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imagine-loki · 3 years

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Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 13: The Grimoire of Curses AUTHOR: traveling_classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around. RATING: T

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Enjoy!

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Loki had scoured over his new collection of books on curses. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with each discourse he picked up; more frustrated and more discouraged. Kuna, on the other hand, enjoyed her new freedoms. The freedom to explore where she wanted, eat when she wanted, sleep when she wanted.

She could even play, something she had always really wanted to do but was always forbidden from doing. The strangest part of all: she didn’t have to work. Ever. In fact, Loki actively stopped her from cleaning, tidying, cooking, or any other attempts at non-child-like behavior, and promptly pushed her outside to play.

Loki had even begun to teach her how to read and write. He had spread out a large piece of paper in front of her and taught her how to hold a quill and dip it in ink and write out the Asgardian futhark. She had never been so excited in her whole life. She memorized the whole futhark in just a few minutes. She learned how to write hers and Loki’s names and the names of her toys. Loki was a good teacher. Kuna was convinced he knew everything there was to know.

Now, she was able to write whole sentences and read short stories in their storybooks. Loki even made up stories for her to read which were her favorite.

One day, Loki sat in their hammock grumbling at another book, while Kuna swatted at an imaginary beast with a stick. She had learned to be quiet when Loki was reading because he wanted to concentrate on his books, so she kept her stories about slaying imaginary beasts inside her head.

“Arrgh, I’ve had enough of this!” Loki slammed the book closed.

Kuna jumped, dropping her stick. Her shoulders drooped and her head hung low. She looked up cautiously, afraid she had caused his angry outburst.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t yell like that. What do you want to do today, Kuna?” he asked.

“Me?” she asked, shyly.

“Yes, you,” he said. “I can’t take any more of these bloody books today. So, what do you want to do?”

Kuna had never been asked this question before, so it required much thought. She walked over to the hammock and crawled into it beside Loki. She tapped her finger against her lips in thought.

“Mmm. Will you teach me how to fight monsters?” she asked finally.

“How to fight monsters,” Loki repeated.

Kuna nodded, excitedly.

“That’s very specific.”

Kuna continued nodding.

“All right, come on!” Loki jumped out of the hammock. It flipped over, depositing Kuna on the ground. She hopped up, undisturbed, and ran for their satchel with the silver dagger.

Loki snatched it up. “Nope!” He stopped her at arm’s length with a hand on her head.

She giggled, trying to reach for the satchel.

“You’re going to learn with this.” He gave her the wooden dagger he had bought for her on Tenanci’i.

“Aww,” Kuna pouted.

“Stand up straight!” Loki commanded.

Kuna stood as tall as she could. Loki adjusted her feet until she stood about shoulder width. He positioned her left hand on the hilt of the dagger.

“When your other hand, your off hand, is empty, it’s going to balance you,” he said. “Don’t let it fall to your side like a dead fish.” Kuna chuckled at this. “Keep it up and always moving. You can use it to punch with, like this,” -he showed her a quick jab- “or to block.”

Kuna copied his movements. He began to call out actions for her to do, holding the dagger in a downward position in her left hand. When she was able to do this on command, Loki began teaching her movements with the dagger.

“It’s not all about stabbing, even though that’s pretty fun,” Loki said.

Kuna giggled, pretending to stab him.

He laughed and gently took her wrist, positioning the dagger in different ways. “You can slice and cut, forward and back, up and down, hack, and even stab with a dagger,” he explained, moving Kuna’s hand with each word. “They’re very multifunctional weapons. You can even throw it if you’re in a pinch.”

“But then I wouldn’t have a dagger anymore.”

“Very clever,” Loki said. “It should never be your first move if this is your only weapon. And there are better weapons for throwing anyways. Only throw this if it’s your last resort and you know you’ve got a clean shot. Otherwise, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Hmm.” Kuna weighed the wooden dagger in her hand. She turned it over and made a swipe at the air.

“Good,” Loki said. “Now, faster. Put more power behind it.”

She made the same movement again, swinging harder. “Don’t lose control,” Loki instructed. He readjusted her stance, and she struck the air again. “Better.”

They continued with different moves and attacks until Kuna was out of breath.

“Take a break,” Loki said, giving her one of their canteens. He smiled at her. “You learn quickly. I don’t even think I picked up a weapon this fast.”

Kuna could barely contain her happiness. She took the canteen and drank. The cold water felt good. She laid back in the grass under the trees.

“Do you think I could fight as good as you someday?” Kuna asked.

“Let’s find out,” Loki said. “Come and get me.”

A wooden knife, like a giant splinter, dug into the ground to the right of Kuna’s head. She gasped and rolled to the side, grabbing her own dagger. She came up on one knee and looked for Loki.

“That was impressive,” he said. Kuna ran towards his voice. He rose up out of a bush. She jumped up and slashed at him, but he disappeared.

“Hey!” she cried as she crashed through the bush. “You can’t use magic!”

“Why not?” his voice came from behind her.

“That’s cheating!”

“There’s no cheating in a fight, little raven,” he said, laughing as she bounded through another illusion. “You have to use what you’ve got. And I have magic.”

Kuna fell through another Loki. She stood and looked around. Something hard hit her in the back of the head.

“Ouch!” She looked down at an acorn rolling at her foot and frowned.

“And I have acorns,” Loki taunted. “What have you got?”

Kuna looked at her dagger. It wasn’t really helping her if all the Lokis were ghosts. Another acorn whistled towards her, this one from her right. She swung the dagger and blocked it with a satisfying thwack. A smile spread across her face.

“Don’t celebrate too long,” Loki chuckled from behind her. “Or you’ll be dead.”

She whipped around and dodged Loki’s arm as it came down to hit her. She stabbed at his leg, and he disappeared just as she had expected him too. With this Loki gone, she ran to the bushes to her left and pounced into them. She came down on an empty patch of dirt and twigs.

“Too slow!” Loki sang.

Kuna growled. She ran to the nearest tree and climbed up into the branches.

“Now, we’re using our brain. I was beginning to think you forgot it was there,” Loki taunted her.

She followed the sound of his voice and jumped through the trees towards it. An acorn smacked the back of her head. She turned to find the Loki that threw it and saw two Lokis, one in the tree and the other on the ground.

“Now, concentrate,” they both said. “Which one is me?”

Jumping towards the one in the tree, she made a quick jab at him, which he easily avoided. He gave her a good shove, sending her forward off the branch. She stretched out her arm and grabbed a lower branch, swinging to the ground. She felt a thump on the ground behind her and turned, slashing wildly with her dagger at the Loki that had dropped from the tree, but he disappeared.

Another appeared behind her, then another and another until there was a circle of Lokis surrounding her. She turned in a circle, trying to figure out which one was the real one. They each smiled at her devilishly.

Then a blue glow began to radiate from one of the Lokis to her left. A soft, lilting melody drifted on the air. She turned and leapt onto the glowing Loki, slashing at him. She crawled up his body and onto his back like a monkey.

“Ahh!” he screamed. The other Lokis vanished. She had caught the real one.

She raised her hand to stab him, but he caught her wrist and pulled her off his back.

“Aww,” she whined.

“So close, little one. Very impressive but I’ve been doing this a lot longer than yo-AHHH! DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!” He let go and she dropped onto her feet, giggling. She skipped up to him and stabbed him in the tummy with her dagger.

“Stab! I win!”

“Agh! I’m dead!” Loki yelled. He fell backwards dramatically. “Blah!” He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes and made his body go limp.

Kuna walked over and put a foot up on his chest, raising her dagger to the sky. “I’ve defeated the mighty Loki!”

“Surprise!” Loki grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down. She squealed.

“No fair! You can’t come back to life!”

“Oh, but that’s sort of my thing, love,” he said. “I can’t believe you bit me. Come here! Let me see those teeth!”

“Grrrrrr!” She growled at him, baring her teeth.

“Do you have fangs?!”

“Raaawr!” She opened her mouth wide enough for Loki to see a row of sharp teeth, like a big cat’s, running back into her mouth.

“You have got fangs!” Rolling up his sleeve, he examined his wound. “Do you have venom in those? Am I going to turn into a Kuna, now? How have I never seen those chompers you’ve got in there?”

Kuna smiled big. Only one set of her sharp fangs was visible in her smile, the rest were hidden. She growled at him again and snapped her teeth, not able to control her giggles.

“Yeah, all right. You’re very ferocious,” he said. “But no more biting! Not me at least. Bite anyone else.”

“But you said I should use what I’ve got.”

“I did say that.”

“So, I could bite in a fight?”

“Yes, it’s rather effective actually,” Loki said, rubbing his arm. He picked up the canteen that was laying on the ground and took a drink. “How did you know which Loki was me?”

“The tesseract told me,” Kuna said, flipping her dagger in the air.

Loki spit out his water. “The what?!”

“The tesseract! I concentrated on trying to find you like you said, and the tesseract told me which one you were.”

“How did it do that?” Loki asked, a serious tone in his voice.

“Y…You were glowing, and I could hear the tesseract singing so I… I knew it was you.”

Loki sat in silence for a moment, thinking. Kuna pulled her legs up to her chest.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, you didn’t,” Loki said.

“Are you mad?”

“No. You did exactly what I would have done. I’m just concerned with how the tesseract is affecting you.”

“Why?”

“It affects people differently. Sometimes in strange ways. I’ve not known it to ‘sing’ to anyone before.”

“I like the way it sings.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Like, um, hmm…” Kuna wasn’t sure she could make the same sounds as the tesseract did. She tried to hum like it but the noise she made was not at all like the tesseract’s pretty sounds. “That’s not right. I can’t do it like the tesseract does.” She shrugged.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe your ears are clogged.”

“That’s probably it,” Loki said, chuckling.

She nodded and tried to flip the dagger in her hand again. The wooden blade smacked her hand and fell to the ground. She frowned at it. Loki picked it up.

“If that had been real, you would have lost fingers,” he said. “Watch carefully.” He flipped the dagger in the air and caught it effortlessly. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He smoothly turned the dagger over and offered the hilt to Kuna to try. She took it. She timed a toss of the dagger and it flipped gracefully, catching it by the handle this time. She smiled and looked up at Loki.

“Well done,” he said. “Just wait until you can do it with two at the same time.”

“Ooooh,” Kuna breathed.

Loki conjured two daggers and showed her a smooth double dagger flip. The glint of the daggers shown over Kuna’s face. She was overjoyed. She could not wait to start training with two daggers. She wanted to be just like Loki.

“I wanna try!” she said.

“I don’t think you’re ready for these yet,” Loki responded. “Weapons like these need to be treated with respect. They’re sharp and they’ll easily cut off those fingers of yours or more if you’re not careful.”

Kuna frowned.

“You’ll get there, little raven,” Loki said, tussling her hair. “Come on, let’s go inside and get something to eat.”

At the thought of food, Kuna happily bounded past Loki and jumped through the door. Loki had finally figured out a way to keep the door open, so he did not have to awkwardly squish through the awful honey-like material. Kuna bounced around the tent, gracefully avoiding the stacks of books Loki had left everywhere. She parried and jabbed with her dagger at invisible enemies.

Loki made her a sandwich from their supplies as she played. He frowned at the basket that kept their food. It was getting dangerously close to being empty. They would need to teleport somewhere to get more supplies soon, but there was enough for them to eat for the rest of the day.

He handed Kuna the sandwich as she hopped by. She barely stopped as she began stuffing bites of it into her mouth.

“No, no. Come, settle down,” Loki scolded. “You’ll upset your stomach, jumping around and eating like that.”

“Hmm,” Kuna mumbled and plopped down across from Loki. She held her sandwich in two hands and took big bites.

Loki frowned at her. “Do you even taste your food?”

“Mmm-hmm!” she nodded, cheeks bulging with sandwich. “It tastes so good!”

“Fair enough,” he said, taking a dainty bite of his own sandwich. He picked up a book and opened it setting it on one leg while he ate.

Kuna watched him. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs. She remade her sandwich, which had fallen apart in her eagerness to eat. Sitting up tall, like Loki, she took a small bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. Loki turned a page and took another bite of his sandwich and Kuna did the same.

Loki caught on quickly to this game of pantomime. Without looking up from his book, he raised his sandwich to his mouth, Kuna following his movements. Before taking a bite, he lowered his hand and turned another page. He could see Kuna frown at being denied a bite but lowering her sandwich into her lap as well.

He lifted the sandwich again to his mouth and then looked across at Kuna. She stopped cold as if caught doing something bad. Loki lowered the sandwich, keeping eye contact. Kuna copied him. He quickly jolted the sandwich back up towards his mouth and Kuna did the same. His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.

In a quick movement, he tossed the sandwich over his shoulder. Kuna gasped. Loki raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to copy him. She shook her head and shoved the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“I don’t waste food,” Kuna said, mouth full.

“That’s very good,” he replied, revealing his own sandwich that he had hidden in a quick invisibility spell. “Neither do I.”

Kuna’s mouth fell open, chewed food showing on her tongue.

“Eww, gross, Kuna! Swallow that!” Loki laughed.

Kuna giggled and swallowed her food.

“Speaking of, we’re starting to run low on food,” Loki said, his tone changing.

Kuna glanced around nervously.

“It’s fine,” Loki consoled her, seeing her anxiety. “I mean to say, we’ll need to go shopping for more. I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

This comforted Kuna. “Where will we go?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I think we’ll need to pack up camp and move entirely. I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

“Oh, but I like it here.”

“It is very peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Kuna nodded.

“But I think we’d get bored if we stayed here forever.”

Kuna cocked her head to one side, confused.

“Well, it’s nice, sure. But there’s no one else here but us. No creatures, no people. No excitement. I think we’d get bored.”

“Hmm.” Kuna thought about this. The excitement she had had with Loki regarding creatures and people so far had been mostly scary and life-threatening. “No, I like it here. I wouldn’t get bored.”

“I bet you would.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to see all the beautiful planets out there in the universe? All the systems and stars and galaxies?”

Kuna thought even harder. All the beautiful things the tesseract had shown her had captivated her mind and visited her dreams for nights. She wanted to see them all.

“Is it safe?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Loki said. Kuna paled. “But you have me with you and I’ll keep you safe.”

She relaxed a little.

“And now that you’re learning to fight, you can defend yourself, too.”

Kuna nodded, thinking about their lesson and her dagger.

“So, what do you think?”

“I guess so. As long as we’re together.”

“Always,” Loki said, smiling at her.

They spent the rest of the day relaxing. Loki attending to his research and Kuna studying her letters. As the day wound down, Kuna had her supper and fell asleep on her bedroll, cuddling her toys. Loki, surrounded by stacks of books, lit a small, dim orb of light with his magic so he could continue reading without disturbing Kuna.

He looked across the several stacks of books around him. He had taken hundreds. When they were in Odin’s study, he had seen how difficult it was for Kuna to catch all the books he was tossing to her in his raven form, so he had begun storing them himself, whisking away entire shelves of books into his pocket universe in some cases. As long as they were in the sections about curses, he could figure out if they were of use later.

Loki reached for a new book but bumped another stack with his elbow. It fell over, scattering across the floor. He grit his teeth at the sound and peeked at Kuna. She turned over and squeezed her dragon. Loki let out a sigh of relief and then groaned at the mess on the floor. He started to pick up a few books, when a large black volume caught his eye. It was quite old, embossed with ancient Asgardian runes that had been rubbed nearly clean of their golden sheen. However, what caught his eye was not the antiquated runes of a long dead language but deep cuts in the leather of the cover in the modern Asgardian runes.

BEWARE

DO NOT OPEN

EVIL RESIDES

“Well, that’s a little dramatic,” Loki said.

He picked up the ancient tome and sat back slowly onto the floor, crossing his legs. As he held it, he could feel a dark resonance emanating through his aura. He looked closely at the book and found it was not black leather at all, but that the book had been heavily burned. The ends of the pages too had been blackened in the flames. At some point, someone had tried to remove some of the charring on the cover, but the book would have been a total loss by any library’s standards.

“Seems like someone tried to burn you,” Loki muttered. He turned the book back over to the eerie message carved into the front. “And you clearly resisted.”

The graffitist had tried to destroy the embossed title of the book, but the restorer had succeeded in revealing what was left of the title.

G—M—IRE –F C—ES by ——————- ———————–

“A “Grimoire of Curses”, you say? You sound perfect. I’m gonna open it,” he said, deviously. He could almost hear his father admonishing him for not heeding the rather specific warning on the cover. “I don’t negotiate with book defacers. Or book burners.”

He gently opened the cover, and the title page confirmed his guesswork.

GRIMOIRE OF CURSES

THE QUEEN OF DEATH

“’The Queen of Death’,” Loki read. “How delightful.”

He chuckled at the author’s absurd name and then flipped to the next page.

It felt suddenly as if a lump had caught in his throat. He swallowed hard. The more Loki read, the heavier his chest began to feel. The resonance he had felt in his magic before began to grow. The air felt thick with each breath he took. It felt as if a whirlpool had started in the page break and was slowly sucking him in. He shook his head and blinked, steeling himself, strengthening his aura against this onslaught.

The book was clearly cursed itself and he was certain for any novice sorcerer it would be impossible not to be corrupted by it. But he was no novice. He let out an exasperated breath.

“You won’t hide your secrets from me.”

The book seemed to react to his determination. He felt a pain in his head like he had been hit with an axe. He felt cold. He’d never felt cold. He shook his head and glanced up at Kuna.

“I’m doing this for her,” he said under his breath. He felt the thickness subside and turned to the next page.

He searched the book for Kuna’s curse, his shaky finger tracing down the lengthy column of curses in the table of contents.

“Curse of agony, blah, blah, curses of fear, of frenzy, da, da, da, of lies, of leaping, oh my, of melting flesh? No, no, no, Loki, we’re here for a reason,” he stopped himself, pulling his eyes away from the page and taking a deep breath before looking back again. “Da, da, da, of poison, oh, of possession. Stop! ‘T’ where are the ‘T’s””

He stopped abruptly on an entry:

CURSE OF TIED TONGUE

As he turned to the pages and began to read through the ritual for cursing an individual with a tied tongue, the blood began to drain from his face. He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth began to hurt. The heaviness he had pushed out began to creep back over him. His ears began to ring. With each step he read to this vicious ritual, a pit in his stomach grew.

“Restrain the victim, if possible, for they will struggle incessantly to escape. Some form of hypnosis or mind control will also suffice. For ease of the caster’s concentration, keep also the victim’s mouth gagged for the duration of the ritual, except for final steps.”

Loki tried unsuccessfully to block out the image of a restrained and frightened Kuna from his mind. He grunted in frustration and forced himself to focus.

“Force the victim into a state of agony - by any means of the caster’s choosing - whilst chanting the following incantation which bars them from speaking of the caster’s chosen subject.”

Through the din of ringing that had begun in his ears, Loki thought he heard Kuna scream. His breath caught in his throat as he sat up hard against the wall. There was absolute silence in the tent, save for Loki’s ragged breathing. He looked at Kuna, fast asleep on her bedroll.

“Kuna?” he whispered.

“Mmmm,” Kuna hummed softly in her sleep, undisturbed.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked down at the book. He felt exhausted. Slowly, he opened the book again to the page he had been reading.

“When the ritual is complete, the victim can be released. They will no longer be able to speak of subject of the caster’s choosing. Instead, the action will be replaced by the agony the caster forced upon them. Persistent attempts by the victim to speak of the subject can result in eventual amnesia in its regard. Examples of successful states of agony include pain of the body (specific or generalised), inability to breathe, inability to speak, inability to form coherent speech, etc, etc.”

Additional agonies had been scratched in the margins in different hands and inks.

“Sudden onset of singing, dancing, sleeping.

Frenzy.

Fear.

Death.

Melting flesh.

Combine ‘agonies’ to increase power of curse.”

“Gods,” Loki cringed.

He scanned further down the page, looking for how to reverse the curse. Not seeing it, he turned the page.

“UNTYING THE TONGUE”

“Gross,” Loki muttered. He ran his finger down the page, reading the instructions.

“This doesn’t seem so bad,” he said. “Actually, seems rather easy. We could do this tomorrow. Or now.”

He noticed a smudge at the end of the page and leaned closer to see. The dim light he had conjured was not the best for night reading. The little orb of light bobbed around the ceiling of the tent, occasionally flickering.

“Come over here, you stupid orb!” Loki whispered aggressively at the floating sphere. “You’re supposed to be over here! By me!”

The light tottered over, bumping into the wall as it drifted towards him.

“Useless thing,” Loki grumbled as the light settled over his head.

He leaned in close to see the smudge was actually an indication of a footnote.

“Ugh, of course, there’s always a bloody footnote.” He rolled his eyes and searched for the footnotes. The more digging he did in the book, the heavier the feeling in his aura became, and the more agitated he felt. Finally, he found them, buried in the back of the book.

“Here we go,

Only the casting sorcerer can lift a tied tongue curse. Death of the caster does not release the victim from the curse.”

Loki looked up, staring blankly across the room. He sat up and slowly closed the book. He stood and walked outside the tent into the crisp night air. His fist was clenched tight, his teeth near to cracking under the pressure of his jaw. He looked down at the book in his hand. His whole body now shaking with anger.

He threw the book as hard as he could, letting out a shout as he did. The book sailed kilometers into the darkened horizon. Loki growled and hissed. He felt the sting of tesseract energy as a portal opened beside him and the book sailed through it and smacked him in the face.

“Arrrrgh,” Loki growled. He glanced back at the tent, and Kuna still asleep inside. He swung the book around in frustration. Opening another portal to a random place, he stuck his head through and screamed with all his might.

He felt no remorse for the humans on the other side of the portal, whose dinner he appeared to have abruptly and loudly interrupted. When he had finished, his energy felt clean again, free from the book’s dark grip. His mind felt lighter, though he was still racked with rage over the conditionality of these curses.

He returned to the tent. Kuna had not moved. Loki stood over her for a moment, watching. How could someone do something so horrible to someone so small? What threat could she possibly pose to anyone to justify such drastic measures?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter now. What was done was done and he was going to undo it. He stretched and popped his back. Laying down on his bedroll next to Kuna, he watched her chest rise and fall with her gentle breathing. He pushed a lock of hair off her face and pulled the blanket up to her chin. With a flick of his hand, the dim light he had been using to read by went out and he fell asleep.

***

Kuna’s eyes opened slowly. She felt a weight on her side that had not been there when she fell asleep the night before. She looked down and saw Loki’s arm draped over her. She smiled. Very, very slowly, she turned over onto her other side to face him. She put her head on his chest and snuggled close. He didn’t push her away this time. He was still asleep.

She drifted in and out of sleep for a bit, savoring cuddle time with Loki. Light began to shine in through the windows of the tent. Kuna wondered how long Loki would sleep in. She was normally up before sunrise.

Her stomach growled. She grimaced and looked up at Loki, watching him. Carefully, she wiggled out from under his arm, replacing her toys under his arm where she had been. He snored softly but did not wake.

She stretched and yawned, then flinched at the sight of the room. There were books scattered everywhere. Loki had clearly been up reading last night. Kuna got up and started picking up books and stacking them in neat piles. She lined the walls with them, so they were out of the way. Each stack was perfectly level, spines facing out.

Finished with this task, she looked around for something else to do. Her eyes landed on a rogue book. A big, black book with scratches on the cover. She walked timidly over to it and knelt down to pick it up. Her hand hovered over the book, suspended in the air like it was repelled by a magnet. She shook her head and stood up. Something felt wrong about that book. It felt magicky. Stepping just outside the tent door, she picked up a stick and returned to the book and pushed it with the end of the stick over to the wall.

She looked over at Loki, cuddling with her toys on the floor. She had grown impatient with Loki’s excessive sleeping and so had her tummy. She laid down and crawled close to him.

“Loki?” she whispered. He did not stir. “Loki,” she said again, a little louder this time. Still there was no response. She apprehensively raised a finger and poked his arm. He snored on. Kuna frowned.

“Loki?” she asked again, a little louder. He turned onto his back, taking her toys with him. Kuna jumped and dove under her blanket. She peeked out from under to see if he was angry, but he was still asleep. Crawling closer once more, she poked him in different places, his arm, his leg, his chest, even his face, but he did not wake. She lifted her finger again and moved slowly towards his hair.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

Kuna erupted in giggles. Loki sat up. He held out the stuffed animals in his hand and looked at them, confused and laughed, then grabbed Kuna putting her in his lap. She squealed with joy.

“Loki! Loki! Loki!” he mimicked, over and over, poking her chest and sides and neck. Kuna could not contain herself, she was giggling, trying to poke him back. He set her down and shook his head, laughing.

“What? What is it, child?” he asked, still laughing.

“I’m hungry,” she said, sheepishly.

“Are you?”

Kuna nodded.

“Well, we’re going to have to fix that, aren’t we?”

She nodded some more. “Yes, please.”

“Let me see here,” Loki said, as he searched the basket for some breakfast for Kuna. He pulled up only a small bit of bread. “Oh, is that it? I think it’s time for us to go shopping again.”

“Did you eat dinner last night?” Kuna asked him.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I was reading for a long time and the book was very frustrating and–” Kuna pushed Loki’s hand with the piece of bread back towards him. “And… I must have forgot. Kuna, you’re going to eat this. Don’t worry about me. We’ll go shopping today and get more. I’m fine.”

“You have to eat too,” she said.

He gave her the bread. “I’m fine. Eat this for now.”

“You eat.”

“No, you eat.”

Kuna stood and shook her head. “No, you.”

“Kuna–”

“You! Ah!” She pointed at Loki and then opened her mouth and pointed inside.

“You’re becoming very stubborn,” he said. “Who knows where you could have gotten that from.” He took a small bite out of the bread to pacify the defiant child. “Oh, you cleaned. You didn’t have to do that,” he acknowledged the tidied tent.

Kuna shrugged. “I don’t mind. But I think there’s something wrong with that book over there.”

“Which one? The black one?”

She nodded.

Loki gulped, choking a bit on the dry bread. “You didn’t open that one, did you?”

“I didn’t, I swear!” Kuna said, dropping to her knees and putting her hands over her head. “I promise! I didn’t open it. I promise!”

Loki sighed. “No – it’s all right—I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I—I just—oh, please don’t cry.”

“I promise I didn’t look at them without your permission!”

“It’s all right. I believe you. Please, don’t cry.” Loki reached forward and put his hand on Kuna’s shoulder. “I’m not upset with you, I promise.”

She looked up at him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Scooting closer, she reached out to him, and he picked her up, setting her in his lap.

“Is that book bad? Will it make me blind?” She sniffled.

“No, no, no. It won’t blind you, darling, but it’s not a very nice book. I think it’s been cursed.”

Kuna shrank in his lap, staring at the book. “Did you open it?”

“Yes. But I’m a very powerful sorcerer so I know what to do with books like that.”

“Throw them away?”

“No!” Loki chuckled. “You don’t want to throw a book away! What if there are incredible secrets in there?”

“They should stay that way,” Kuna whispered.

“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure, Kuna? That book,” -he pointed at it- “gave me the answers to what we were looking for.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

“What did it say?”

Loki had fallen into a trap. “Um, well.” He feared unintentionally setting off Kuna’s curse by telling her about it. “It gave me instructions on how to help you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, that’s why we took all these books.” Loki was surprised by her lack of memory regarding the reasons they had gone to Asgard.

“How can a book help me? You’ve already helped me so much. You freed me and you gave me food and clothes and toys and–”

“Yes, but… well.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Kuna looked up at him inquisitively. “That book is a book about curses. All the different kinds of curses and how to perform them. That’s why I didn’t want you to read it.”

“A cursed book of curses?”

“Precisely.”

“That sounds scary,” she whispered, wrapping herself in Loki’s cape. “How is that going to help me?”

Loki hesitated. “Well, Kuna, I think someone on your home planet may have cursed you.”

Kuna’s face went blank, expressionless. She turned grey. She shook her head, first a little then frantically, side to side.

“Now, now, everything’s all right,” Loki consoled her, gently rocking her.

“No. No!” she whispered. “I’m not cursed! It’s not true!”

“Shhhh,” Loki whispered, rocking her. “I’m going to fix it.” He gently stroked her hair and hugged her, holding her tight.

“I don’t have any magic, sir!”

Loki closed his eyes. He had triggered her curse. With time, she calmed down, clutching a handful of his hair. She sniffled and occasionally let out a sob.

“Look at me, darling. Do you remember who did this to you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“You told me once someone hurt you with magic,” Loki said. “Who was that?”

Kuna shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her arms. “Sometimes when I was bad, my masters would use their magic to punish me. It hurt a lot.”

“Mmm,” Loki nodded, hugging her again. “I’m sorry, darling. They were horrible people. I doubt were ever truly ‘bad’.”

Kuna stared at the ground.

“I’m guessing these Masters don’t let slaves use magic,” Loki said.

“Oh no!” Kuna exclaimed. “For a slave to have magic is the worst sin imaginable! If a slave has magic,” -she shuddered with fear- “all the masters slaves must be culled, and the slave’s family too.”

“My, that seems a bit much,” Loki said.

Kuna shook her head. “Slaves shouldn’t have magic. They would use it for evil things.”

“And who told you that?”

“The Masters,” they both said in unison. Loki nodded.

“Yes, I’m starting to understand,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “What sorts of evil things would a slave use magic for?”

“Slaves are weak, and magic makes weak people do bad things. Slaves would use magic to trick and steal and kill people.”

Loki put both hands on either side of Kuna’s head. “My child, you have been brainwashed.”

Kuna put her hands on Loki’s. “No one’s washed my brains!”

“No, it means that these Masters on your home-system have forced you to believe all these things that are not true so that they can continue doing whatever they want to you.”

She gasped. “With magic?”

“Mmm, no. Propaganda can be just as powerful as magic.”

“Propa-what-now?”

“Propaganda. I’ll explain later, what’s important is that they are very wrong about slaves and magic and you.”

Kuna looked down at the ground again. She did not know what to think. The Masters had never been wrong about anything. Ever. At least, not that she could remember.

“Kuna,” Loki said. She looked up at him. He wiped the tears off her cheek with his thumb. “I know this is a lot to take in. It isn’t easy learning that your life has been a lie, believe me. But I’m going to make things better for you. Do you trust me, darling?”

Kuna nodded and hugged him tight.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Father #Submitted fic #Loki's Daughter #traveling_classicist #chapter 13

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sinfulwrites · 2 years

Note

I thought I would give you some stuff to hold you over before I start giving one of two a week

-🦋💤

Now Asa...

He likes to be in control, he had you tied down arms at up to the bed frame; blindfolded and gagged.

Your legs free he likes to watch you kick in frustration when he denies you your orgasm for the tenth time and he likes when you try to use them to push him away when he puts his face in-between your legs licking at your sensitive clit...

He loves to play with your nipples; using his tongue, hands, even using clamps just to watch you whimper and struggle, he teases you all the time saying things like...

"If you're a good girl I'll let you ride me next time."

"Well if you weren't such a brat and just behaved like a good baby then you could've sucked my cock,"

"If you cry one more time, I'll shove this into you so hard and give you a reason to cry you little slut."

"Oh? Do You like when I slap your wet pussy? I should've known, you are quite the pain slut. Why else would you be with me."

😈💅

One or...

ONE OR TWO A WEEK?!

WHAT DID I DO?! TO DESERVE THIS?! DESERVE YOU?! 😭❤❤❤

Oh god, oh god okay

God, this is everything I love Asa for 😩🥵

Just the idea of being at his complete mercy, robbed of everything but my hearing and my legs, he's the man I think of when I'm in this mood.

My auntie told me once, "You want to find a man who pulls you back when you push away." Of course, she said this in regards to having an orgasm, obviously not if you're genuinely not consenting

He's that man. He knows that your body simply can't take his pleasure, but he won't allow your body to deny it, unlike how your body rips your own hand away. Push him away and come back twice as strong. Try to push him head away with you foot and he will simply push your leg away and drag his tongue up your folds before latching onto your clit and giving it a suck that just makes you scream into the gag, if you try to stop his hips from trusting into you he is going to grab your thighs and pull you onto him with your own hips.

He would also definitely bite your nipples with chompers of his...

He definitely leaves bites around your nipples that will take days to heal, to not let you forget about him when he's not around.

He'll torment your nipples enough so they're sore the next day, then will pull you into his lap on said day and roll his thumbs over them over top your shirt. And when a whine slips past your lips he'll feign ignore. "Aw, what's wrong? I've hardly touched you." Knowing damn well why you're sore, and also very aware that wouldn't dare call him out on it, all you can do is sit still like a good girl.

Ugh, the pussy slapping, you're just spoiling me 😩 Yes sir, I am your pain slut...

A very tame hc in the middle of this sin, a lot of people have Asa call his S/O butterfly, but honestly, I like the idea of being his little locust. 🥺

But I am also very happy being his little slut too, yes sir.

You've earned the special head kiss for Asa asks, MWUAH ❤

#asks #🦋💤 anon #what did I DO to deserve you #😭❤#I am so unbelievably thirsty for Asa now #😼 is purring

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years

Text

All you have to be is here - Part 10

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who has a phenomenal smile and who is way too nice to him.

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that.

Part 10 of ?

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9

Please help a girl out by reblogging. Thank you ♥

Attention ! If you wanna be tagged pls send me a message or an ask it’s easier and faster for me than going through the tags of each part every time. Thank you :)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don’t have to hide, don’t have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever’s just for now We’re on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

People always talk about the calm before the storm, the one pregnant with a tragedy yet to come. No one ever talks about the calm afterwards.

It’s almost midnight and Billy is slumped down on his bed, face pressed into his pillow, as the Hargrove household is being overtaken by an awful silence. Just a few minutes earlier his dad’s voice has been reverberating off the walls, echoing through every room. Now it’s quiet. Eerily so.

He remembers the days back in California, back when mom was still living with them. The yelling and the crying was bad but at least it meant she was still able to fight. The quiet was the worst. The quiet allows your mind to wander to all kinds of dark places and really see the situation for how fucked up it is. The quiet makes your mind conjure up the worst of make believe scenarios.

The quiet is unforgiving and scary.

Susan, unlike his mom, isn’t someone who fights back either. There’s mostly silence with her. Always this god awful silence.

Billy tries to bury his head further into the pillow. Maybe if he falls asleep at least his dreams will let him forget about — all of it.

It’s been two whole days since he’s seen (Y/N). Two whole days since he’s been to HHTCY. He’s called in sick but he’s pretty sure they know he’s lying. She definitely does.

It’s been two days since he’s talked to his mom over the phone.

As his mind is about to wander to places he so desperately wants to forget, the phone on his bedside table starts ringing.

“ Hello ? “ Billy’s voice is hoarse and deep and laced with the sleep he’s so desperately waiting for.

“ Billy, hey. It’s Tommy. “

Why the hell is Tommy calling him at this time of the night. Tommy never calls. Especially not at times like these. Billy swears if this has anything to do with him being dumped by Carol again he’s gonna freak out. It’s way too late, or early depending on how you see it, to care about that shit. And it’s not like he cares any other time of the day.

“ I was sleeping you asshole. Why the fuck are you calling me ? “

He wasn’t sleeping. In fact he wishes he was. But lately, as of exactly two days ago, his mind is too loud to go to sleep. Too busy. There’s too many what ifs floating around in his head.

Sleep doesn’t come easy at the moment.

“ Billy, man I’m at Tracy’s and I really think you should come. “

“ Tommy I told you I’m not going to Tracy Mitchell’s dumbass party. It’s all just rich kids being pretentious assholes. Also it’s in the middle of fucking nowh— “

“ Nah man, you don’t get it. (Y/N) is here and she’s fucked up, dude. Like the kind of fucked up where she’s about to make some really bad decisions soon. “

At the mention of her name Billy sits up in his bed and combs a hand through his hair in frustration. This isn’t his mess to fix. Not anymore. Not after what she’s said to him the other day. He should just tell Tommy to fuck off and then go back to sleep, or at least try to go back to sleep.

That’s what he should be doing.

Despite it all though, it’s not what he does. Despite it all he finds himself pulling on his jeans and boots as Tommy waits for a reply.

It’s not his mess but despite it all, Billy cares anyway. And maybe that’s one of the great tragedies in life. That sometimes you still care for people even though they hurt you. Even though they break your heart.

He wishes he could just switch it off and be indifferent towards her, thought that’s not how it works. It didn’t work like that with his mom and it’s not gonna work like that with (Y/N).

“ Hey man, I’m sorry. I didn’t wanna wake you. I just thought — “ Tommy speaks up again and for the first time Billy starts really appreciating Tommy for who he is. A good dude. Sure he’s an absolute idiot but he’s an alright guy when push comes to shove.

“ No I — it’s alright. I’ll come by. Thank for uh — ya know. Thanks. “

“ Sure thing. “

Billy sneaks out of his room and out the front door. By now he knows exactly which floorboards to avoid, which one’s creak the loudest. He wishes he didn’t have to know.

Alas, Billy Hargrove’s wishes don’t usually come true and that’s something he’s come to terms with a long time ago.

If it all wasn’t so fucking absurd, Billy would’ve laughed at the scene that greets him once he arrives at Tracy’s house in the middle of nowhere. Sheltered between pine trees and pumpkin patches.

(Y/N) stands in the middle of the living room, right on top of the couch table. She’s wearing a blue sundress that’s definitely too cold for the current temperatures but makes her look gorgeous either way. There’s a red solo cup clutched in her hand that loses more and more of it’s content with every move and every sway (Y/N) does.

She’s loudly singing along to the music and when usually she’s put the original singer to shame, now it’s way off key. There’s no doubt in Billy’s mind that she’s positively sloshed.

What he realises when he comes closer though, is that as well as looking drunk, she looks absolutely exhausted. And for a moment that idea gives him a little bit of satisfaction. The idea that it hurt herself too. That she too has trouble sleeping.

It’s not a nice thing to think, to find joy in, but Billy never said he was a nice guy.

Though that sentiment vanishes as soon as his eyes meet hers and he can see just how sad they look. There’s no warmth there anymore. She just looks so — hurt. And that doesn’t give him any kind of sick satisfaction anymore. It just makes him sad. He never wants to hurt her ever. Not even when she’s hurt him first.

“ Billy !” (Y/N) exclaims, throwing her arms up in celebration before hopping off the table and flinging her arms around his neck.

“ I didn’t know you were — I thought you — I didn’t — Hi. “

Her words are a drunk jumbled mess and she smells like alcohol and sweat. If this was any other person, any other girl, Billy would’ve never come.

She’s not though. She’s (Y/N). She’s his girl.

“ C’mon let’s go home. “

“ Why do you wanna go home ? “ she pouts “ It’s fun. “

“ Fun’s over. Let’s go. Trust me , you’re gonna thank me tomorrow. “

For a brief second Billy’s mind wander towards all the parties he’s been to in the past. All the times he’s drank way too much. All those bad decisions he’s made.

And he realises that he’s never had anyone there to look out for him. Never.

“ Are you mad at me ? “ she asks, voice timid. Like a child.

Yes. He’s absolutely mad at her. So mad that it takes over his entire system. So mad that every waking minute is spent wondering if this is a sick way for karma to come bite him in the ass. That once he’s got a good thing in his life it gets taken from him again.

He’s mad at her but not because of tonight.

“ It’s okay, let’s just go. “ he murmures and tries to stir her towards the front door.

“ I didn’t even mean to drink so much, I promise. I was just so sad and — “

“ I said, It’s okay. Let’s go (Y/N) “

“ Aw come on “ a voice calls from behind them and as he turns around Billy comes face to face with Keith fuckin Kinsella.

The way he’s looking at them makes Billy’s blood boil. There’s a sense of superiority in his eyes, a teasing smirk on his lips. This dude is a culmination of all things Billy despises about other people. He’s arrogant and pretentious and — just a mean fucking asshole really.

“ She can’t leave yet. It’s only just starting to become fun. “

God, how much he wants to punch this guy in the face. Ruin his perfectly straight nose. He can’t though. At least not right now, not tonight. There’s a girl he needs to bring home safely.

“ You should better keep your mouth shut, Kinsella. Or I’ll shut it for you next time I see you. I’m sure your old man paid a fortune for those white chompers of yours, would be a shame if anything were to happen huh ? “

“ You threatening me ? “

“ Yeah I fucking am. I’d take it seriously if I were you. “

“ Alright, white trash. Whatever you say. Have fun taking her home, she’s a real mess. As always.”

Billy completely ignores the words thrown at him, though hearing Keith talk bad about (Y/N) makes him indescribably angry.

He looks down at the girl holding onto his arm, swaying from the alcohol cursing through her system and looking up at him with her big sad eyes.

Keith is gonna get what’s coming for him sooner or later. Though tonight is not the time or place for it.

Not tonight, Billy.

Not here, Billy.

So he throws his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder and them both step into the night. Hearts heavy. Half drunk on vodka and heartbreak.

That one song is playing on the radio as they drive along the dark Hawkins Streets. That “only you” song. Billy remembers one of the first times he’s stayed over at her place. He remembers her singing this song and taking off her makeup.

He thinks he might’ve been in love with her even back then.

“ I’m sorry “ (Y/N) mumbles next to him, her eyes focused on the rain falling outside.

“ Don’t .” This is neither the time nor place to talk about the elephant in the room. Not when she’s drunk. Not when he’s still angry.

“ But I gotta say sorry. “

“ Yeah. You can. Once you’ve sobered up. “

“ Am I gonna have a chance ? “

“ Huh ? “

“ To say sorry. Are you gonna listen ? “

As if there was ever a chance of him not listening. To her ? Always.

Maybe, Billy thinks, maybe caring about someone, loving someone, maybe it comes with the undeniable and uncomfortable fact that sometimes you gotta forgive them. And if not that, you at least have to give them a chance to say sorry.

He also wonders if those things also count for a mother, one that’s left her son in a home she knew wasn’t safe. He wonders if forgiveness is something he can grant her.

“ ‘m always gonna listen to you. “

She’s quiet for a moment but even though he’s looking out onto the street and not at her, Billy can sense her unease. Can sense there’s something she desperately wants to say but is hesitant to do so.

“ Billy “ she speaks up, words still slurred but there’s something else now. Some edge. Some kind of anxious tint to her voice.

“ Hm ? “

“ You said, I love you. When we had — when we fought. You said I love you. “

His heart almost drops down to his stomach. He remembers saying it but in that moment he wasn’t aware of the gravity those words held. The gravity they still hold. You don’t just let that slip out. It’s — a conscious commitment.

“ Forget about it, (Y/N). It doesn’t matter what I said during a fight.”

It does though. It matters a great deal. Because he meant every single word of it. The good and the bad.

“ Oh.” she says and he swears he hear her sniffle a little. “ Well that’s a shame because I love you too. “

He wished so badly that this was another time and another place. That it wasn’t the middle of the night with the rain pouring outside. That she wasn’t drunk and that they weren’t fighting.

Because those words mean everything. He wants to hear them from sober lips and a heart that isn’t hurting.

But god how he wants to hear them again.

“ Billy ? “

“ Hmm ? “

“ I went to the party with my friend Steph, she has my bag. “

“ So ? “

“ My keys are in there. “

Sneaking back into his house after a night out is hard enough for Billy Hargrove on his own. With the creaky floorboards and a father that seems to be able to sniff out a misbehaving teenager. Though sneaking back in with a drunk girl in tow is an almost impossible task.

Billy’s never been more grateful about that fact that his room is the first one on the right as soon as you enter the house.

“ You have to be quiet, babe. Alright ? “

(Y/N) just lazily nods her head and gives him a tired smile “ I like it when you call me babe. I like it when you’re soft with me. “

If he’s being honest with himself, Billy likes that he gets to be soft with her. That he doesn’t have to uphold an image around her, of the cool bad-boy. Of the son that’s an utter disappointment.

With her he can be just Billy. With her he gets to learn and experience who “Billy” even actually is. It’s hard to become your own person when everyone else buries you in expectations.

He takes off her dress and puts her in one of his shirts. This is the first time he’s ever had a girl stay over without anything sexual being involved.

As she flops down on his bed, tired eyes still focused on him, Billy thinks that despite it all, this looks right. It feels right. Having her close. Her smile and her warmth and — her.

Getting out of his jeans, Billy settles down under the duvet next to her and just looks at her for a moment. Everything that’s good in his life is right here next to him. In his bed wearing his clothes and she loves him.

Drunk or not the words have been said and they mean everything. Everything.

“ Billy ?” (Y/N)’s groggy voice speaks up again, pulling him from his thoughts.

“ Hm ? “

“ I’m sorry. None of what I said I meant. I was just — so so sad. I really believed it was gonna be different this time. That he had finally changed. I just wanted to believe my dad loves me again. That he can be my dad again. I never wanted to hurt you though. Never.“

She’s crying, big tears running down her cheeks.

He can’t help himself. His heart still hurts whenever he thinks back to the words she spit at him that night but he needs to hold his girl. Maybe sometimes you’re so hurt, that you hurt the ones you love in order to deal with the pain.

Either way, all he wants is to hold her and so he does. Holds her close and lets her cry into his shirt as she rests her head there. Right above his heart. Just where she belongs.

“ I love you. “ he murmures into her hair before he places a kiss there.

He doesn’t know if she’s heard. It doesn’t really matter anyway though because he plans on saying it more often. As much as she wants to hear it . No matter how much those words scare him, they feel so right. So undeniably connected to the person he’s slowly becoming.

In the grand scheme of things, mornings are a quite insignificant part of life.

Billy is sure though, that this morning is one he’s not gonna forget ever. Because as he wakes up he’s greeted by his girl resting on his chest, just the way she fell asleep. The rising sun is casting golden speck of light onto her skin and there’s a tiny smile playing on her lips. So small it’s hardly noticeable. But Billy notices it anyway.

She scrunches up her nose as Billy traces little shapes on her skin, then slowly opens her eyes and looks up at him. The warmth is back with full force and engulfs him entirely. He could get lost in her eyes forever.

“ Good morning. “ He says and combs a streak of her off of her face.

“ Morning. “ she replies then places a soft kiss on his chest “ I like when you smile at me first thing in the morning. “

Again his heart flutters at her words. It’s hella cheesy to say these things but who is he to deny himself of the simple pleasures in life ? Indulging in the love his girl is willing to give to him.

“ How are you feeling ? “

She groans in response the buries her head back in the crook of Billy’s neck. “ Like someone stomped on my head and then made me lick a skunk “.

“ That bad, huh ? Well lease you didn’t throw up. “

“ Oh god I would’ve been mortified. That would’ve been so embarrassing. “

“ Why ? “

“ I don’t wanna puke in front of you. I want you to think I’m cute and sexy. And puking is neither cute nor sexy “

Billy scoffs out a laugh before placing another kiss on her head. “ Aw you want me to think you’re cute ? Why, you got a crush on me or something ? “

Her body shakes with laughter and Billy can feel her breath tickling his neck. He could stay in this moment forever.

“ Don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy “

“ Do you want some breakfast ? Don’t think we got anything in the fridge but how about we go out and grab some ? “

“ Can I get some really greasy bacon and a big mug of coffee ? ”

Billy smirks at that request.

“ You drink entirely too much coffee. “

“ Yeah so ? I’m perfect in any other way so let me have this one vice. “

He knows she’s joking but she might have a point.

“ So, the kids missed you this week. “ (Y/N) says before stuffing another bite of bacon into her mouth. Her plate is filled with all different kinds of breakfast foods anyone can even think of. Sausages, bacon, hasbrowns, waffles and pancakes. A proper hangover breakfast if he’s ever seen one.

“ Sure they did. “

“ No, really. Jack drew a picture of a dinosaur that he wanted to give you. He was real sad that you weren’t there. “

It makes him smile, to know that he was being missed. It isn’t something he is used to but he slowly but surely gets more and more comfortable with the idea that he means something to someone. That he means enough to someone to be missed by them.

“ He’s a cool kid. “

“ He is. You’re really good with him by the way. You’re really good with all the kids. When you first showed up I didn’t think you would be. You proved me wrong though. I’m glad you did. “

To be quite honest, Billy didn’t think he’d be good with them either. That he’d start caring for them so quickly. But maybe it’s just a matter of right time right place. Maybe sometimes life brings people together than need each other.

“ They’re alright kids. “

“ Have you ever thought about it ? “ (Y/N) asks, eating the last of her sausages.

“ About what ? “

“ Having kids. “

Those words make Billy almost choke on his drink. Him ? Him having kids one day ? Sure everyone thinks about it at some point in their life but Billy always came to the same conclusion. That his life is fucked up enough and that there is no way he’ll bring another person into it to ruin theirs in return.

He turned out the way he did mostly because of his parents’ mistakes, he doesn’t want to do the same to his kids.

“ Nah. How would I ever be a good dad ? Never had anyone to show me how that works. “

“ You’re good with the kids though. Maybe you’re a natural “

“ Yeah well, my mom was good with kids and she still abandoned me so … “

The mood shifts from teasingly joking to uncomfortable in the matter of seconds, rendering both of them quiet and speechless for a moment.

“ I — I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring this up. “

“ No it’s alright. “

“ I should say sorry for so many things actually. I am sorry about how I treated you the other day. I was angry and sad and it was easier to blame you than to face the fact that my dad is an asshole who isn’t gonna change anytime soon. “

“ You already said sorry last night . “

Billy remembers her words from last night. All of them. But most of all he remembers her saying “ I love you “ and how it felt. How it meant so much more than anything else anyone has ever told him.

“ I know but I felt like you should hear it again. From sober me. “

“ Apology accepted. “

“ So we’re good ? “ (Y/N) questions, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

“ We’re good. “

“ Cool. Because I missed you too. “ she confesses before leaning over the table and placing a soft kiss on his lips. She tastes like pancakes and bacon and maple syrup and home.

It’s the next day, Sunday. School’s out for the weekend, neither of them have to work that day or show of for volunteering and really, there’s not much to do in Hawkins on a sunday afternoon.

Back to the future is playing on the big screen of the drive in as Billy and (Y/N) sit in his camaro, stuffing their faces with popcorn and twizzlers.

The movie is supposed to be pretty good but Billy can’t really focus on it. There’s too much on his mind.

“ You alright ? “ (Y/N) asks, as Billy wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans for the 4th consecutive time in 5 minutes.

“ Mmh. “

“ Well that sounds convincing. “

Billy take a big breath then reaches over towards the glove compartment, pulling out a slightly crumpled envelope.

“ What’s that ? “

“ Your birthday present. “

“ My what now ? “

“ Before I give it to you, I need to tell you something. “

He’s awfully aware that the words “I need to tell you something” aren’t usually accompanied by any good news. He hopes this time can be different. Hope she likes what he’s about to give her. Hope she says yes.

“ Okay, sure. But you know my birthday isn’t for another — “

“ I know. I got this yesterday. After I dropped you off at your place and after I went to see Dr. K. It’s uh — you don’t have to. I mean — I gotta start again. “

“ Yeah I think so cause I’m not following right now. “

“ I talked to my mom. “

“ Shut up. “

“ I did. I called her, after our fight I called her. And it was — so fucking awkward. She was so casual about it all. Like it hadn’t been years since we last talked. She asked me about work and school and my friends and things she should know. You know ? It didn’t feel like I was talking to my mom, more like a distance aunt or something. And I hate that it felt like that. At least for me it did. She seemed happy to talk to me, seemed like it was the most normal phone call she’s ever gotten. Like I call her every sunday for a catch up. “

“ Do you regret calling her ? “

“ No. No, I just wish it didn’t feel so fucking weird. There were moments when she’d call me by my childhood nicknames and I’d get a glimpse of the mom I remember. Like for a split second she was my mom again and I was a kid again and things were — good. But then she’d talk about her husband and it all came crashing back down and I realized that she’s living a whole new life. One that I don’t really have a place in “

“ She remarried ? “ (Y/N) asks, placing a hand on Billy’s in support.

“ Yeah. I couldn’t bring myself to ask if she has any other kids. Think that would break my heart to know. To know those kids got to have the mom I didn’t get to have. That those kids were good enough for her to stay. That phone call was really exhausting too because I was stuck somewhere between my anger and resentment and the fact that I was talking to my mom who I still miss so so much. “

(YN) softly cradles his face in her hands. God, she is so gentle with me. He can’t get enough of it. It’s such a contrast to the touches his face is used to. The ones that leave ugly blue and black marks.

“ She invited me over. Said I can come around whenever I feel like it. Like it’s no big deal or anything. “

“ Do you wanna go ? “

Billy bites the skin on his lower lip, trying to find the proper words but coming up empty. How do you answer a question like that when you don’t even know the answer yourself.

“ I don’t know. I think I do. I uh — I actually talked to Dr. K about it. He thinks it might be good for me. If only to get closure. To understand her reasoning. I was so young then and I never really got to hear her reasoning for leaving, only ever Neil’s side of the story. “

It felt weird, talking to Dr. K about his feelings, about his mom, about the constant emotional turmoil he finds himself in. But Billy can’t deny that it was nice sharing it with someone he doesn’t look at him with preconceived notions. It also felt alright knowing that someone thought seeing his mom might actually be a good idea.

“ When do you wanna go see her ? “ (Y/N) asks, the movie long forgotten as she places a kiss on his cheek.

Billy opens the envelope and pulls out two thin piece of paper. Tickets. Plane tickets.

“ Was thinking we could go for your birthday. I told you I’d take you. I’ll take you swimming in the ocean, baby. If you want to come. “

“ You remember me saying that ? “

“ I remember everything you ever told me. So, what do you say ? “

He doesn’t let it show but the longer she takes to answer, the more anxious Billy gets. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe she doesn’t wanna come and deal with Billy’s emotional baggage. Maybe —

“ Of course I do ! “

When she kisses him, the worries melt away. Even if it’s just for a moment, the world slides back into place.

And as the end credits to the movie play on the screen and (Y/N) leans her head against his shoulder, Billy finds himself becoming a little excited for the adventure that is yet to come.

Not necessarily about the part of seeing his mom, that still leaves him anxious. But he can’t wait to take (Y/N) to the ocean. To see her dancing through the California sunshine.

He can’t wait to show her the place where he’s left behind the other part of his heart.

@babygal-babygal / @anxiousamandapanda / @imjusthereforsupernatural / @chhhcherybomb / @tomarisela / @noodlenerd101 / @xxcxrolinexx / @bippity-boppity-boopa / @mcrmarvelloki / @silver-winter-wolf / @thecrowclubsmanager / @theroyalbrownbarbie / @salemlysi / @sarai-ibn-la-ahad / @asheseiler / @stra-vage / @ssstutteringbbbill / @biliyonce / @addictofsupernatural / @angelophany / @charmed-asylum / @xxemoluverxx / @killer-queen-xo / @1lluminaticonfirmed / @rebel-broken-angel / @ayybtch / @dean-jace-doctor /

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic

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kariachi · 4 years

Text

Some more Levinstar. Fight me.

Mike’s life was going fairly well, if he did say so himself. He was wrenching a successful acting career essentially out of the aether with naught but skill, good looks, and his own riches. One of his best friends was a member of the Elite Four. The other was a big name in tech circles around the globe. Young mutants everywhere looked at him as an idol. His pokemon were healthy and vibrant enough to feature in magazines across the region. Yes, he and Elena’s elementary school ‘if neither of us are married by thirty’ agreement was looking more and more likely to be followed through on, but really in the end life was good. Very good.

Which is why he was kicking himself about his inability to just cross a fucking room and-

“Mike, if you don’t go talk to him I will.”

“Fuck off, I saw him first.”

Galas were essentially Mike’s lifeblood. He could schmooze and socialize with the best of them, a master of social maneuvering before he’d even started his pokemon journey. But tonight he’d found himself hopelessly distracted, enough so that Elena had been forced to rescue him before he made of fool of himself in front of somebody important. So there they were, stood at the edge of the room with glasses of champagne Mike’s service Delcatty was very cross at him about. But what could you do, when nobody ever planned for non-drinkers at these things and you were stuck staring at a very handsome man from the other side of the crowd.

“I can’t believe you’re too nervous to go talk to somebody. You flirt like attention is air!”

“I am not nervous, I just… am waiting for the right moment.”

Kevin fucking Levin was at this event. Mike had three of his books at home. Two of his sculptures. He was, at that moment, wearing a Xerneas brooch on his scarf that had been designed and handmade by the very bastard. What did you say in that circumstance? He couldn’t pretend to be unfamiliar with the man’s work, he was wearing it and the people who came to events like this knew everything about what they wore, but he didn’t want to risk coming across as some obsessed fan, no matter what the evidence might say. Normally if he met someone he was a fan of at these events it was other people in film and media, and he could use work as an icebreaker. If they were trainers he could turn to Elena for an introduction, which made things easier. It was only a good impression he wanted to make, there wasn’t really any pressure, but here, with Kevin…

He’d seen the man and his insides had done things that hadn’t since he was a teenager.

Across the room, the artist broke away from the little group he’d been talking with a smile, beelining for an empty spot near a far wall.

“Now’s your chance, he’s alone and unprotected!” As subtly as she could- they were at a formal event- Elena began shoving Mike in his direction.

“Hey!”

“I don’t want to have to marry your flat ass, move!”

Sending a glare over his shoulder at her, Mike did as instructed, weaving around the crowd toward what was, if he was quite honest, the most handsome man he hadn’t met yet. There was only a brief pause in his forward momentum, a stop by a decorative mirror to fix his hair and clothes, check his makeup. Perfection was required for these events, yes, but something like this called for an entirely new level of it. He didn’t just want to make a good impression, he wanted to dazzle. To that effect he also took the time to check Elissa for any out of place fur or loose threads in her vest.

Perfection.

Kevin was stood with his back to the crowd, fingers buried in his service Espeon’s fur as he inspected one of the sculptures on display. It wasn’t fair, no man should’ve had arms like that. Or a jawline like that. Or cheekbones like that. If Mike hadn’t been so into it he’d have had to kill him for daring to look so good. As it was it was surprisingly difficult not to reach right out and touch him. With an easing breath Mike slipped casually into place behind him, pulling out his most charming smile.

“What do you think, was it worth what they paid for it?” There was no sign of surprise when Kevin turned- people with Espeon were rarely surprised by anything- and holy shit his eyes were even browner in person. How was that allowed? At least there was a bit of a victory to be gained as Mike’s heart lodged itself in his throat, the other man going pink as soon as he saw him.

“I don’t think so,” he said, “but then abstract has never been my style.” He glanced back at Mike, going a shade darker, and the blond silently cheered what he was going to call a success. “Nice brooch.” Fuck.

“Thank you,” he said as if he wasn’t worried about coming off too big a fan, “was made by a very talented artist.” Kevin shrugged.

“Couldn’t get quite the colors I wanted,” he said.

“It’s perfect,” Mike replied almost before the other’s sentence was done. Kevin took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as the color began fading from his face, then turned to face him completely with a smile that could’ve melted butter.

“So, Mike Morningstar.” He knew his name. This wasn’t surprising- he was a famous actor for fucks’ sake- but it still set his heart jumping.

“Kevin Levin.” And the man went pink again, at least this time he stayed looking at him.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been watching your movies since I was yea big.” He put his hand as a spot just below his waist. Mike chuckled.

“Give I’ve been making them since I was that size, it’s quite a compliment.” Kevin shrugged again, still with that damn smile.

“You’re good, and most of your films are up my alley. Especially since you stopped being the bad guy.” That had been part of what had him using his own riches- if he was the one funding the movies then nobody could try to shoehorn him in as a villain, or brush off his auditions with excuses that barely hid the actual ‘there’s no place for chompers like yours in this’ reasons. Besides, it meant he could get more mutants involved, as much out of spite as anything.

“I try.” He considered and discarded several directions to take this conversation. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these events before?” He knew he hadn’t, he’d have noticed, but if he said that it might come off creepy.

“Everyone kept telling me to come to one of these and network,” Kevin groaned, throwing an exaggeratedly put-upon look Mike’s way. “It’s not really my thing. I like my workday chill and my parties loud, ya know?” Mike didn’t know. He could make any social gathering work, but this was his native habitat, and work for him was hustle and bustle and at least one case per film of someone threatening to quit over something inane. (The last one had involved one of his costars sneezing on a camera and the man behind it, already stressed by a long day, late dinner, and impending wedding, throwing up his arms and swearing he was abandoning the industry entirely. He’d come back, but Mike had still made sure he had the week until the wedding off alongside the time he was already taking for his honeymoon.)

He didn’t necessarily understand it, but he knew the area, as well as an opening when he saw one.

“Well,” he said, inching just a bit closer and internally preening when Kevin looked him over instead of moving away, “if you’d rather, I know a few bars around here where we wouldn’t get too many strange looks for showing up in formalwear.” The smile that crept onto Kevin’s face was sharper this time, more purposeful. This time he was the one in motion, scooting just close enough for his hand to brush against Mike’s.

“Do you now,” he replied. “Ya know I haven’t really gotten to explore around here before, I would love to get the tour.”

Yessss.

“Well then-” Mike put out his arm, actively preening when Kevin took it with an appreciative look and a flash of teeth. “-let’s get you someplace less stuffy, hm?” It wasn’t too early to go, nobody would even miss them. Well, the paparazzi might, but he got gossiped about constantly anyway, and Kevin was very attractive with those coffee dark eyes, so… Fuck it.

“Lead the way, Mr. Morningstar.”

It didn’t take them long to reach the exit, especially as they skirted the crowd, evading the people already too drunk to respect their pokemon were working and saying goodbye to enough people that there wouldn’t be excess talk. Given the way Kevin bristled when people approached his Espeon, Mike was glad he was getting him out then, before he could make a scene and cause himself trouble. He lead him quickly past those sorts, throwing a wink at a grinning Elena before he slipped them out the back doors.

If he played his cards right, his life was about to get a whole notch better.

#fanfic #levinstar

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curious-minx · 3 years

Text

Heat Lamp vol. 2 - Age Defying Light

(Photo taken from the Tumblr page: CLASSIC HOLLYWOOD GLAM)

Margaret makes a killing at her recent photo shoot. NRA Artistic Director, Derrick Fistual is rubbing his gun powder scented and arsenal oiled palms together, he’s basking in the pleasure of a newfound revelation: Give a woman a gun and they sell themselves. Margaret tries making a joke about penis envy when she first wrapped her manicured and digital gloss-ready porcelain hands around the butt of the rifle. Derrick tries shushing her at the very mention of the phallic, but then she points the rifle directly at Derrick and he falls backward into his holster shaped director’s chair.

“You really thought you could use a pretty lady to push your craven gun industry onto the rest of this gullible nation of baby faced killers?!” Margaret demands trying to tamper down the height of her question so that no one can accuse of her sounding hysterical. One more mental braid and twist straining against her toll. That and the heat of this “Margaret’s” wig.

Derrick picks chips and dip out of his finely bleached chompers, he grabs hold of Margaret’s gun and squeezes Margaret’s trigger finger. The gun clicks and fires a blank. Derrick winces and opens up the sound stage’s blinds and starts yelling,

“She’s trying to kill me! This raving bitch is trying to kill me! Come on pull the trigger! You think you’re so bad! So tough!”

Margaret/Antonia, The Daycrawler lifts up her rifle and begins twirling it around and round until it becomes one continuous, complete blur reflecting back at the NRA artistic director. Antonia, The Daycrawler times her next move to her internal martial rhythm and knocks Derrick onto the fake linoleum tiled stage floor with a flurry of her flat and viciously slippered feet. Antonia is standing above Derrick, pinning him down with her well calculated lower body muscle coordination. A life lived being the heel. Striking back!

Antonia fires the rifle directly into Derrick, the Artistic NRA Director’s , quavering O-Shaped gaping expression. The expression of a Death Peddler. The rifle fires, not a bullet, but a flash of light that fills up Derrick’s skull and bright shining white lights bursts forth out of every opening in his head. The light subsides and other than the faint smell of burning flesh Anton looks more or less unharmed. Smoke is pouring out of his scalp. Antonia drops the gun and saunters back behind the screen of the NRA film shoot costume cabinet.

She steps out as a red headed Communist influencer gal with an eye patch. She steps out a collagen infused Valkyrie of Beverly Hills. She steps out as a Pilgrim woman and wraps a lace and frill trimmed bonnet around her red wig. In the pile of her former night gown she picks up a vial of Monique’s Aura Cleanser Spritz and a Pixie Stick that promised to infuse the air around you with dayglo pink beach sands.

The NRA President, Carolyn D. Meadows, walks onto the sound stage set. Anton is still lying on the floor and the smoke has drifted up and away into an air vent. Meadows immediately assess the scene and pulls out her favorite pug nosed revolver and fires a ripping bullet straight into Antonia, The Pilgrim piercing her bodice. The bullet ricochets and flies right back into Mrs. Meadows face. Her face should have been torn to smithereens, and in a way it had, but the Monique perfumed air censored out her gore. American bloodlust will not be satiated.

Antonia takes a brisk step over to the turkey cages of well mannered and quiet turkeys hoping and praying that the pink fleshy monsters would go ahead and kill each other. Revenge is a dish best served without turkey. Antonia releases all of the turkeys being prepped for the annual NRA Blood Feast. The liberated turkeys cluck in approval and hop onto Antonia, The Daycrawling Pilgrim’s extended arms. They all start flapping gusts of wind with their winds, lifting her up into the air. Antonia fires the gun once more, this time with an actual bullet, a bullet made of exploding steel that creates an exit for Antonia and the turkeys. Floating up and away with her turkey brigade, Antonia snaps her rifle in half and throws it back down onto the shrinking remains of the NRA headquarters.

////

Antonia finishes her recital of Daycralwer fan fiction that she had comprised for herself in lieu of actually taking matters onto her own hands. Antonia and Magda Marlene, the Lady Light Tower herself, are luxuriating on two lumbar supporting poolhouse recliners taking the occasional drag of Pixie Stix and enjoying the vastness of Monique’s desert plateau property.

Magda places the butt of her burnt out Pixie Stix into the antelope skull ash try and then looks Antonia over and asks,“Do you really think Monique’s manufactured scents are that powerful? Sporting a potency capable of altering r a person’s cognitive perception, changing certain specific aspect of the ways an individual perceived reality? I’d be awfully scared of a woman spritzing such power.” Magda is trying not to be overly critical and call out Antonia’s adolescent tale for what is is: puerile adolescent fantasy. Reducing Magda and Monique as nothing more than the patron radioactive spiders biting her solid, Nordic Scandinavian Amazon Warrior charms! Magda rolls her eyes and it causes the sky to cycle through night and day.

“I know you’re going to say that this is superhero sensationalism, but I think I am the perfect canvas for you and Monique to use your powers on. Don’t you think so Monique?” Antonia asks Monique who has now made her eleven presence known the two chatting women enjoying the arid expanse of Monique’s property. Monique is heavily robed, covered head to toe in a sealed and plastic shroud. A Red Milk Snake pattern design running through the rest of her black and secretive ensemble.

“Antonia, I have no powers. I am a scientist, we’re the most powerless lot you’ve ever met. You really want to make the world a better place? Then may I suggest that you keep on keeping on as my number one test subject. Hun, as long as you keep showing up and crawling through the day or whatever it is you do we’re golden.” Monique then runs a multilayered glove hand down one of her braids, one of her ornamental beads catching a glare in the sunlight. Monique after a moment of quiet sneers, “Seriously, The Daycrawler? Really the best you could call yourself? Note to self: Antonia needs a rebranding. And don’t you think I didn’t hear how much you believe in me, Magda. I could easily create a scent capable of hijacking the brain into censoring violent imagery and don’t you forget it. Now could both of you be a couple of dears and quietly fuck off my property. If only I had a swamp instead of this arid rollicking plateau of dust and brush robbing me of the occasion to yell, ‘get off my swamp’! I simply can’t concentrate knowing that the two of yous are out here brooding, swapping stories, and murder fantasies about taking down the NRA like a couple of gal pals. As far as I’m concerned you’re trying to alienate my clientele and that’s pretty lousy Antonia. Don’t alienate the clientele.”Monique exhales a long sigh and her cheeks are burning bright red. Monique underneath her scarfs and additional PPE is typically making wild and erratic facial expressions that no one can see, and she then gives he two interlopers one more shooing away gesture, and begins walking back inside. Monique stops, turns around, and walks back up to the still static Magda and Antonia.

“And I also remember that we have a contract! Magda can’t share her light with anyone except for me!” Monique then pats herself down searching for some kind of paper proof, cannot find any and then shoves her hands back into her pockets. “On second thought maybe that contract doesn’t exist! Anyway I don’t think she will ever share her light with you. Ultimately Antonia I’d leave her alone. She’s more dangerous than you’ve been in your wildest assassinations. Ciao!”

Magda and Antonia are both standing over their shaded lawn chairs and start parting ways. Magda thinking about how she is potentially a dangerous ticking warhead of Energy and Light, and Antonia feeling emotionally bruised and yearning for a more active plot. How could she, a former assassin, be casted into this life as a layabout science experiment? Despite walking off into opposite directions from Monique’s compound property they still manage to meet back up onto the public street obscuring Monique’s private street entrance.

“I am sorry. I know I should have been more grateful about that other assassin you had kidnapped for me. Soy Hands, that’s her name right? She’s a real steal and could have used those slippery mits of hers to wrangle up all sorts of missing persons. Probably gotten really super helpful intel. But Antonia this is my personal affair and I would prefer if you would stay out of it , and in return, I will grace you with your privacy. Fair! Now that I got that shitty business out of the way, why don’t we head off to Marietta, Georgia? Let’s go nab us an NRA President!” Magda squints and feigns a smile towards Antonia casting her in the most flattering light from the sodium streetlamp.

“No, the NRA headquarters is in Fairfax Virginia. That’s more or less where I was imagining we’d infiltrate.” Antonia says with a wistful glint in her eye.

“Oh wait! I forgot I have to go help out at my siblings Light shop. Do you think this wholesome assassination plot can wait? I’ve been dodging those two for over a year and half now and because of this pandemic I finally broke down and am going to help them today.”

“That’s great. You can go ahead and forget about all of that. I know that killing someone objectively bad won’t make me feel any better. The act of killing is rarely the day at the spa you’d hope it to be. Not that you’d understand.”Antonia lifts her entire and herself against the streetlamp bending it so the light no longer focused on her.

“No, I really do understand. I may not have killed anyone because I meant to, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t killed someone by accident. Okay I didn’t kill anyone, but I did accidentally blind this guy I dated and may have ruined his dreams of becoming the next Fellini…” Magda looks away, embarrassed for even trying to open up in front of such a cold and ruthless killer. Antonia reaches out and puts her hand on Magda’s shoulder.

“That’s okay! I don’t want to hear about it! We’re cool. We’re apparently both enjoying the same Sugar Mother relationship with Monique right now, but we’re also going on pathways to friendship. I’d love to keep busting this friendship business wide open, but I’ve got to get back to my live parkour stream. Basically I’m the hottest sticky hand gymnast in the nation!” Antonia releases her hand from Magda’s shoulder, leaving behind a faintly thin treacly trail of some mysterious sweat. Antonia, The Daycralwer is already halfway through ascending the thirty story residential apartment complex. Magda thinks about attaching a bulb of light to the bottom of Antonia’s shoes as a friendly light up gesture, but realizes the opportunity to do so has long since past. Magda finally reaches her space craft almost two miles away from Monique’s laboratory compound. Parking is a space craft in this city is always a bitch, oh well, time for Magda to return home to help her brother and sister.

/////

Gidget and Chester’s Light Factory

Starring right at Magda is a lamp that looks exactly like Hillary. Magda’s Hillary. Bulbs of light for each button on her power suit. Magda had not told anyone about her hidden Lady Crush/Obsession Hillary. Magda grits her teeth and the boxes of unlit bulbs begin glowing and whistling in response to Magda’s anger. The generous skylight is turning a burning shade of chocolate cosmo reflecting back at Magda’s fury.

“Maga chud!” Gidget and Chester squeal in unison. Gidget, Magda’s taller and much dimmer sister chirps up, “So happy you could finally grace us with your presence. Chester and I were just about to run through the speech explaining why it’s okay that Magda broke her promise as always and didn’t show up.”

“What sort of sick game are you two playing at? Why don’t you get your own lives and stop mucking around in mine! Don’t think I haven’t felt you two messing around my head whenever I’m asleep or getting whatever pale facsimile of sleep this body allows me. Why did you two make a lamp out of my crush? What did you two possibly hope to gain from doing this?” Magda stops herself from shaking with anger because it’s causing the overhead workshop lights to flicker and strobe giving Magda a lurking headache. Magda looks around the crates of light bulbs, freight carts sporting various Lampshades and jungle of wires and snatches up a clean linen sheet and drapes it over the Hillary lamp like the shameful Delorean it is!

“This was going to be your Xmas present! Sister Magma don’t be ungrateful. Chester and I made sure to study your most erotic dreams! We’re your siblings we would never judge you for your tastes! We think the fact that you’re attracted to all sorts of types pretty fascinating. Especially Chester!”

“Yeah sis! I can’t get it up for anybody. And it’s not for lack of trying!” Chester adjusts his shaved pyramid shaped hairdo back into place and cracks his fingerless gloved knuckles before lifting up the Hillary lamp and placing it on a dolly. Chester removes it from the room while Gidget pulls the brim of her sailor cap covering her eyes.

“Maybe whenever I open this gift I’ll like it more? I guess Overall, your manner of presentation is too overwhelming for the likes of me. I haven’t actually seen Hillary in person yet…”

“Yeah, we know!” Chester calls out as he deposits the Hillary lamp back into her lamp locker. Chester then crosses to the opposite side of the workshop and starts sauntering the bending lobes of a brain shaped electric chandelier. Chester accidentally singes one his fingers but instead of crying out in pain he spits onto the ground and shakes the sensation away. Gidget scowls at Magda and goes back to testing the conductivity of connector, placing different plug blades onto her blue and barely pink tongue. A spark flies off in her mouth and then Gidget writes down a number or some kind of code into her ledger.

Magda takes a seat on a stool and waits for any further instruction. A minute goes by and it becomes clear to Magda that Gidget and Chester have already completely forgotten about her. Magda clears her throat and the brain model lights up and Chester stares into blinding mass of a lit up frontal lobe without any form of eye protection. Chester stares directly into the lights unblinking, only a silver rolling wet tear pooling in the pockets of his cratered cheek. The brainy chandelier goes back out and Magda crosses her legs, causing an entire rack of anglepoise lamps to swerve their joints around and wink lights at her.

“Can you not with the light show for five fucking minutes?” Gnashes Gidget, who has switched over to the shaping of loose lamp rods. Gidget pulls out a vibrantly pickle green THC enriched lollipop from her apron pocket and begins sucking on the green relief orb with all of her might. Gidget and Chester only increase in concentration in response to Magda’s agitation.

The double leaden French doors of the Gidget and Chester’s workshop feebly creak open and an infant’s small and chubby hand is struggling with pulling the doors fully back. Another hand reaches joins the other, a varicose and grey hairy knuckled hand. Magda stands up from her raven clawed stool and is immediately joined by Gidget and Chester unabashedly cowering and using Magda as a human light-up shield. Gidget and Chester are both muttering something that sounds like an ancient Latin prayer to themselves and Chester is doing that thing with his lower jaw that Magda finds abhorrent.

“Oh, hi! Elroy” Magda attempts in her best Tommy Wisseau to break the ice with this fully transmogrified and physically disorienting version of Elroy hobbling towards her. Clanking and clattering behind the Elroy abomination is a seven foot tall torchiere lamp still wrapped in its original bubble wrap.

“Duh lamp! Ugh dee LAMP!” Slobbers and groans the man with the roof a mouth of someone starting to teeth and the rest of his mouth decaying with age. Gidget and Chester dart out from behind Magda in separate directions and throw another layabout workshop sheet over the haphazard human quilt of ancient and newborn flesh. Elroy continues moaning on about a lamp and thrashes around unable to free himself from the diabolical sheet covering.

“What are you two doing? He needs light! The right kind of light!” Magda lifts Elroy into her arms, he feels as heavy as a cracked egg in Magda’s sinewy arms. She nods over to the garage door leading to the outside loading dock. Magda arranges the cloth covering Elroy so that both sides of his sallow and nubile flesh are exposed directly into sunlight. Magda uses her free hand to start gathering up a particular singled out ray of sunlight and works the light like it is clay on a wheel. Magda stretches her band of sunlight until it is the entire length of Elroy’s compact frame. Magda rolls Elroy up into the sunlight like he is hummus on a collard leaf or a butterfly testing out a new cocoon. Magda looks over her shoulder and sees Gidget and Chester both watching her with crossed arms and snarls, diligently recording her “miracles” like they have always done.

The cocoon of light pulsates and dims and repeats this cycle for several interminable moments. Elroy unfurls himself from his sleeping bag of daylight and continues free rolling. He rolls himself a distance away from Magda and is quietly laughing face down onto Magda’s family’s patchy lawn. Elroy snaps back up and runs around in circles around Magda clicking his heels and bouncing around her like a too exuberant pogo or haughty kangaroo.

“Are we finished? We’re good right? You’re not going to sue anyone for this faulty product, right?” Magda asks Elroy but is making eye contact with her siblings who are growing increasingly pale and despondent.

“No, of course not! I should have just starved myself and bathed in stem cells and not have cheated with this..questionable technology. That’s why you have to let me just borrow your light. I bought this pendant with a vial charm on it. It’s only a few drops of your luminosity! Then I will be happy to forget about all of this mishap with your siblings faulty and definitely cursed lamp.” Elroy bites his bottom lip after he finishes talking knowing that he has just taken a huge bite out of risk.

“Get out! There’s nothing faulty about a Magdalene lamp! I’ll-I’ll…”

“Do what?” Challenges Elroy who is trying to straighten out his spine despite still feeling rubbery all over, he swallows and bobs his knotted Adam’s Apple, “Are you going to kill me? Fry me? Zap me? Because we all know how capable you are miss Magda! Maybe too capable for your own good?” Elroy continues waving around his newfound confidence in Magda’s face. Magda pushes him aside, an action that results in an ornamental lawn light to splash a harsh noxious red light directly into Elroy’s eyes causing him to double over. Magda rushes herself over into her space craft that hovers for a moment emitting a high E sharp synthetic tone before launching itself and Magda as fast and as far away from her home, away from these vain people and their constant demands, away from meddling scientists and the Family Businesses and Energy Baron politics.

Back down at Chester and Gidget’s workshop Elroy is clutching his Ponce de Leon Torchiere and tearing up a receipt. Gidget and Chester shrug and make no effort to stop him.

“Should we bother telling him that he’s broken his dimmer switch?” Gidget asks Chester who have both returned back to their work benches.

“Probably not. Should I tell you that that lamp we made of Hillary has gained sentience and is frantically making its way out into the world?” Chester gestures to the Lamp Hillary that has the empty panicked expression of a runaway android. Chester and Gidget shrug in unison once again and return to making a blacklight lamp that shows you all the sex you could be having.

#short story #short fiction #indoor lighting #lightning #lamp #surrealism #mojave #classic hollywood glam

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simply-wins-little-sis · 7 years

Text

Metal Mouth

Request: Can you do a Winchesters x little sister where the reader (the sister) has to get braces but she’s really nervous and she needs her brothers with her because she thinks nobody will like her with them on

A/N: SURPRISE! You guys are getting a back to back posting package! This is because I feel really bad about part two to Faults and Breaths! Anyway, love, thank you so much for requesting this, and I hope your experience (if you have one or had one) is not as rocky as this one! (This is also a little break from all the emotional stuff I've been putting you through!)

Reminding you wonderful beauties that requests are open and so is the tag list!

Pairings: Sam and Dean x little sister! Reader

Tags: @percussiongirl2017 @metaphysicalmisha @winchesters-favorite-girl @sisterwinchesterwriter @staticweekes @lil-sister-winchester @awkwarderthanaverage @missygun

You nervously played with edge of your flannel. It used to belong to Dean, and you hoped that wearing it would give you a bit of his courage. You quickly shook your leg, and tapped your foot all at once. Sam slowly put his hand on your leg in an attempt to stop you from jittering. He hadn’t looked up from the orthodontist’s waiting room read. Dean was checking out the nurse that kept opening and closing the door to the back room.

You were scheduled to get your braces on today, and to say you were nervous would have been an understatement. Your brothers had been trying to save up money for this since you were a small being. Your teeth were crowding each other, and the dentist warned that you would eventually be in excruciating pain. You told your brothers you could handle it, even trying to use their famous words of “I’m a Winchester” but nevertheless, you were waiting for metal to invade your mouth.

You had been arguing with them since the mention of the appointment was uttered from a slightly sober Dean, and Sam had quickly shut down all conversation with a threat to take away your hunting privileges. You contemplated the look you would have after your mouth was decked out in wires and color rubber bands, and the thought made you shudder. Would you still be beautiful? Your brothers had no idea this was the reason you were fighting them. The idea that your beauty would be warped by the braces that were supposed to help you had haunted your mind since the first introduction appointment.

But, here you sat on the vinyl chairs, awaiting a pretty little thing to call you back and force your mouth to open wide for this short-term life changer. You watched every other tween and teen the young thing called go back. Your mind raced with ways of getting out of your situation. You had finally figured out a plan when the woman came back out the door, calling for you.

“Y/N?” she smiled and looked down at her file again. You didn’t move

Dean looked over to you and waited, as Sam began to place down his magazine.

“Y/N Winchester?” she called again.

“You gonna go or are we just gonna sit here and watch her call you?” Dean asked. You looked up with the biggest puppy dog, tear filled, scared eyes you could muster. “Come on Y/N, it won’t be that bad,” he rolled his orbs.

You sighed and stood. With the last bit of nerves, you felt sizzling in your fingertips, you stepped off with your right foot, and bolted for the door. The plan would have worked, if it weren’t for Sam standing up at the exact same time you had planned to run. You smacked your head right on his soon to be stretching arms.

“Oh my god Y/N! I am so sorry!” Sam laughed as he gripped your arm. You were trying to catch your vision back into place, and regain the original thought process you had. It wasn’t the first time the moose of a man had nearly knocked you over.

The moment was interrupted with the woman chuckling, “So your little miss Y/N? Come on sweetie your chair is ready”.

You looked up to Sam who had ushered you with his hands to pass him. You looked back at Dean who was clearly more focused on the lower areas of the young woman’s backside as she waited for you to follow her.

You began to shake with nerves, and every distorted version of yourself with braces flashed into your mind. You didn’t want any part of yourself to change, even if that meant pain. Sam gave your back a little push and a nod towards the assistant’s place.

You shoved down your thoughts and took some steps which eventually led you back towards the x-ray room. The long process began, and you could feel your heart leaping out of your chest.

The plaster like substance the woman put in your mouth made your stomach sink, and cause a gagging reaction from you. You tried staying strong, but couldn’t help the sinking feeling that began to take over as the process continued.

When you finally moved to the chair where the orthodontist would put the braces in your mouth, you started to panic. You had held it together for so long and now the nerves were returning to torment you once more.

“Can you open your mouth for me sweetheart?” the doctor asked. When he tried reaching towards you, your teeth sank into his hand. He let out a yelp, as his assistant shrieked. You shot up from the chair and ran back out to your brothers.

They both looked up at you and you looked at your feet.

“What’s wrong kiddo?” Dean asked, and you looked up to face his bright eyes.

“I’m a little nervous…do we really have to go through with this?” you asked.

Sam sighed, thinking about all the previous times you had said that. Dean gave a little chuckle.

“Baby girl, are you telling me after all the things you have seen, hunted and killed, you’re scared of a little metal in your mouth?” he asked, gaining a strange look from a mom a few feet away.

“It’s not that…” you replied with a bit of a lip quiver.

“What’s wrong Y/N/N?” Sam asked, grabbing your arm.

You looked down at your shoes again and took in the army green color they were. “What if, what if no one thinks I’m beautiful, and what if it affects the way people see me, or the way I see myself?” you asked.

Sam looked to Dean, finally understanding why their baby sister had put up such a fight with them. You were normally an obedient teenager, and the boys took pride in knowing they raised you to be respectful, so when the arguing had happened, they were shocked and a bit astounded. Now though, now it all fell into place and both your brothers immediately wanted to comfort you.

“Oh sweetheart,” Sam cooed as he pulled you into a hug. You would have pulled away if it weren’t for your need of support.

“Y/N you are always going to be the most beautiful girl on the face of the earth. Everyone can see it, and Sammy and I are always amazed when we look at you. Beauty inside and out, just like we had hoped for, and a little bit of wire and hot glue in your mouth ain’t gonna change that,” Dean smiled, rubbing your arm.

“Bunny you do know that no one is going to even really notice the braces, right? Even if they do, your beauty will always shine through,” Sam smiled into a kiss he placed on the top if your head.

“Thanks guys, I’ve been so worried about this when I shouldn’t have been. All I needed to remember was that the two most important boys think I’m beautiful, and that’s all that should matter,” you smiled.

“Who are these two boys because I’ll kill them if they even lay a hand on your-,” Dean started but you rolled your eyes.

“It’s you and Sam you goof!” you giggled, but then got serious, “They’re gonna put hot glue in my mouth!?”.

Sam’s eyes widened as he gave Dean a slight snarl eye, “No, bug, it’s not hot glue. It’s actually a bonding cement, or it could even be a glue that is branded on to your teeth with a special sort of UV light. It actually might not be a UV light, let me just check this book really quick,” Sam said as he went to reach for the pamphlet he had next to the dental magazine.

“Can you come back with me? Just as extra support?” you asked and they nodded with matching support smiles.

Dean put his hand on your shoulder and Sam led the way, “You got this kiddo!”.

“One more thing,” you tried to hold back your giggles, “You may want to slip the doc an extra twenty”.

“Why?” Sam questioned.

You didn’t get a chance to answer as the doctor stood in front of the chair you had walked back to. “Your daughter bit me!” he growled.

Dean scowled at the thought of being married to Sam, and Sam rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh we’re brothers, and she’s our sister,” Sam explained.

The doctor’s eyes went wide, “I’m so sorry sir,” he stammered.

You gave a devious smile, “Who bit your hand doc?”. He understood the message, and silently moved away so you could get back in the chair.

Your brothers held your hands the entire time. The doctor wasn’t as pleased because he had less space to work, and a bandage on his hand, but it all worked out as well as it could have.

After everything had finished, and you were back home to the bunker, you admired the shiny metal on your teeth. “How do I look?” you asked your brothers, taking a seat at a library table.

“Like a cute little nerd,” Dean smiled. You rolled your eyes as Sam laughed.

You knew he meant that you were as beautiful ever.

“Hey bunny, if you ever bite anyone again, we may have to ground you,” Sam warned. Dean only gave a chuckle in response as you overexaggerated a biting motion.

"Don't shut the little chomper that could down, Sammy!" Dean laughed at his own joke and Sam rolled his eyes.

“OW!” you whined.

“What?” Dean asked, concerned.

“It hurts,” you put your hand to your cheek, and both your brothers shook their heads.

"And it's down," Dean sighed.

#Sam Winchester #dean winchester #sam x reader #dean x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x sis #sam x sis #sam x sister!reader #dean x sister!reader #Winchester Little Sister #little sister winchester #winchester sister #supernatural #fanfiction #spn fanfic #SPNFamily

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obstructedantiquity · 7 years

Note

💬 for twelve-year-old Riccin

RICCIN KAYATA | 5.60 sweeps / 12 years old

Her thumbs dig into the thin skin of your throat as she hauls you down to her level, and plants a kiss right on the tip of your nose. “Look at you! You’re adorkable, dude,” she jeers as she shoves you back, hard enough that you stagger. “Just like a Gerber furby!”

Sipara’s all teeth, even when she’s trying to be careful: those tusks of hers are still newslick and unfiled, but that doesn’t mean they don’t sting when they catch on your face. “Ow,” you complain, even as she chirps: “- you gray-eyed loser.”

“Empress, no wonder you always gotcher psi on!”

She takes a step back when you stalk forward, her grin wide enough to spit her face in two. You’re not sure what you’re gonna do! Smack her, like as not, because she’s bouncing back and forth like she expects you to. And it ain’t like she won’t deserve it. The dampeners are hid under your skin, where nobody can see ‘em and you oughtn’t be able to feel ‘em, but they tug at your skin every time you move, set your horns to itching when you so much as think about sparking. Not that you could!

The world looks too bright, too colourful without your psi cloudin’ it, and shit’s disastrous enough without Sipara poking fun. Or.. it should be. But Sipara never really gets you mad, not really! Anyone else, you’d swing and knock their teeth out for that, psi or no. You have: Taalik’s regretting their snide bullshit off in the infirmary.

But you don’t really want to smack Sipara, not really.

“Pretty sure I’ve, like, totes seen actual fax, little bitty, itty bitty -” She spreads out her hands a scarce inch in front of her, fingers flared like they’re grabbing something minute: “- so itty they’ve got all SIX legs on still, and they’ve still got eyes darker than yours!”

Mostly, you don’t want to smack her. But biting’s fair game.

“You have not, sister.” You rub at your throat, baring your fangs, but she just laughs, flashing hers right back. Shit’s unfair! Even unfiled, your girl has got a mouth like a fish, each row of fangs sharp enough to make her tongue bleed, add salt to her constant venom. Your snarl’s lopsided, all marred by these clownfish fangs, but she’s got a proper curl going on, threatening and pretty as fuck.

Well! She’s got edge on her side, but you’ve got size. That’s what matters more, isn’t it? The Shepherd always says your fangs are bigger than your mouth, and when ID’s patching up your marks, he’s always after you to just bite her back. “Put those big chompers to use, sweetpea,” he said the other day, when she’d left a ring of marks all the way across your hand: “- just once, and let me tell you, she won’t do this again.”

It isn’t like she isn’t biting you. It isn’t like ID doesn’t bite Raphae, for all that he plays at flush. And if you don’t want to smack her, biting her seems fair game. The thought’s sort of appealing, too. Less mean-spirited. It’s not like you have to bite her hard. Or be an ass, like her, and bite her on the hand, so she can’t practice for nights and nights.

You could just bite her right on the mouth instead.

“.. can’t believe they say -” She’s been prattling this entire time, bouncing like she’s expecting you to take a swing, and it’s just a matter of when before you move. But now she pauses, squints at you. Her nose wrinkles in a parody of yours, ‘cept it ain’t cute, it’s like she’s some kind of a daft barkbeast. Her mouth twists to the side, accusative as fuck, and you have to look away all of a sudden, just like that.

“What,” she says - no, demands, hands on her hips. “What the fuck, dude, why’re you all orange? Are you embarrassed? Like, are you really embarrassed? Dude!”

“Just ‘cause you’re a loser with gray eyes doesn’t, like, make it a bad thing, tyrian tits -”

“I’m not embarrassed, chucklehead.” There’s heat all the way up to your ears. There’s something awful about all of this, from tip to bottom, something absolutely wretched in the way the realisation is creeping through you like sunburn, devoted to roasting you from the inside out.

You want to kiss Sipara Nzinga, your best friend and your worst enemy, the only girl in the creche too stupid to earn her half-paint, the only girl crazy enough not to fucking care.

You want to kiss her, and shell punch you right in the snout if she realises.

Or worse yet - she’s gonna laugh.

“- but I need to go check my moth,” you blurt out, and you flee.

The studio isn’t empty when you fling open the doors and yowl, voice loud enough to bounce off the corners of the room: “Ico!”

“Ico! Brother!” The despair in your voice could inspire a litany. Fuck pictures: the strength of your pain could paint an entire goddamn chapel, roof and all, panels and panels just showing the depth of your inner distress. “I think -” Your voice gives a hitch. If you weren’t so fucking mad, you’d have to stop to envy it, because the little wobble it gives your words is everything. “I want to kiss her!”

His troupemates are used to you by now, though, and they’re ungrateful louts besides that. There’s scarcely a stir, for all that Abrama frowns at you: all across the floor, people keep up their activities, stretching out to touch their toes, pulling themselves into strange poses. “No shoes on the floor,” Abrama reminds you, pulling her toes to her shoulder.

Her frown just deepens when you whine.

By the time you strip off your boots nd make your way to ID, he’s pulled himself halfway up a rope. He peers at you from upside down, his hair brushing the ground, his legs wrapped tight around the coil holding him up. “Really? That’s adorable, my little dandelion. Positively precious! But if you’re asking for advice,” he says, dubious, twisting so that the rope tugs him a little higher, “the answer, I am afraid, is no!”

“Also, we’ll have to have a talk about proper boundaries, too -”

“That’s not it!” you hiss at him, ears going back and your lip going out. He never appreciates your drama. He never takes you seriously, and just to slight him, you lean in, grab hold of the rope with one hand so he can’t go twisting away. “I need - I need -”

“Speech therapy?”

“I don’t know! How do I make sure she doesn’t laugh? How do I make sure she ain’t gonna, like, freak out?” you demand, and he laughs, lets go of the rope.

He doesn’t hit the ground. His psi holds him in place, tugs him upwards, and he dangles mid-air instead, face thoughtful as a cat’s. (And still upside down, because ID’s a prat, through and through, and for all you don’t need to read his lips this close, he likes to test you all the same.)

“That’s a good question, sugargrub! Hm. Uh.. let me get a cigarette,” he offers, twitching out a hand, and his bag’s halfway across the room towards the both of you when you slap it down.

“I don’t want a face full of smoke. Brother! Come on. How’d you get Raphae not to laugh?”

“.. that. Uh.” He blinks at you. “That,” he says, careful, “is a completely different ball-game, darling! And not one relevant to you, bless your pumpbiscuit. Or, ah, well, it better not be, or.. well! It had better not be, how’s that? But. Um. Right! No. Do you want the honest truth, dearheart?”

“No,” you sniff, “I want you to fucking lie, brother.”

“Well, too bad! Ashen isn’t about getting what you want. The honest truth is.. she’s going to laugh at you.” When you squawk, he’s ready: he’s already pulling himself up and higher, horns brushing the ceiling by the time you take a swing. “Hush up! She’s going to laugh,” he tells you, brisk, “but then, darling, you little lemontart, if you don’t go trudging off to sulk under a tent, the two of you’ll have a talk, and it’ll all even out.”

“.. how do you know that?” ID is so full of hot air. Half the time, you’re not even sure why he’s your auspistice: he’s all fluff and bitterness and things he won’t ever explain, no matter how much you and Sipara nag him, but.. the other half of the time, you remember. There’s no doubt in his voice right now! Just an easy sort of confidence that rolls over you like a balm, smoothing out all of your rough edges, dampening the clawing, sickly aggravation trying to make its way out of your chest.

It’s easy to believe in that sort of voice, even if the words don’t make any sense. You’ll have a talk, he says, like Sipara’s ever talked about anything maturely in her entire goddamn life -

- but he says it so confidently.

“Magic! Advice time is over,” ID announces, reaching out and tapping your nose with a finger. “Think about it, and scat.”

#[drabbles]#and close the blinds #riccin kayata #iconicdisquiet #sipara nzinga #mirkstrolls

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frelia · 7 years

Text

Sinker Ghost - 00

“So I guess we’ve got a stowaway here.”

The captain, looking as fearsome as could be, bore down on the deckhands’ “catch of the day”, as they had dubbed her. Of course, they usually just caught some fish on their trips, never any humans or anything of the sort. The little girl’s eyes watered as all manner of possible punishment ran through her head. What were they going to do to her? Was she going to be executed? Enslaved? Possibly fed to the sharks?

“Hmm...”

The captain’s eyes narrowed, and the girl felt herself being gruffly pulled up by the collar. She immediately stood up, though her legs were shaking. The deckhands were laughing their heads off, calling out things like “turn her into shark bait!” and “send her down to fish school!” Her thoughts went back to the orphanage that she had escaped from. The incessant beatings from the other kids, through no fault of her own -- rather that she was the only girl in the entire orphanage. The caretaker from the lower circles of hell, who looked upon all of them with loathing, as an old lady forced upon the profession, without anywhere else to go after the original caretaker passed away.

Her regrets piled high, and she began wishing that, instead of harboring dreams of a fantastical new world beyond the sea, she had simply leapt off into the pier instead.

“P-P-Please, please don’t k-kill me, I-I’ll do w-whatever you want,” the girl sobbed, clasping her hands together as she pleaded for her life. Around her, the laughing and taunting continued as she stared down at the wooden floor through tear-soaked eyes.

“Pull your head back up.”

The girl felt her chin being lifted up gingerly, and stared directly into the captain’s burning glare.

“Stop crying, you little shit!”

Startled by the sudden admonishment, she immediately stopped. The glare in front of her turned into a satisfied smile.

"All right, little girl. I'll listen to what you've got to say later. Right now, you can take that mop over there, and I'll see what we can do."

The ship's galley wasn't a very active place. Despite its sizable crew, only a single person manned the entire place. Bubbling pots accompanied a burly man's little ditty, who tapped his stumpy wooden leg to the tune of his humming as he checked ever so often on a potato stew. Meanwhile, a little girl sat quietly in the corner of the room, trying to make herself as small as possible. In her hands, a small mop revealed what she had been doing earlier.

"Oh, what am I going to do with you, squirt. Don't go sneakin' off a bite, now," laughed the cook, "or I might have to replace these potatoes with you!"

"I really doubt that you don't actually have a recipe for that."

The cook's ears picked up, and turned to see the captain at his door. "Oh, you flatter me, captain," the cook said, grinning with a yellowed set of chompers. Meanwhile, the girl in the corner decided to make an escape, and snuck about the counters. Unfortunately for her, the room wasn't entirely large, and the floor squeaked like a nest of mice.

"And what's she doing here?" the captain asked, freezing her in her tracks.

"Oh, her. I found her finished up with all the cleaning. Better work than I could've done, really. Dragged her in here so's I could show her a thing or two about the place she ought to be. Maybe even take her for my own!" he exclaimed with a hearty laugh. The burly cook attempted to make a friendly face, but all he did was make himself look a tad menacing. The girl seemed to shrink even further into the corner, and her head turned towards the exit. Her shaking feet looked like she simply wanted to bolt it, right that moment. However, before she could do so, she felt a heavy pat on her head. She looked up, and saw a soft smile; a stark contrast to the canine-bearing grin she had saw on her first day's pardoning.

"Sorry, Silver, but I think I'll take her under my wing. That's an order, but don't worry, you're off deck duty for a little bit."

The cook's face dropped. "What! Oh, and just when I thought I got a break. You just enjoy making me upset! I'll lace your dinner with a pepper from hell!" taunted Silver, shaking a spatula at his superior with mock anger.

Meanwhile, the little girl, stunned by the sudden save, only heard a hearty laugh. A rough hand messed through her short black hair.

"Come on, I'll show you the bridge."

Under the tutelage of her newfound guardian, the little girl found herself accepted by the crew, if somewhat begrudgingly. Lucas, the grizzly-looking quartermaster with the broadest shoulders she had ever seen, who subtly eyed her every time he came about drunkenly at some random point in the day. Jesse, the navigator, whose lanky figure never stopped him from smacking her in the back mirthfully when she came near. Bram, Levi, Sven -- the three slant-eyed mates that showed her how to tie the knots on the sails and the pulleys and check all the riggings. Daniel, the wiry-looking maintainer and surgeon, who brandished his tools with a fervent gleam in his eye, whom she prayed she would never have to meet under the knife. Silver, the portly cook, whose vulgar jokes seasoned his dishes much more than anything else he did. And of course, Jan, the captain, whose watchful eye kept all of the ship's crew at bay.

The entire time, however, the girl was never called by her name. It was always "girlie", or "lass", or some other. "Stowaways don't get names," Jan had said to her, once she had gathered enough courage to ask, followed by a rough pat on her head. And that was that, before she was bidden to some other deckhand to help with something or another. It didn't really matter to her once she went on, as one day melted into the next, and the girl allowed herself the happiness of being able to belong.

“Get those fucking sails down! Reconfirm the lifelines! Come on, people, move it!”

As the deckhands rushed about, their pasty sea-worn expressions betrayed their expectations. Under the roughly barked leadership of their captain, they scrambled to secure everything they could to ensure their chances of living. Everyone was muttering prayers under their breath to every deity they could think of. The storm couldn’t care less, however, and continued to howl over the captain’s profanities. Thunder crashed down on their ears, denouncing them for daring to challenge the seas.

In the midst of all the panic, a small figure in an oversized sailor's outfit crouched inside the captain's cabin, who had been told to stay indoors by the room's owner. She desperately hung onto the dresser, the heaviest thing she could find. The ship rolled wildly, and the dresser threw itself open, scattering all manner of clothes onto the wooden flooring. Her trembling hands found a small dress, and she scrambled around it, trying to hold on to the dresser's heavy body again as she closed her eyes in fright. Not that it mattered; the candle in the room had long been snuffed out.

Thunder crashed, and the world shook around her. A loud sound. Something smashing into wood.

The sound of the rain suddenly intensified on her ears, and the cold stormy winds blew hard against her. Specks of rain spattered against the tips of her toes, and though her eyes were clamped shut, she knew that the window, located at the far end of the room, had been thrown open. She opened her eyes to find that her guess had been correct -- the window had been dislodged from its latch. Hugging herself from the sudden draft, she crept across the room slowly to close the window.

The far wall seemed far away as she braved the rolling motions, but eventually she made it over, sidling up the wall to close the window. However, as soon as she grabbed the window frame and pulled herself up slightly, something caught her attention. A broad-shouldered figure, with what appeared to be a sack over their shoulder, near the chest-high wall that separated the starboard end of the ship and the murky seas.

... It was not until she saw the sack being thrown overboard that she noticed its limbs.

"Hey, chow time," a gruff voice said. Her listless eyes stared dully at the clinking plate being shoved towards her, containing a pile of unidentifiable mush, mixed in with some bit of greens. Her clothes had been replaced with a disheveled mishmash of rags, barely covering her diminutive frame. Lying in a corner in the dirty galley, with bruises about her battered body, she looked more like some discarded doll rather than the girl that she was supposed to be.

She felt a light smack on her cheek; it repeated itself a few times over. She shook her head, and that seemed to shake it off. "Good, you're not dead," the voice said again, shuffling away somewhere else. "It's only been half a week since the captain went and kicked the bucket... Can't blame you, though." A quick slurping noise. "Mmh, maybe I'll use a bit of that salt..."

Suddenly, the door to the room flung open, and the cook jumped slightly. "Oh, I was wondering where she was hiding," a booming voice said. At the sound of the voice, Silver heard a frightened whimper from the corner, and his heart sank.

"Christ, Lucas! Nearly gave me a heart attack -- would it kill you to not slam that door?" Silver groaned, watching the quartermaster hobble across the room. Though the man no longer had that title -- he was now the acting captain. The smell of drunken breath passed Silver's nostrils as the unwelcome visitor walked over to where the girl was, and dragged her off roughly by her arm. The cook thought of reaching out to stop the man, but one look at the man's bestial eyes, and he drew back. It was best that he stay out of it, he thought, and just let the man satisfy himself. As much as he longed to care for the girl, his altruism stopped exactly where his own wellbeing lay.

"Sorry, lass... you'll be able to see the old captain soon enough," he muttered to himself, returning to his post.

At some point, the girl found herself lying in another place, where she was deposited after being violated. The open deck was familiar enough to her -- the salty ocean air brushed at her unkempt black hair. She hadn't had the will to cry any longer, but her anguish painted itself over her expression all the same. Her fingers clutched about at the air as she curled up into a ball behind some hidden alcove of the deck.

Except -- her fingers touched something solid. They closed around a curved metal shaft, and her eyes drifted down to see that she was clutching the end of an anchor, attached to the ship by a heavy metal chain. She drew herself up to it, and allowed her consciousness to drift away.

The next time her eyes flitted open again, it was from the pitter of rain on her face. She stared up at a pitch-black sky, where lightning danced about, and thunder played its rumbling tune for accompaniment. The rain quickly intensified into a storm, yet the girl did not move. Even as the ship began to rock and turn dangerously, even as panicked screams came about her, even as the tilting of the ship tipped it over the point of no return, even as she felt the air in her lungs being filled with seawater.

... It’s so cold.

She stared listlessly in front of her, drifting about in the expansive blue sea. Shimmering lights peered down from the surface, and a school of fish swept past her. The girl tried to reach out to them, but only caught the trail of bubbles left behind. As her fingers grasped at nothing, her mind was overtaken by blank apathy. Weary eyes drifted upwards, she watched rays of sunlight dance about before her.

Maybe I should just sleep. I’m so tired.

She peered through her half-closed eyelids, one last time.

The underside of a ship slowly passed on by, its white sails at full mast.

A moment later, a blue trail of light rocketed through the water, and slammed into the side of the boat. The vessel shook violently, and she could hear screams coming from above. Her once-lifeless eyes flared up with delight, and she slammed herself into the hull once more.

Ahahahahaha! Die, die, die!

Again and again, she crashed into the boat. Over time, she could see a small crack traveling along the ship’s wooden hull. She cracked a demonic grin, and cackled. Her mayhem was taking too long, though. She needed something big, something that would wipe those that provoked her wrath.

Something big, something heavy, something amazing! Something that’ll drag them down. Drag them down, drag them down… Drag down a ship, a ship. A ship dragged down. A ship dragged—anchored. A ship anchored. Anchored. Anchor. Anchor. Anchor.

She repeated it to herself, over and over again. The entire time, her hands swung around an imaginary “object”. She felt the “object” get heavier and heavier with every swing, and her excitement grew stronger. Then, she heaved one last time, and tossed the weight at the ship’s hull. As soon she did so, a ladle appeared within her hand. A blue light rocketed from its cup, transforming into an enormous dark blue anchor.

Yes! Yes! Die! Die with me! Hahahaha!

The anchor bore into the ship, creating a titanic hole. With such a grave wound, the ship slowly gave out, and it began to tilt on its side. The girl examined her handiwork, and laughed. She looked up, and saw some of the ship’s passengers lowering some lifeboats. Her face lit up in delight, and she swung her ladle once more, listening madly to the screams of the dead.

“Hijiri-sama, are you sure you’ll be able to do this?” “Nobody is irredeemable, Ichirin. You know that as well as everyone else here,” the monk said. The head of the Myouren Temple smiled radiantly, seemingly glowing even as the clouds above foretold a rough ride. The blue-haired youkai next to her couldn’t help but sigh at her absurd altruism. A pink apparition of clouds surrounded the youkai, forming the head of a bald old man. Its blue-haired companion looked up at her cloudy compatriot, and closed her eyes, as if confirming something. “Mmm, I don't doubt your capability. Even though we've confirmed the ship's location, your plan still makes me kind of nervous.”

Then again, she also knew that at that point in time, there was nobody else of enough caliber to handle the infamous ship phantom. The locals were deathly afraid of her, as even though she only resided in a certain area, the surrounding currents would often force any ship that would try to circumvent it. From there, the bloodthirsty sinker ghost would capsize anything that floated into the deep end. The nearby coastal village residents had only called in the “youkai monk”, Hijiri Byakuren, after many others had failed to remove, or even placate her. The villagers had peered between their shutters at her arrival, afraid of her youkai entourage. Ichirin couldn’t blame them; they certainly didn’t look too pleasant.

“Is someone there?”

Ichirin jolted at the reverberating, ghastly voice. In front of them, a translucent green apparition materialized, in the form of a young girl dressed in a messy sailor outfit. Her eyes bore down on the head monk, who stood resolute against the phantom. The phantom’s expression became brighter as she did.

“Ooooh, I think I’ve heard of you. Hijiri Byakuren, right? Some big-shot temple monk?” “Nice to meet you. Please, call me Byakuren.” “Ahaha, sure, that sounds good,” the ship phantom laughed. She then raised her right hand, and a ladle came into being in it. Seawater began to swirl around it, filling up an outline of a huge anchor. “Well, then, Byakuren, I’ll be expecting a grand show from you.” “Do what you will. I’ve only come to talk.” “Yeah, let’s fi—what?”

Byakuren then spread her arms wide, showing the ghost a gesture of defenselessness. Blood drained from every one of her subordinates’ faces. “Ha, hahaha. You’re not gonna do me in with that. What, you think I died yesterday? You’re gonna pull out some crazy-ass exorcising contraption or something. They all tried to.” “I assure you that I have nothing up my sleeves. I’d just like for you to stop causing trouble for everyone.” “Hmph, trying to smooth-talk me? Ha, I bet if I can kill YOU, I could leave this little puddle and wreck some real havoc on land! Yeah! Hahahahaha!”

The phantom then raised her ladle, and the single ethereal anchor suddenly multiplied, resulting in what appeared to be half a dozen of them. She brought down her ladle, and the anchors rained down on Byakuren’s ship. Water erupted high into the sky with each anchor, ensuring that the ship would be eternally anchored on the seabed. After the mist cleared, she saw nothing but wooden shards littering the waves, and laughed, as she always did.

“Namusan!”

All of a sudden, a brilliant pillar of light exploded from where the ship had been, and the phantom cried out, shielding her eyes. The lightshow lasted for a moment before receding. She shook her head to clear it, and turned back to the site of the shipwreck.

“What…”

In front of her, a gigantic golden ship floated several feet above the waves, with a brilliant white sail adorning its mast. On its deck, all of Byakuren’s crew stood firmly, with the head monk herself muttering a few prayers with her hands clasped. The ship phantom gawked at the spectacle. It wasn’t only the fact that there was a huge floating ship in front of her, nor the fact that everyone she just fired a salvo of anchors at survived the attack.

“Will you listen to my plea, miss phantom?” said Byakuren.

The ghostly girl floated down to the deck, and felt her feet touch solid flooring after what seemed like an eternity. She looked around in a stupor. Everything was exactly the same as she had remembered it; this ship was the ship she had lost her life on. She hobbled across the main deck like the ghost she was, and opened the door to the halls, where she made her way through, and the monk followed shortly after.

Her guest was trailing the hallways. Every time she came across a room, she would turn her head to look inside, and every time, she looked a little more melancholic. Eventually, she came across a particular door, and stopped walking. She put her hand up to the door, looking hesitant to open it. She turned back to Byakuren. The monk merely smiled, and gestured with her head towards the doorway.

The door slowly swung open.

The room they entered was mostly unremarkable, having only three pieces of furniture to its name. A writing desk, a bed, and a dresser were the only occupants of the cabin. Yet as soon as they entered, the ship phantom’s cheeks started to wet, and her body started to shiver. Byakuren walked to her side, and waved towards the dresser with the same radiant smile. “Go on,” she said. The girl did as she was told, dragging its doors open. There, a small safe sat, tightly sealed with a rotating dial on its front. Her hand rested on the dial, and mechanically spun it once, twice, thrice. Click went the door, revealing the safe’s contents. However, this was no secret pirate chest; a small, unassuming bound book was the only treasure to be found. She flipped it open, and came to the last few pages.

Month ███, Day ███, Year ███. What a day. We found an interesting stowaway today on deck after we cast off. A mousy local girl, looking about eleven, maybe twelve. Everyone was excited to see her, and by excited I mean downright bestial. I just made her swab the decks for a bit, give old Silver a bit of a rest after losing his foot. He seemed happy about it, not so much to say about the rest. She’s staying in my room, though, I’m not about to trust these scruffs with her.

Month ████, Day████, Year ███. Silver’s been talking a lot about the new girl. Says she’s learning quite a lot, and he’s going to take her under his wing or some other. She honestly looked a bit terrified at the thought, and it’s funny to see Silver’s face scrunched up anyway, so I said no, and I went with making her my assistant. Normally I’d expect everyone to mutiny, but they seem to adore her now, it’s amusing. Apparently she ran off from an orphanage in the port we left half a week ago. I forgot to ask for her name, though. I hope she didn't take my joke earlier too seriously.

Month ████, Day████, Year ███. It’s been a cold year so far. We’ve got a rush order to take care of, right in the middle of monsoon season, and I’ve got something dastardly running me a fever. It’s amazing how she’s grown in the past few months. Ha, maybe if I die I could name her to succeed me. I still haven't asked her for her name, though. At this point, I'm just dragging my feet, aren't I?

Month ████, Day█████, Year ███. I can’t even leave my bed without leaving a mess on the floor. The storms outside aren’t helping matters, either; even keeping this journal is a task on its own. I’ve trusted the girl with the safe lock, at the very least. She’s keeping me up to date with everyone’s well-wishes. What a good girl.

Month ████, Day██████, Year ███. I woke up a fright this morning. Nightmares of black waves, red moons and whatever else I haven’t recalled. I do pray it’s not a premonition of some sort. The season hasn’t let up one bit, and the ship is still rocking something fierce. I pray that we get through safely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

With every page she went through, the girl’s crying went unabated. As she finished the last (unfortunate) entry, she clutched the journal to her chest, and bawled, just as she did the very first day she stepped on this ship. She poured out all her heart for a few minutes before the ship was quiet again. “All better?” said Byakuren. The ghostly girl jumped, she had completely forgotten that the monk was even there. She waited a bit, and nodded.

“I-I’ve done so much, though. Sunk so many ships. I-I can’t…” she said, sobbing with her head drawn into her chest. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the monk's smiling face.

“Well, if you're looking for some way to redeem yourself, there is a way.”

“H-Huh? Really?”

“The Myouren Temple is accepting of everyone in need, human or youkai. And we do have a ship in need of a captain,” said Byakuren, the monk’s eyes looking straight at hers – determined, yet calm. Someone else’s face flashed in front of her eyes briefly, and she looked down at the journal in her arms. The memory of that dreaded stormy night threatened to burn her down.

Instead, a fire was lit in her heart, where previously only cold resided. She bowed forward, and resolutely exclaimed, “Captain Murasa Minamitsu of the Palanquin Ship, at your service!”

Drifting along the bridge deck of the Palanquin Ship, Murasa leaned back against a wall as she gazed at the starry sky. As she held her hand up, she counted the stars between her fingers, as though they were countable. How many years has it been? Hundreds, maybe a thousand? However long ago, after Byakuren had sacrificed herself to her angry opposers, who had called her a “demon in human form”, she had been locked up in Hokkai, a sealed region in the far corners of the Demon World, Makai.

“Murasa-kun,” a voice called out. The ship phantom stiffened up, and turned towards a tall blonde woman, dressed in a brilliant orange-white dress and a giant cloth circle behind her back.

“Shou? Did you get everything?” asked Murasa tensely.

“We’ve located a few more pieces of the Soaring Vault. We may have it entirely constructed by tomorrow, and thus be ready to pierce the seal of Hokkai,” reported Shou. “How’s the ship holding up?”

“It’s holding up well. You don’t need to worry about it; Ichirin and her pet fog machine did a good job of patching things up,” laughed Murasa.

“W-What’s a fog machi—Never mind. Just prepare for our trip into Makai. The miasma there is rough, even for the most seasoned youkai,” said Shou.

Murasa waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Go get some sleep, you old cougar.”

“I-I am not a cougar! How rude. … Good night,” the avatar of Bishamonten said, walking away into the halls.

Left to her own devices once again, Murasa sighed. Turning back, she phased through the walls into the dark bridge. Her green luminescence shone on the pitch-black room, and she floated towards the captain’s chair. A small bound book sat on it, and she picked it up. Her heart burned with a fervent wish as she held it to her chest.

[Ending Theme]

#frelia.rtf #fic #touhou #murasa minamitsu

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