 

Prove It

“You sure you can’t stay for another drink?” Jessica asked. “Celebrate your interview?”

“I should head out,” Sam answered, as he pulled on his coat. “You guys enjoy the rest of your night though. Have a round on me.” He gave Brady a few twenties and ducked outside.

He took out his phone and frowned seeing four missed calls and a voicemail from his dad. His finger hovered over the play button and he reluctantly pressed it as he dug his key out of his pocket.

“Sam, it’s dad. Dean’s missing. I haven’t heard from him in a couple months, I need you to go look for him.”

Sam felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. He replied the message and dropped down onto his couch. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed one of Dean’s numbers.  

“We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected. Please try again.”

He hung up and tried another one and got the same message.

“The number you are trying to reach is not in service. Please try again.”

He’d tried every one of Dean’s cell phones. Each repeating the same message. Sam dropped the phone onto the coffee table. He put his head between his legs and took a few deep breaths.

Dean’s not missing, there’s probably a logical reason to why he disconnected his phones, Sam thought. He stood up and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands and willed himself to calm down.

Sam’s heart clenched and he swallowed thickly. His dreams were nightmares that night. Seeing Dean’s body as a mangled corpse. The Impala flipped over in a ditch somewhere. It made Sam sick to his stomach and he spent half the night hunched over his toilet.

“We’re sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected. Please try again.”

Sam pressed the end call button with more force than necessary and scrolled through his contacts. He pressed the little green button and held the phone to his ear.

“Sam?-”

“Dean goes missing for a couple months and you only just now call me?” Sam interrupted. “What the ever loving fuck dad.”

“You watch your tone,” John warned.

“Screw my tone,” Sam huffed. “Have you even been looking for him?”

“I’ve been working on a hunt,” John answered.

“Your son is missing and you keep working? You’re really going for the father of the year aren’t you?” Sam snorted.

“He was working a job out in Aberdeen, South Dakota. A werewolf, I didn’t put it together until after the full moon and he didn’t call,” John told him. “I need you to go look for him.”

“Why can’t you?” Sam snapped.

“Sam, I’m really close to-”

“Close to what? Catching the thing that killed mom? You said that last month and the month before,” Sam interrupted.

John sighed and Sam could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Sam, I need you to find Dean alright? I haven’t asked you for much, just do this for me alright?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I’ll see if I can find him…”

He hung up when the line went dead and tossed his phone to the side. He scrubbed a hand down his face before standing up and grabbing his duffel bag from under his bed.

Funny enough, it’s Dean that finds Sam. Well, he called Sam. Sam’s laid in bed in some dingy motel going over reports of possible sightings of Dean when his phone vibrates on the table. At first, he thinks its Jessica calling to check on him.

“Hey,” he greeted once he had the phone to his ear.

“Hey Sammy.”

Sam froze mid-keystroke. “Dean?”

“The one and only,” Dean chuckled. He sounded tired. Worn down. There’s shifting around the other end of the line and the sound of a cap twisting.

“What the actual fuck Dean,” Sam couldn’t stop the emotion on his phone. “Christ I thought you had died.”

“I’m not going to do this on the phone with you,” Dean replied. His voice remained even and that made Sam upset.

“Well it’s not like I can drive up to see you, you’ve done a pretty good job of staying hidden,” Sam pointed out in a huff.

“I needed to be alone,” Dean said.

Sam snorted.

Dean sighed and Sam deflated feeling a bit guilty. “Does Dad know where you are?”

“No…” Dean admitted after a pause. “Don’t think he tried to figure out where I went either…Meet me at this address in a few days alright? We can talk then.”

Sam nodded and wrote down the address that Dean gave him. Dean hung up first and Sam stared at the address before his phone buzzed again with a text from their dad. He sent a quick reply about going to bed and packed up his things to drive to the address.

It was raining as Sam pulled into a motel. A little nicer than what they usually stayed in but not by much. He turned his head as he heard the familiar roar and purr of the Impala’s engine as the car pulled into the parking lot of the motel.

He watched Dean get out with a few grocery bags and before he could register what he was doing. He was out of the car and across the parking lot grabbing Dean’s arms in quick long strides.

Dean looked startled as his eyes landed on Sam’s and they stood in silence. The rain beat against the roof the Impala as Dean swallowed.

“You’re early…” Dean finally said.

“Did you really think I was going to wait?” Sam asked.

Dean leaned back against the car for a brief moment and Sam let go of his arm as he started to turn towards the rooms.

“Inside okay?” Dean told him.

Sam nodded and stepped back so Dean could lead the way. They stepped inside of one of the rooms and Sam shut the door behind him. The room was decent with a single king sized bed, a small kitchen with a little stove and fridge. It was definitely lived in.

Dean set the bags down on the counter and pulled off his wet jacket and hung it up.

“Where the fuck were you?” Sam asked. “I mean seriously Dean, you just, you dropped off the face of the earth. Dad calls me out of the blue saying he hasn’t heard from you in a couple months and I try all of your cells phones and they’re all disconnected. I was worried, sick Dean. I thought I thought that you had just died in a ditch and-”

“I’m sorry.”

Sam paused and rocked back on his heels. “You’re sorry?” He repeated.

“Yes Sam. I’m sorry I jumped off the face of the earth. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m sorry that I just…had to leave,” Dean told him.

“Was…was it because of me?” Sam asked.

“No, no of course not Sam,” Dean answered. “Hey,” he reached up and brushed some Sam’s hair back. “You know I wouldn’t just cut you out of my life that. Sam look at me.”

Sam lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s and he leaned in brushing their lips together. He tentatively put his hands on Dean’s hips and started to back him up towards the bed. They landed with a soft thump and the bed creaked a little under their weight.

Sam sat up on his hands and knees caging Dean’s body in with his own. “I thought I lost you, Dean. I…I couldn’t get a hold of you.” He slipped his fingers under Dean’s shirt and Dean lifted his arms as Sam pulled it over his head. Sam pulled off his own shirt and dropped it on the floor. He laid down with his head on Dean’s chest and kept his arms wrapped around him.

“I thought you were gone Dean, I couldn’t reach you…any of your numbers,” Sam lifted his head to look at him. “I…I thought I was going to die if I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m right here Sam,” Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and stroked his cheek. “You look exhausted, come on.” He patted the spot next to him on the pillow and Sam reluctantly moved to lie next to him.

Dean turned Sam so his back was to his chest and pulled his arm to wrap around his middle.

“Dean…” Sam took a deep breath.

“Go to sleep Sam,” Dean whispered. “We’ll talk about it in the morning okay?”

Sam settled into Dean and closed his eyes. “You mean though right? We’ll talk?”

“Course Sammy,” Dean nodded. “Promise.”

Sam yawned as he rolled over and frowned when he felt the space in bed next to him empty. He grabbed his shirt off the floor and paused hearing noises from the bathroom. He walked over and knocked gently.

“Dean?” he gave a soft knock and opened the door in time to see Dean lean over the toilet and vomit.

Sam got to his knees and rubbed Dean’s back. “Shit Dean, why didn’t you say were you sick?” He brushed some of Dean’s hair back a little guilty for having exploded at him.

“Because…” Dean rest his head on his forearms as he took a few deep breaths. “I’m not…sick.” He lurched forward again and spit when he was finished.

“Clearly you are,” Sam frowned.

He stood up as Dean flushed and he leaned back against the bathtub with his head tucked between his legs. Sam went and got a cup from the small kitchen and filled it with water and gave it to Dean when he came back.

“Then what’s the matter? Witches curse?” Sam asked. “Tell me so I can help.”

“You can’t help with this,” Dean closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Just, leave it alone.”

“First you drop off the face of the earth, you don’t call or text or let anyone, most of me, know where you are then you all of a sudden call out of the blue and tell me to meet you and now you’re puking your guts and tell me now to worry? Dean…what’s going on?” Sam sat down in front of him and braced his hands on his knees. “What happened?”

Dean closed his eyes. “I’m…I’m…having a baby Sam.”

“What?” Sam blinked confusedly. “What’re you…?”

“I’m pregnant Sam. I’m in the family way. I’ve got a little human growing inside me,” Dean answered.

“Do you know who the father is?” Sam asked carefully. “When it happened?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know…Probably some random guy I met in the bar. Might even be some other hunter’s kid.”

“Dean, why didn’t you call me?” Sam asked gently.

“It’s none of your business,” Dean told him curtly as he started to stand up.

“Of course it’s my business,” Sam said. He got up and followed him out of the bathroom.

“Since when?” Dean asked. “Christ Sam, ever since you left for Stanford you haven’t picked up the phone. What happened to ‘oh Dean don’t worry I’ll keep in touch’ or ‘i’ll call you’. Not once so what gives you the right to know everything going on in my life huh?”

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. “I didn’t call you. I should’ve called you like I said I would, and I tried Dean. I just thought maybe it’d be better off if I didn’t. But I’m not going to make that mistake again. I’m going to be here for you…look, just, come back to Stanford with me Dean.”

“Come back to Stanford with you? Are you serious?” Dean asked.

“Of course I’m serious,” Sam answered. “Dean, you shouldn’t be doing this by yourself. And…I love you.”

“Clearly you didn’t love me when you left for Stanford. Or when you told me, ‘hey, I know we just discovered these new found feelings of love for each other and I know we’ve had sex a couple times but I think it’s best if I leave.’ I mean what the fuck Sam? You just going to fuck me and leave?” Dean braced his hands on the counter. “You were gone a year Sam.” 

“What do you want me to say Dean? What can I say to make this better?” Sam asked. “You want me to drop out? Because I can drop out if that will make you believe I’m serious. Do you want me to beg? Do you want me to get on my knees?”

“Sam…” Dean shook his head. “You’re not dropping out.”

“I will if it’ll make you believe me,” Sam told him.

“No,” Dean said more firmly. “You’re not dropping out.”

“Look, you either come back with me, and I finish out the semester then take the next one off, or I drop out. Your choice,” Sam told him.

“That’s not much of a choice Sam,” Dean sighed.

“Pick one Dean,” Sam told him.

“I swear you get your stubbornness from dad,” Dean shook his head. “What are we gonna tell people? If they ask?”

“We…could tell them I’m the father,” Sam said.

“That’s not funny,” Dean replied.

“I’m not trying to be funny Dean,” Sam told him. “I’m serious…we can tell them I’m the father. You said yourself you don’t know who it is, and you can’t go through this alone and I want to be there for you.”

“Well yeah but…What if…” Dean looked at the floor.

“Dean this doesn’t have to be permanent,” Sam assured him. “I know I messed things up between us when I left, but I want to be here Dean. I want to be with you. I’m not saying, let’s jump back into bed together straight away. I’ll do whatever you want me to do Dean. But right now, me being in the picture as the father is the best thing.”

“You being the father is the best thing?” Dean repeated.

“Dean, you know as well as I do, sometimes people can be a lot worse than the monsters,” Sam told him. “Especially to a single parent…but if it really bothers you…”

“No,” Dean shook his head. “No, it doesn’t bother me…”

“You need to think about the both of you,” Sam answered. “I know you’ve been thinking about nothing but the baby ever since you found out. I saw the healthy food and the lack of bags under your eyes. How many hours are you sleeping now?”

“….Nine or twelve give or take,” Dean rocked on his heels a little with a small embarrassed smile. “Between puking my guts out, eating everything in sight I don’t really do much else…”

“Yeah well you look good,” Sam smiled. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him when he was sure Dean wasn’t going to pull away.

“Are…are you sure you want to do this Sam?” Dean asked.

“Course. You’ve done everything you can to take care of me…now it’s my turn,” Sam answered as he pressed their foreheads together.

#supernatural #spn wincest #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #mpreg #pregnant dean #sam wants to prove he can be there #fluff #part of an ongoing piece of work #wincest

[kurtchristenson]

TWENTYSIX: The Kinetic Kid Blues A THRUSTisHere Short Story

"He's robbing the world of its magic!", the protester cried out one sunny morning outside the McAllister building. "Don't believe his lies!" I took a few seconds to gawk before unfolding my trusty spiral notebook from my back pocket. I jotted down, 'There's never a dull moment in this city of improbable possibilities', before zipping on down Forty-Second Street in a blur. I hit my last few deliveries and blew by the main office. I needed some cash and the bossman owed me big time. I looked over the cover story on the Post as I sat patiently for my pay to be scrounged together. The headline read: 'MILLIONAIRE MASTER OF MACHINES' and showed the slick image of Jordan McAllister unveiling his newest gizmo. Some useless wad of tech that could do everything from capturing audio and video to doing your taxes. Sure, it'd be nice to store every song I've ever heard into the same device that I make my monthly phone call to my mom with, but there should be some limit to these things. I was interrupted mid-ponder by the slapping of bills into my palm. "This should make us square kid. By the way, nice rush job on that McAllister drop off this afternoon. Not sure how you did forty blocks in fifteen minutes, but I admire that hustle Chuck." Joe Medley was the kind of boss people would follow into battle. A square jawed hombre hardened by a lifetime in the delivery business. If he would just shave that ridiculous moustache. I step outside and the thunder begins to pound on the grey skies above. An ominous smearing of the day's blue enormity. I slid on my glasses, retied my bandana and adjusted my cap before leaping off into the swirlling cityscape. A gentle flip off of a ledge and a swift pounce from a nearby flagpole and I was sent gliding along the metro-magnetic pulse. My mind caught hold as I soared through the streets, surfing the city's invisible veins faster than any pedestrian's eyes could follow. But not faster than hers. Helena, or Ms. Mercury as she refers to herself these days, came floating by as if I were swimming in slo-motion. Her faux innocence seeped from her sly stare. "Hey Charles." That damn slight curling up at the corner of her mouth. "Hey Helena." "Did you forget about tonight?" "Not yet. I'd remember open bar." "We have to see the exhibit this time. And try not to throw up on the V train again." "I'm not making any promises...are they going to have the little sandwiches this time?" "I'm not sure sweetie. Gotta run. See you at 7!" and with that, in a blink of an eye, she kisses my cheek and dissappears down 23rd St. I'm not sure if it's jealousy but I liked it better when she didn't have superpowers. We met outside the museum that night at 7:10. It's hard to believe any respectable superhero can make it on time to date, let alone two of them. We walked the exhibit arm in arm, and headed out for a drink. "It's great the things you can get free.", I shouted over the music at the lush Midtown bar. Some company or another had sent her a card for two complimentary drinks. Her sliver sandals shone brilliantly in the blurred cityscape light as it danced among the flapping of her black skirt. Her earrings sparkled as we blazed across town. Afterwards we zipped over to Jersey City where my friend's band were playing at a local bar. The sound rocked our internal organs and the cheap booze made us stumbly, so we decided to hoof it home like regular folk and leave the superpowers out of it for a night. The wait for the train is usually a panic inducing, claustrophobic, nightmare of a wait for one with speedy powers such as mine. But tonight I hardly noticed the thirty-nine minutes it took to finally come. We were finally Manhattan bound, when, after a few sloppy kisses and through slurred speech, she presented me with a gift. "It's an iWorld." She smiled up at me expectantly. My confused look elicited a further explanation. "It's the cell phone, instant messenger, mp3 player with GPS and a digital camera that also records video and audio." That druken haze in her eyes didn't match the tone of her voice. Suddenly, when discussing this gadget, a company salesman had taken control of my girlfriend. "Thanks baby." Something felt off, but I accepted the gift. I hugged my appreciation as we fumbled to the side nearly falling from our seats as the train screeched to a halt. As I activated the camera function on my new toy, I turned and snapped a picture of her as we ascended the subway stairs. The LCD screen caught the dramatic lighting of the moon as we stepped outside, illuminating her hair, draped alongside an inebriated smirk. As the days passed I tinkered with my new gizmo. Seems it truly does it all, which kicked in my suspicious nature. If this thing catches on like McAllister's numerous other expensive junk, available worldwide, then everyone will be capturing everything everywhere. Recording life around them and going back to it later to confirm it. Rather than just live our lives, we'd all just be directing a slideshow of images complete with soundtrack and then emailed off to family and friends. Isolated in our heads, viewing the world instead of interacting with it. Television is only the beginning. My head started to pound and my nose began to bleed. "Whoa, I gotta remember to watch the crazy talk.", I said to myself. The following Saturday Helena and I danced through the ballroom they call New York, spinning and leaping as we soared along with the city night frozen in an instant below us. I spun her out, but as she pounced from a traffic light, I saw a misstep. She began to arc too far as she twirled about like a whirling dervish, spinning wildly towards a display window. Instincts drove my body forward, letting my mind figure out the plan for itself. Two kicks had launched me towards the light post, and pausing horizontally for just a millisecond, I supercharged my next leap. I rocketed across the street, rotated as I skimmed across the hood of a taxi, and ricocheted off a mailbox, just catching her in my arms as she swooned and fainted. My feet grinded to a halt on the pavement, and instantly time popped all around me as my sneakers exploded into shrapnel. "What's happened to you Helena?" I cradled her in my arms as we glided home across the Williamsburg Bridge. She didn't wake until she was tucked in her bed. I applied the cold compress to her forehead and smiled down at her. She smiled back but it felt sad somehow. "How you doing kiddo?" I held her hand. "I'm fine. I just need some waffles..." she hoarsely whispered. "And OJ, and toast..." I kissed her hand as she drifted to sleep. I went to look for my iWorld to see what I could do. Once I found it, I couldn't imagine who to call, who would know how to help a sick superhero. She tossed and turned the whole night and despite her wishes, I decided to bring her to the emergency room. On the run there, she looked up at me with hopeless eyes. I never felt so useless. The doctors took her from me and told me not to worry and to get some rest. I couldn't sleep so I paced around the neighborhood, then jogged around the city and eventually ran the entire state. This wasn't something I could outrun. I grabbed a coffee at a rest stop somewhere in Pennsylvania. The caffeine wore off somewhere in Ohio and I slept on a bench in the lounge for an hour or two. I popped a caffeine pill and made it to Lake Michigan as the sun rose up behind me. My mind began to decompress as the tension drained from my body. Why was I running? What had happened to Helena? Why did I feel such overwhelming guilt? I took out my iWorld and began recording. I went over the details I could remember. Seemed as if I was stuck in a high gear for the past week. Oddly enough I wasn't able to produce many memories since that delivery to the McAllister building. I began to think of Helena and scrolled through the pictures I had taken of her. Over four hundred digital images were stored on the small piece of plastic in my hands. And as I flipped through I began to notice something. She was fading away. That very first picture showed Helena for the true beauty I knew her as. In each consecutive picture she looked weaker, her skin growing more pale, and that lovely smile never extending quite as far as it did that night. Was it this device? Was it me? I sprinted back to New York City, hit the library and began searching for anything related to the iWorld or Jordan McAllister. As the newsites popped up, everything seemed straightforward. Budding inventor brings together a team of other brilliant minds to make a great leap using the technology of the times. Each year their device had evolved, from the iHear mp3 device, to the iDrive multimedia player, to the iDream cell phone/PDA. The iWorld was the most highly advertised and therefore, desired, electronic device in the history of modern society. From billboards to rap videos to coffee chain tie-ins, the presence of this gadget had surrounded us before we even had it resting in our hungry palms. I guess I just wasn't paying attention as I blew through the city each day. Probably missed the TV commercials due to having only an old 13" b&w set at home with barely functioning rabbit ears. I was just having too much fun and, well, I suppose I was a bit out of touch with reality these days. I left the library more than a little distraught. Where could I turn now? I couldn't head home. I'd just wind up feeling sorry for myself. I couldn't just burst into McAllister's office and demand that he tell me the connection between Helena's collapse and his damned toy. "Why not?" The voice came over my headphones and I spun around. I checked out the iWorld expecting to have accidentally called someone from my address book once again. But it was off. "Drop on by the office. I've been expecting you." I remembered moments like this when, as a kid I'd ride my bike around the neighborhood listening to cassette tapes. The ambient background noise would make me suspiciously glance over my shoulders every few seconds, really implanting that paranoia. Tucked into the shadows of the East Village, I questioned my sanity as the voice kept creeping out of the headphones. I ripped them out and began to hyperventilate. The random soundtrack of the city funneled into my ears and grounded my brain for the moment. But I could still hear the tinny tone of the voice as it crept from out of the tiny pieces of plastic and wires in my hands. I tossed the device into my ski cap and stuffed the whole thing deep into the pocket of my army jacket. I closed my eyes and imagined myself outside McAllister's office, smashing through the front doors, leaping through the lobby, and slamming floor by floor up to his lush penthouse suite. I imagined myself destroying his happy and rich life, starting with his art deco decor and ending with his throat in my grip, suspending him outside the center floor-to-ceiling window of his decimated office. "Do it. Kill me son." I hesitated and came to my senses. I dropped to my knees. With several long, deep, drawn breaths in I could see that my momentary wish had become a reality. The entire span of McAllister's multi-million dollar chunk of real estate, with that spectacular view, was now leveled completely. The windows were all blown out, and the remaining shards of his luxurious lifestyle spread around me in a ring as if a bomb had been detonated in the center of the room. "It's so disappointing that you're such a failure." McAllister, mere inches from a two hundred story drop, looked severely sad. He took off his blazer and tossed it out the window. Unbuttoning his cuffs, he rolls up his sleeves, before kicking me clear across the room with an Italian loafer to the chest. "I only ask that you end my life and you can't even imagine that." McAllister began to pace around the room, the splinters and shards crackling under his steps. He brushes his hand through his hair and walks towards the last of the standing walls. With his other hand, he gently waves as the wall begins to disappear, replaced with a large metal womb. "Okay Chuck, here's how it goes. I'm the villain of this piece. I know, how post modern of me to mention it straight up like this. So clever, right?" McAllister grabs the womb and drags it closer. "Fuck clever. I'm your goddamn devil, child." I had finally caught my breath and my threw myself across the room into a defensive position. My arms crossed before me in an 'X', my front foot thrust forward, and my back foot at a 90 degree angle, bracing for impact or prepared to launch. My Quasar vision dazzled around the scene absorbing all the light in the room in nothing more than an instant. "Let's finish this." I couldn't believe the cliched battlecries I heard coming from my mouth. McAllister's hand is on the womb, gently raising it's liquid metal covering. His eyes are locked onto mine, and he holds me there with his magnetic-repulsion-rays. A smile is lifting the corners of his mouth as I shake my sight free. A small mob of young men, trapped beneath the next generation iWorld, the iSoul, roar into the room. Their eyes are blank, their ears full, and their minds empty. In their hands runs the current of power emanating from the womb. The surging fractal lightning pulsed around their fists as the iZombies stomped forward, bloody screams of battle on their breaths. I strained my crossed arms against the paralyzing effect McAllister was emanating upon me, and at the very last second, mere millimeters from the wildly swung punch of an iZombie, just then did I snap out and into action. I was like a breeze between the pack, darting low beneath their grasp. The burning edges of searing raw cosmos nipped at my hair as I slid behind them. My fist rockets right and throws half the bunch down and out. I whip my right around again and fire it like a piston into the back of another, before unleashing a southpaw shot to two more. My fists pumped forward, the muscles acting almost on their own behalf, and by the time I slowed them down the room was a bloody cocoon. "Perfect. And now the for the kicker." I swung around mad-eyed and frayed, tachyon fire streaming from my mind. McAllister had raised the womb's cover and inside I saw that it was her. The quicksilver shine blinded me and forced out tears. Before my eyesight returned though I knew who it was that lie there naked and fetal. And I knew it was my fault. It was the silvery scorched body of Velocity Girl. I had stripped her of her form somehow, weakened her. I was the one that charged after her, trapped her, gave Helena her powers. Helena?! My god. Where was Helena? "You hit every cue my boy. Brilliant!" Ms. Mercury smashed into the office with the force of a thousand furies. The glass and twisted metal danced and glittered all around her as she just absolutely dazzled with that golden glow. Her furrowed brow was so cute, and she was making that angry face. My god. This is why he had loved her. The way she looks right now is everything I saw in her and everything I had ever loved about any woman ever. I'm not sure if her fist hit me or if it was the shockwave of compressed air that hairline fractured my cheekbone. I was sent sailing to the floor in a one knock out punch. I don't even know if her skin touched me. And I don't even have time to hit the ground, cause as I drift down her foot comes up under my rib cage and fires me straight through the roof of the building and high into the night sky. It's beautiful out. The air is warm and mild. Just enough wind to carry you about. And the city is out and lit up and alive. It's a stage with lights, camera, and action abound. But it's all getting further away. Ms. Mercury glides upwards past me and I gaze at her amazing figure as it caresses the edges of a moonlit Central Park. Her leg stretches straight up to her chin and down across mine. Plummeting so fast, thinking isn't possible. Until I slam into time and space expands into my mind like blood into cracks of concrete. It's beautiful inside this silence. Crackling into my psychic ear, snow like fuzz of memories brushed aside to make room for McAllister's thoughts. I try to squeeze him out of my mind. But it's no use. He has a hold and he places in his reality. "I want you to realize that you must defeat her and stop me. I'm not sure if that's clear by now. Everything I do, I do for you." I felt him crying. Then I felt like a sack of mail snatched by a speeding train. A sack of potatoes dragged from a cropduster. The parachute behind a dragracer. Then spinning in a circular spin somehow elliptically spun until I was mentally undone and then I vomited as I was pitched full speed into and through the offices of fine and hard working individuals, that actually enjoy their jobs. She caught me on the other side and my vision had now returned. Sight smacked back into me, I now saw blood streaming behind us as the city blurred away. My face felt wet and sticky and syrupy. I was groggy and attempted to turn around. My stomach lurched and I dry heaved myself into a coughing fit, nearly letting my lungs collapse. I drew into myself and coiled up in my body. Tightly wound stone charging of my internal thrust. Fired aloud, I popped free from Ms. Mercury's grip and carved myself through the undercurrents towards Wall Street. I grasped my forehead, hoping to close the gash across my third eye. I was karma blinded and without a guidance system now. And the bleeding's stopped. Bouncing across the ledges and pouncing from the empty office views of Downtown Manhattan, I was ricocheting to a safe haven, where ever that was. It was then that my senses were finally coming back to me and I saw how aura destroyed I really was. I couldn't outrun her. I couldn't outpower her. I couldn't out fight her. I was screwed. So I tried to run anyways, skipping along the tops of the West side. But she was always more familiar with this side of town. Damn! She taps me with an uppercut I don't see coming. I try to brace for impact and curl into a fetal position. A million swats dribble me down to Canal St. before she kicks me into the Holland Tunnel at a hundred miles an hour. My body is broken as it rattles against the tiled walls of the tunnel. Ms. Mercury cascades up next to me as she prepares to bounce me off the walls. I have only one thought as she unleashes her venomous Valkyrie vengeance, only one solitary things crosses my mind at that exact moment. She looks so happy. I catch glimpses of dirt, and water and metal, and garbage and smoke before finally hitting something that catches me in it's warm embrace. I can't feel anything beyond my mind. My body must be shattered, along with my spirit, but my brain hasn't died yet. But consciousness fades and before it does I see a single sentence that seems so odd, yet so familiar set before the apocalyptic background around him. 'Welcome to New Jersey.'

#short story #Kinetic Kid #THRUSTisHere #THRUST!! #superhero #NYC #villain #VELOCITYGIRL #Ms.MERCURY #fiction