#yes there are some that have gotten a good look at 'the specter' yes they are aware that he looks identical. no one wants to bring it up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mokulule · 7 months

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A Pinch of Salt - snippet 2

Okay, so I have been reminded by @clockwayswrites that I could post some things instead of just hoarding them like the dragon in my icon. So here ya go. Maybe I'll even get around to updating Catnip in the coming days who knows. Previous

Fuck, Danny cursed internally as he struggled to keep up with the long-legged stride of Trenchcoat. Whatever had happened to that ghost to make it into something like that was not good, he needed to do something! But as long as Trenchcoat was here he couldn’t exactly do as he usually would: transform and punch it. The man had seemed very ready to do something to Danny and the unspeakable soul situation going on had Danny extremely leery of finding out what that something was.

At least getting eaten seemed unlikely from the man’s earlier horrified response.

So running.

They went down a hallway, up a staircase, down another hallway and into a would have been shop. They stopped for a moment in the square space catching their breath. Trenchcoat let go of him to go peek back around the corner. Finally Trenchcoat’s shoulders relaxed.

“We lost it for now.” Actually it was more like the ghost lost interest in them; as they’d gotten further and further away from the central plaza of the mall the ghost had stopped following them. Not that Danny was going to tell Trenchcoat that. He had no idea how he’d explain it in a way that didn’t make him extremely suspicious. His hair was dripping salty water making it hard to forget he’d already been assaulted twice - he did not wanna know what else the man stored up his sleeves.

Preferably, somehow he’d get Trenchcoat to leave.

The moment of inattention cost him as he was grabbed once again by Trenchcoat and towed through the would-maybe-someday be a store to a door in the back. This led to a store room and a door to the outside. It was unlocked it turned out and Danny realized this was probably how the man had gotten in.

“Alright, kiddo, time to leave.”

Trenchcoat opened the door and pushed at Danny’s back.

“No way!” Danny exclaimed digging his heels in.

“Yes way,” Trenchcoat mocked, “go home kid, I’m a professional.”

   There was no way Danny was leaving, not at this point. Ghosts were his area of expertise - or well, Danny couldn’t really claim to be an expert, but they were his responsibility at least! He had a unique skillset and no matter what Trenchcoat claimed, he did not look any sort of professional. He made his opinion of his claim known by giving the man his most dubious look.  -  John hated teenagers and this teenager in particular.

He didn’t know what it was about teenagers, but they were just merciless in their judgment in a way adults were probably usually too polite to be. In any case that little up and down there, with the slightly raised eyebrow made him feel like he’d worn a clown costume to an accounting job.

“Bloody Hell, will you just leave before I decide to feed you to the specter!”

The boy crossed his arms, standing his ground. “You can try.”

John dragged a hand down his face, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“What are you even doing here?” “I’m here for the ghost.” Plain, even, said with not a smidge of hesitation. “You’re here for the-“ John cut himself off, hands opening and closing, inwardly cursing children and their stupid dares. “And what pray tell where ya gonna do when you found the ghost?”“I figured I’d try talking to them.”“You what?!” John spluttered. He’d expected him to say he hadn’t expected to find a ghost, there went his theory of this being a dare.

“There is no talking to that!” He pointed vaguely in the direction they’d lost the spectral storm. “Of all the sodden-“

“Them.”

John’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” “Them. They are a them, not an it or a that.”

John opened and closed his mouth. Was he really getting a lecture on pronouns?

“It is a spectral storm. Whatever poor spirit it used to be, is not there anymore. There’s no mind there, it’s pure emotion out of control. There’s no way back from that.”

The boy scowled at him, clearly disagreeing. It didn’t matter.  John pointed at the door.

“Leave.” “No.” They stared at each other neither giving an inch.

Urgh, this had to be why Batman was so grumpy all the time. John could not do this. He threw up his hands and turned around. He worked around things, not through them and here he was engaging in the folly of arguing with a bloody teenager.

“Suit yourself.”

Gods, he needed a smoke. He’d hardly finished the thought before he was pulling the package of smokes out of its pocket with practiced ease. He was lighting the smoke by the time he noticed the unimpressed look he was getting. Satisfied, he took a deep drag and slowly breathed out the smoke. The kid grimaced and John smirked.

“Those are gonna kill you.” “As opposed to the rest of my lifestyle?” He returned with a nod in the direction of the Storm that probably couldn’t kill him, but the kid didn’t know that. Satisfied at the way the kid’s nose scrunched, he walked back the way they came from.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Kid asked falling in step with him, and John just knew he was being annoying on purpose with that tone of voice. He was not gonna bite. He was an adult. He kept his gaze straight ahead as the kid started guessing.

“Excorcist? Ghostbusters wannabe?”  There was a pause, then a flash of a sly smirk John only caught because he’d stopped to look down the hallway.

“Ectologist?” The suggestion hit John like a metaphysical sledgehammer and he recoiled in disgust.

“Fuck. No.” He shuddered an extra time as if that would remove the oily feeling. “I’m an occult detective. You happy now? Shit kid, you don’t pull your punches do you?”

“So what’s the plan, Trenchcoat?”

“Trenchcoat,” John mouthed to himself before shaking his head. “The plan is you keep out of the way and I deal with the raging ghostie.”

“Yeah, no, you’re gonna do better than that. This is not my first time dealing with a ghost. But I don’t know what occult detectives do.”

John pondered the statement about this not being the first time he’d dealt with a ghost, and maybe there was something to the death magics he gave off after all. He groaned internally, why was he doing this?

“Standard practice, kid. Contain and banish.” He held up first one finger then two.

Danny rolled his eyes. It didn’t sound too different from his approach to ghosts, he caught them and sent them back to the ghost zone, but Mr Occult Detective didn’t exactly carry around a Fenton thermos.

“And how do you contain? No,” he offset the clearly sarcastic response. “I mean what are your requirements?”

Trenchcoat rolled his eyes, but humored him.

“I need a large enough open space and a small moment of preparation, then just gotta lure it in and do a binding spell.”

Danny narrowed his eyes and looked towards where he felt the raging storm of ghost energy. “Like the plaza.”

“Ideally yes.”

“So you need a distraction.” Danny started walking. A hand fell on his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you’re so insistent to stay, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Danny shrugged off the hand and turned around.

“The plaza is the center of the their power. You need someone to lure them away.” Danny watched the emotions flash across the man’s face with a small bit of amusement. He really didn’t want Danny involved if he could help it. Finally the man’s face settled on exasperation.

“I will figure something out.”

Danny smiled, taking a step backwards.

“No, you will give me a ten minutes headstart to lure our ghost friend far enough away they won’t immediately notice your stench so close to the heart of their haunt.”

As if sensing his intentions Trenchcoat made another grab for him which he dodged. And then he ran. He was sure it was only the threat of the ghost that prevented the man from yelling after him.

He just hoped he’d listened, because Danny was about to go piss off an already raging spirit. Trenchcoat better be ready.

Fun times.

#A pinch of salt #Salt in the bones #Danny and Constantine #dysfunctional found family ftw

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wickedsrest-rp · 1 month

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The sky is quieter, but that doesn’t mean things are going back to normal. Does a place like Wicked’s Rest even have a normal? No, because even though the daily otherworldly blasts have ceased, there’s new problems cropping up.

Bad omens. Packs of hellhounds are emerging from the woodwork, in numbers far greater than any ranger or slayer can handle alone. Hunters are having to band together to cull these hoofed beasts, and the sudden appearance of so many at once has only ever been a warning of a looming supernatural threat. They’re not the only demonic creatures having a population boom, however—cacodaemons are also arriving on the scene, now only adding to the chaotic confusion that occurs when loved ones start behaving irrationally. Deogen has been straying from its usual haunt around the Wishing Well in Nightfall Grove, and the risk of getting lost in its fog and never making it back out is higher than ever. One thing remains a mystery: where have all the missing people gone?

All of these omens have to be leading to something, don’t they? In this case, there’s reason to suspect they’re harbingers of the enormous, monolithic leg that erupted from the ground, smack in the middle of Wormwoods. Yes, leg. It’s somewhat avian in appearance (or perhaps lizard-like?), being scaled and sporting four long, clawed toes that are so gnarled they almost resemble the branches of a gargantuan, barren tree. Aside from its initial, violent ejection from the ground, the leg has been mostly still. The crowd gathering around it has been anything but, though. Birdwatchers are flocking in from all over the state and beyond to see the leg, adding it to their life list and then checking it off. Wicked’s Rest has, naturally, monetized the leg by setting up a barrier, and charging each person $100 to touch the leg (this, they claim, will help Worm Row’s reputation). Additionally, it has created quite the divide in town: some people want to try and cut it down, to destroy it. Others want to protect it, though it seems like a mixed bag of folks either being terrified of upsetting something powerful, or believing it to be the manifestation of a god that will raise them all from perdition and cleanse the town of evil.

It’s as of yet unclear where the truth lies. But as bad omens continue to pour into the town, there’s little reason to suspect the leg is anything good, and it may in fact be only a preview of things to come.

WHAT ELSE? WELL...

Pieces of rock that look like they came from the Abnormality are jutting out of the ground in the area around the leg. They don’t seem to be encasing anyone like before, but their presence has some people concerned.

The leg has attracted all sorts of birds to perch, from aravo to valravne, and everything in between. This only further entices birdwatchers. There also seems to be a significant presence of various demonic and specter-like entities in the area.

The skyquakes have gotten less frequent, a fact celebrated by pretty much everyone in town. Now they hit about once a week, sometimes less, but the droning does last longer than it did before. The longest one recorded so far was a full three minute stretch, rather than the multiple short bursts. The source remains unknown.

There are dozens of bounties posted in The 3 Daggers for packs of hellhounds (and possibly some black dog variants), all listing different locations where the creatures have been sighted. It’s a good way for hunters to make some extra cash!

Two large sinkholes have opened up in Worm Row and Gatlin Fields. The latter seems to have compromised the structural integrity of the Allgood Death Pit, and has deepened the already-sizable mass grave, spilling remains down into the earth. It has helped with the smell, but no one knows how far down the pit now goes, and most aren’t very keen on going down there to find out.

The sinkhole in Worm Row has claimed a couple blocks worth of apartments that sit very near the Flat itself, and aside from the rubble that still clings to its crumbling edges, seems as deep and dark as the sinkhole in the fields. It’s unclear if the influx of demonic creatures in the town are coming from these sinkholes, but that wouldn’t be a bad guess.

On April 8, there will be a full solar eclipse that will be visible to all in town. Aside from looking awesome, this phenomenon is going to have some far-reaching effects. Supernatural creatures that have an affinity with the sun are going to be feeling especially drained of energy after this eclipse, perhaps even for days or weeks. Conversely, those empowered by the moon will be feeling a little extra pep in their step! Hopefully they can control it. While the eclipse is happening, even those who don’t normally see ghosts or have any connection to the supernatural might be able to peer into another world. Surely no emotional or mental harm can come of that within 4 minutes.

Believers in the supernatural have been warning others to stay inside when the fog rolls in. It’s hard to tell if it’s normal fog, or if it’s Deogen… and really, it isn’t worth the risk of finding out. This has been especially challenging with the increase of stormy and foggy, wet weather.

Some people have been blaming the new sinkholes on the local cryptid known as the Moleman. A figure matching his description has been reported lurking in the nearby alleyways of Worm Row, but that can't be true, right? Either way, it’s probably safest to keep your distance.

The authorities mostly disapprove of the monetization of the leg because no one knows anything about it, and it might be dangerous. That hasn’t stopped people from paying to touch it and others from just climbing over the barriers. If you can get close enough to get a scraping of… whatever the leg is made out of, there’s some speculation of it being a helpful ingredient for alchemical amplification of objects—it does seem to trend towards negative effects, however.

#established rp #lsrpg #supernatural rp #horror rp #skeleton rp #original rp #tumblr rpg #spn rpg #potw #plot of the week #season 2

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pjohoo-reclists · 8 months

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Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis Fic Recs

A list of fics where Sally and Paul's romantic relationship is centric to the story. Enjoy!

He Wouldn't Mind, I Bet by PutAnotherX

G | 300 words | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Post Wedding, Fluff and Angst, Past Abuse

"When Paul’s eyes open and meet Percy’s, they show no anger, and his swaying doesn’t falter for a second. He only quirks an eyebrow, either at Percy’s makeshift pajamas or the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks." Sally and Paul dance in the kitchen after their wedding.

A Beautiful Night by Takara_Phoenix

G | 1.3k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Wedding, Fluff, Sally gets her Happy Ending

June 2009, finally Sally gets her happy ending with the man she loves. And with a little help from Percy's demigod-friends, it turns into a beautiful wedding.

The Third Jackson by DancingInTheSliverGlow

G | 1.5k | Complete

Sally Jackson & Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson

Domestic Fluff, Good Parent Paul Blofis, Sally Jackson Needs a Hug

When Paul Blofis proposes, saying yes is easy. Working out the details later on isn’t as easy.

20 Things You Don't Know About Paul Blofis by antistar_e (kaikamahine)

T | 1.9k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Or, twenty random facts about Paul Blofis, high school English teacher.

Searching by JainaDurron7

G | 2.4k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

A small look at Paul Blofis's life as he searches for someone.

Ev'ryday's A Holiday by JainaDurron7

G | 2.5k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Just when Paul thinks he's gotten Sally the greatest Christmas gift he could come up with, he realizes there are still a few things he doesn't know about his wife.

Baby Blofis College Fund by zipadeea

T | 2.9k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Poseidon

Fluff and Smut, Pregnancy, Family Feels

Valerie calls her an hour later. “Sally, what the hell?” “That bad, huh?” “Bad? Sally, it’s gold. I went from squirming in my seat to crying genuine tears. And that twist, making him a Greek god, it’s exactly what we’re looking for right now. How soon can you get me the next chapter?” *** In which Sally Jackson realizes by the time the new baby is eighteen, a semester of college will cost an arm and a leg. And those Fifty Shades of Grey books sure did make a lot of money.

A man named Poseidon on a Montauk beach by Deerlie_03

T | 4.8k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Family Fluff, Percy Jackson Needs a Hug, Step Parents

Paul has to become part of a small, tight-knit family. He thinks he does it quite well. An exploration of how Paul might have been thinking during some missing scenes from the books/some original scenes, and how they may have gone.

The Overwhelming Specter of Your Mothers Book Club by 60sec400

Not Rated | 5.9k | Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Meeting the Parents, Outsider POV

Martha Blofis stared at her son in shock. “What do you mean,” she said slowly, “that you’re married?” Her son fidgeted nervously. First, he ran a hand through his peppered hair, and then his eyes flickered down and away. Then he lifted them again and smiled meekly at her. “Paul,” she said, “I need you to tell me what in gods name you were thinking.” “Her name is Sally Jackson?” Paul said, his voice lifting as he weren’t quite sure what the name of his wife was. AKA Paul tells his mother he hasn't seen in four years that he's married. Really, the only thing she can think about is what she's going to tell her book club.

Opposite Directions by 60sec400

T | 30k+ | Ongoing as of 30/1/23

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Sally Jackson/Poseidon

Unhealthy Relationships, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Sally Jackson was thankful for three things. Her son. Her husband. Her daughter. But she wouldn't have two of those things if she hadn't taken the path that lead her to the first. And she can't regret it. She doesn't. But doubt began to creep in like a nasty, shadowy creature. And the reminders start to become too much for her and Paul to bear. Maybe she is holding on. And maybe he can't give her what he thinks she wants. In the end, only one of those things brings them both down.

#hoo #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #rec list #rrverse #ao3 #rick riodan #heroes of olympus #annabeth chase #Sally jackson #sally jackson x paul blofis #sally jackson & percy jackson #sally jackson is a good parent #sally & percy #paul blofis is a good parent #paul blofis #percy & paul #percy and paul

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pollylynn · 1 year

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Title: Watchman WC: 800

“I don't want to pretend.” —Kate Beckett, A Chill Goes Through Her Veins (1 x 05)

She regrets the Bat Cave metaphor. She regrets raising the specter of Alfred, and she especially regrets referring to him as a multi-millionaire crime fighter. Some of that is predictably instantaneous: she chides herself for somehow forgetting that his ego never needs feeding. And there's a part of her that hasn’t gotten one bit less raw over the last decade that wants to knock the wind out of him for reducing her pain to a comic book plot line.

It doesn’t make a tremendous amount of sense. Not that anything at all makes sense when someone hits that particular nerve, but that’s kind of the point. Frustratingly, enough, he’d tapped it none-too-gently less than twenty-four hours after they’d met. Yes, he’d noticed her dad’s watch, and yes, he had of course felt compelled to play smartest kid in the room about it.

But now, he is being—for him—kind of sweet. And though it pains her to admit it, he’s also being helpful. Which is why she’s there, late in the evening, intruding on his strange family circle in the first place, right? She needs someone’s help, and none of the usual someones will do.

Ryan and Esposito hardly even bother to hide their smirks about the Castle-induced overtime she's been putting in on cases lately. And they certainly aren’t hiding their exasperation when they get roped in because she’s now in the business of cutting lose perfectly good obsessives, greasy nightclub owners, and violent drug dealers because their unfortunately resident Batman knockoff can’t leave well-enough alone.

She can’t go the boys or to the Captain or even to Lanie without a lecture about getting a life, letting it go, switching it off. So she goes to him, and doesn't that make her Commissioner Gordon—or worse, bumbling Officer O’Hara? So, yes, she has reason to regret the Bat Cave metaphor pretty much right away.

And then the case takes its turn and her regret turns with it. He can’t leave well enough alone. He can’t reconcile the characters of Former Detective Sloan the put-upon Deloris Marsh, and she finds herself forced to scour the very darkest recesses of a Bat Cave that could have been. She finds herself forced to confront Ben Davidson.

In some ways, that’s simple. She is not lying when she lays out the difference between a cop and a writer for Castle. There is a fierce, bitter kind of pride in knowing that she is no Sloan. She does not engage in shoddy, I figured it was gonna end bad. . . or I saw no reason to doubt . . . police work. She has never decided how any victim's story ends through lack of effort or failure to see a case through.

So she follows procedure, as she has in every case for her entire career. She ushers the man into the back of her car and drives in total—miraculous, considering who is riding shotgun—silence from White Plains back to the city. She sits across the table from Ben Davidson and puts out of her mind the image of his granddaughters shrieking with laughter as he comes crashing out of the bushes, playing monster. She fixes in it, instead, the image of their tears at the death of their father, the nights they must have awakened wailing and crying out for him. She looks him in the eye and declares that killing Sam Cavanaugh was not the answer.

But she doesn't know that for a fact. She doesn’t know what an answer looks like for her, for the Ben Davidsons of the world. For Bela and Simone Cavanaugh when they're old enough to understand the enormity of their father’s actions, their grandfather’s . . .

And that, Detective Beckett, is why you are here.

She became a cop to solve her mother’s murder. His glib, nutshell version of the defining event of her life isn’t substantially different from the one she’s told a handful of times to less than a handful of people over the last ten years. That’s the story. Except Ben Davidson makes her wonder if that's the story at all.

She has never been to war, but lord knows guns are easy to come by. She has never had the opportunity to demand the truth from her mother’s killer and offer forgiveness in return. She has never had the raw rush of satisfaction at reneging on such an offer and letting her rage speak—letting it roar at last. She will never have that opportunity.

She is a cop. Her city-issued piece sits quietly, heavily in a box with the objects that connect her to life she saved, the life she lost. She doesn’t get to decide how the story ends.

In the wake of Ben Davidson, she doesn’t know if that’s nobility or cowardice.

A/N: Although the late-night editor has not spared you this story, it has spared you considerable material on all the (non-Burton) times Batman has caught and confronted his parents' killer. You're welcome-ish?

image via homeofthenutty

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hoodoo12 · 2 years

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Oh, Snap!

As promised, a new story!

Sometimes Beetlejuice likes to play dress up. You indulge him.

NSFW. Beetlejuice/f!reader.

Enjoy!

“That’s a . . . snazzy new outfit,” you said dubiously, eyeing the monstrosity Beetlejuice strutted into the room wearing.

The specter sashayed in, swinging his hips like your creaking floor of your living room was a catwalk. He spun, looked over his shoulder at you while his butt was cocked, and gave you a wink.

“Do you love it? It’s my gameshow host outfit!” Beetlejuice replied, as if describing it as such was supposed to explain everything.

You’d gotten good at hiding most of your initial reactions to Beetlejuice’s randomness, but this time it was difficult. You’d have thought nothing could top the garishness of his favorite striped suit, but this gave it a run for its money. Blue pants, yellow jacket with some random glittery embellishment, a gaudy green bowtie and vest over a shirt with ruffles. A tuxedo for a clown--although you weren’t sure even a clown would be caught dead in something as gaudy as it.

Still, you did your best to not deflate his balloon too much. For all his bluster and big talk, Beetlejuice was extremely sensitive to criticism. Reactions to it could go one of two ways: literal sobbing and insecurity that lasted for days, or spitting crackling rage for days. Neither were something you had the energy to deal with at the moment.

“It’s very . . .” You dug for a word to describe it accurately that wasn’t too negative. “ . . . bright.”

“It is, isn’t it!” he exclaimed, as if that were the compliments of compliments. He was in high spirits. Not that you’d say that out loud to him; it’d just encourage him to run wild with puns for an indeterminate amount of time.

“The green goes with my hair!” “Yes, it certainly does.”

Beetlejuice pranced around a little more. He straightened the cuffs. He patted down the front of the shirt. He tugged on his bowtie to make sure it was centered--but not too much, you saw. You surmised it was a clip on. After a moment of playing fashion show, he stopped right in front of you. “This suit has a surprise.” You fixed him with a look. “The same surprise as your striped suit? Spiders in the pockets?” His eyes were bright. “Better than that, baby. This one’s gotta snake in it!”

You dropped the mildly disinterested demeanor. Actually, it was replaced with immediate fear.

“No there’s not,” you retorted, but it was shaky. Before he could prove you wrong, you continued, “Beej, do not pull a snake out of your pocket! I swear--do not pull a snake out! I will banish you so quick--”

Sullenly, Beetlejuice jammed his hands in the very pockets you were now eyeing suspiciously. “You ruin everything,” he mumbled as he turned away. “Beej--” You grabbed his sleeve. “--I just don’t like snakes, is all--” He stepped away from you. Muffled snapping sounds accompanied him, and suddenly, his sleeve wasn’t as tight as it had been. You released it. “Oh my god! Beej, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tear your jacket--” The specter turned back. His jacket hung awkwardly off one shoulder now, and so did his shirt. And the crotch of his pants seemed more open, not that you were staring at it or anything-- “You can make it up to me, baby, by tearing the whole thing off,” he replied with a lecherous grin. “I mean, that snake’s almost free anyway . . .” His voice trailed off and your eyes were drawn back to the seam at his groin. He didn’t mean--he wouldn’t have a snake there--right? Right?! Beetlejuice caught you looking and grinned more widely, showing more of his teeth. His voice dropped to a lower register, the one that sent a shiver up your spine. “Go on, baby. I can see you wanna have a peek . . .”

As try as you might, you couldn’t feign the indifference you’d had earlier. Beetlejuice was nothing if not surprising, and you still didn’t understand what the heck had happened with the gaudy yellow jacket hanging loose on him now. You cleared your throat. “Well come here then,” you told him in more of an excited rasp than you’d expected.

Having gone from silly to slightly predatory and still showing too many teeth, he obeyed. Beetlejuice kneed your legs apart so he could stand much closer than you’d have wanted if you truly believed he had an actual snake somewhere on his person. More likely a rubber one, or--

You eased your hand through the now open fly on the blue pants and what it encountered was most definitely not soft like rubber. Of course he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Beetlejuice exhaled a groan as your hand closed over his erection. Coyishly, you said, “Is this the big snake you were talking about?” It was his turn to choke out, “Y-yeah, baby . . .”

“It’s not good to keep it trapped inside, is it? Big snakes like this need to be free.” Instead of shrugging all the way out of his jacket, Beej’s hands went to the front of his ruffled shirt. He tucked his fingers inbetween the buttons; you watched in confusion, hand still wrapped around his cock. “Beej, what--” “Just pull, baby. On the fabric, not my dick!”

Like so many times before, you just went along with whatever nonsense the specter had come up with. Leaving one hand right where it was but taking hold of the same sleeve you’d grabbed earlier, you gave it a tentative pull. “Oh, I know you can go harder than that, baby. Gimme the good stuff.” With a eyeroll reminiscent of the look you’d given him at the start of this whole thing, you complied. Yanking on his sleeve while he pulled his shirt apart--an homage to the old Superman trope, you’d have to tell him later; he’d be so tickled--his suit split. Like that scene in that old movie The Thing, where that guy’s chest cracked open. Beetlejuice would like that reference more.

Half of the yellow jacket fell off in your hand. Somehow he’d managed to grab a hunk of his trousers on the same side, and now one leg was bare too, minus his shoe. If he’d looked ridiculous before, it was nothing like now: half a suit, half naked, his cock in your hand. Despite all that, he looked pleased. “I was hoping for something more dramatic,” he admitted, “but this gets out the most important parts. Come on baby, let’s see if your clothes come apart too.”

Immediately he fell on you, tugging at your clothing and tickling you at the same time. You shrieked in laughter that they didn’t and he knew that and oh please, yes, right there!

After a short struggle that wasn’t much of one at all, really, Beetlejuice had you on your back on the couch, settled between your legs. Your clothes were scattered on the floor. His were still on half his body, but he was right, the most important parts were out. Hooking your legs around his thighs, you pulled him forward. With a little resistance that made all your nerve-endings sing, his cock opened you up. You moaned, he groaned, and once he was balls’ deep in your pussy he paused just so the two of you could enjoy the moment. “This is nice,” he murmured against your neck. “You know what’s nicer?” “Hmm? What?” “You fucking me like you’d planned all along.” He picked up his head to look at you, and there was a moment when you could tell he wanted to protest. He’d probably say something like he only wanted to show you his outfit, that you always expected him to have horny intentions, that he only had one thing on his mind--you continued before he said anything. “Like I want you to fuck me, Beej.”

Any indignation fled his eyes. His mouth widening into that shark-like grin again, he thrust into you while you asked him for more, grabbing his ass, canting your hips to eke the maximum pleasure for the both of you. Each inward push made you gasp; each outward pull created different bliss. At one point he slowed, as if to stave off his climax, but you whined for him to continue, please, oh god, please Beej don’t stop--

He resumed his hard pace and only a bit later shoved himself as deep into you as he could, crying out as he came. That last heavy pressure undid you as well. You clutched at him, at skin and fabric, as you orgasmed. When the waves of ecstasy receded, you relaxed your grip. Holding himself up on stiff arms, Beetlejuice smiled. It was a softer expression than anything earlier. “The game show suit does it for you, huh?” You clicked your tongue. “I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me I was the big winner.” He closed his eyes. “Now I’m disappointed in myself. That’s a good one.” You laughed. “So . . . was the suit always tearaway?” “Yep!” he replied proudly. “You did get the prize, baby.” “Uh-huh. I’m very glad it wasn’t a real snake. No, do not get any ideas, Beej!”

He looked like he considered it for a moment until you slapped his chest. He promised he wouldn’t bring any snakes in, then eased out of and off of you. Standing, the bright suit hung off half of him. He slipped out of the remaining half, kicking it off his leg and letting it drop to the floor on top of your clothes. “I’m glad you liked it babe. Gotta say though, getting into that getup takes some time.” “I’m sure.” You pinched his bare ass. “You know, I bet it’s a really good suit to play strip poker in.” “Poker? I hardly knew her!” “There’s the Beej I know so well.” “Seriously baby, that’s a great idea. Any time you wanna play strip anything, give me the head’s up and I’ll be ready!” “Ready to lose quickly, I bet.” “You know you can’t wait to get me naked. Look how fast you tore that suit off me.”

You put up a mock protest, but broke out laughing again. There was the Beetlejuice you knew so well.

fin!

#Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice x reader #writing #fanfiction

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ribbondee · 1 year

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The Spy Who Banged Me, a dirty PMATGA Fic (yeah you read that right)

SUMMARY: Boy, things sure do happen in the Nether Realm. In other words, Betty wakes up next to a certain gay lightning ghost after a party, and it's obvious what happened. At first he's shocked and angry, furiously shooing the other away. But as time goes on, he can't help but crave Specter's touch all over again...

What you are about to read is very gay, and also kinda weird. You have been warned.

----

Pain…dizziness… he felt heavy… no doubt about it. He was hungover BIG TIME.

He had thrown a party the night before, one that may have gotten a teensy bit out of hand. He didn’t remember much of it, except for having a few too many drinks and the loud music and flashing lights.

Betrayus finally opened his eyes, which only seemed to make his pounding headache worse. To say the throne room was trashed would be an understatement- slime and vomit was absolutely everywhere, the monitor was shattered, and there were passed out ghosts strewn about here and there.

“Buttler”, he tried to shout but it only came out as a hoarse croak. “Buttler”, he said again without an answer.

“Feeling a bit under the weather, hot stuff?” That voice… that smooth, suave voice. He would know it anywhere. He hesitated for a moment, then finally looked beside him. Laying next to Betrayus against the back of the throne was… HIM.

“Aw, is ol Betty not feeling well? And I thought we had a good time!”

Wait, was he implying that they…?! And how dare he address him like that! But had they really? No! This had to be some sort of sick joke right?! “Tell me we didn’t”, Betrayus simply said.

Specter responded by winking and waggling his eyebrows. “If it makes you feel any better, no you were not taken advantage of- I was a bit tipsy as well.”

Betrayus began to feel sick, and not just from the hangover. Wait a second… Specter was supposed to be locked away! What was he doing here?! “Go away”, Betrayus hissed. Specter shrugged. “You’re the boss.” The spy floated upwards and away, and Betrayus swore he could hear him chuckling.

Betrayus finally found the energy to shout. “BUTTLER”, he shrieked. The butt-headed servant finally went over to his boss, who noticed he wasn’t feeling well. “My Lord-”

“WHAT WAS THAT TRAITOR DOING IN HERE?! OW!”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t shout… it isn’t good for headaches.”

“Just answer my question!”

“I haven’t the faintest idea, sir.”

“Well, have him locked up again! And this time make sure he stays in there!”

“Yes sir.”

“And clean up this mess!”

“Yes sir.”

Buttler left, and Betrayus tried to strain his memory hard enough to recall the previous night’s events. He remembered a few things, mostly stuff about the throne room being wrecked or him demanding more drinks from his butler.

Then, it finally happened. His mind was suddenly filled with a sudden recollection- he had been laying on his throne, with another being with him. He remembered the wet slapping sounds, and the moans of pleasure that had escaped his mouth. Uh oh. So it was true?

Then he had another equally as disturbing thought- perhaps it wasn't just slime his throne was covered in… he let out a yell of terror, immediately rolling off of the throne and landing on the floor with a subtle spatting sound. The mere idea of possibly being in direct contact with another's let alone SPECTER'S spooge was enough to make him gag.

He looked at the throne, and yep. It was pretty much coated in slime, its coloration being white with an occasional dash of light blue. Disgusting. His poor throne- his poor, glorious throne desecrated! He was definitely gonna have Buttler clean it up- riiiight after a quick snack. Maybe THAT would help with his hangover.

He floated down to Ogle’s, his headache still going as strong as ever. “What can I get for- oh. You feeling alright there big guy?”

“Shut up and get me some extra rare Slug Dogs on the double!”

“If you say so.”

Soon enough the already stagnant, foul smelling air was also filled with the terrible miasma of slugs. But to Betrayus, it was music to his nonexistent nostrils (how ghosts COULD smell at all, who really knew?).

“Here ya go”, Ogle said, pushing a basket full of the “food” towards the fire ghost. Betrayus wasted no time in gobbling them down, the still squirming, terrified slugs trying and failing to put up a fight. His sharp teeth ground them up like they were nothing, their slime coating said teeth like a glaze. Even by Nether Realm standards this was considered disgusting, especially since the slugs were still alive. But, according to the buttheaded doctor, raw slug slime actually somehow HELPED with hangovers (of course the first person to try it out really must have been some kinda freak).

Ogle just winced as Betrayus continued messily eating, some bits of slug slime landing on the cyclops ghost. Betrayus finished, wiping the remaining slime off of his mouth. “MORE”, he hollered.

Ogle had no choice but to oblige, lest he get torched. The same thing happened again- a basket full of the stuff was presented to the fire ghost, and he devoured it. He finished that one too, and finally decided he was satisfied for now. He simply got up, and began to float away back to the castle.

“A thank you would have been nice”, Ogle mumbled.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Betrayus wasted no time in whirling around and summoning fireballs in both hands. “U-um” Ogle stuttered.

“Mind repeating that?”

“It was… nothing! Nothing at all!”

“That’s what I thought.”

The fireballs disappeared, and Betrayus continued on his way.

---

He had escaped, only to be locked away again. All it took was one little drink to lead to another, and another, and another. He originally planned to infiltrate the party and try and somehow get on that hothead’s good side again (of course with full intention of overthrowing him at the right moment), but all it took was some drinks to make that not happen.

He didn’t even remember who made the first move- probably him. He did recall stupidly approaching the fire ghost who was clearly VERY tipsy at that point, angrily demanding more drinks from his butler. Now that he thought about it, it WAS more than likely him who made the first pass. And, now that he thought about it, poor hilariously drunk Betrayus seemed to like it? And he did too? Ew.

Things had only escalated from there. Rapidly. He had actually been as surprised at the thought of them doing the you-know-what as Betrayus was, but had decided to tease him for fun; likely another stupid decision.

All of these thoughts rang loud and clear in Specter’s mind, as he slaved away shoveling dragon crap. The spiky ghost proof harness was once again around his body, this time with reinforced security. He certainly wasn’t going to escape again anytime soon.

“Egotistical… childish… hotheaded piece of…”, he mumbled as he continued shoveling. Then- SPLAT!

One of the dragons had swung its tail, some of the dung it hit getting knocked onto the poor lightning ghost’s face. Said dragon turned to look at him, sharply inhaling and exhaling with a wheezing sound.

“Oh you think that’s funny, sulfur breath?! Just wait until I get out of here-” Yeah, like THAT was happening anytime soon.

---

He had been fondled… caressed… kissed all over… Pleasured beyond what he could have ever hoped for.

And he hated it, and the fact that he had enjoyed it. His headache was mostly gone now, as was the sick feeling. Either the slug slime did its job, or he was just simply feeling better. He lounged in his now clean throne, but the room was still a mess. Poor Buttler was doing his best to get everything cleaned up, the party guests having long since been shooed away and dealt with.

He was laying down on the seat cushion, lazily munching away at a fried slug. Then… oh crap. Yet another horrifying thought entered his mind. They had been together… on the throne… DURING THE PARTY. It wasn’t private, like, AT ALL. His red eyes went wide, his jaw practically hitting the floor. “BUTTLERRRR!”

Buttler wasted no time in floating over to his master. Before he could get a single word out, Betrayus began to yell once more.

“DID YOU SEE ANYTHING?!”

“Pardon?”

“Did you. See anything?!”

“Like… what?”

Wait. If he truly hadn’t seen anything, Betrayus saying something now certainly would imply that something went down. Maybe it was best to keep it secret-

“Are you referring to… your little fling?”

“SO YOU DID SEE SOMETHING! WHY DIDN’T YOU DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?!”

“You uh… seemed to be enjoying yourself? I dared not separate you two lest I get scorched.”

Buttler sadly had a point, and Betrayus hated it. In fact, he absolutely couldn’t stand it when others were right and he was wrong. Betrayus growled and narrowed his eyes, a sure sign that he was about to start hurling fireballs if something wasn’t done to ease the situation.

“Your uh… claws are looking quite sharp today!”

Betrayus had no reaction, he was too angry. There was only one thing for Buttler to do now- RUN (or for lack of a better term, fly). And Buttler did just that.

He spent the next ten minutes being chased and burned by his boss, the air filled with the sound and smell of singed ectoplasm. It was only after poor Buttler was torched to the point of his ghostly form melting and leaving his eyes behind that Betrayus was satisfied.

“Get to the regeneration chamber. Once you’ve reformed, make me more fried slugs! Now go!”

“Yes sir…”

Buttler’s eyes sullenly flew away, and Betrayus sat back down on his throne.

“It felt so good though”, came a sudden thought.

Oh of COURSE he was going to think about THAT. He shook himself out of those thoughts, full of disgust… and yet, something else as well…

“I want more” , came another thought.

“NO”, Betrayus hollered. He couldn’t believe it- he was… that. Betrayus, affection and touch starved Betrayus- was craving Specter once more. No, that was an understatement. He NEEDED to be touched again- it was like an itch of sorts that he couldn’t scratch himself.

He was of course beside himself in shock as these were thoughts he normally wouldn't have in a million years, especially when it came to that traitor. But regardless he still felt the need, the hunger… the desire to be close to someone- to be POUNDED by someone. Sure it was likely far from healthy, but since when did HE care about that?!

He was going to let it happen once more- just one more time! Then he would be done! No more! Right?

Luckily the newly reformed Buttler came in at that exact moment, who was carrying a tray full of steaming, freshly made fried slugs. “BUTTLER!” Buttler forced himself not to sigh. “Yes my Lord?”

“Bring me the traitor. And make it snappy!”

“Uh…”

“NOW!”

“Y-yes sir…?”

Within minutes Specter was brought to him, who was visibly confused. “BUTTLER”, Betrayus shouted again, “leave!”

If Buttler had eyebrows they would have practically hit the ceiling. “Your wish is my command, your fiery-ness.”

Buttler left, phasing through the stone wall.

Betrayus looked around hurriedly, making sure absolutely no one else was present. Thankfully, the pair of spirits were alone.

“You rang”, Specter said with a smirk. He was trying to appear confident, doing his best not to tremble.

“Touch me”, Betrayus suddenly said without warning.

Wait a minute… he at first assumed he was being brought in here to be punished. But instead…?! Oh heck no. HECK NO! The only reason it happened the first time was due to intoxication!

Specter’s nonexistent nose wrinkled much to Betrayus’ ire. “I AM THE LORD OF THE NETHER REALM AND YOU WILL DO AS I SAY”, Betrayus shrieked as he got in the spy’s face.

“Ever heard of breath mints”, Specter said without thinking which only angered the fire ghost even more.

Hold on. Did Betrayus REALLY enjoy it that much that he summoned him FOR THAT?! At this realization Specter actually couldn’t help but smirk a little, filled with pride.

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!”

“With all due respect-”

“Just. Touch me.”

Specter decided to do something very brave or very stupid- he raised one of his flipper like arms, and booped the area where Betrayus’ nose would be. “There ya go.”

Betrayus paused, surprised. His facial expression was honestly hilarious, but Specter knew he was likely in for a beating now. But wait- should he decide to comply, there was a chance he’d get back on the fire ghost’s good side? And better yet, apparently he was so good in bed (or throne in this case) even BETRAYUS had fallen under his spell. Now that was priceless.

So, he was gonna do something he might regret yet enjoy at the same time. He was gonna do it.

Before Betrayus was able to get his bearings, Specter was on him in an instant. He practically tackled the fire ghost onto his throne.

“You really want me, don’cha?”

“Uh”, Betrayus sputtered out. His face began to flush, and it was painfully obvious due to him being so pale. If he was gonna screw Betrayus again let alone do it while sober, he was going to have some fun with it.

“You really want me that badly huh”, Specter teased, getting himself comfortable on top of his partner. Betrayus’ blush deepened in hue. He was about to speak but was quickly silenced with a kiss from the spy. Betrayus gasped which gave Specter an opportunity to slip in his ghostly tongue. He let it coil around Betrayus’ own tongue like a snake, Betrayus letting out a small groan of pleasure.

Specter finally broke the kiss after what felt like hours. There was a thin trail of spit/slime hanging between both of their mouths. Betrayus was panting from arousal, his eyes pleading with the gay lightning ghost for more which Specter gladly provided.

He made his way down Betrayus’ body, stopping when he got to the end of his ghostly tail. “What are you doing?”, Betrayus snapped.

“What I did last time.”

Specter wasted no time in shoving his head right up the underside of Betrayus’ ghostly form. Sure he had to wade through several red, fiery tendrils but eventually he found it. That thing.

No one really knew what it was called, nor why it was there. It had been given many names- the “Pleasure Spectre”, the “Woohoo Stick”, or even the “Bone Zone”. Specter simply just called it dick/coochie. It had absolutely no reproductive value whatsoever, its only purpose apparently being getting ghosts off. But hey, whatever worked. As far as he knew every ghost had one, with its appearance varying depending on whether or not it was a boy or girl ghost- said appearance being oddly and eerily phallic or otherwise in shape.

It was merely an inch away from Specter’s face in its pink pulsating glory. He extended his tongue and gave the tip a little lick. Betrayus shuddered, a surge of pleasure going through him like a jolt of electricity. “Oh you like that”, came Specter’s muffled voice. “Uh…”

Specter took that as a yes, and wasted no time in taking it into his mouth.

Betrayus squeezed his eyes shut and let out a loud moan, digging his claws into the throne cushion. Tears began to appear in the fabric as he did so, but it was nothing his servant couldn’t fix later.

Specter began to move his face back and forth as he continued sucking Betrayus off. He could feel the pink thing beginning to pulsate faster, swelling and becoming warmer- he was close.

Specter just continued to suck, Betrayus moaning all the while. Specter could feel his own ‘thing’ getting stimulated as well- he was enjoying this?

And finally, squirt or better yet gush. Betrayus finally came- all over Specter’s face as the spy pulled away.

“Ah~”, Betrayus squealed as he continued cumming, his ectoplasmic nut getting all over Specter like frosting on a cake. Specter came as well, his own spooge spilling out from underneath him.

They were both panting heavily, thoroughly exhausted.

Sure Specter hated getting himself dirty like this, but he found the idea of swallowing cum even worse. He pulled out of Betrayus’ body, some of the cum dripping onto the throne. “How was that?”, Specter purred as he pulled out a tissue from nowhere and began cleaning his face.

Betrayus was panting even harder, his blush being darker than ever. Betrayus was speechless, but his face said it all. It was amazing. “H-hold me”, Betrayus said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

Now THAT was unexpected. But if he really did want to stay on his good side, Specter really had no choice but to comply. Then again, he had just gotten the bastard off not once but TWICE, so would a simple snuggle really be that bad? He floated upwards, and then down next to the fire ghost. Before Specter could do anything, Betrayus used his prosthetic hands to pull the other ghost into a hug of sorts. Specter hated to admit it but the warmth of the fire ghost against him actually felt kinda good.

So much for being the one to hold him but whatever made him happy.

A good ten or so minutes passed, with them snuggling the entire time. It went beyond simply hugging- there was nuzzling, caressing and of course some shameless smooches. This had more than likely happened last time, but it was far more enjoyable now that they were sober enough to properly feel/recall it this round.

They were in the middle of one last make out session, until-

“AHHHHHHH!”

Betrayus sat up with a start. Who- oh.

There the four of them were, all of them having shock written on their faces. Apparently the red one (he never bothered to learn any of their names) was the one who screamed.

“Mega yuck”, said the blue one.

The pink one said nothing, just gagged. As for the hefty orange lad… he just started to cry.

“Enjoying the show”, Specter taunted.

"GET OUT YOU NITWITS!"

#pmatga #pacman and the ghostly adventures #sin #filth #betrayus #spectrayus #Spectrayus shippers come get your food #yes i headcanon specter as gay

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satans-my-spirit-animal · 1 year

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Twisted Wings Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Warning: blood, also long af

Summary: Celeste's first day at Night Raven goes from bad to worse thanks to Ace and Grim.

The next morning, Celeste opened her eyes to discover the three ghosts hovering at the foot of her bed. Gasping in surprise, she sat bolt upright in the bed.

“Aren't the two of you supposed to be off cleaning the school today?” The gaunt specter said, grinning at them. Grim stirred at her feet, squinting blearily at the ghost.

“Oh yes, we are! What time is it?” She asked, clambering out of bed.

“… You're really not scared of us, are you?” The large ghost looked slightly disheartened at her response.

Grim let out a yowl as he finally became fully awake. "Wha?! The ghosts are back! Why are you talking to them like it's totally normal?!”

“They're just people without bodies, Grim. It's not that weird.” She replied calmly as she tugged on her black hoodie.

“People without… Celeste, do you hear yourself?! Of course, it's weird!” Grim exclaimed as he shrank into the blankets.

“You're a strange one. So, you'll be living here from now on? I hope you like pranks as much as we do!” The thin ghost laughed, still trying to get a rise out of her.

“I only intend to stay here temporarily. I apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused you.” She spoke politely, and the ghosts exchanged glances.

“Whatta ya apologizing to them for?! THEY were terrorizing US!” Grim gawked at her in disbelief.

“They were here first, Grim. It was rather rude of us to barge in on them last night.” She pointed out, looking up as Crowley sauntered into the room without bothering to knock. Upon seeing him, the ghosts instantly dissipated.

“Good morning Celeste. Did you sleep well?” He smiled down at her as she smoothed down her hair.

“Not at all! The mattress fell right through the frame!” Grim griped loudly, hopping down onto the floor, as Celeste grimaced in silent agreement.

“I'm delighted to hear you've adjusted so well. Now, moving on, let's discuss your job for today. Today I'll have you focus on the area spanning from the front gates to the library. Now Celeste… I expect you to keep a close eye on Grim. I don't want a repeat of yesterday, understand?” He gave her a stern look after giving them their assignment.

“I'll try my best.” She sighed, hoping Grim would behave.

Celeste and Grim made their way to the front of the school. The street leading up to the main building was lined with seven stone statues. She started to pick up the rubbish on the ground while Grim admired the sculptures. I used to be a squadron leader; she thought to herself bitterly as she plucked trash off the walkway.

“This lady here looks like she's had some real anger issues,” Grim said, examining a statue of a rather larger woman with a crown on her head. Celeste started to snap at him for dawdling about when a young man sauntered up to them.

“You don't know the Queen of Hearts?” He asked, looking down at Grim. He had fiery orange hair and bright red eyes. A red heart symbol was painted over his left eye.

“Neither of us are from here,” Celeste explained, leaning on her broom as she walked over to them.

“She was a queen who lived in a maze-like garden long ago. A strict woman who prized order above all. She wouldn't tolerate a rose being off-color or a card soldier being out of step. The punishment for breaking a rule was immediate decapitation!” The boy spoke with an impish grin.

“Woah, that's seriously messed up!” Grim said, his fur standing on end.

“Pretty cool, right? I'm a big fan. I mean, who would bother to obey a queen who was nice all the time?”

“Whatever happened to doing things in moderation…” Celeste murmured, glancing up at the statue. Angels were just as severe with their laws and carried them out just as ruthlessly. She had gotten off lightly in the end, most likely because of her social status.

“Puttin' that aside… Who are you?” Grim inquired, staring up at the fluffy-haired boy.

“Name's Ace. I'm a first-year student here. Pleased to meetcha!�� Ace responded with a smirk.

“I'm Grim! I'm a prodigy who's plannin' to be the greatest mage who ever lived!” Grim declared puffing out his chest.

“I am Celeste… Just Celeste.” Celeste spoke in a slightly subdued tone.

“Celeste? Huh. Name's got an odd ring to it.” Ace contemplated her curiously for a moment before Grim started talking again.

“Hey, what about the lion with the scar?” He said, waving his paw at the lion statue.

“That's the king of beasts who ruled the Savanna. But he wasn't born into the throne – he had to earn it through hard work and elaborate schemes. When he became king, he decreed the hyenas would be pariahs no more and should live among his subjects as equals.”

“Sounds like a great guy!” Grim said, as Celeste felt a mixture of emotions stir through her. How had that gone over with the king's subjects? Could angels and mortals one day come to an understanding like that? Most mortals were unaware that angels even existed, seeing them as legends. While the angels saw mortals as nothing more than insects crawling on the ground.

Grim moved on to the next statue. “Who's the lady with the octopus legs?”

“That's the sea witch. She basically devoted her life to helping troubled merfolk. They say she was so good, there was no wish she couldn't grant. They also said the price was steep, but of course, it was. I mean, she was granting wishes!”

“Wishes…” Celeste murmured, remembering back in the old days it was angels that had granted wishes.

“Do the guy with the hat next!” Grim appeared to enjoy learning about the statues.

“That's the sorcerer of the sands. He was an advisor to a sultan. He exposed a swindler who was trying to trick the princess! After that, he got a magic lamp and became the greatest sorcerer in the world. They say he used the power to become sultan himself!”

“What about this pretty lady?” Grim hopped over to the next statue of a tall woman in a flowing dress and a crown.

“She was a queen who was the fairest in the land. She used a magic mirror every day to check. If her position was threatened, she'd do anything to keep it. She was also a master at making poisons!”

“Geez. She's pretty, but that sounds kinda scary.” Grim stepped back, seeming surprised that someone so beautiful could be so cruel.

“All that over looks? Isn't it rather foolish to pine for your reflection?” Celeste shook her head in disapproval.

“You're one to talk. You don't have anything to worry about in the looks department.” Ace said, peeping under her hood. She drew back and tugged her hood down as she abruptly turned her head away.

“That guy there, the one with the flaming head, now THAT guy's scary!” Grim said, ignoring their exchange.

Celeste gasped when she recognized the next sculpture. “That's Hades, king of the underworld.” She answered, stepping up to the figure.

“Oh, so you've heard of him? He may look scary, but he worked tirelessly at a tough job he never asked for. I mean, this guy was ordering Cerberus, Hydra, and the Titans into battle for him.”

Celeste frowned. She had met him when she was a small child briefly, but from what she could remember this was certainly a strange way to describe Hades. She and her brother had accompanied her father in presenting a pegasus foal to Mount Olympus in the Celestial Realm when she was a child. Hades had been there to celebrate the birth of his nephew. He had been a smooth talker with a bit of a temper.

"And who's this last one with the horns?” Grim's question brought her back to the present.

“That's the thorn fairy. She was noble and elegant, and a master of magic and curses. She commanded storms and covered the kingdom with thorns – she could use magic on a massive scale! She could even turn herself into a dragon. Pretty cool, huh? Not like some piddling weasel.” Ace sneered at Grim, revealing his true intentions from approaching them.

Grim gasped as Ace began to mock them. Celeste straightened up from her slightly bent position. She'd been leaning on the broomstick due to her injuries bothering her.

Ace let out a laugh. “I can't hold it back anymore! You're the ones who turned orientation into such a fiasco, right? The girl summoned by the dark mirror unable to use magic, and the monster who wasn't summoned at all.”

“H-hey! You don't have to be a jerk about it!” Grim responded defensively while lashing his tail.

“In the end, neither of you got admitted, and now your janitors? SO, lame!” Ace clutched his stomach, no longer able to stifle his laughter.

“Don't you have somewhere else to be, child?” Celeste growled, losing her patience.

“Child? We're the same age, aren't we? Who are ya calling a child?! You guys didn't even know who the great seven are! Maybe before you try getting into the academy again, you should take a crack at kindergarten!" Ace became defensive at her remark.

Grim looked like he was about to fly off the handle again as he bristled with fury. “Grim. Ignore him. Don't let him win.” She warned him, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Grim erupted into flames causing Ace to let out a yelp of surprise. “No one makes fun of Grim, Master of fire!”

“You wanna throw down, shorty? You've got some guts!” Ace huffed, using a wind spell to blow away Grim's flames.

A small crowd of students gathered around them, excited at the sight of a fight.

“That's ENOUGH, you two! You're causing a scene!” Celeste shouted at them, but they both ignored her causing her to let out a hiss of frustration.

Grim unleashed another volley of fireballs, which Ace deflected. Unfortunately, the fire was diverted directly onto the statue of the Queen of Hearts, charring it black. Both Ace and Grim gasped in horror when they realized what they'd done, freezing in place.

“What's going on here? Cease this at once!” Crowley shouted, forcing his way through the crowd of students. Both Ace and Grim tried to escape, but the headmaster halted them with a crack of his whip.

“As if the likes of you could flee from me!” He growled, crossing his arms.

“Did I not just warn you, 'no more incidents'? And now you've gone and charred one of my statues?! It's almost as if you WANT to be expelled!” Crowley thundered furiously.

“No! Forgive me!” Ace pleaded, sounding panicked.

Crowley whisked around to scowl at her. “And you Celeste! You were specifically told to keep Grim under control!”

“I sincerely apologize, sir.” She replied, bowing her head.

“This will not do. You state your name and grade.” Crowley demanded, glaring at Ace.

“Ace Trappola… Freshman.” Ace answered glumly, his shoulders slumping.

“Now listen… As punishment for today's infractions, you are hereby ordered to wash a hundred windows!” Crowley ordered sternly glaring at the three of them.

“Gah! This is all your fault!” Grim accused Ace, lashing his tail.

Ace gave the Headmaster a stunned look. “What? I have to do it too?!”

“Of course you do. You will meet in the cafeteria after class. Are we clear?” They exchanged glances and nodded at Crowley's instructions.

After a long day of cleaning, Celeste and Grim went to the cafeteria to meet Ace. Grim was grumbling about how unfair it was, and she cast a sharp look down at him. She was incredibly sore from her injuries, and a day of cleaning hadn't helped. Now she had to clean a bunch of windows WITHOUT flying, aka the hard way.

“Try to learn from this experience.” She hissed at him as he shrugged her off before glancing around the cafeteria.

“Ace ain't even here yet! To make us wait after what he did…!!” Grim fumed as he sat down at a table.

They waited a while longer before exchanging glances. “He ditched us!” They cried out, simultaneously leaping to their feet.

“Let's go track him down.” She growled, stalking away.

After finding the classroom empty, they tried to head him off at the dorm entrances. Fortunately, catching up to him just as he was about to step into the hall of mirrors.

“Where do you think you're going, young man?!” she called out to him sharply.

“Wh…?! Aw, crap!” He spun around, his face filling with dread when he saw them.

“Stop right there! Wait!” Grim hollered at him as he made a mad dash for the mirror, shoving one of his dorm mates aside.

“Hey! What gives?!” the boy with black hair shouted as Ace blew past him.

“Please stop him!” She cried out to him, desperately pointing to Ace.

The boy blinked, looking bewildered as she and Grim rushed up to him. “Y-you want me to cast a spell to stop him? W-what kind?”

“It doesn't matter! Anything!” She spoke frantically, not wanting Ace to get away.

“Anything, huh? I summon thee… Something heavy!” He waved his magic pen and an enormous cauldron appeared over Ace, landing directly on top of him right before he could step into the mirror.

Ace yelped as he was pinned underneath. She grimaced, maybe it HAD mattered. Grim let out a laugh as Ace shoved off the cauldron with a grunt.

“That's what you get!” Grim sneered at Ace as he staggered to his feet.

The boy seemed surprised at his own spell. “A cauldron?! I may have overdone it this time…”

“What are you guys bothering me for?! You guys could have banged out those windows yourselves!” Ace said, glowering at the three of them.

“A hundred windows? With Grim who isn't even three feet tall?! After the Headmaster ordered you to help?!” Her voice grew more enraged as she went on, her injuries were aching, and her temper was unusually short.

"You have to wash those windows as a punishment? What the hell did you do?!” The other boy gawked at Ace, his eyes wide.

“I was just messing with that furball a little… Okay, the statue of the Queen of Hearts got a bit charred. Sue me.” Ace grumbled defensively with a shrug.

“No wonder the Headmaster flew off the handle at you! How did you manage to get into trouble on the very first day?!” The other boy exclaimed, glancing at her.

“Well anyway, thank you… Um…” She trailed off, not knowing his name. He had neatly combed black hair and blue eyes. Over his right eye, he had a spade symbol painted on his face.

“Oh, I'm Deuce. Deuce Spade. What's your name?” He peered curiously at her, trying to get a better look at her beneath her hood.

“I am Celeste. I'm not a student. I'm only here temporarily.” She replied, emphasizing temporarily.

Ace let out a sigh as he gave in. “Alright, let's go bang out those windows… Huh?”

She stiffened, realizing that Grim was no longer next to her. She whirled around and spotted his pronged tail receding down the hallway.

“I'm going to KILL him!” She spat as the three of them gave chase.

They pursued him all the way to the cafeteria and started closing in on him now that his escape routes were blocked. Grim leaped onto one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and proceeded to mock them. She cursed under her breath, wishing she could strike him down with magic.

“H-hang on! I'll think of something..." Deuce assured her looking around. "… Hm, I need something to grab him.” Deuce glanced over at Ace and smiled, pointing his pen at him.

"What are you doing?!” Ace gave him an uneasy look when he saw the expression on Deuce's face.

“I'm going to launch you.” Deuce declared, preparing to cast his spell.

“W-wait, are you sure you know what you're doing?!” Celeste cast him a dubious look as he sent Ace up in the air. Ace let out a yell and flailed around in a panic.

“Ace! Try to keep balance in your core! Don't panic!” She attempted calling out some flying advice to him. Back in the celestial realm, aside from being a warrior, she also taught young angels how to fly.

“What do you know about flying?!” Ace snapped at her, still struggling.

“Grab him and hold him tight,” Deuce instructed Ace, sending him soaring towards the chandelier. However he did so too quickly, both Ace and Grim shrieked as Ace crashed into it, bringing down the entire chandelier with him.

“Oh no! Ace! Grim! Are you alright?!” She dashed up to them with Deuce on her heels. Ace and Grim clambered to their feet, looking sore but otherwise unharmed.

“I probably should have softened your landing…” Deuce said with a grimace.

“YOU. THREE. AGAIN. What have you done this time?!” They all reeled around to see Crowley storming into the cafeteria, looking livid.

“First the statue, now the chandelier?! Enough. All of you are expelled!” He roared, waving his hand.

“What?!” Ace and Deuce cried out in unison, sounding horrified.

“But, sir! Deuce was merely trying to help!” Celeste tried to defend Deuce, but Crowley shook his head.

“You mean how he helped shatter the chandelier?” Crowley fumed, narrowing his eyes.

“Headmage, please! Give me a second chance! I need to be here! I'll pay for the damages!” Deuce pleaded desperately.

“This is no mere light fixture. Its candles are powered by a special magestone, so they will burn for an eternity. A legendary artificer created it. It's been here since the school was built. Considering its historical value, I would estimate its worth to be no less than one billion thaumarks.” At the Headmage's words, the two boys went pale.

“A… A billion marks?!” Deuce sputtered. It must have been a lot of money for them to react in such a manner.

“B-but I'm sure with your magical talent, sir, you could snap your fingers and fix this right up!” Ace said hopefully.

Crowley shook his head. “Even magic has its limits. Its magestone is cracked. A magestone cannot be easily replaced.” He pointed to a crystal at the center of the chandelier that was virtually shattered.

“What am I going to do?! What am I going to tell my mother?!” Deuce sounded like he was about to have a panic attack as his breath quickened.

Suddenly, Crowley looked up with a thoughtful glint in his eye. “Ah! There may be one way. The magestone that was used to power this chandelier was mined in the Dwarf's mine. If you can get a magestone with the same properties, it may be possible to repair it.”

“Then I'll go find one! With your permission, sir!” Deuce leapt at the chance.

“I should caution you that there may be no stones left. The mines closed a long time ago, and all the magestones were likely mined.” Crowley warned him, but he didn't back down.

“I'll do anything to avoid expulsion, sir!” He insisted, puffing out his chest.

“Hmm… Very well then. I will suspend your expulsion for a single night. If you don't have a magestone by morning, you are all expelled. You can get to the dwarf mines through the dark mirror.” Crowley said with a nod. Deuce thanked him, and they scurried to the mirror chamber.

Stepping through the mirror, they found themselves in a dark forest. The sun had just set, leaving their surroundings dimly lit in the soft moonlight.

She was forced to pull back her hood, so she could see properly as they headed for the mine entrance. The entrance was located on the side of a mountain and appeared as if it hadn't been used for quite some time.

“You wanna go inside THERE?! It's pitch black!” Grim flattened his ears, looking at the entrance nervously.

“Grim, if you're scared, why don't you use your fire magic to light the way?” She suggested, looking down at Grim.

“Wha-! I'm not scared of anything! I'm taking the lead! You all follow me!” He huffed, puffing out his chest as he marched inside. He summoned a small blue flame to light their path as they followed behind him.

As they proceeded down the dimly lit tunnel, Ace and Deuce kept stumbling and tripping over loose stones. Apparently, a human's night vision wasn't particularly good, even with Grim's flame.

Ace swore in frustration, glaring at Deuce. “We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for that stupid stunt you pulled!”

Deuce scowled back at him. “Oh? I'm pretty sure this all started because you tried to shirk your window-cleaning punishment!”

“So we're bringing up ancient history now? If you really want to get down to it, this all started when furball torched the statue!” Ace shot a glare at Grim as he felt his way along the side of the passage.

Grim quickly whipped around to scowl at Ace. “Maybe you shouldn'ta made fun of me then!”

“Alright boys, listen. You're about to be expelled, remember? It might be a minor inconvenience for me, but for you, it's a big deal, yes? You should concentrate on the task at hand.” Celeste chided them, and they turned to her with confused expressions.

“A minor inconvenience? Don't you want to go to this school?” Deuce seemed bewildered by her response.

“Oh no, I arrived completely by accident. But I'm quite far from home and needed a place to stay temporarily.” She explained, halting as a strange noise echoed off the walls from further down the passage.

“Hey, where are you from anyway? You have kinda a weird accent.” Ace inquired curiously, but she promptly shushed him.

“Wait, I can hear someone…” she said, peering down the tunnel and spotting a shadowy shape sliding towards them. She felt a wave of negative energy wash over her as it got closer, causing a chill to run down her spine.

“Wh-where's that coming from?” Ace stammered, sounding spooked, still unable to see what was approaching.

The dark entity moved closer, mumbling. “I really hope that's not what I think it is.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Sounds like… It's getting closer…” Deuce's voice shook as the phantom drifted into the firelight.

“Stooonesss… Stooonesss aaare miiiiine!” The phantom growled its shadowy form dragging a pickaxe behind it. Grim let out a shriek and darted back behind them, crouching in fear.

“What is that?!” Deuce cried, taking a step back.

“It's a phantom! Get back, they're dangerous!” She shouted, backing up. Just a splash of its black muck would burn her skin if it touched her.

“Let's get outta here!” Grim yowled, preparing to flee.

“Wait! Didn't it say something about stones?” Ace stopped in his tracks.

“Stooonesss… Nevvva give stooonesss!” The phantom rumbled as its black ooze dripped onto the ground.

“So there ARE still magestones here!” Deuce said, perking up.

“Even as a master sorcerer, I… I don't think I can take that thing down!” Grim squeaked, trembling behind them. Celeste had never felt so utterly powerless. Usually, she had no problem taking down a single phantom but without her magic or sword…

“We need a magestone, or we'll be expelled! I'm going in!” Deuce declared before charging forward.

“Are you outta your mind?!” Ace shouted at him.

“Deuce, you don't know what you're dealing with! It's too dangerous!” She shouted after him, but he ignored them.

The phantom roared at Deuce, swinging its pickaxe. Deuce wasn't fast enough to fully block the blow, and it sent him sprawling out onto the ground with a thud. Ace rushed to help him, but was also thrown aside.

That's when the phantom noticed her, looking at her intensely. “Shinnness… Soooo… Briiiightly. MUSSST HAAAVE!” It lurched in her direction, forgetting about Ace and Deuce.

“It's coming this way!” Grim shrieked in panic, hurling fireballs at it to no effect.

While the phantom was preoccupied with her and Grim, Ace spotted something glinting in the wall a little way further down the mine shaft.

“Hey, something is sparkling in the mine shaft!” Ace exclaimed, pointing at the magestone sticking out of the wall.

“Ugh!” she cried out as she blocked a blow from the phantom with a collapsed wooden beam. She winced in agony as the black ooze burned into her pale flesh, and she felt the wounds on her back reopen.

Realizing that she was struggling, Ace and Deuce hastily came to her aid, blasting it with spells. She was able to get the phantom off her, but only just.

“We should retreat for now!” She shouted as they helped her to her feet, nodding in agreement. They sprinted out of the mine. Luckily, the phantom didn't pursue them.

They stopped next to a small stream in front of the mine, trying to catch their breath. She immediately tore off her black hoodie, which was now covered in the burning black ooze, tossing it aside and plunging her arms into the icy water to wash them off.

“What did you say that thing was? Nobody said there'd be anything like that!” Ace turned to her, his scarlet eyes wide.

“It was a phantom. They are made up of negative energy of sorts.” She explained, taking her hands out of the water. The burns weren't terrible, only slightly red.

“Why was it so focused on you? H-hey, are you hurt?!” Deuce noticed the superficial burns on her arms.

“Oh, this is from that black ooze. It burned my skin a little, but it's not too bad.” She tried to reassure him, but he frowned.

“How come it didn't burn me and Ace?” Evidently, some muck had spattered onto them as well, with no effect. The ooze didn't appear to be as toxic to humans as it was to angels.

“O-oh, I must be sensitive to it…” she answered, restlessly rubbing her arms.

Ace sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Let's just quit and go home. I'll happily take the expulsion if it means never having to fight that thing again.”

Deuce's head jerked over to glare at him. “What?! No! I'd rather die than get expelled from Night Raven! How can you give up when the stone is right there?”

“If you want that stone so bad, go get it yourself. I'm out.” Ace huffed, shaking his head.

“OH YEAH?! Fine, go back to your coop, you big chicken!” Deuce yelled, squaring his shoulders and clenching his fists.

“What?! Who are you callin' chicken, huh?” Ace spat back at him.

“Deuce did you… Just turn into an entirely different person just now?” Grim gawked at Deuce's shift of attitude.

Deuce coughed nervously and tried to relax. “Sorry… I lost my cool for a second.”

“If we worked together, it would be possible to defeat the phantom.” She suggested, thinking up a strategy. However, she would require their magic to execute it.

“No way! He'd get me killed!” Ace said casting an accusatory glare at Deuce.

“Like it'd be a treat to work with you?!” Deuce shot back at him.

“I have a plan, but you will have to cooperate for it to work.” She explained, and Ace scoffed at her.

“Like some kinda buddy move? You always say the lamest things with a straight face, Celeste.”

"There's no way that I could work with him.” Deuce huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, but… Gettin' expelled on the first day… That's pretty lame, too. Maybe lamer.” To her surprise, Grim backed her up.

Ace and Deuce exchanged glances before turning to her with a hesitant nod. “Alright Celeste, what's the plan?”

"I know of a type of magic circle that can destroy the phantom. I'll draw it in front of the mine entrance. Grim, I'm going to need you to lure it out. I'll stay by the circle since it's attracted to me. Once it's inside, Ace, Deuce, you will need to recite a spell."

"Alright, so all we gotta do is say a couple of magic words? Sounds easy enough." Ace said, regaining some of his confidence.

“Yes, however, the magic circle needs a special ingredient to activate. I have to draw it using my blood." Celeste said and the boys blanched at her words.

"Wait, WHAT?!" Ace exclaimed, backing away.

"W-What kind of spell is this?!" Deuce stammered his eyes wide.

"The kind that's used in emergencies. Now the words are tenebras expellit et hostes. Do you think you can remember that?” She asked, the two boys flashed at each other anxiously before nodding.

“What about the blood?” Grim squeaked up at her.

“Ah… I reopened some scratches earlier when we were in the mine. I'll use the blood from that.” She turned around and revealed her wounded shoulders causing them to all gasp.

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LIKE THAT?” Ace practically shouted, gaping at the bleeding wounds on her back.

“I had a bit of a… Fall, before I arrived at Night Raven.” She replied, looking at the ground.

“You should go to the infirmary! That looks bad.” Deuce choked, his eyes filled with concern.

“I heal quickly, trust me. Back to the matter at hand. I'll get started on that circle.”Celeste walked over to the mine entrance and started tracing the magic circle using her blood. After she finished, she turned to them to give the go-ahead. They all bore uneasy looks on their faces.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Grim squeaked, looking petrified.

“Yes, I'm certain.” She assured him with a nod.

With her reassurance, Grim shuffled over to the mine entrance on trembling legs. “H-hey, monster! I'm uh… I'm over here!” He called out into the gaping hole, his voice echoing off the walls.

There was a rumble as the phantom ran surging out of the mine. “He's coming your way, Celeste!” Grim yowled, dashing past her.

The phantom immediately lost interest in Grim catching sight of her. She backed up, trying to lead it into the circle without messing up the lines she'd drawn.

“Sssooo… Briiight.” The phantom hissed as it entered the circle reaching out for her.

“You guys! Now!” she yelled, and Ace and Deuce started reciting the spell.

“tenebras expellit et hostes!” They called out in unison and the circle flashed. A shining light engulfed the phantom, causing it to shriek as it disintegrated into black goo.

“I… I can't believe that worked!” Ace stammered, astonished, as he watched the phantom melt into a puddle.

“Celeste, are you alright?!" Deuce ran up to her and she nodded.

"Yes, thank you, Deuce. Let's retrieve the stone so you can give it to Crowley." Celeste replied and they went back into the mine where they had spotted the stone earlier. Deuce grabbed a hold of it and, after a few pulls, wiggled it free.

Leaving the mine behind them, Ace paused to stare down at the black puddle as Celeste carefully stepped around it. “Is it… Over?” He glanced over at Deuce holding the stone in his hands.

“I think… we won? I think we did it!” Grim exclaimed, jumping up and down with elation. The boys rejoiced together, giving each other high-fives. Celeste smiled as they came over to give her a high-five as well.

“It seems this experience has made us friends!” She grinned at them. Deuce and Ace immediately drew back, scrunching up their faces.

“I dunno if I would say, friends…” Deuce grumbled, glancing at Ace.

“Yeah! Spare us the clichés, Celeste!” Ace agreed with Deuce, and Celeste's face fell.

“Do… You not want to be my friends?” She asked, feeling put out. Part of the reason for hiding her identity as an Angel was so that mortals wouldn't be scared of her. Perhaps the spell she had used had unnerved them.

“Huh? N-no, I didn't say that…” Ace said, a red blush forming on his cheeks as he suddenly could not look her in the eye.

“I don't mind being your friend, Celeste!” Deuce added quickly, talking over Ace. He smiled warmly at her and she perked up.

Ace rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her sheepishly. “Y'know… I hate to admit it, but… We mostly won because of your freaky spell.”

“Yeah… If you hadn't kept your cool and told us what to do, we never would have gotten this magestone.” Deuce nodded in agreement. “Now I won't get expelled. And wow, is THAT a relief!”

“I'm just glad no one got hurt.” She gave them a relieved smile but Ace frowned at her.

“No one got hurt? Celeste, you're literally covered in blood.”

“Yes, I suppose we should go back. It wouldn't hurt to clean these cuts properly – Grim?!” She cut herself off when she saw Grim reach into the muck and pluck out a black stone.

Ace and Deuce turned to stare at him. “Is that part of the phantom? It looks like a magestone, but it's black. I've never seen that before.” Deuce looked at the odd stone in Grim's paws.

“I… Don't know. Grim put that down. That stuff burned me, remember?” Celeste scooted further away from him as he sniffed the rock.

“Are you insane?” Ace exclaimed as they watched Grim pop the stone into his mouth.

“Eww! Gross! Spit it out!” Celeste cried, but he ignored her, appearing to relish the taste.

“Are you okay?!” Deuce asked, watching Grim gasp.

“That's what you get for eating trash.” Ace huffed.

“That… Was AMAZING!” Grim exclaimed merrily as they all ogled at him.

“Do me a favor and stay away from me for a while. I don't know what that stuff could do to me.” Celeste responded with a grimace.

“Come on, we should get this magestone to the Headmage. And Celeste needs to go to the infirmary.” Deuce said, leading them back to the Dark mirror.

Once on the other side, they were stunned to see Crowley about to leave. He looked just as surprised to see them.

“You… Actually, went to the mine?!” Crowley gasped, taking in their disheveled forms. He immediately recognized the magestone in Deuce's hands.

“Uh… Yes?” Deuce and Ace spoke at the same time, looking taken aback.

“I didn't expect you'd seriously do it. And never in my wildest dreams did I think you'd actually return with a magestone! And here I spent all evening preparing your expulsion documents.” Crowley gawked at them in disbelief.

“But you told them that you would let them stay if they returned with a magestone!” Celeste strode forward, concerned that he was about to go back on his word.

“Are you serious?! While we were fightin' some crazy monster, you were expelling us?!” Grim piped up, fuming.

Crowley did a double take when he saw the condition she was in. Blood was staining her backless tank top, and was smeared on her hands and arms. The lacerations across her back were now fully visible.

“OH MY! CELESTE! What happened?! Monster?” Crowley raised his voice in alarm at the amount of blood.

“Yeah! It almost killed us.” Ace responded with a glance at her.

“Oh, no worries, Headmage. The blood is from a wound I received the other night. It reopened during the battle.” She tried to reassure him but it appeared to have little effect.

Crowley groaned and shook his head. “Come back to my office and explain to me what happened… And sign a liability waiver…”

Once in his office, they took turns recounting to him what had transpired at the mine. Ace mentioned the spell they had used, and Crowley eyed her curiously for a moment, before speaking.

“So there was a phantom in the mines and the four of you worked together to destroy it and then brought the magestone back to me?” Crowley stared at them in incredulity.

“Yes!” Celeste chirped, smiling cheerfully as the boys groaned behind her.

“I don't know if I'd call it working together,” Ace grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We just happened to share the same goal at the same time…” Deuce added, trailing off and the Headmage abruptly erupted into tears, shocking all of them.

“S-sir?!” Celeste exclaimed, alarmed at his reaction.

“The day has finally come when the students of Night Raven College have joined hands to defeat a common foe!” Crowley choked between sobs. Ace and Deuce immediately voiced their disgust, but the Headmage continued.

“At this moment I'm moved beyond words. This incident has proven my hopes were justified. Celeste, my doubts are allayed! You possess the talents of a beast master!” He looked at her eagerly, his yellow eyes gleaming through his raven mask.

“Um, what do you mean by that exactly?” She asked, confused.

“The dark mirror has chosen my students for their exceptional skill and potential. But exceptional talent begets immense pride and big egos. Most are so self-reliant and self-centered that they never even consider cooperating with others. But you, Celeste, are unique. You seem to emanate kindness and humility. The exact opposite of the other students here. This is precisely what Night Raven College needs!” Crowley exclaimed passionately, throwing his hands down on his desk.

“Trappola, Spade- I hereby revoke your pending expulsions!” Crowley declared, and Ace and Deuce exhaled in relief. Celeste shot them a smile.

“Furthermore, Celeste… I am granting you the qualifications to attend Night Raven College!” Crowley beamed.

“WHAT?!” Everyone shouted, including Celeste.

“B-but sir! I was only intending to stay at most a week! And I am unable to use magic!” She lifted her golden shackles in front of her to make her point.

“Of course, this is extraordinarily kind of me. There is one condition. Your inability to practice magic is for a mage unacceptable. You could not pursue the curriculum. As for you, Grim… Your actions today have made it clear you have sufficient talent to become a mage. So, you and Celeste will share a single enrollment at Night Raven College.”

“I… I'll get to go to this school? As an actual student?” Grim choked, on the verge of tears.

“B-but sir! I can't stay- I shouldn't!” She sputtered as things quickly got muddled in her head. How would she hide the fact she wasn't human long-term? What if she became a target for hunters or demons? What if she corrupted? She had planned to remain on the move constantly to avoid these problems. She was snapped out of her thoughts when Grim latched onto her leg.

“NO! YOU CAN'T LEAVE! Not now!” Grim's big blue eyes stared up at her, tears gushing down his cheeks. Despite her initial dislike of the small creature, she felt her heart melt.

“Well, I… Suppose I could stay a little longer.” She smiled down at him, and he immediately perked up.

“I will now present to Grim the magestone that is issued to every student here.” Crowley pulled out a purple stone affixed to a black and white ribbon, which he tied around Grim's neck. Grim bounced up and down with excitement.

“Celeste, as you can plainly see, Grim remains oblivious to the customs of human society. You are to keep a tight rein on him and ensure there are no further incidents!” Crowley warned. Celeste glanced down at Grim, who was rejoicing, not sure how to say she wasn't the best with human customs either.

Ace let out an impressed laugh. “Wow, that's quite the promotion. From janitor to student to prefect, all in the span of one day!”

Deuce nodded in agreement. “I see, if the dorm is just you two… And the headmage is putting you in charge of Grim, that makes you… The dorm prefect.”

“I'll do my best.” She replied, slightly apprehensive.

"Now Celeste, please go clean yourself up. You'll frighten the other students walking around like that." Crowley said and gave her directions to the infirmary.

To her surprise, Ace and Deuce accompanied her. Deuce hurriedly grabbed some clean towels and bandages, while Ace passed her a wet cloth to clean away the blood.

“Geez, Celeste. I can't believe you were walking around with these gashes like it was nothin'.” Ace frowned as he watched her clean herself off.

Deuce came up and gingerly patted her burns with a cool cloth. “Thank you… You could say that I have a high pain tolerance. I was fortunate the Night Raven carriage picked me up when it did, even if it was by mistake.”

“I'll say!” Grim huffed, trying to sound nonchalant, but he gave her a concerned sidelong glance.

“You should really take better care of yourself. These could have gotten infected.” Deuce spoke softly, helping her apply the bandages to her back.

“You seem rather good at first aid, Deuce.” She noted, giving him a curious look.

“I have some experience with this sort of stuff… Anyway, thanks for helping us even though you were hurt.” Deuce mumbled as a faint blush appeared across his cheeks.

“Yeah… Thanks.” Ace added, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“You are most welcome.” She smiled at them as they finished applying bandages and headed back out into the hall.

Grim rejoiced in being finally admitted into the school, cheerfully waving his paws in the air.

“I'm gonna be the top mage on campus in no time! Enjoy eating my dust, boys!”

“Big words for a sentient pile of lint who's literally only half a student. Still… Good for you.” Ace smirked down at Grim, while Celeste chuckled at his comment.

“I guess we're schoolmates now. Grim, Celeste – welcome to Night Raven.” Deuce gave her a welcoming smile, which she returned.

“Yes, I suppose we are.” She felt a twinge of apprehension, which must have shown on her face.

“I know ya didn't want to stay, but it won't be so bad! After all, you'll be working with the great Grim!” Grim chirped, tugging at her pants leg.

“Yeah, why DID you want to leave so bad? I mean, where were you gonna go?” Ace asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah… Well, that's a bit complicated. Let's just say I was hoping not to remain in one place for too long.” She answered carefully, earning an even more puzzled look from Ace and Deuce.

“It is growing late, yes? I think we should head back to our dorms.” She said, wanting to avoid this line of questioning.

“Yeah… Catch ya later, Celeste.” Ace said and left with Deuce, who gave her one last worried glance before disappearing out of sight.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wings #twisted wonderland female oc #twisted wonderland fan fiction

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airplanned · 2 years

Text

Trill AU part 13

They go on a date! Oh boy! I’m sure, It’ll go really well!

Master post

***

"Alright," Zelda said, sitting up straighter as the bartender set their drinks in front of them in the lounge. "This is a Crivoxy Breeze, and what you do is you hold it up to your nose and breathe it in." She demonstrated, taking the fishbowl-like glass halfway filled with dark purple liquid and billowing clouds as if it were full of dry ice. She inhaled deeply, and then smiled dreamily to herself.

"It's a drink?" he asked, skeptical as he picked up his own bowl.

"Technically, yes. You could drink it. However, it will stain your mouth black for days, so I don't recommend it."

He snorted.

"Try it."

He kept his eyes on her as he lifted his bowl. He half expected it to smell awful, that this would be some kind of prank. She bit her lip, as if anxious for him to like it. He inhaled.

"Oh!" Suddenly curious, he lifted the cup to get a better look at the liquid. "That smells...overly-fruity."

"Isn't it strange?" She bent her head to smell hers again and then laughed to herself.

"It's like a fruit salad."

"Right?"

"Is that...all it does?"

"Yes!" She beamed at him with pride, as if an absolutely useless drink that you couldn't even drink made her victorious in their date that was not a date.

It warmed him to see her so delighted.

"Does it--"

"No. It does nothing."

"I don't think it counts as a drink."

"Ah. But it counts as a weird drink, which was the assignment."

When he'd awkwardly suggested that they get drinks together, she'd taken the idea and twisted it, suggesting that they get the strangest drinks they possibly could so they didn't have to think about any of the other times they'd gotten drinks together. In a way, she'd given them both homework to do before their meet up, but she was also keeping the specter of their past at a distance, and he appreciated that.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and bounced on her stool in eagerness. "Okay, your turn."

"This," he said, pointing to the second drink, "is a Suvzard cocktail." It was in a small, shallow bowl as if it was supposed to hold dipping sauce, but the pastel blue tower of foam that rose out of it in a neat cylinder made it taller than their other drink. He took the thin glass rod that came with it, presented it as if he were a magician, sure she was watching closely, and then used it like a pencil to draw a smiley face in the side of the foam. He turned it a quarter turn so she could have a better view of his creation.

She blinked at it, and then at him. "Is...that it?"

"Pretty much. You can carve whatever you want. As you carve, the foam liquefies and accumulates in the dish. When you're done, you have enough for a shot."

"You have to play with your food first."

He emphasized the point with his carving stick. "Exactly."

She picked up her own stick and leaned in, twisting around to look at it from a few angles. "Oh no. Now I have to do art."

He gestured again at his smiley face to show her the competitive bar was basically on the floor. She laughed, carefully carving a curve off the top. Less artistically, he shaved the smiley face off his foam.

"This was a good idea," he admitted.

"I'm full of good ideas."

She twisted her sculpture to work on another side, cutting a vertical stripe.

Without looking at him, she said, "I haven't been on a date in a long time."

"Are you on a date now?"

"This is a nonsequitor."

"Right."

"Right. So. I'm just letting you know that it's been a while." Her carving stick picked up speed.

"How much of a while?"

"Two years."

He looked up at her and smirked.

"Don't laugh at me! I'm being vulnerable here."

"No, it's that--I've got you beat."

"Oh?"

"Three years."

"That's hard to believe."

"You're hard to believe."

"Why so long?" she asked.

"I, uh...tend to have memory seep." He gestured at his temple. "It reminds me of...other people, and I get disoriented. It's a bummer because I'm a catch."

She laughed, sitting back to inspect her carving. She'd made a neat sphere at the top of her foam, like a little figure's head.

"That happens to me too," she admitted. "It's just hard to stay in the moment. You know."

He nodded. He desperately wanted to know who she flashed back to. Because he could guess. Or maybe he just hoped. Maybe he should share his own flashbacks, share the moments he slipped back in time. But that would be a bit much.

He made some jagged spikes along either side of his foam column.

He chanced a look at her, with her head tilted and her hair shining. Her eyes sparkled in interest as her foam began to take on a shape. It looked a bit like a river mouse.

"I have an idea," he said. He dipped his stir stick through the mist still pouring out of his bowl, and got a dab of black ink on the end, testing it against the side of the bowl, flicking it slightly to remove the excess. Then he offered his hand, asking for hers. She hesitated before taking it, and he searched her face for a moment before bowing low, writing across the back in swooped, precise letters, neatly managing the thickness of the strokes, giving them depth, careful not to let the ink drip or bleed.

She laughed softly. "I haven't seen my name written in Trill in a while."

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "It's okay."

He had to re-dip his stir stick, adjusting the slope of her hand so it wouldn't blot. "My fifth host was a monk. He did stuff like this all the time."

"Flirted over cocktails?"

"Calligraphy with actual ink."

"We're supposed to be doing things we haven't done before."

"That's where the cocktail and flirting come in." He blew gently across the back of her hand, turning it back and forth in inspection before blowing again.

He looked up to see if she approved, but she was watching him instead of her hand, her eyes heated. A tight lump swelled in his throat, his hand breaking out in a sweat beneath hers.

"We should finish our drinks," she said.

He struggled to get out the word, "Yeah."

And then they were both carving inelegantly at their foam carvings, Link waving his stick back and forth to scrub it away, working his way down the column, slicing off layer after layer. Zelda was flicking hers too, but cutting off any sharp angles she saw and working her way in until another angle pooped up and she would have to carve away at it.

They reached the bottom at about the same time, revealing a splash of light blue liquid. It looked unappetizing. After inspecting hers a moment, Zelda lifted her bowl between her thumb and forefinger and clinked it again his. Her eyes held his until they threw back their shots at the same time.

And coughed.

Link dropped his forehead to the bar, hiding his face in his arms as the shot burned its way down his throat. Zelda slapped the bar several times, her fingers gripped tight around his arm.

"Ahhh! It's in my brain!" She spluttered and laughed and coughed again.

Link's eyes were watering as he grabbed her hand and squeezed it, half-laughing, half-wheezing. "This was a terrible idea!"

She reached out to brush the tears from his eyes, and somehow in that his hand ended up at her waist.

"Whoever invented that...we're never talking to them again."

"Never!" Her voice was hoarse, and he found himself rubbing her throat for her, her eyes crinkled with mirth. Her swallowing and coughing jumped under the lengths of his fingers. "Ahh." She leaned into his hand, and smiled softly at him, tender and warm.

It was hard to swallow again. "You want to get out of here?"

"Very much."

They didn't exactly hurry out, but Zelda bit back a grin when she slipped her hand into his and he walked a little faster. They slipped into her quarters, and she twirled into his arms, her thumbs trailing up his spots to the soft spot under his jaw, her fingertips slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands spread into the dip of her lower back, filling the valley between her shoulder blades, drawing her in until she could feel his breath on her lips in time with his chest swelling against hers.

It always felt as if he was meant to be near her, as if he could be a part of her as much as Hylia if she let him in. The warmth of his body, familiar and soothing, made her skin crackle with potential. For a moment they simmered in that potential, holding each other close, holding each other a breath away, watching the way their eyes clouded, the way he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

She excepted him to be ravenous, because she was ravenous, but his lips were gentle and soft. A light press. Another. A shock of electricity zipping from her lower lip to the back of her tongue and the back of her teeth, begging her jaw to widen, for the kiss to deepen. His fingers twitched against her spine as if feeling the same urge. Her head spinning, she pressed in, taking over, because she wanted all of him and was tired of waiting, tied of tiptoeing, ready to burst out of her skin if it meant getting closer to him. He groaned as his arms tightened around her, and she chased after the source of the sound, wanting to taste it all on her tongue, and was rewarded with the deliriously sweet sound as his next groan came rougher and his grip on her turned possessive.

And she flashed to another pair of arms, another growl low in his chest, and her hands slipped to their familiar place, cradling the base of his skull, sliding down his spine as the muscles in his shoulders rolled. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, and she flicked her tongue against the roof of his mouth--a reflex, familiar, he always liked it when she did that--and the note of his gasp was slightly off. The slightest change in tone from the familiar, reminding her where she was, and that this was a first kiss and not a thousandth kiss. A flood of shame that she'd flashed away at all, a flood of relief that it had been so brief that she hadn't given herself away.

She eased back. As she released his hair, she snuggled herself into the idea of Link--Link, reckless, people-pleasing, here on the Naboris. She reminded herself, pressing one last light kiss against his lips--Link's lips.

For a moment, he just breathed, holding her close, his eyes closed as if not trusting it was more than a dream. It warmed her enough into grinning up at him, pressing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her fingers, and another wave of familiarity pricked at her. Familiar but she fought it back, only letting her smile slip slightly.

He opened his eyes, and the full devotion in them...fell at the sight of her.

"Oh." He yanked his hands from her back as if she'd burned him, and took several steps back, leaving her startled and cold and--and--

"I'm terribly sorry, miss. I don't know how I--" His eyes darted around her quarters. When they landed on her again, he made a befuddled noise that was so familiar and yet in completely the wrong voice. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. "I'm not quite sure where I am."

Cold horror prickled her cheeks, numbed her fingers. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat, her body not wanting her to ask what her gut already knew. "Rav?"

His head quirked to the side as his interest perked. Link had never done that, and a small voice in the back of her mind--a voice that was hers but not hers--slipped through the alarm ringing through her head, building like a pressure: He looks like a rooster when he does that.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he said.

Part 14

#Zelda #my fic #Trill AU

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monsterfloofs · 3 years

Text

Male Ghost (Marion) x Anonymous Reader ( Sfw)

(Another oc of mine that is very near and dear to my heart, this is written from his point of view. ´ ˘ ` )

He could see you, but you couldn't see him. That was normal for most people. He had seen a lot of people come and go, and if he was honest he enjoyed his privacy, he had stopped trying to communicate a long time ago. He stayed downstairs and you stayed upstairs and that was fine by him. The basement was where he got on with his work, moving books, organizing papers, and writing notes on the large blackboard.

The previous inhabitants had wanted to nose around downstairs, and since he wasn't exactly fond of house guests coming down to rifle through his work space, he would promptly lock them out. In the time that you moved in, he had gotten comfortable with you and made the mistake of not keeping a better eye on you. He had been dozing with a book on his lap as you had innocently made your way downstairs. Waking up with a start to see you curiously peering at his bookshelf.

He jumps to his feet, an expression of unease and irritation crossing his face. He clears his throat, "I see you are more trouble than I thought," You don't hear him and you pick up a manilla folder, flipping through it. He wrinkles his nose with annoyance, before giving a soft sigh. Marching over to the blackboard and to write with a piece of chalk. 'You are sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Please leave.’ He dots the period sharply and turns his head to look back at you. To his dismay, he sees that you had dropped the folder, papers scattered everywhere. "For the love of pete. . ." He mumbles softly, he starts to walk towards you, but you take a nervous step backwards. He cocks an eyebrow, holding out a hand and waving it in front of you. You give a little flinch and he frowns, "That's interesting, you can't see or hear me, obviously, but you get a sense of my presence."

"H-hello?" Your voice warbles when you speak, "Is anyone there?" He blinks and fixes his glasses, before giving a little frown. He begins to open his mouth before he sighs and shakes his head."Right, right, you can't hear me. . ." He turns on his heels, back to the blackboard to start writing again. 'Yes, I'm still here,'

You had come closer, sucking in a breath of air as you hovered behind him. 'You're in my laboratory, and I would appreciate, if you did not carelessly handle my papers. They're important.' He keeps glancing over at you while he writes. Your immobile, standing stock still as you watch the words materialize before your eyes. This was farther than he had even gotten to communicate with the living. "I'm sorry," You whisper, "I didn't realize-- who, who are you?"

'Dr. Marion Dowery' Came the scribbled response trying to hurry in case you decided that you had seen enough and were going to beat a hasty retreat. He was watching you with interest. He hadn't suspected you would have stayed, nor ask questions, most others had been frightened off as soon as they heard chalk on the blackboard. He had stopped trying after the first couple of attempts. He had been desperate for a while after he died, to leave some message to those he loved, or reach out to the living once someone new had claimed his house. But the results had all been the same, that is. . . until now.

You stare at the words awe struck, a trembling hand touching the blackboard. You pull your hand back nodding uneasily. "How long have you been d-down here?" Marion tilts his head, frowning, his hand resting on the surface of the board as he hesitates. It's been so long, he's seen so many people come and go. 'I cannot remember,' He writes, 'A long time.'

You nod and begin to back away, "I'm so sorry to have bothered you," You stoop to hastily pick up the papers off the floor, Marion winces as he watches you, it would take a lot of work to put that back into order again. "I didn't realize th-that I had company in the house! But it's no wonder really-- I should have known b-better!" You give the direction of the blackboard a kind smile and carefully set the papers down on his desk. "If you would like to come upstairs, and get out of this dark and dreary place, you're more than welcome to! I would enjoy the company, as long as you know, you're not going to do anything bad. I'll leave you alone now-- sorry again that I disturbed you!"

He watches you scurry up the stairs giving a small chuff of annoyance. "As long as I am not going to do anything bad?" He echoes, "That's insulting, I am not an axe murderer. As if I--" But then he falls silent, his eyes shift and he turns back to quietly clean off the blackboards one sided conversation.

You were back again the next day, he hears you coming down the stairs and he grimaces, closing his notebook and putting his hands on his hips as you appear with a big smile scrawled across your face. "Hey!" You call into thin air "I have something for you!" You shuffle over to his desk and he has to sidestep you in the off chance you might run into him. You set something down on the desk, your expression all smiles as you look around the room eagerly. "I don't know if you can use it but-- Since you can write on chalkboards you might be able to use this too!"

You don't give him a chance to answer, as you charge back upstairs. He blinks, watching you go in confusion, before looking down at the long black box you set on his desk. He picks up the box, carefully opening it to reveal a silver pen. He examines it before his head turns to the stairs.

It's been a long time since he has set foot upstairs, leaving the gift on his table he lingers in the doorway into the rest of the house. Hesitating as he looks around, there are still a few cardboard boxes stacked ontop of each other. The last remnants of your moving boxes that you hadn't gotten to unpacking yet. From what he could hear, you were in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you moved about. He clasps his hands behind his back, taking a few tentative steps out into the hallway, things have changed a lot upstairs, it was almost overwhelming. It was as if he entered an entirely different house.

Nervously he walked towards the kitchen, drumming his fingers on his shoulder. You had been cleaning the kitchen but you pause to look around, eyeing the doorway curiously. "Is that you?" Marion takes a deep breath and raps a knuckle against the wall, causing you to jump. A hand fluttering to your heart and you beam, though it holds tones of nerves. "Oh good-- Either that or I might be going crazy haha-"

Marion huffs, "That's a fine way to put it. . ." He remarks sourly, he watches you fidget on the spot, and he sighs brush his dark hair away from his face to watch you. He had just about decided to go back downstairs when you hurried over to grab a pad of paper and a pencil. Placing them down on the table. "Um I would like to talk to you more, if um. . . that would be okay. I am really curious to know more about you." Marion eyes the pen and paper wearily. "Oh. . . alright." He mumbles, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

He settles himself down in the pulled out chair opposite of you, taking the pen and frowning. Your eyes light up watching the pen, and you hold your breath. 'What would you like to know?' "You have very nice handwriting," Marion pauses to look at you, your gaze still transfixed on the pen and paper.

'Thank you' A smile flashes across your lips, a hand flitting nervously to the back of your neck, "I almost thought I was imagining what happened yesterday, so-- you were a doctor? I mean Marion, that's your name right?" 'That is correct.' You nod, "So you said before, you had been here a long time, was it ever since the house was built? Why stay down in the basement all this time?" Marion blinks, you started talking so fast he could barely keep up. 'The basement was where I kept all my papers, my laboratory and tools were down there,' He hesitates for a moment before continuing. 'That is also where I died,' Your smile fades, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to ask such a point blank question. . ." You stare at the chair opposite of you, a worried expression on your face. Marion gives a quiet smile. 'It's quite alright, you didn't know. I spent much of my life down there working, I suppose it was only natural for me to feel like that was where I should stay there.' You nod, still frowning, "You seem like you have um. . . a lot of articulation for a. . . specter?" A nervous smile warbled onto your face. "I've bumped into a few things before but, nothing with the amount of control you do." Marion leans back in his chair, thinking and frowning. Not sure how to make heads or tails what you had just said. After so long of being left to his own devices, then being jarred with this strange social exchange, he suddenly felt exhausted, he takes his glasses off, cleaning them with the hem of his sleeve. Before writing, 'I am not sure what you mean by that. I think I am done with questions today, I am going back downstairs.'

You nod, a guilty expression crossing over your face, "I'm sorry-- I didn't mean to be rude." 'You were not being rude, I am just tired.' and with that last message he sets down the pencil and leaves the room. Your expression becoming confused as your lips mouth the last sentence.

He felt much more comfortable back in his work space, shaking his head. Normally he didn't feel anything, so to be able to perceive a level of tiredness was fascinating. There were times he would doze yes, but it was more due to him feeling bored than something out of necessity. He smiles to himself, amused. He has a foggy remembrance that social exchanges used to be tiring to him, but then again, everything had been tiring. He had been sick and frail ever since he was little, and it was a race against the clock back then. The time he had when he was alive, was clawing for answers. Anything to live just a little longer while his heart had started to fail.

He places a hand to his heart, his eyes closing, after all this time, he can still almost feel it. . . the dull spasm of pain when everything stopped, when he just stopped functioning. He sits down, in his chair, picking up the pen and leaning back. Twirling it in his fingers. “Has dealt with others like me eh?” He mused to himself, “How very interesting.” He fiddles with the pen, taking off the cap to jot down a few thoughts. He wrote more about than he had intended, looking over his handiwork as he rests his hand on his gaunt cheek.

He attempted to be open towards you and your curiosity, though the lack of ability to communicate was frustrating. Writing was the only way he seemed able to talk to you properly. And while he was uneasy when you would wander downstairs, it soon dawned on him that you were lonely. You would talk to him at length about your day, the things that happened or the things you saw on the internet. Which that, in of itself, took you several hours to explain, and he still didn’t quite understand much of it. Your mind would wander from topic to topic as you thought out loud, sometimes he would write back to you, but mostly he would listen. The world certainly seems to have changed much from when he was alive. “I wish I could talk to you in person Mary,” you murmur as you rotate a cup of tea in your hands. You sat in the armchair across from his desk. “I bet it’s hard to have to write everything you have to say. Especially when I talk a mile a minute.” ‘You’ve gotten better,’ he responded on the board, and you laugh. “Oh really? I’m so glad--” Marion gives a little whisper of a smile at that. “It’s been really nice to have someone to talk to, you seem like a really nice person. A little clinical but maybe that’s because I only know you through your writing.” You curl up on the chair, a sad expression clouding your usually cheerful face. “I really do wish I could talk to you, I’m sure there’s so much you have to say.”

Marion walks over to you, resting his hip against his desk, he takes his glasses off and looks at his hands. The two of you sit beside each other in silence, you drain your cup. Eventually you ease yourself out of the chair to head upstairs and make another mug. His head turns, watching you go, your blurry outline going up the stairs and disappearing out of view. “I suppose I have become aloof haven’t I?” He laughs to himself, “But can you blame me?” He waits for you to return, fiddling with his glasses before propping them back on his nose. You come downstairs with another cup of tea and fall asleep before you can finish your second round. He looks up from writing in one of his books to hear you shift on the chair. “Asleep already?” He muses out loud, watching you give a little shiver and curl tighter in the armchair. His eyes soften and he turns away, opening a steam trunk beside the table, and pulling out the old blanket he used to wear when he was working late and refused to go upstairs. He places it over your shoulders, “Sweet dreams dear,” He murmurs softly, leaning down to place a chilly kiss upon your forehead.

#monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #fluff #sfw #ghost x human #ghost x reader

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wisteria-lodge · 2 years

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burnt lion primary (badger model) + bird secondary (badger model) (badger performance)

Can you help me with my sorting please. Recently I’ve been having a lot of doubts about it and it’s causing me major grief. The only thing I’m sure of is my primary is burnt. I’m probably a Bird secondary (I actually looked at other submissions you’ve gotten just to see how I should format this lol and I finally logged back into my tumblr), but even that I’m not sure of that what with the looming specter of the Badger secondary and Lion secondary.

Well that’s a rather unpleasant way to talk about the Badger & Lion secondaries. Unhealthy model?

So, my primary. I’ve always been kinda moving through life, it’s hard to explain because when you do things you don’t think about them. You don’t think “Yes I am doing this for this specific reason and I’m going to catalogue this in the back of my mind when I need to draw the receipts out in fifteen years."

I do try to do the right thing I think, but I have been self-serving before. I don’t really care about people a lot? I care about them in a nebulous, I don’t want you dead sort of way, but I also have the thought that if you died I wouldn’t care because I don’t know you. I used to be a lot more family orientated, I used to think I would be willing to do anything for my family, and I think I would still do a lot of things for them, but I’m not as focused on my family anymore.

All right. Could be a couple things going on here. I’m ruling out a Bird switching systems, because I don’t think a Bird primary would ever say “when you do things you don’t think about them.” You could be a Burnt Snake, who thinks they should be a Badger. Or maybe a Lion *surrounded* by a lot of Loyalists, who used to model Snake or (more probably) Badger, and doesn’t anymore.

For examples of things I’ve done, I used to be BETA club (it’s a leadership program if you don’t know) and I was in it for one year before I neglected to not renew my status in the club because I thought doing community service would be boring (which I felt guilty about).

So you joined (or were told to join) this (quite stereotypically) Badger primary club. And didn’t keep up with it... which you feel guilty about. My guess is that whatever else is going on, you’ve got a very strong Badger primary influence in your life. (And probably an unhealthy Badger primary model)

I’ve got a lot of ideas and I want to be a screenwriter, but I’m not sure if that’s a viable career.

Eh, I know plenty of screenwriters. Let’s see your NCIS spec script. :)

The characters I tend to like and relate to are lion primaries or snake primaries. I also often want to be told straight up if I am or am not something and hate when people give me non answers. My screenshots are filled with the results of personality tests.

I think you’re a Burned Lion. You want someone else to tell you who you are, and that’s... pretty much the core experience of being a Burned Lion.

For my secondary, Bird stuff is I really like writing things out. When I’m thinking about things I write out google docs. I also love watching video essays and listening to lectures. But I’m also a procrastinator, so what’ll happen is I’ll write out an outline of an essay, leave it until it’s almost the due date, and rush out everything.

You are probably a built secondary, and it’s sounds like you’ve got some executive functioning troubles.

I really like characters with a hodgepodge of skills.

I’m starting to think Bird secondary for you.

I’m also a gifted kid who always loved reading

That does’t tell me much, but it does give me another opportunity to say how much I despise the term “gifted.” I’m glad it’s lost favor.

and a theater kid. Although when it comes to acting I never feel like I have to know the role, I just do what comes naturally which feels snakey to me with a voice and an emotion in the voice.

I wonder if you had to learn how to do that. Because what you’re doing... sounds like a skill. I bet you’re really good at reading aloud too. I’ve never heard a Snake describe their mask as “putting emotion in their voice.” And if I were to generalize... formal acting tends to be a Bird secondary thing.

But recently I’ve been questioning that because I can be incredibly Badger. I often portray myself as very sweet and polite with authority figures, they have always loved me because of that

Badger secondary performance.

plus I make myself very open and try to come off as witty without being a clown in the classroom.

I’m going to say more Actor Bird (and the performance looks pretty Badger.)

And, I’ve been known to really like monotony of just sitting down and doing work. I’m really good at sorting through books and filing papers.

Honestly? This precise type of very organization-heavy work? More Bird.

I often make myself useful to people.

That’s interesting. And I think this is really more of a “purpose” primary thing. And we know that there is some sort of guilty Badger hanging out in your primary.

And the reason why I would ever consider Lion? Well, most of the characters I really like and relate to are Lion secondaries.

(most CHARACTERS are lion secondaries, I’m just going to throw that out there.)

I’m also horrible at lying. I often don’t even think of lying in situations, and the times when my lying has worked it’s because I played up the sweetness, left out parts of the truth, or just let my reputation do the work for me.

Yeah, you use your Badger - I think there’s a model here as well, in addition to a performance.

also always have this thought in the back of my head of what I want to do when I’m angry and that is always get violent, get loud

Hmm. It’s interesting that you attach these feelings to being angry. Because difficulty processing anger is just its own thing, unrelated to any of this sorting stuff. Lion secondaries do not have to be loud, and they certainly do not have to be violent.

and get brutally honest about how I really feel, and I always feel guilty for thinking those things.

This bit is about your Burnt Lion primary (you’ve even got the word “guilt” showing up again.) You want to be honest about your internal experience because you’re feeling because you’re a lion primary. Hang onto those feelings. They’re good for you, but they’re for you.

Idk. What I think of myself as a kid I really liked reading, and coming up with stories, but I didn’t have any real skills other than doing well in class.

Again with the focus on skills. I’m doubling down on Bird secondary for you.

There was one time when I was 10 where I was supposed to find a mickey cartoon and me and my partner were going to act it out as Minnie and Mickey, and I misunderstood the assignment and wrote out my own Mickey Mouse cartoon. I do also tend to not keep connections with friends well because I’m lazy/I just don’t think to put in the work.

Or those just aren’t the sort of things you value. (I also don’t believe being lazy is really a thing.)

Sorry if this is too long! I’d just really appreciate the help with my sorting.

There’s a lot going on here, some burning and a lot of models, so I get why you’re confused. Burnt Lion I feel pretty good about, and some sort of Badger primary model/external influence. I also feel good about Bird secondary, probably with a Badger secondary model, and then a Badger performance on top of that.

#submission #sortinghatchats #wisteria sorts #sortme #lion bird #burnt lion primary #bird secondary #actor bird #badger primary model #badger secondary model #badger secondary performance

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theysayitscrazy · 3 years

Text

Eliminated Part 2 (NSFW)

FanFic Friday Week 4 (Slightly Late) @rebelwrites

Clay Spenser x Reader (Reader is Full Metal’s sister)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when I post.

You stare at the invitation with mild contempt. It was overly shiny and sparkly, and covered in glitter. It was just plain gaudy. The amount of pink included should be outlawed. You hated this time of your 20’s. Everyone you knew was either getting married, buying houses, or having babies. Yet, you were still single. You chose your career, over a relationship. Well, according to your ex, that’s what happened.

In reality, you grew apart and lived different lives while struggling to make things work. In the end, they hadn’t worked out, and the problem had to be eliminated.

That had been a year ago. Now you were thirty years old, single, and too focused on your career to even meet a guy outside the office. And the dating world had gone digital in the last decade, leaving you completely out of the loop on where to even begin. The idea of meeting a guy from the internet left you unsettled and turned off.

You sigh and toss the envelope on the bar in front of you and reach for your drink.

Your phone chirps and you reach for it as someone sits in the seat next to you at the bar. Annoyed, you look up from your phone to give whoever it was that decided they needed to sit so close to you in an empty bar, a piece of your mind, only to find the blond haired and blue-eyed charmer known as Clay Spenser.

“Spenser,” you acknowledge.

He leans forward on the bar and motions for the bartender. He orders a beer and then snatches up the invitation. “Holy pinkness,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes as you skim over the email you just received from a client.

“Always working?” Clay asks.

You glance up from your phone and realize you’re being rude. Sighing, you turn off the screen and set your phone down. “Usually,” you grumble in response.

Clay’s smile is easy, but you can see the way he’s watching you, like he’s reading your mood. “Bad day?” he asks.

“Yes… no… I don’t know.” You sigh and take a pull off your glass.

Clay chuckles again. “I’ve never known you to not have an answer.”

You shake your head and look down at your phone as a text message chirps through. You can feel Clay’s eyes on you, like they usually are, but you ignore him, like you usually do. Ever since that night at your brother’s house, when your ex had been eliminated, things had gotten interesting between the two of you.

The flirting was fun. But that’s all it was. Fun, right? He worked with you brother, he was younger than you, if only by a couple years, but he felt… wholesome. He wasn’t tainted like you were.

Before you can answer the string of text messages that came thru, your phone rings. When Harvey’s face pops up the screen you frown and debate answering it. You were done with him for the day. You groan and answer the facetime call. “Hey.”

Harvey’s smirk is annoying as he looks you over.

You rolled your eyes, knowing what he saw. White pinstripe halter stop that buttoned down the middle and showed ample cleavage but stayed professional. The black matching suit coat was off and draped around the back of the bar stool, so your vibrant black and watercolor tattoos that covered both arms were on display and contrasted against your professional attire.

“You need something?” you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for his sardonic comments to start rolling in.

“Yeah, for you to get your head out of your ass. Let me guess, you’re at some dive bar, drink in hand, wallowing self-pity,” Harvey shoots at you as he levels you with a typical Specter head tilt.

You narrow your eyes at him as Clay chuckles.

“Boo hoo, your last college sorority sister is getting married. What do you care? You haven’t talked to the chick in two years. Put your big girl panties on and man up. I need you to meet a client.”

You pick up your drink and stare Harvey down as you toss back the remnants of the straight whiskey.

Harvey smirks, “We both know you can handle your liquor. So why don’t you take that SEAL team hot shot you got eating out of the palm of your hand and go meet the client. I’ll text you the address. It’s in Rochester.”

“Harvey, that’s an hour away and it’s a shitty neighborhood,” you shoot back him.

Harvey smirks. “Good thing you’ll have a bodyguard. Oh, and another thing. Get laid.” He hangs up the phone.

You let out a frustrated growl and slam the phone on the bar top.

Clay turns his big body towards you and smirks. “Need a bodyguard?”

You glare at him and grab your keys off the bar. You slide off the barstool and grab your black pinstripe jacket off the back. You take your time pulling it on. Clay’s eyes are on you. Once things are buttoned in place, your black jacket matching your black pants, you look up to meet Clay’s gaze and raise an eyebrow at him.

He smirks and lets his gaze wander over your body. He no longer hides his blatant attraction for you, and while he’s yet to act on it, he’s stared in many of your fantasy’s. How’d he get you off with those deft fingers. That scruffy beard adding pleasure as he ran kisses down your body.

His smirk widens, as if he can read your dirty thoughts. You keep your face indifferent though. You play it off with a roll of your eyes.

“I’ll drive,” he comments and holds out his hand.

You stare at those fingers before you think fuck it and hand over the keys to your Range Rover. You ignore him and turn toward the exist.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks.

Confused you glance at him over your shoulder and groan when he’s holding up the pink wedding invitation. He laughs and looks at it. “It’s pretty horrible.”

“She an old sorority sister,” you sigh with a shrug. “She’s…bubbly.”

“I can’t believe you were ever in a sorority,” Clay sniggers. “Not Miss tattooed, ‘Punk Rock Princess over here.’ Miss, ‘I’ll eliminate any threats to my person.’”

You roll again and turn toward the door. “Bitch please,” you shook back at him. “I’m a God Damn Queen.”

~*~

“That was not what I was expecting,” Clay murmured when he pulled in your brother’s driveway, several hours later.

You glance over at him. He’d been quiet the entire drive back from the client’s house. “My job isn’t always mergers and acquisitions,” you state, knowing where his head was at. “Sure, they pay the bills and I’m damn good at it. But this, is why I became a lawyer. People like Carl Terron. People who were taken advantage of and used and degraded, and in the end lost everything. This case could be the case that changes laws and sets precedents, so that something like what happed to Terron, doesn’t happen to anyone else again. This case could help save lives.”

Clay turned to you during your passionate speech and watched you. When you stopped speaking, he reached out with his large hand and cupped the side of your face.

You freeze. For as much the two of you had been flirting for the past year, he’d never made a move before. His blazing blue eyes bore into yours. His intensity stirs something deep inside you. You wait, watching him, like a deer in the headlights.

His fingers curl around the back of your head as his calloused thumb caresses your cheek.

“Clay,” you say, not really sure why you’re stopping this.

He drops his hand almost instantly and you immediately miss the warmth of his palm. Pain flashes across his eyes, or regret maybe? “I’m sorry,” he sighs, and looks out the front window. “I know you’re still dealing with last year. I shouldn’t have come on so strong.”

“It’s not that,” you sigh, playing with the several rings on your fingers.

“Then what is it?” Clay asks, looking over at you, hurt still evident in his eyes.

His pain strikes you and you reach out and take his hand in yours. “I’m being stupid.” You play with those deft fingers in yours, and a blush tints your cheeks as you think of all your fantasies that those fingers played a staring role in.

“That’s a lie. You’re one of the smartest people I know,” Clay says and squeezes your fingers between his. “What’s going on with you today?”

You look up, startled, and find yourself staring into his endless baby blues. “What do you mean?” you ask, confused.

“I mean, you’re not yourself. Yeah, at client’s house you put on a good show, but before that, at the bar… now? What’s going on with you?” His gaze is piercing, and you find yourself at a loss for words.

You open your mouth, trying to find the words, when a knock on the window behind Clay startles you. “Shit!” you shriek and jump a mile out of your seat.

Clay turns, and you see your brother looming through the driver’s side window, flashlight shining in on you. You reach across the center console and lean over Clay’s big body and press the button for the window. “What the fuck?” you yell at Scott.

“What the fuck you doin out here?” Metal’s voice is deep and commanding.

“Sitting in the fuckin car, what’s it look like we’re doing? Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck you out here for?” Your anger kicks up.

“It’s my house. I’m allowed to wonder why my baby sister is sitting in the dark in her car late at night. Where the fuck ya been? It’s past midnight,” Metal demands.

Pissed, you climb over the center console and get right into Clay’s lap. “Shit,” he groans and holds his arms out in surrender as you climb fully into his lap.

You ignore him as you settle onto his powerful thighs and get in your brother’s face through the window. “Why the fuck is it any of your business where the fuck I’ve been? Cut the shit Scott. I’m thirty fucking years old. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, and you can fuck off,” you shout at him.

Scott laughs and you roll your eyes. “Spenser though, really?”

“Fuck yeah, and fuck you,” you shout back him, a smirk on your face.

“Fuck you,” Scott grumbles and heads for the house.

When Scott was gone, you let out a chuckle and lean into Clay. You find yourself tucked against him, your head on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur into his ear.

His arms come around you in a tight embrace and cradles you against his warm body. You’re curled against his chest and for the first time in who knew how many years, you finally felt safe. He is solid and broad and strong, and you relish the feeling of being in his arms.

You take a deep breath, breathing in his scent and close your eyes. He smells like home.

“Y/n, what was that about?” Clay asks softly.

You shake your head, not wanting to break the moment. He’s so warm, so safe.

Clay’s large hand slides up your back and his fingers card through your hair.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” you ask, before he can say anything.

Clay stills, his hand fisted in your hair. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Before… you had asked me what was going on with me today,” you murmur into his neck, finding it easier to speak without looking at him.

His hand not fisted into your chignon, rubs idle circles on your back. Calming… soothing. “Does this have to do with your ex?” he asks.

You nod slowly. “He was friends with all my friends in college. We met our freshman year. We had all the same friends. So that Wedding invitation just brought up a bunch of old memories, both good and bad,” you sigh.

Clay’s fingers massage your scalp as he holds you tight against him. “No, I don’t think you’re a bad person,” he finally answers. “I think you’re strong and fierce and aren’t afraid to stand up for yourself. You can take care of yourself and others and eliminate any problems that comes your way.”

You find yourself smiling against his neck. You pull back to look him in the eyes. There’s a seriousness in his blazing blue eyes that you hadn’t seen before. It makes you pause and take him in, really take him in. For all the flirting and banter the two of you had thrown back and forth for the past year, you hadn’t really stopped to consider how fucking real he was.

There was a raw honesty in those baby blues that grasped at your heartstrings and pulled. What you had mistaken as wholesome, was in actuality, genuine and real. You were surrounded by fake people on the daily, but Clay Spenser, was as real as they came.

You reach up and run your fingers through his scruffy beard. It was softer than you expect. His eyes are on your face, watching your every move. It’s clear by his cautious gaze, he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

So, you do. You lean forward, lacing your fingers through his beard and pull his mouth down to yours at the same time. His fingers tighten in your hair, and you gasp as he pulls your hair so deliciously. He takes advantage of your gasp and his tongue sweeps in. Your eyes drift close as the kiss turns more passionate.

You shift against him and realize your pencil skirt is ridiculous and not cooperating. You groan when he nibbles on your bottom lip. You try to pull away, but he’s got a firm grip in your hair, so you whimper against his lips.

His chuckle has your eyes opening. His eyes are watching you while he bites down just a bit harder. His hand slides up your thigh and under your pencil skirt with ease. You whimper again and let your eyes fall close. He releases your lip, so you use his beard to pull his mouth back to yours. “Uh uh, baby,” he murmurs against your lips.

You snap open your eyes again, and he’s smirking down at you. “Bu-”

“Shh,” he whispers. “Trust me?”

You gasp slightly and your eyes go wide. The earnestness in his gaze has you nodding though. It’s reluctant and slow, and Clay seems to get that. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he whispers, “Close your eyes.”

And you do. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and let him take care of you.

His hands work magic on your body. One slides down and manages to undo the clasp and zipper at the back of your pencil skirt while his other hand slides up your thigh to your core and he chuckles when he finds the lack of panties. “Naughty, naughty,” he murmurs.

You smirk and place an open-mouthed kiss to the column of his neck.

The sharp pinch to your inner thigh has you jumping and groaning. “None of that,” he orders, his voice deep.

You let out a pathetic whimper and give into him. His deft finger’s part your folds and he chuckles again, “So wet for me, baby.”

He takes his time sliding one long and thick finger all the way to the knuckle and you part your thighs as much as the now unzipped pencil skirt will allow. He slides in a second finger, and you groan. God his fingers are thick. God damn, do they feel good.

His thumb circles your clit almost teasingly and you thrust your hips up to try and get some friction from it. The pinch to your nipple comes as a surprise and you let out a low groan. “Be good.” Clay commands, softly.

You run your hand through his beard and slide it to the back of his head, curling your fingers in his curls.

His pace is brutal and you’re barely holding on when his mouth covers yours and he says, “Come for me,” against your lips.

You shatter into a million pieces in the front seat of your Range Rover. “Good girl,” Clay’s voice is rough and deep and has you opening your eyes. He watching you with a reverent smile on his lips.

You grin and use his beard to pull his mouth to yours again. His fingers in your cunt swirl again and let out a low groan. “Wanna come inside?” you ask.

He chuckles and swirls his fingers again. “I thought I already was.”

You close your eyes and let out a little whimper. “The house Clay.”

“Your brother gonna kill me?”

“Nah, I’ll deal with Scott.”

“Gonna eliminate him?”

“I’m gonna eliminate you if you don’t finish what you started.” His rich laugh puts a smile on your face, and you have a thought. “Hey, you wanna go to a wedding with me?”

“Do I have to wear a tie?”

Your eyes snap open to take in his goofy face and grin. “Only if you wanna use it to tie me up later,” you smirk at him.

He grins wickedly and curls his fingers inside you, sending you over the edge again.

#seal team #clay spenser #clay spenser x reader #clay spenser imagine #seal team x reader #seal team imagine #full metal #full metal has a sister #Eliminated Part Two #don't kill your boyfriend #FanFicFriday #Rebels Fan Fic Friday #a week late

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vegalocity · 3 years

Note

Kiss 9- first kiss for Amnesia Spicynoodles? (Whether as Red Boy and Xiaotian or Red Son and MK, your choice).

Affection meme

9. first kiss

Goddamn i gotta get back on that AU

That's actually a very clever shorthand for the difference between 'the Son of the Monkey King' and 'The Monkie Kid' Anon hope you don't mind me using it!

Also since this is technically the first real THING i'm writing for this Au it got a lil crazy

It was.... weird... falling into this rhythm with Red Son.

Even he'd seemed surprised at how quickly he'd agreed to join their team while they were hunting down the weapon that could finally end the Lady Bone Demon. Sure he'd reasoned that he was doing it for the sake of his father, that their family had been taken advantage of by that demon, and this was little more than 'enemy of my enemy' but barely time at all had passed before he may as well have joined simply because he wanted to.

There weren't a lot of bunks on Sandy's Hovership, and at the start of all of this, everyone was so on edge (and in Monkey King's case injured) that it just made more sense to sleep whenever it struck rather than sort out bedroom options and who bunked with whom.

Which had lead to some interesting things so far, such as Monkey King tending to curl up against Tang as he was reading or something and taking a nap right there and how Tang seemed like... wayyy too comfortable with it despite how he'd first reacted to seeing him on New Years.

Pigsy was ALWAYS crabby in the mornings, but he was getting exponentially more frustrated after waking up for something or another he never seemed to be able to relay when he woke (probably some frustrating reoccurring dream that keeps blotting out when he wakes up, MK didn't remember his dreams much either so he could relate)

And about thee days in of Red Son working with them, he'd knocked out during some down time, and while he was sitting near him. The ship rumbled, Red Son hadn't woken, but he slid to the side until he was leaned against MK's shoulder. and... It was comfy. Red Son was warm, and soft.

And before he'd known it he was being startled awake by Xiaojiao making delighted cooing noises and the flash of her camera. And when he jostled Red Son woke up as well. He'd met his gaze for a second and his artist brain noted that his eyes were a rather lovely shade of amber, not even fiery orange or honey brown, but pure, precious stone amber.

and for a moment it had felt... nostalgic... in a way he couldn't place. and the puzzled look on Red Son's face mirrored his confusion at the sudden thought, before the demon slammed up the walls again and pushed MK away, face burning bright red.

But from there it had spiraled.

It was just so... easy? he supposed would be the word. It was almost startling how easy it was to fall into this rhythm with Red Son. Not a few months ago he was a nominal enemy, yet here they were finding themselves sitting next to eachother more often than not, sometimes close enough for shoulders to brush, their unconscious bodies rolling over at once to tangle together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

At one point they were facing a demon that had cast one of those 'greatest fear' spells over the lot of them, and before it had hit he'd felt Red Son slip his hand into his own with a small startled gasp. And before the world went black and he was covered by spiders and the looming specter of his own failures he'd squeezed back.

That had actually happened just hours ago, and MK's hand was still tingly. Everyone was a little shaken up from that one. (Monkey King had holed himself away in one of the few bedrooms there were and he sounded physically pained when MK had tried to check in on him and he'd answered that he'd rather be alone. he was pretty sure Tang was allowed in, and he tried not to take that personally. It was probably a whole 'Mentor doesn't want his student to see him freaked out' thing. If he didn't stop taking everything so damn personally he'd be a sucker for the next fear spell or whatever.) And unlike the others, Red Son didn't have any loved ones on this ship to help reassure him.

So... if their... something or another... that had been developing was gonna mean anything, that probably meant it should fall on him.

Red Son was where he'd expected him to be, half buried in engine guts in Sandy's work area, his hands were shaking and there was a far off look in his eye.

MK had to physically lift him and drag him away, and it was a lot harder without the Mystic Monkie Strength, but he managed.

in fact he'd gotten all the way to the kitchen area and Red Son had stopped struggling in his arms screeching to be let go (yet never trying to flare his fire and forcing MK to drop him) before his stamina gave out and he had to deposit Red Son in one of the chairs.

"Noodle boy i swear this truce will end in an INSTANT if you do not explain yourself-"

"You're freaking out."

"YES I AM! You would be too if your current ally just lifted you up from what you were doing and carried you to the deserted part of the ship because even the Pig is too on edge to be in here!"

"I mean from this afternoon. Red son, you've been pale as a sheet since we got out of there and your hands are STILL shaking." He watched as he hurriedly hid them in his pockets. "You need to talk to someone. And it may as well be me."

"I- I don't need to talk about ANYTHING! Presumptuous Noodle Boy... Bold of you to assume I'd just pour my heart out at some perceived internal detriment which you have no proof even exists!" The bluster and casual insults were considerably less convincing than they were when they were enemies...

...maybe he was just starting to see through them better.

Red Son pulled his hands back onto the table, as a sort of subtle show of how fine he totally was, and clenched his fists to keep them from continuing to shake.

"Red..." The nickname felt... natural. He couldn't quite explain why, but he supposed they'd been Something-or-Another-ing long enough to make it reasonable. Red Son's glare abated and was replaced quickly with a shocked expression. But he didn't shout to not be called something so short, so MK considered that a signal to continue. So he continued with what felt natural and placed a hand over his clenched fist.

The defensive anger was all but gone. And that puzzled, yet slightly awed look he kept sharing with Red Son during moments like these replaced it and those amber eyes darted down to their linked hands, as if he didn't quite know what to do next.

Eventually Red Son came to a decision, and MK let him fiddle around with his grip until their hands were linked properly. And it felt... it was that weird sense of nostalgia again. And as everything else neither of them could quite explain it felt right. familiar. Natural.

"It's not really worth talking about." Red Son responded after the moment passed. yet he didn't pull his hand away. "I know better than to believe what it had showed me."

"Red-"

"I mean, I SHOULD know better, right?" He looked away from MK then, but squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I mean- they're my parents. and they agreed me coming along with you all to take down the Lady Bone Demon was the best course of action. I know they wouldn't disown me because they believed I was becoming more aligned with you all than with the family. That just because we're friends doesn't mean I'm somehow betraying them!" Red Son was working through it in his head, and he didn't seem to really realize that he'd admitted to seeing MK as a friend, so he just squeezed his hand a little tighter and filed that away to celebrate later.

"It's irrational, and it's ridiculous that I actually feared the idea."

"It's not ridiculous, If you think it's irrational then it probably is, but it's not ridiculous. " Red Son looked back at him then and raised a brow. "I mean, who isn't afraid that they're letting their parents down in some way?" He remembered how nervous Xiaojiao was about the idea of disappointing her family, and he was always worried that he'd disappointed his fath-....

What was he thinking about again?.... right, Xiaojiao and her parents.

Red Son took his attention again and the confusion zipped right out of his mind. he gently detangled his hand from MK's and was moving to stand.

"I suppose you're right. And... In that regard I should probably thank you for allowing me the chance to properly process."

"Anytime, Red."

He stood as well, with nowhere else to go, he supposed he'd probably just go out onto the deck and do a little one-man training, heavens knew he needed it.

Red Son put a hand on his shoulder before either of them could pull away and when he turned back to face the demon-

Red Son was looking at him with intent. determination. And it was only then that MK realized that maybe holding someone's hand while they talked about some Real Shit with you, constantly sitting next to each other so as to be closer, falling asleep on each other, and sometimes when you wake up you glance at their mouth wondering how easy it would be to just...

Maybe that wasn't just all friendship overtures.

And maybe they'd had a name for their little something-or-another already.

Neither of them were ever very good at this whole 'self control' thing anyway.

Red Son was just as warm as he'd anticipated. His calloused fingers hooking under his chin as if to keep MK in place. And it was... chaste. Nothing like the fierce passionate devouring of another's mouth that he'd anticipated a demon to go for (that he'd daydreamed about) Almost... child-like. As if Red Son hadn't kissed anyone since before he hit Demon Puberty and didn't know how to do it right. And the action alone made MK feel very much like a child as well. Which was ridiculous he was a grownass man and Red Son was a fully matured demon, and the shortest most chaste little peck made him feel like a squeaky voiced kid.

When they parted he peeked his eyes open just a bit, and it seemed like Red Son had realized the same thing, the two of them shared a soft chuckle.

But then Red Son started to pull away, and that wouldn't do. MK wrapped his arms around the demon's shoulders and properly kissed him this time.

And it didn't feel quite as natural, but it did feel right.

So that was what mattered.

Send me stuff

#Lego Monkie Kid #lmk #Spicynoodleshipping #Qi Xiaotian #lmk Red Son #White Bone Amnesia AU #Letters To Vega #Vega Writes Stories Too #went a little crazy with this one #I needed to put some context okay #affection meme

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

DEBRIS AND MISERY

DOUBT MAKES THE STRONG WEAK ; PART 8 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: From concussions to destruction, you find yourself developing an odd trust in the last two people you would even begin to have faith in and when the apocalypse seems unavoidable, you discover that there may be more to the mystery of the universe. A/N: Well, this chapter is long. And mainly pertains around the theme of 'doubt'. A lot more of Sylvie stuff and Loki just having heart eyes the whole time. I love this chapter and I can’t wait to write more as the story ends. Please tell me what you love, hate, anything (maybe theories lol). Thank you for showing so much love. gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans WARNINGS: Swearing. Apocalypse. Injuries. Blood. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

You were once a fighter.

Hunter E-87 was the name you once knew, hollered through different fields and dimensions in time and space. You fought for what you thought was right, pledging allegiance to a cosmic establishment that held all power to a single timeline and never questioned the works of the Time-Keepers. The Sacred Timeline is indeed sacrosanct, too important, too valuable to interfere. You fight in the name of the single thread of time, the bark of a tree, forbidden to bare branches of a potential multiverse. You fight because the thought of alternate timelines used to scare you. Yet, if alternate universes were meant to be, the lives you took and destroyed are now in the grasp of your bloody hands. You hold the responsibility of the death of the innocent, taking part in mass genocide.

But promises must be kept.

The thought constantly haunts you in your sleep. You have dreams of death, war, destruction, and famine from across the universe. People seem to glide like specters in the world built by your imagination and mind. You have seen a lot, more than any being in the universe should, but no one talks about the aftermath of witnessing the tragedy of the universe as time goes on and on. No one talks about what it does to the mind. Music from cassettes and the wonder of human space exploration were distractions to cope with the grinding hole in you and the fact you might be turning truly crazy.

Sometimes, you would like to be human—Fewer problems and less time to live.

You blame the sickening and bizarre vivid images that come and go whenever you close your eyes as a symptom of being a hunter. The others are stronger than you. Well, they act like they are. Becoming an analyst made you sleep better but there was always doubt. Sakaar made you doubt.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

“You startin’ to have doubts?”

Green eyes. They watch you with curiosity with a hint of amusement. You hear yourself hum. “Would it be bad if I said yes?”

He laughs. It’s mighty. “Yeah. Definitely bad.”

A beat of silence. You feel your eyes start to sting. “I couldn’t even tell my mom.” A laugh escapes your lips despite the hurt you feel in your chest. “Did you tell anyone? Your wife?”

You see him now, blonde hair slicked back and deep-set eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. Not even my wife.”

“She’ll be proud, you know.”

“I know...So will your mom. Jesus, you’re gonna be the first woman on—”

Wake up.

“—Is she dead?”

The voice is familiar. It pulls you back to reality but right now, your eyes are too heavy. Doubt is the first emotion that waves through your brain before the process of pain can even occur—uncertain if you are dead or alive.

You can’t feel your limbs, they are too weak.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

Maybe, you are dead.

“This is your fault! You’re the one who swung that sword of yours to her head! You’re careless—”

Sword...Sword...Careless? You remember a train, a fight.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s careless? You’re the one who’s drunk!”

Drunk...Who was drunk?

Then, your voice echoes in your head, images of a certain brunette with a deep frown. He called you a mewling quim. You quoted Hávamál. You then left him and wandered through the other cabins of the train. He blew his cover. He got you into a fight.

Loki. Loki Laufeyson.

Son of a bitch.

Your eyes are wide open now. All you see are the faces of Loki and Sylvie, looming over you. Just two floating heads. Then, the pain arrives, coursing through the entire back of your head. You wince in immediate reaction and the floating heads turn to you in an instant.

What a way to wake up from a concussion.

You remember everything now, but you certainly don’t recall being on the outside of the train. Must have gotten thrown out. The thought angers you, irritation practically boiling to the brim. Yet, it’s your fault. You hadn't thought to babysit the very person you wish were dead. As your palm grips onto the dirt beneath, muscling all strength left to lift yourself. Your head feels light and heavy all at once. Not good.

“Are you alright?” is the question that flies from Loki’s lips, tinged with an emotion you never knew he had for another but himself—worry. Whether selfless or selfish, you wish to ignore the complexity of Loki’s reactions and possible change in character, especially towards you. Ever since you stepped foot on Lamentis, all you felt was pain. You have never been injured so much within the last few hours than in your entire life and weirdly, you feel fine.

Sylvie is quick to stand, watching the two of you work in tandem. His grip finds the curve of your shoulders as you stick your hand out to grip him by the bicep. At your touch, you notice how his arm stiffens ever so slightly. You don’t say anything.

Some things about Loki are best left unknown and unanswered.

Today is filled with a lot of getting off the ground in the most unceremonious way possible.

A deep exhale leaves your lips, wisps of your hair drifting with the brutal breeze from your nostrils. Beads of sweat trail along the curve of your forehead and the back of your neck. Some entangled with the strands of your hair. Your hands feel clammy and dirty but you run them to push your hair back and away from your face anyway.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself away from his touch.

You finally get a good look at the two. Loki looks like complete shit but Sylvie manages to maintain the regalness to the locks of her hair despite her opposing overall behavior. It’s the Asgardian blood coursing through her veins. You cannot hide your ancestors' blood. It’s hard to believe the two are the same—one being. Yet, it's believable when you’re angry at the two of them.

The two messed up your career, that’s why.

Unbothered and uncivilized. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.

As your eyes shift along the train tracks that meander along a gorge with steep rocky walls that leer above it, you catch sight of a spark by your feet, glinting under the iridescent sky.

It’s the TemPad, shattered into pieces; you recognize the color gold of its border.

Your eyes grow wide, mouth agape. You don’t even feel angry anymore, it’s more than that. You stick out your hand to gesture towards the destroyed device, “Is that—Is that the TemPad?” you ask as your other hand lifts to hold the side of your head. “Or am I just seeing things from the concussion?”

Sylvie is the one to speak. “It’s not the concussion.”

You suddenly feel like you’re burning.

If it were possible, you could have instantly killed him with a look.

“You. You killed us!” you step closer to him and for a moment, Loki doesn’t exactly know what to do. “So, it’s my fault then? You were the one who left me alone in the lounge.” are the words that leave his lips. Completely useless. Trying to diffuse the tension is the exact opposite of what he does.

His silver tongue isn’t so shiny and silver anymore.

You don’t pull your blow this time. Your palm strikes his cheek, rocking his head to the side. Your hand is oddly soft. Loki winces and you stand your ground. “You’re a jerk and an asshole. You’ve probably been called that for all your life and yet, here you are. Still, the most insensitive and pathetic man I’ve ever met,” you articulate your words with frustration and rage. You don’t raise your voice like before, it’s low and frightfully intimidating. “And I’m not your babysitter.”

—

Battles, ruination, and fracas gave a sense of familiarity to Sylvie in a time of an impending apocalypse. When worlds end, benevolence is resolute. The tragedy of the end of lost souls—afraid to die. But as daunting as the apocalypse is, the beauty of their souls finally returning to the universe protrudes amongst the debris and misery.

She sees herself in the two of you, as much as she doesn’t identify as a Loki anymore, and her hatred towards the TVA. You have a temper and he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

You’re mysterious in an almost enchanting way and possibly significant as you seemed to be at first glance. Sylvie is highly curious about you.

You don’t stray too far from the group, only to find rest by the edge of a pit made by a crashing meteor. You sit with your back turned against the very two beings you distrust as you watch the border where the bustling city of Shuroo is based. Your guard is down and you don’t care at this point. Everyone is about to die anyway.

Sylvie’s gaze finds Loki who seems to be only watching the back of your still figure, eyes glinting with an emotion unknown to her. Possibly regret? Sylvie doesn’t know what regret looks like. But fear and anger, she feels it radiating from you. She knows it. Something tells her you’re not solely angry at her and Loki.

She finds herself drifting closer to you. You don’t move. She cautiously settles beside you. “You’re not hiding a knife somewhere, aren’t you?”

You merely scoff, caressing your head, “You’re the one to say.”

Sylvie blinks. Fair enough.

Silence. Sylvie’s eyes shift to the handkerchief tied around your arm, stained with blood. “How’s the arm?”

You hum. “Surprisingly, fine.”

Oh, Sylvie knows it’s fine. She knows what Loki did. She decides not to mention the scratch she made across your cheek.

“Did the slap make you feel better?”

The question is hinted at near sarcasm, but genuinely, she wants to know.

“Yes, it did. You should try it sometime.”

She simply hums. “I would have but you beat me to it.”

A turn of your lips as they curve into a small smile. Sylvie watches with an odd sense of satisfaction. “You know, I’m still mad at you. For what you did to me.” Your words are slow. You find yourself swallowing. “But it’s nothing compared to what the TVA did to you.”

Empathy. Is this what empathy feels like? The moment when someone finally understands what it’s like to be alone for so long. Your lives are different but they reflect in certain ways. You have had your fair share of living in constant fear and constantly running. Sylvie finds herself wanting to tell you that she hadn’t simply pushed you into Sakaar. When it’s a mission, things are never accidental. She always has a plan.

Yet, she chooses not to say anything.

You speak again but merely whisper, fidgeting with your fingers, “Before Sakaar—did you enchant me?”

It's as if you're reading her mind.

“Are you seeing things?”

After a pause, the fidgeting stops.

“I’ve seen things all my life, images. Brief and insignificant. But ever since I was in Sakaar, it’s gotten a lot harder to differentiate a dream and a memory.”

“That’s because they aren’t dreams.”

Your hardened gaze finds hers for a brief moment, nearly growing wide at her words but in an instant, your guard is up once you hear the shuffling of feet behind you where Loki lingers. The subject is dropped immediately. He meets Sylvie’s gaze, the two share a knowing look.

Your anger is provoked and well deserved and yet, the last thing he wants is to be your enemy. Loki doesn’t know why. He has lived a life full of them.

You’re different.

He stills, wondering if you’re going to lash out at him again but when he notices your slow breaths, he decides to sit next to you anyway, awkward glances to you in his periphery. A deep sigh escapes his lips, fiddling with his fingers. “What now?”

Sylvie is the one to answer. “I don’t know. You broke the TemPad.”

“Well—”

“And that planet is about to crash into us.”

Loki looks up at the nearing planet of Lamentis. He blinks. “Well, yes, but—”

“Yes, but what?”

“Well, the entire moon is destroyed, right?”

Sylvie is trying to suppress your growing annoyance. “Yep. And everyone on it is killed.”

But Loki pesters on. “Including us.”

She raises her voice. “Yes, including us.” Loki glances at you momentarily. A pause. He furrows his brows in thought.

“What about the ark?”

“The ark never leaves because it's destroyed.”

Suddenly, an epiphany, his eyes light up. He turns to you and Sylvie, “Never had us on it.”

You suddenly scoff at his words. “Are you suggesting we hijack the ark and make sure it gets off this moon?” You turn to him to only spot a vague smile playing upon his lips. He nods in return. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Agent.”

You merely blink, watching the way his eyes shift across your face. First, you’re struck with uncertainty. It’s a risk, a huge one but you know, risks are meant to be uncertain. Risks are also vital in success. Hesitation, doubt—they make you weak. This time, you want to be strong. Strong enough for one last push to save your life.

“Okay.” is what you say, your expression reflecting his.

For the first time, since he took your hand in Sakaar, you’re starting to trust him.

—

The walk to Shuroo seemed endless. You trail behind the two, feeling like you’re about to suffocate.

“—To preserve the connection, I have to create a fantasy from their memories.”

Loki and Sylvie had been conversing about the science and functions of enchantment in a rather surprisingly calm manner. Loki hums, amused by her elucidation. “And you call me a magician.”

Her expression is unchanged as she continues to trudge alongside Loki, ignoring his previous statement. “That young soldier from the TVA, her mind was messed up. Everything clouded. I had to pull a memory from hundreds of years prior...before she even fought for them.”

Loki halts abruptly in his step, hand flying to grab Sylvie’s arm. “What? What'd you say? Before she joined the TVA?”

Sylvie blinks. “Yeah. She was just a regular person on Earth.”

His mind starts to reel, face muddled with confusion. “I was told that everyone who works for the TVA was created by the Time-Keepers.”

“That's ridiculous. They're all variants, just like us. Including her.” Sylvie gestures discreetly to you who has stopped to take a breather, hands on your hips as you blink up to the sky.

You, Mobius, all of them. All variants.

“They don't know that. She doesn’t know that.” he breathes a terrified expression.

Sylvie looks at you from afar. You’re now looking at them with a bewildered expression. “What?” you call out, voice echoing through the wide area, in a somewhat defensive tone.

She turns to Loki once more, voice nearly faltering. “I have a feeling she already knows it.”

—

Loki doesn’t realize the unfamiliarity of hopelessness. Throughout his life, he was constantly surrounded by those with unfaltering determination—His brother, family, friends who were warriors, The Avengers.

Never was it known that he would see it burning in your eyes as they reflect the growing fire of the Ark, crumbling down, tongues of fire engulfing it whole before you. His heart burns with it as Shuroo falls quiet—only the sounds of the metallic crashing of the disintegrating parts of the ship falling from above and the screams of the rich and deemed worthy to live. Every Lamentian still alive held their breath, a moment's silence for their lives must end. Everything must end.

So close yet so far.

Sylvie is gone by the minute as the city starts to descend in terror and panic. He stands behind your still form, just watching your only chance of making it out, swallowed by its own billowing smoke. He reaches out for you, tugging you by the sleeve. “We should leave,” he says with a sudden sense to protect you. There isn’t much to do at this point. It doesn't matter if you are hit by the falling pieces of the Ark because you are all going to die anyway.

But he considers it a gesture, as insignificant and small it is. The least he could do is to distract you from the end, whether for a mere second or minutes.

“I know things haven’t been the best between us and I concede I bring out the worst in you, but I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You turn to Loki with his sudden words. He watches the way your expression softens so gracefully, face adorned with gashes and wounds. Your mouth twitches as you respond with a gentle voice. “I forgive you.”

Three words. Very powerful words.

His heart skips a beat.

You find Sylvie at the brink of the city, sitting on a stretched slab of rock amongst the dirt, watching the horizon where the planet starts to meet the moon. Loki still has his hand around your arm, but you don’t complain. It’s your only source of support at the moment. It’s an unconscious move, but everything about it feels right when the two of you settle beside her, shoulders brushing against each other. It only makes sense to want to feel the nearness, the closeness of another as the light at the end of the tunnel begins to dim.

It’s impending. It’s scary.

“I remember Asgard.”

Sylvie’s voice trembles, her eyes are somber.

“Not much, but I remember. My home, my people, my life. Then, the TVA showed up, erased my reality, and took me, prisoner. I was just a child.”

You turn to her, guilt bubbling in your chest, but you don’t say anything. You let her speak. It’s only right.

“I escaped.” she breathes, blinking the brimming tears in her eyes away. ”Stole a TemPad and I ran for a long, long time, which really sucked. Everywhere and every-when I went, it caused a Nexus event.”

Sylvie turns to you with a melancholic gaze. “The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. Like me being born the Goddess of Mischief. But to you and the TVA, I’m not supposed to exist.”

For so long, you hadn’t realized the consequences of your work at the TVA. You believed you were right. That erasing, resetting realities were meant to be. You cannot comprehend how it only occurred to you to question the authority of the Time-Keepers over time itself after Sakaar. All those years of being ignorant and selfish. You hadn’t realized. You never did.

But now you know.

Sylvie continues, gaze shifting away from you. “I figured out where to hide. And so that's where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds. Now...that's where I'll die.”

Then, silence. It sits heavily between the three of you.

“The universe—isn’t she beautiful?” Your voice is soft, eyes trained on the horizon—a fleet of asteroids, they reflect the end. But they seem to dance to the silence of the apocalypse, drifting across the stratosphere, lining the firmament. Loki’s gaze shifts to you, training on every curve of your face and the tears slipping down your cheeks. He agrees, the universe is beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

“She brings turmoil, agony, and destruction but in all her flaws, there’s beauty in her very existence.”

Your hands find Sylvie and Loki’s hands, holding on to them tightly as you fight the wavering of your voice.

“You...Both of you might be the epitome of chaos but you must know that you have such beautiful souls. All of us, we're her children...and if she is beautiful, so are we. And the Universe is always right. If she created you then we are wrong.”

Sylvie’s face is soft. Loki squeezes your hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I should have known from the start...that the TVA was lying to all of us. I should have questioned. I should have doubted—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she says, smiling with saddened eyes.

You laugh. You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe, it’s because you know you are a part of the problem anyway, even if you were just doing your job.

You find Loki’s gaze that’s already on you. You sigh and speak through a whisper. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

His lips curve into a grin, eyes crinkling like your own. “It was well deserved, but I forgive you.”

Fingers entangled with the hands of two unlikely people, you finally realize what it truly feels like to not be alone. To be in the company of someone you want to be with.

“Now long now.” Those three words leave the very lips of Sylvie and your chest feels like it’s about to collapse.

You never knew you were afraid of death, yet here you are—terrified.

The ground shakes beneath you. It’s dark and there’s fire everywhere. A meteor collides to the ground just across the way, it sends smoke billowing to its surroundings faster than you can blink.

Even in the last seconds of your life, you have doubts remaining. What if the universe isn’t always right?

Then, through the growing dust, you see a spark, like lightning. A glint of a figure, standing before you. White, pure, and serene. You’re standing now, staring ahead. Sylvie and Loki cease to exist in your mind as they gaze at you with bewilderment. They anxiously call you by your name but you don’t hear it. There’s only silence now, you don’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears.

A voice, she speaks with dignity. A voice so familiar.

“Doubt makes the strong weak, my child.”

Then, you hear it. A soft hum—a Time Door glows warmth amid your impending death.

Suddenly, she’s gone.

TAGLIST:

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@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

@nyxrae

@johnmurphys-sass

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki oneshot #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #loki spoilers #sylvie #sylvie laufeyson

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glabecurious · 3 years

Photo

“It all started in Britechester...”

“I was on medical leave after a training injury. I’d been sent to the hospital over at the university, so I got pretty familiar with the campus. All the student bodies... the campaigns... the protests.

“I was walking past an anti-war protest, of all things, and there she was...”

“... Lyla.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I didn’t care what the march was about. I was just taken with her leadership. She was taking charge, organizing the marchers, making sure the best chants were heard... What can I say? She was incandescent. I was smitten at first sight.”

“And she was too. She didn’t mind that I was in the military; she was always a rebel, no matter what crowd she was with. I think she enjoyed taking her army brat boyfriend to all her hippie parties and seeing the looks on her friend’s faces. She used to get into some fights, let me tell you.. Being anti-war is easy, she used to say. Nobody wants a war, not even the army. If you want peace you have to work for it.

“And we had our share of arguments too, believe you me. It was all in good fun at first. But soon it had just gotten tiresome. Not to mention she was about to graduate, and my treatment was finishing up...

“I reckon we’d have drifted apart, were it not for the baby.”

“There was no question in my mind. As soon as Lyla told me she was pregnant, I got a ring. It was the right thing to do.

“Well, she said yes... And we started talking about a partnership. Building a relationship that wasn’t intellectual arguments every night. It really seemed like we on the same page. We were going to have a future together.”

“And at first, we were happy.”

“Then the cracks started. Tank was a fussy baby. He didn’t like the upheaval every time we moved, and Lyla was struggling with him. She took a job in a laboratory just to get out of the house. I’ll be honest; I wasn’t happy. Said I didn’t like the idea of Tank being raised in day-care just so she could clean test tubes.

“She didn’t like that, as you can imagine. We fought a lot. But every marriage has its challenges. We just had to push through them...

“... And then she got pregnant again.”

“I thought that might be an end to her working, especially once we were redeployed to Strangerville. But she went and got herself another job at the lab here, on the night-shift this time. So there we were; two sleep-deprived adults, a toddler, and a baby...”

“... Tempers flared. A lot.

“We didn’t discuss things anymore. Everything was an argument. I’d push against her, and she’d just push back even harder. Our family was unravelling around us. I keep thinking about those years, even now... If we’d have just acknowledged neither of us were happy, we could have called it quits before it got any worse. Before we had another baby. But we were just so stubborn.”

“I wanted to make it work...

“And eventually, she didn’t.”

“So she packed a bag, phoned that Specter woman, and left.

“She said she’d come back for the children... But she never did. I thought it was all a lie; she’d abandoned us for good... I was angry. So angry. Then Olive said Lyla’d never even arrived at her house. And ever since then she’s been reported as missing.

“People in this town gossip. There’s nothing else to do here, that’s for sure. Folk say she left us for good, or they say something happened to her. But I have this feeling... I used to tell her she needed to focus more on the children; spend more time with them instead of scrubbing lab equipment. But she never would have left the children; especially not with me, not after all the things she said. She would have come back for them. She was never a bad mother.

“Deep in my gut... I know something bad must have happened to her.”

#the sims 4 #strangerville #strangetown #simblr #ts2 to ts4 #general buzz grunt #buzz grunt #lyla grunt #tank grunt #ripp grunt #buck grunt #buzz's opinions are buzz's and not my own #wtsv

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Slipping Through the Cracks

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 5 - Broken

Just when his life was finally leveling out Parker luck struck again. Peter has had four opportunities with parents and has lost all of them. The way he sees it, this is the least of what he deserves.

Post-Homecoming - Tony didn’t meet with Peter immediately to offer him a place on the Avengers.

Words: 3856, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen-Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, Ned Leeds

TW: Depression, Dissociation, a single line of Suicidal Ideation, Referenced Child Abuse

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter was silent as he exited Midtown with Ned keeping a quiet pace with him. Seven months ago they would be just as excited as their classmates for the weekend, for the plans that they surely would have made to build Legos or marathon movies or even to just study together. Ned would have been ecstatic to set up in Peter’s bedroom as his ‘guy in the chair’ while Peter did a quick patrol or two. If they were at Peter’s instead of Ned’s, May would attempt some new dish that would, inevitably, be awful and they would order pizza from their favorite place for dinner.

Now Peter never saw any of his limited friend group outside of school. He didn’t build Legos or watch movies or eat take-out pizza and he certainly wasn’t Spider-Man anymore – he had given that up after the Homecoming disaster when he had destroyed Mr. Stark’s plane.

It had been just over six months since he had found May dead in their kitchen and Peter didn’t really do anything at all anymore.

The ER doctors told Peter that she had an undiagnosed aneurysm that had finally burst – there was no way for anyone to know. She went quickly. She felt no pain. There was nothing that Peter could have done even if he was there when it happened.

The reassurances meant nothing really – Peter was numb. May was his last living family member, he had no one else and nowhere to turn. He can vaguely remember telling the social worker that was with him when they told him the news about May that he was alone now. He can remember being taken forcibly from the hospital before he was ready to go, wanting to kick and scream and drag his heels but too shocked to do so. And then everything was a blur.

Somewhere in his mind he knew that he had been allowed to pack up everything important from their apartment to go into storage until he was eighteen besides the bag of essentials he had for himself. He knew that everything else was donated or sold to pay off their remaining debt and the medical bills he had incurred by calling for help when he found May on the kitchen floor. He knew that the social worker told him that, even after selling everything, they couldn’t afford a funeral. He has a business card in his wallet with the number of the crematorium that was holding May’s ashes until he was old enough to retrieve them and, hopefully, give her a proper burial in their family plot next to Ben.

He spent the two weeks after in a group home, mute and dissociating with seven other boys in similar situations. He didn’t go to school, but he remembers the constant stream of unanswered texts and calls from Ned and MJ before his phone plan was discontinued then his phone became a dead relic in his bag. There were a lot of discussions about school that Peter didn’t take part in but, thanks to his full scholarship, he was able to continue at Midtown at least until the end of the year.

And then he was placed with his foster parents.

The Fishers seemed to be pleasant people when Peter first met them; they didn’t force him to speak, they had extensive fostering experience with teenagers and were willing to pay for his subway pass so he could get to and from his school even though there was a decent public school in walking distance. It didn’t take long, however, for their true colors to show.

Now, though, Peter knew the rules. He was always home by his curfew of four on school days and he never went out on the weekends. His grades were perfect. He kept his undecorated room spotless. He cooked supper every evening and breakfast and dinner on the weekends. He kept the house presentable. He stayed out of the Fishers way. Mostly he drifted. His days slid together to the point he had difficultly remembering entire weeks passing him by but it was fine.

He was fine.

“I’ll see you Monday,” Ned muttered as he split off to get in his mom’s car, not acknowledging the pathetic little wave Peter offered in return. A coiling feeling settled in his gut and Perter felt guilt rise up to swirl in his throat. Ned was his best friend and he was treating him like shit. With Peter basically unresponsive, bullies had taken to picking on Ned instead… well except for Flash. Flash had been the only one to back off and stand up for both of them – it helped but didn’t fix everything.

“Better if he leaves you now,” a little voice in his head whispered. “It’s better to be alone.” And maybe at one point he would have fought against that mindset but now he couldn’t help but agree. Peter destroyed everything he touched and everyone around him was doomed for misery. Better for Ned to get out while he could.

Lethargically, Peter began across the empty football field toward the subway entrance – his trip home was always a little tight and he couldn’t afford to miss this train.

“Peter!” A harried voice shouted as his shoulder was grabbed and he was roughly turned around to face a red-faced and irritated Happy Hogan. Peter’s mind blanked for a moment in total shock at seeing the man again after so long. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Sorry Mr. Hogan,” Peter mumbled, not making eye contact. He felt the phantom sting from the slap he had gotten for that when he first moved into foster care burning his bare cheek.

“The Boss has been calling you, he wants to chat. You screening our calls now?” Happy asked, accusatory as his eyes raked down Peter’s form. Peter felt a shiver crawl up his spine and kept his sight locked on Happy’s chin, trying to remain as relaxed as possible. It was important to not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

“No sir,” he answered, voice a little rough and quiet with disuse. “I don’t have a phone anymore.” Happy huffed and narrowed his eyes at Peter before steering him to the expensive Audi parked in front of the school.

“No matter, he wants to talk to you in person anyway. Hop in and I’ll take you to the Tower.” Peter gulped and fought the urge to dig his heels in – it wouldn’t be polite.

“I have a curfew of four,” he protested weakly as Happy pulled open the door for him and motioned for him to climb in. Peter hesitated but relented when Happy gave him a little shrug.

“I’m sure May will understand and Tony can always give her a call to clear anything up.” And with that Peter was gone. No one had said her name since she died and the thought… the very implication that he could still be living with his aunt, happy and carefree, was insane. His mind floated away and he felt like he was watching himself as a specter. He saw his body relax but his eyes were distant, cloudy. Happy, for the first time that Peter could remember, didn’t raise the partition between the front and rear seats and, instead, watched Peter in the rear view mirror.

The drive to the Tower took over thirty minutes with traffic and Peter would be panicking about how late he was going to be if he had any capacity to feel at all. Instead, he let his mind wander as the skyscrapers of Manhattan blurred into a grey mosaic outside the window, fat raindrops sporadically hitting the window as a drizzle started. “We’re here,” Happy told him as he parked the car in the underground garage that was reserved for Mr. Stark and other high level staff of the Tower. Peter popped his door open and followed the man to the private elevator that he assumed would take them to Mr. Stark’s office.

“Hello Happy. Hello Peter,” the disembodied voice of Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY, said as the doors closed and the elevator began to move. “Boss is awaiting your arrival in his workshop.”

“Thanks FRIDAY,” Happy said, texting intently on his phone. Peter just remained silent as the elevator began to slow before stopping completely, the doors trundling open soundlessly. Happy nudged Peter out but remained inside the car as the doors closed, leaving Peter alone in the sleek room.

Tony was seated in front of a large hologram of his armor, code scrolling past on his monitor as he made adjustments. “Mr. Parker,” he said as Peter edged closer to him, not looking up from his work. “You’re a hard man to get in contact with.”

Though Tony sounded more forthright than angry, Peter still had to fight the cringe in his shoulders as he came to a stop about ten feet away from the work bench – out of reach and with enough time to prepare if the man were to make any sudden moves. “Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes low and doing his best to keep his shoulders from curling in – the last thing he needed to do was show any weakness.

“No need for apologies,” Tony said, light, as he fiddled with a holo mechanism in the right repulser. “Just a statement of fact. According to the news Spider-Man has also been just as difficult to find.”

Peter just hummed in response, choosing not to comment on his previous alter-ego. He didn’t much feel like a hero these days.

“A man of few words,” Tony commented, shutting down the programs in front of him and turning to face Peter fully. “Are you the same kid who was talking my ear off in Germany a year ago?”

“Yes sir,” Peter said, keeping his eyes focused on Tony’s chin. He could feel his mind slipping as his heart rate sped up and he struggled to keep present – it was getting harder and harder to stay in the moment the more he allowed himself to get lost in his head. He occasionally dreamed that one day it might be permanent; one of the few good dreams he had.

“Sir?” Tony parroted, his eyebrows raising and a flash of guilt washing over his features quickly before disappearing. “Look kid, I think I owe you an apology. Actually, I know I owe you an apology. I didn’t communicate with you about the whole alien weapons take-down thing. I underestimated you and treated you like a side-kick and ignored you and then I left you alone and without any protection and you saved my bacon anyway.”

“I deserved it,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “I was in over my head and I disobeyed. The punishment fit the crime.”

“No it didn’t,” Tony told him bluntly but firmly, looking surprised but resolute. “Maybe we both share some fault in the situation but I’m the adult and the one with experience and I didn’t do anything to teach you or help you and for that I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter assured him, allowing himself to tap his index finger against his thigh once to let out his stress. Mr. Fisher didn’t like his constant fidgeting and Peter knew that it was pretty annoying so he had done his best to learn how to stand as still as possible to not incur any extra punishments – the index finger tap he was able to normally get away with.

Mr. Stark’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed Peter. “I wanted to offer you a real spot as my intern. You could spend a few days a week in the shop working on tech and I made you a new and improved suit for the other part of your ‘internship’. I promise that you’ll always have the support you need to be New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. You’re the future of the Avengers, kid, its pretty clear to me now. Your spot on the team is there whenever you want to take it.”

For the briefest of moments, Peter was overwhelmed with excitement and incredulity. Ever since Tony had announced he was Iron Man to the world, Peter had wanted nothing more than to be a superhero as well, to be an Avenger. If Tony had offered him a spot on the team after Germany, Peter would have taken it in an instant. Now…

“Thank you Mr. Stark,” Peter said, voice still a little broken and hoarse from how little he spoke these days. “But I can’t.”

“Oh you don’t have to join now,” the man assured, misunderstanding. “You’ll need some training first but Rhodey and Vision are always down to join us at the compound for some group work. You have a lot of potential.”

“Thanks but that’s not what I meant,” Peter clarified. “I have to decline all of it but I appreciate the offer.”

“Oh,” Tony looked a little crestfallen, a dark expression of acceptance on his defined features. “I understand. Broken trust and all that. Sure.”

“It’s not that,” Peter reassured quickly. “I don’t hold anything against you – I was the one who messed up. It’s just I have a four o’clock curfew every day so I can’t do the internship.”

“That’s easily remedied!” Mr. Stark said, his eyes lifting with a smile and looking relieved. “I’ll just give Aunt Hottie a call and work things out and we’ll have you in the lab and out swinging through the streets in no time!”

Peter’s ears fuzzed out again, a sharp high-pitched note cutting off Tony’s excited words as a feeling of immense emotion flooded through Peter before he could tamp it down. His breathing felt a little ragged in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment to gather himself. “My aunt is dead,” Peter gritted out, interrupting Tony and rendering him speechless. “She died six months ago. My foster… the people fostering me are a little more strict.”

“Oh,” Tony said, face blank and an awkward silence filling the space. Peter gripped his worn down backpack straps and backed toward the elevator.

“Thanks for the offer,” Peter said earnestly. “It really is an honor I just…” he trailed off. “Thanks. For everything.”

And with that, he entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby, the doors shutting on Tony’s pitying expression before the man could say anything much to Peter’s relief. The metro card the Fishers had gotten him only had a set amount of money on it every month so Peter would be hoofing it back to their house from the Tower. His cracked watch face told him that it was already close to four-thirty and his stomach bubbled with anxiety. At this rate he wouldn’t be back in time to have dinner on the table at five-thirty.

Resigned to his punishments, Peter left the building through the shining lobby and pointed himself toward Queens, moving as fast as he could.

——————-

“You’re late,” Mr. Fishers’s tone was short and monotonous from where he was seated on the couch. The house was otherwise quiet which meant Mrs. Fisher was out that evening.

“I’m sorry sir,” Peter whispered looking at the floor and making no excuses. He had learned the hard way that trying to justify his poor behavior only made things worse for him in the long run.

“Go to your room,” Mr. Fisher told him making Peter cringe. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Later, when Peter was lying on the bed with silent tears still leaking from his eyes and his back and ribs stinging in pain, he thought about Mr. Stark’s offer with selfish desire. In another universe, in another life, he would have been elated but now he only felt desolation - life always did like to dangle things in front of him he couldn’t have.

Setting his alarm for five-thirty so he wouldn’t oversleep, Peter let his consciousness slip away into the ether, mind going blissfully empty and blank.

——————-

Monday came both faster and slower than Peter wanted. His body still ached from his well-deserved punishment and he was exhausted from the extra chores and minimal food he had been offered as a result of his actions. School passed in a lonely blur for him as he drifted from class to class, hiding away in the deserted music room during lunch to avoid Ned and MJ. They didn’t ask as many questions anymore but Peter didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he would have to lie to his friends again.

When the final bell of the day rang, Peter chose to not stop by his locker where he may be ambushed and, instead, left the school, headed directly for the subway. He had nearly made it when a body physically blocked him from the stairs.

“Howdy Pete,” Mr. Stark said, peering over his glasses to look at Peter and Peter did his best to school his expression into indifference. He couldn’t be late again. He couldn’t take another punishment, he was just so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe forever. “Where are you headed?”

“Back to my fosters,” Peter told him, trying to skirt around. “I have a four o’clock curfew.”

“I remember you saying something about that,” Mr. Stark agreed with a nod. “Tell you what – let me give you a ride home. You’ll get home well before your curfew and I can talk to your foster parents about the internship. Who can say no to Tony Stark right?”

“NO!” Peter said loudly before smacking a palm over his mouth. He could feel the blood draining from his face as his body tensed, preparing for the correction he knew was coming. Mr. Stark’s brow was furrowed now and his eyes behind his blue glasses had a twinkle of understanding in them.

“Peter,” he began, reaching a hand out with the intention of lying his hand on Peter’s shoulder but he never got that far. Seeing the hand coming towards him and already being on high alert after his exclamation, Peter violently flinched away, only barely able to catch himself from falling over due to his enhanced reflexes, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Oh Peter,” Tony said, a desolate understanding in his voice.

Peter cracked his eyes open to see Mr. Stark with both hands raised in the universal ‘backing off’ signal, a soft look on his face. “Sorry sir,” Peter croaked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s fine.”

“Do you have something you need to tell me kiddo?” Tony’s voice was soft and gentle and Peter felt his eyes well up with tears he hastily blinked away as he shook his head quickly. “It’s okay buddy. You can tell me.”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s fine.” Tony looked even more crestfallen at Peter’s answer and tapped the side of his glasses to activate FRIDAY.

“Can you I’ve me a scan FRI?” He asked and Peter flinched again knowing there was no way to hide the broken and healing bones and skin that he had been doing his best to conceal. Tony’s face was tight as he stared at Peter and Peter felt all of the blood left in his face drain away.

“I deserved it,” Peter told him desperately. “I disobeyed, it was my fault.” Mr. Stark just looked even more beaten at his words and Peter felt his breathing picking up.

“It’s not,” Tony said, voice still unbelievably soft but firm. “It’s not your fault and you didn’t deserve it. You’re a great kid Pete.” Peter shook his head no and couldn’t stop a couple tears from leaking out before furiously wiping them away. “I promise that it wasn’t your fault Underoos. Will you let me help you?”

“You can’t,” Peter said, feeling hollow. “Everyone… everyone close to me dies. I’m cursed and I can’t do that to you too Mr. Stark.”

“Can I hug you?” Tony asked suddenly, arms twitching with need. After a seconds hesitation, Peter nodded and was hastily folded into the man’s arms; one arm tight around his shoulders and the other snaking up into his hair to pull through the too long strands carefully. Peter felt more tears leak out and, suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, throwing his own arms around Tony to return the hug and letting out a gut-wrenching sob into the man’s shoulder. Tony just shushed him and let him take as much comfort as he could. “You’re not cursed and none of this is your fault. I get the feeling no one has told you that yet and you need to hear it.”

Peter sobbed loudly again, curling in tighter. He had always thrived on positive affirmation and had grown up in a family where hugs and shoulder pats and forehead kisses were the norm. To go so long without… he had forgotten how nice it was to just be held and cared for. “Thank you,” Peter said, his voice clogged with emotion. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Tony said firmly. “Anyone decent would do the same thing and it’s the least of what you deserve.”

Peter squeezed him one more time and took a deep breath before pulling away. “Thank you,” he reiterated, fighting to make eye contact so he could show just how sincere he was. “But I need to get back before four and I already missed my train. I can’t be late.” Tony, who still had one hand resting on Peter’s shoulder, gripped him tightly to prevent him from escaping up the stairs to the train.

“You aren’t going back,” he said firmly, ducking his head and forcing Peter to make eye contact. “You’re coming with me back to the Tower where I’m going to call CPS and my lawyers. You’re never going back there again.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Peter insisted. “It’s really not that bad if I’m home on time and do my chores and stay in my room. And its only two more years until I’m eighteen and then I can get a job and an apartment.”

“Pete,” Tony said, eyes shining as he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders and started leading him away from the subway and toward the Audi that was parked in the pickup lane; Peter could see the outline of Happy’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. “You deserve better. You deserve somewhere safe and you deserve to have someone care about you. I know you don’t believe it now and that’s okay – I’m just going to keep telling you until you do.”

Peter sniffed back another onslaught of tears and allowed himself to be pulled away. “Thank you Mr. Stark,” he said, voice clogged with emotion.

“It’s Tony kiddo,” the man told him with another squeeze that warmed Peter to the core. “And you don’t need to thank me for this okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, fully aware and present and wanting to be for the first time in a long time. Things were never going to be the same, but maybe, just maybe, they would get better.

#summer of whump 2021 #Prompt: Broken #spider man #irondad #summerofwhump #summerofwhump5

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