#ding dong the witch is nearly dead

[ikilledyvette]

(Realized I was never gonna finish this long ass 9-1-1 fic before the premiere, so today I’m doing the seriously condensed version for Tumblr—which I still have to break into two parts, ffs.)

It’s Thursday afternoon, three days before Father’s Day, and the atmosphere at the 118 is grim. Gerrard is gone, at least, and everyone celebrated with cake—specifically, a Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead! cake, complete with a chocolate house crushing little black boots—but to everyone’s surprise, Buck isn’t exactly welcoming Bobby home with open arms anymore. He hasn’t forgiven Bobby for resigning in the first place. Making matters worse, Margaret and Philip Buckley are flying in for the weekend. Also, Eddie is depressed because Chris hasn’t called since he left for Texas six weeks ago, and Eddie doesn’t expect to hear from him on Sunday, or possibly ever again.

Hen tells Eddie Christopher will forgive him. “He’ll come home. He just needs a minute.” Eddie says that six weeks is a hell of a minute, but Hen persists. “You’re a good father,” she says, ignoring Eddie’s humorless laugh. “You messed up; I’m not saying you didn’t. But that doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, too. Kids, they want you to hear them. They want you to show up, so when Christopher calls, pick up the phone and listen. You two love each other, Eddie. It’s going to work out.”

But Eddie’s gaze just drifts to the kitchen, where Bobby is quietly looking at the stack of uneaten fire-engine-shaped mini-waffles that Buck refused to eat, even though he’s the one who bought Bobby that ridiculous novelty waffle-maker in the first place

“You ever think maybe love just isn’t enough,” Eddie says, and Hen isn’t sure how to answer that.

*

Meanwhile, Chimney, thankfully, has the day off and is drinking a beer with Tommy. (Hen, left to deal with these weird morose vibes at the 118 by herself, quite rightly considers this a betrayal and has appropriately sworn revenge.) Chimney and Tommy talk a little about their own families: Tommy hasn’t spoken to his dad in years; meanwhile, Chimney finally gave up months ago after actually telling his dad how he really felt about being abandoned. He just needed to hear his father apologize once, just once—but he couldn’t do that, not even that, and Chimney decided enough was enough. 

Tommy, who’s only ever met the Buckley Parents one time (but has quickly clocked to Buck’s wildly shifting moods whenever discussing them), asks Chimney how much of a disaster this weekend is likely to be. Chimney tells Tommy that—apart from big family secrets and the general emotional trauma—every time the Buckleys visit, someone comes close to death: warehouse fire (Buck), lightning strike (Buck), viral encephalitis (Chimney). 

“Maybe don’t go up in a helicopter till they’re gone?” Chimney suggests, and Tommy says, “Jesus,” and gets another beer.

*

Back at the 118, things have gone from bad to worse. A call leads to Buck recklessly risking his own life to save someone. He walks away with only a few bruises, but Bobby yells at him for nearly getting himself killed. Buck snarks that he must still be that young, impulsive hothead after all. Bobby, a bit at a loss, tells Buck that he has come a long way, but he can’t put himself in danger just because he’s angry at Bobby. 

“What is this really about? You can talk to me, kid. I’m here.”

“Right,” Buck says, scornful. “You’re here. For ... how long again? Seven more, I think you said? No—no, you never actually said, did you? That one’s on me. Right, Cap?”

The bell goes off, ending the argument. Bobby tries to talk to Buck again after the shift, but Buck is already out the door. He barely gets any sleep that day before he and Tommy drive over for The Big Family Dinner. Tommy tries to talk Buck into staying home, suggesting they go tomorrow night instead, but Buck insists it will be a Thing if they don’t go.

Dinner goes badly. Margaret and Phillip aren’t intentionally rude or actively malicious, but there’s still a thread of casual biphobia in much of what they say: Evan’s always going through these phases. Well, if it’s not a phase, Evan, you must have known; how could you not? Please don’t misunderstand, Tommy, of course we like YOU. Very much! Yes, Tommy, thank you for your service. We’re just saying, Evan likes to throw us for a loop now and then. Really, Evan, you’ve had so many girlfriends you’re basically straight, aren’t you?

Buck finally loses it shortly after Maddie goes into the other room to check on Jee Yun. Margaret suggests that while she’s happy that Buck and Tommy are happy, of course—happy for now, at least—she’d just hoped Buck would’ve started to settle down by now, get serious about someone, rather than start experimenting. Phillip also jokes that he’d thought Buck had outgrown making bids for attention, and Buck just—snaps. 

“Why did I have to work so hard to get your attention again? Right. Cause it was too hard to look at me. Cause I was the reminder of what you lost, the screwup you got left with. Maybe if Daniel had grown up and turned out bi, you’d—"

—and Margaret slaps Buck across the face. 

It shocks everyone, very much including Margaret, but when Buck finally blinks and glances at his dad, Phillip automatically moves to stand behind his wife, silently taking her side. Buck, a bit dazed, mutters he’s sorry and tells Chimney not to tell Maddie what happened, right before Tommy all but pushes Buck out the door and drives him home.

Buck, still a little shellshocked, mostly can’t believe he said what he said, insists he shouldn’t have gotten that upset, and tries to brush off Tommy’s efforts to comfort him. Tries to get him to leave. Tries to distract him with sex when Tommy refuses to leave. Tommy, not having any of it, sits Buck down and talks a little about his own childhood, how he’d run away from home after his father had found out Tommy was gay, how—broken and bleeding—Tommy had never called, never looked back. Buck protests it’s not the same because Margaret and Philip aren’t abusive, have never hit him before tonight, aren’t really homophobic—at least, not in the same way—and also, Buck deserved that slap. 

“Who throws a dead kid in their parents face?” Buck asks, miserable.

“Someone who lived under the shadow of a brother he never knew about for 30 years?” Tommy asks, then takes Buck’s hand and makes Buck look at him.

“Look, maybe it’s not the same. You’re never going to convince me you deserved it, Evan, not any of it—but what I’m saying is, when people repeatedly hurt you? You don’t have to look back. You don’t have to keep trying. You can, if that’s what you want—but you don’t have to forgive anyone just because they’re family. That’s not what being a family should be. And, for what it’s worth, that includes Bobby, too. Just ... maybe consider what you’re actually angry about—or if it’s even anger you’re really feeling here—before deciding to cut him off for good.” 

Slowly, Buck sinks into Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around him. Kisses him gently just above birthmark.

(Part II is finished, coming tomorrow or the next day)

[kisses-from-crows]

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch 3.

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: Campbell is ready to get some answers, but is Y/N ready to give them?

Genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings

Word count: 3,286

CW: mentions of mental illness, vague allusions to a past ED, panic attack

Chapter 3

Beginning | Previous | Next

- PopCrave: Is it about time for a rematch? Fans speculate with Y/N’s return to the public eye, a new heated interview with Campbell Bain can’t be too far behind. So we’re counting down the Top 10 Bain vs L/N moments!

Posted: 10 min ago -

When Campbell’s alarm went off, his bloodshot eyes had already been wide open. He’d hardly slept a wink, up all night just thinking. His mind did this often, running around in circles dragging his remaining sanity uselessly behind it.

Months ago when he had selected ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ as his alarm, he had thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Now he was considering how much it would cost to replace his phone if he smashed it to bits. It seemed that the sun had risen against his will once again and it was time to face the music.

Quite literally face the music, his phone was charging across the room and the only way to turn the blasted song off would be to get out of his nice warm bed. Yet again another one of his brilliant ideas come back to bite him in the ass.

Just as his toes touched down on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom, the song stopped of it own accord. Campbell winced knowing what was next, a call was coming through. Through the busted speakers of his phone came blasting the most deep-fried version of ‘Ding Dong The Witch is Dead’. At full volume. If he hadn’t been awake before, he sure was now.

Campbell scrambled frantically across the room looking like Bambi on ice, ignoring the way his body groaned in protest at the sudden movement. Anything to make the damn phone stop ringing. The last thing he needed was yet another noise complaint from his cranky downstairs neighbor.

The phone slipped through his fingers as he attempted to snatch it off his desk and fell to the floor. The words: ‘ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN, DINNAE ANSWER IT’ stared up at him from the ground as if to mock him. With a deep sigh, Campbell managed to answer the phone successfully.

“My driver will be there in five minutes. Get your chronically late ass out of bed.” Y/N ground out before immediately hanging up. Campbell blinked at the screen, the lack of sleep making his brain lag behind. It took about ten whole seconds for him to process what she said.

“Good morning to ye too, ya royal pain in my arse” He said to no one but the air. So the call last night hadn’t been a bizarre nightmare, just his luck. The last thing he wanted to do today, much less any other day, was another interview with F/N L/N. ‘This one’s different.’ Her words from last night had echoed though his head into the wee hours of the morning.

Now the words ‘be there in five minutes’ were making the rounds inside his skull as Campbell scrambled to put together something suitable to wear. Dirty and clean clothes alike were strewn across the floor. It took about five tries to find something that didn’t smell completely appalling. Just as he was hopping around trying to get his left shoe on, the buzzer to his apartment complex rang out.

He nearly broke his neck racing down the stairs to make it to the car. If there was one thing Y/N hated more than Campbell Bain, it was people making her wait. She was already going to tear him to shreds, Campbell didn’t need to make it any easier for her.

Even with his color block hoodie on, Campbell could still feel the bite of the autumn air. October was just around the corner and the yellow, reds, and oranges were just beginning to creep into the edges of the trees. He loved this time of year. The heat of the summer always made him a bit irritable. Plus with the weather in the 60’s he was able to pull out his favorite sweaters and hoodies.

In front of his apartment was a black town car and stern looking man in a black suit and sunglasses. Right on time, just like Y/N said they would be. Campbell strode his way up to the driver and stuck out a hand for him to shake.

“Campbell Bain, pleased to make yer acquaintance.” he said with a crooked smile.

The driver looked down at Campbell’s hand before grunting and offering a curt, “Get in the car.” Before opening rear passenger door and marching over to the driver’s seat without waiting to see if Campbell got in or not.

“Well aren’t you just a ray o’ sunshine” Campbell grumbled as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

On the ride over he tried to come up with every possible reason she wanted to meet with him like this. Other than their somewhat yearly interviews, they only ever bumped into each other at various album wrap parties or some odd studio function. Event’s like the station Christmas party which was almost always tragic. Too much booze and a pathetic round of Secret Santa. Even then, they spent the whole night pointedly ignoring each other. Stealing loathing glances across the room as some remix of Jingle bells desecrated what was once a hallowed hall of music.

As the car rolled to a stop in front the french bistro, Campbell felt like a lamb to slaughter. He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, while he procrastinated getting out. In no time at all the driver had walked around the car and opened the door for him. Impatiently ushering him out. God when did his life get so weird? Had it always been this weird? Maybe just a different kind of weird. The driver said something into his little ear piece before getting back in the town car and driving off. Likely just circling the block, unwilling to leave Y/N by herself with Campbell for too long.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he worked hard to get where he is. This was just another business meeting. There was no need for his heart to be pounding and his hands to be sweating. Though you could hardly blame fight or flight for merely doing its job. Especially when Campbell was walking straight into the den of a predator, one who would eat his heart without a second thought.

He donned his patented ‘Devil May Care’ attitude and sauntered his way into the restaurant. Only to be stopped immediately by the hostess.

“Sir, you need a reservation to be in here” She said in a patronizing tone. Nearly a decade now of rubbing elbows with these yuppy rich people and he still couldn’t get over the condescending way they talked. Like he had a head full of lead and loose cotton swabs.

“I haaave a reservation,” Campbell said obnoxiously dragging out the syllables, letting his accent garble the enunciation just a bit. “I’m meeting with someone.”

The hostess flushed, seemingly embarrassed. “My apologies, you must be Mr. Bain. Right this way, she has been waiting for you.” The hostess said quickly. Campbell suppressed a wince, Y/N had been waiting, and he was never going to hear the end of it.

He followed the hostess as she scurried to a table tucked in the back corner. In the booth sat a feminine figure, donning comically large sunglasses and a silk scarf wrapped around her head. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought she was some infamous mafia boss’s grandmama.

“Aye, good morning babooshka. Any chance you’ve seen global pop sensation F/N L/N wandering around here?” Campbell said, sarcasm dripping from his shit eating grin. Y/N shushed him quickly, tilting her sunglasses down to level him with a glare so cold that the tiniest shiver ran down his spine. He half-wondered if it had turned him to stone. Ah, but there was that wrinkle, mission accomplished.

“Someone could hear you, you know?!” She hissed under her breath. “Are you just going to stand there looking like an unemployed scarecrow all day?” Y/N allowed a practiced tone of disinterest to seep into her voice. Campbell ignored the jab, feeling quite satisfied that it only took one well aimed sentence to bring out that adorable little crinkle in her brow. Adorable like a Tasmanian devil, of course.

He plopped himself unceremoniously into the booth besides Y/N. His long legs struggled to fit comfortably under the short clothed table. His knees crashed into the table legs, causing the silverware to clatter, water to spill from the crystal water glasses, and several other patrons to whip their head toward the pair of them distastefully.

“Aye learn to mind yer business, why don’t ya” Campbell shouted, attempting to stand up from the booth and knocking into table once more. Y/N rubbed a hand over her exasperated brow, as if trying to rub out an incoming headache.

“Dear god, is this your first time in public?” She said, her shoulders now folded forward to hide from the judgmental eyes of the other patrons.

“Nae,” Campbell said “but it looks like it’s your first time out of the 1950’s. What’s up with the ridiculous disguise, you look like my granny”

“I suppose you may be right about that” Y/N said, letting a small huff of air out her nose in a amusement. A laugh and admitting he was right about something? That was proof, Y/N had been murdered and replaced with a clone. Clearly, they were in the twilight zone. As he was pondering the universe and the fact it was currently flipping itself inside out, Y/N began her removing her disguise piece by piece. First the silk scarf revealing her signature H/T - H/C hair, then a fake beauty mark he hadn’t even noticed before, and finally the unreasonably large sunglasses.

For the first time in nearly two years (a year and eights months but who was counting) Campbell had taken a good look at Y/N. She looked… different? Her cheeks were a little fuller, her skin looked warmer, and… had her eyes always been that color? He took in her appearance piece by piece. By the time the stretch of silence had started to become just a bit uncomfortable, he decided that getting the hell out of dodge agreed with her.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until Y/N cleared her throat and took an awkwardly long sip from her nearly empty water glass.

“So, did you have any trouble finding the place?” she said with a small smirk. Campbell rolled his eyes.

“Nae, but yer rather rude driver looked like he was two seconds away from taking my head clean off my shoulders. Ye should watch out for him, he is clearly a serial killer in the making, just you wait” Campbell said, waving his arms about indignantly. “That and the hostess damn near threw me out on the street.”

“Oh Gustavo? He’s nothing but a kitten. He just gets a little protective, that’s all. You’re being such a big baby. And the hostess was just doing her job. I told her I was waiting for the man who looked like Gumby and sounded like Scrooge McDuck. And look! Here you are right before my eyes” Y/N responded a quick, a slightly menacing grin slowly sliding across her face. She was trying to get a rise out of him. He was not about to let her win.

“Funny, I just plugged in ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ into my GPS and-“Just as Campbell was winding up to deliver the most immature tirade, light reflecting off a passing car filled the room with a quick flash. Y/N flinched, her hands moving instinctively to cover her face. A moment later when no second flash came, she looked up at him, cheeks slowly turning red.

“What was that?” Campbell said, more curious than judgmental. Y/N straightened herself up and slid a palpable wall up to cover whatever vulnerability she had accidentally revealed. She flipped through the menu absently, hoping he would just stop looking at her like that.

“Paps have been ruthless lately. Guess that’s what happens when deprive them of anything for so long…” Y/N eyes looked a little distant. “they start acting like they’re starving.” The light that had been in her eyes earlier had dulled. She looked as though her mind had gone wondering off without her. Only for moment, before blinking and coming back into her body. “Hence the russian grandma special.” She joked flippantly holding up her pathetic disguise like nothing happened.

She turned her attention back to the menu. “Ooh the quiche lorraine looks good, what are you going to get?” Campbell looked at Y/N like she had three heads. Something was definitely wrong. He been around the block enough times to know when something was off. And he’d had enough of the games.

“What are we doing here Y/N?” Campbell said, not waiting for a response. “Why are you having me meet you in some stuffy bistro like yer on the run from the law? If ya wanted an interview with me that badly, which I highly doubt, why not just have yer team arrange it through the station?”

“The station doesn’t need to know about this.” Y/N said, unable to look him in the eye. She flagged down the waitress and put in an order for the both of them.

“Hey wait I didn’t even tell ye what I wanted!” Campbell said indignantly with a small pout. Y/N gave him a crooked smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Just trust me.” She said. And for one of the very few times in Campbell’s life, he was speechless.

The moment the food hit the table he tore into it. He was basically starving due to the fact Y/N had cruelly denied him time to eat breakfast before basically kidnapping him. For a reason he still didn’t know yet. At the point where the food had hit his stomach and he could actually start to taste it, Campbell felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Maybe she had been right about the food. Maybe.

“Enjoying yourself?” Y/N asked smugly, tearing off a piece of croissant and popping it into her mouth. Campbell shot her glare, mouth too full to attempt any sort of dignified comeback. Not without spitting food out all over the table, and he was not about to waste it.

As the his hunger-driven delirium subsided, he noticed the way Y/N was so focused on eating, she had barely said a word. Basked in an emotion he had never seen from her, she looked content. It felt a bit weird to see her eating, but Campbell could quite put his finger on why. Surely he’d seen her eating before, they’d known each for years. Every function they were forced to attend together were stuffed to the brim with a damn near gluttonous amount of food.

Y/N felt his eyes on her and stiffened. He was staring again. He really needed to get a handle on that. She put down her fork and turned to address Campbell. She took a deep inhale and let out a shaky breath.

“Campbell,” there was his name again, “I know that we haven’t always gotten along-“

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the understatement of the century!” Campbell interrupted. Y/N glared him and clenched her jaw.

“Will you just shut up for one minute, and let me get through this!” Y/N seethed. Campbell’s eyes widened. He comically mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it up, and tossing the key over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes at his antics, but his delusions swore there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I need your help” Y/N admitted, her eyes fixed firmly on her lap. “A lot has happened, things that are difficult to explain and even more difficult for me say out loud.” She began twisting the rings on her fingers. “It wasn’t my choice to leave… to disappear like that” Campbell found himself leaning closer to hear her voice as it got quieter and quieter. He wondered if she had always looked this small. “Most people don’t really understand but I thought maybe… well I was hoping that you might-“

In the middle of what seemed to be a kind of confession, sounds of commotion came from outside. Y/N paused and slowly looked up, as if afraid of what she might see. Slowly and then all at once, camera flashes filled the once quiet restaurant. Reporters gathered outside the windows of the bistro, shouting over each other like a flock of seagulls. Cutting each off in a second creating an overlapping onslaught of noise.

“Y/N-“ “LOOK OVER HERE” “WHY DID YOU LEA-“ “Y/N” “Y/N” “LOOK THIS WA-“ “DID RODGER REALLY DUMP YO-“ “CAN YOU GIVE A COMMEN-“ “WHERE DID YOU G-“ “Y/N!” “IS IT TRUE YOU WERE IN REHA-“ “LOOK OVER HERE!” “HAVE YOU SEEN MR. DEL REY’S NEW FIANCÉ!” “Y/N!” “LOOK” “LOOK!” “LOOK!” “LOOK!”

The lights became blinding in an instant. Campbell was covering his eyes and trying to make sense of the commotion. The crowd outside was growing. The noise from them becoming louder and louder and more nonsensical. A few of the reporters had managed to make it in, only being held back by the ill-prepared waitstaff.

Y/N had dealing with this for years, she would know what to do. Campbell turned to her for an answer. And found her paralyzed. Eyes wide and glassy. Mouth hanging open slightly pushing tiny quick puffs of air in and out. None of them large enough count as an actual breath. Like a wounded deer staring down a man with a knife come to put it out of its misery.

“Y/N?” He said softly. She began shake her head ever slightly. The tiny puffs of breath of air almost sounded like a word, just barely: no. Campbell touched her hand, lightly trying to her attention but she was entranced. Staring at the lights and the shouting and the commotion. All of those people hoping to tear off just tiny little piece of her.

Campbell wasn’t stupid. He recognized that look. He’d seen it on Rosalie’s face a million times. She was having a panic attack, not the loud screaming kind. The kind that pulled you inside your own mind and made you a prisoner. Watching the world around yourself though a tiny little window, unable to do a thing. It was in that moment Campbell made a decision. A decision that went against years of bitter resentment and petty rivalry. She had asked him for help. And he was going to do just that.

Campbell stood up, gathered up all of Y/N’s things, and snatched the last croissant off the table. He was going to get her out of here. He took off his jacket and held it up with one hand, blocking the light from her face. He grabbed her hand and tugged on it slightly.

“Let’s get you out of here” Campbell said, a silent proposition hanging in the air. ‘Just trust me’. An invisible echo of those three little words she said to him not too long ago. Y/N looked up at him, still panicked but clinging to his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. He was happy to ignore the way it hurt his knuckles. She bravely stood up from the booth with shaky legs. And he smiled so wide it scrunched up his nose and nearly took over his whole face.

“Now, we run.”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: so i finally finished chapter three, not gonna lie this one fought me every step of the way, but we got here! i decided i’m gonna to try to post a new chapter weekly on wednesdays! thank you so much for reading, love you! have a good week!

(how do we feel about the paragraph breaks? i can’t tell if they’re obnoxious or if they make it easier to read. I can make them smaller if need be. if anyone has any strong opinions about it lmk!)

[bookofkatherine]

Ding Dong That Lilith Bitch is Dead #3

Katherine discovers the Enemy has variants too! Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Saturday September 7, 2024 9:16 a.m.

Dear Journal,

Well, that bitch wasn't dead like I thought. While watching LOKI again last week (it was the only way to teach John and Zach about my history with the Knights) I was suddenly struck with a terrifying thought:

What if Lilith has variants left too!? Or worse, the devil!? What if there was more than one variant of Satan!?!?

Holy shit.

I nearly peed myself at the thought. How could I have been so blind!? How could I have checked for and rescued two Thor variants, two Loki variants, one Gray Man variant and killed off several evil Lokis, one evil Cap and two evil Gustaf variants... without ever considering the possibility that our Enemy could have variants too!?

Why in the world did I check for my own team's variants, but not for any of Satan's!?

Well, I know the answer. And it isn't pretty. The reason worries me more than the problem: I didn't want such a reality to be true.

I didn't want Satan to have more than one variant. I didn't think it was fair or right. I didn't want there to be other Lilith's out there.

And that, my dear Journal, is the Consequences of Belief fallacy: I didn't want it to be true, so I believed it wasn't.

And fallacies are failures in logic. Shit. That's not a good thing when you have as much power and are in charge of as much shit as I am.

Get it together girl!!!

Anyhow, it took watching LOKI again with my long lost son Zach to face the awful possibilities - because I wanted Zach to live. I needed him to live. And that was it. I admitted the truth.

There could be as many as 899 more Satan variants. And as many as 899 more Lilith variants. I knew that so many were unlikely. But still - this is the devil we're talking about.

It was time to check.

I immediately texted the team. Thank God they replied pretty quickly:

No Satan variants.

Two Lilith variants.

Fuuuuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

_

You don't have to worry, dear Journal, both Lilith variants are dead now. And you're right- Claire had back great news: wonderful news! No variants of Satan existed and only two variants of Lilith were around.

But... killing only one Lilith when there are really three of her!? Well, that's like stirring a hornet's nest!!! Women are already uniquely vicious and creative when feeling vindictive.

And right after killing the first Lilith and her magic spider I suddenly found spiders everywhere. They were inside the house. Outside the house. On my front door even.

Threats were being delivered. Something knew where I lived. But what.....?

Now I knew. Shit.

What had Cap and I done!?

_

In the end, all it took to kill the second and third Lilith variants was a wave of my hand.

"Lord, what do you want me to do about the Lilith variants?" I asked at the next Order meeting. "Wait," He said. "Don't worry about it now."

Oh Okay.

It was days later, when I was already on the road for a huge mission that required my own attendance, that He finally let me do something about them.

We were driving along the highway, and I could feel a horrible disturbance in the universe. I didn't recognize the scent, however. And I couldn't see its shape, either.

After so many years, I've learned what certain disturbances feel, look and taste like. The worst one is when a team member is about to die. That feels like I'm being electrocuted.

Witches? They leave a scorching burn. The Earth coming apart? It feels like a great sliding dread. Demon attack? A giant stabbing. On and on, I know Satan's greatest hits. When they flood the line, I know where to start looking.

But I didn't recognize this evil.

Hm... I thought a bit. What would feel this dark? What would be both unfamiliar and uber dark? And then I remembered the Lilith variants.

"Lord!?" I cried out. "Is it the Lilith variants?"

"Yes," He replied. And relief flooded through me. I hate it when a disturbance in the multiverse isn't defined. It hurts like hell. Being Eternity can really suck sometimes.

"Can I please kill them now!?!?!?" I begged the Lord.

"Yes." And He smiled His knowing smile. He knew I was going to be happy about this. And He was right.

Hot diggity dog!!!

But wait- I was on the road. How the hell was I supposed to kill them? It took a lot of time with Cap to kill the first Lilith. A lot of time in bed - and I wasn't in bed, was I?

And then, a delicious thought popped into my head.

"Can I do it myself? Now?" I asked the Lord, with a ton of hope in my voice.

"Yep!"

Oh baby. Oh baby. These are my favorite kills. Thank you Jesus!!! I closed my eyes, leaned back, relaxed and allowed my intuition and awareness to roam freely. Think Obi Wan Kenobi. Or Professor X, but without the helmet. I don't need one of those to feel where all life in the multiverse is. It's keeping all of their locations out that's the real trick.

Feeling all of reality can drive a person mad.

_

In seconds I knew where the two Lilith's were. And then I erased them. Just like that.

Gone.

_

If only that were where it ended.

I forgot.

They have pets.

Whereas the first Lilith had a magic spider, the second Lilith had a magic scorpion and the third Lilith had a magic squid.

And I fucked up big time by not feeling them out too and locking onto all four of them to erase. And I do mean, I fucked up big time.

Almost immediately, the scorpion attacked my throat in the Dreamworld. That was its design: take down whoever attacked its mommy. And I had done more than attack its mommy. I'd completely obliterated her.

The squid went for my head, but by then I had a lock on them. I started to kill them, but it was too late. They were extremely powerful - only second in command to Satan himself.

In fact, just writing about it is making my throat hurt and throb with the traumatic memory of that damn scorpions tail and sting...

_

"What do I do!? I can't get them out!? Do I get Cap!? Lord!???" I cried out as I tried to erase the evil scorpion and squid, grasping at my throat. I could only erase parts, but not all. And I began to thrash as a result.

"Yes - get Cap," the Lord replied.

"CAP!!!!" I screamed.

And he was there. He reached his hand out, immediately clutched my throat, neck and base of my skull gently with one large hand and said, "Here - let's do it together..." in that calming, soothing and goddamn sexy voice that only Cap has. Relief at his presence immediately washed over me.

I knew the demons were about to be toast.

_

I closed my eyes and drifted into the Dreamworld fully. My power glowed stronger with Cap's support and added presence. And I let our combined powers wash over me - around and through my head and neck, erasing the demon squid and scorpion completely.

All that was left was a painful memory. And I'm not used to that. I'm usually very careful. Being on the road has made me a bit sloppy.

But I didn't care.

I looked up at Cap and smiled weakly. "Thank you, Cap." And he smiled down at meet with that brilliant loving smile of his that's only ever meant for me, and then - as it often does - it turned devilishly playful. He was thinking about kissing me while grabbing my hair in his hand, its silky tendrils tangled in his fingers.

I know that's what he was thinking. I could read his mind. Being Eternity does have some perks. ;)

_

Ding dong. All three Lilith bitches are dead. And their little demon pets too! 🎉

[eabwriting2023]

The Bitch is Dead - Day Fifteen

You want me to read you the story of The Wizard Of Oz? With munchkins and yellow bricks roads, ding dong the witch is dead!

If I’m going to tell this story it has to be from my prospective, what would really happen if you accidentally killed a woman you knew nothing about.

I drink in my car during a thunderstorm. Grey clouds of gloom moving ahead. Even though the wind is powerful, the rain is torrential I keep on driving even though my vision is poor.

The windscreen wipers travel from right to left chaotically, frantically trying to wipe away rain as it slashes down upon the glass. It’s no use, I feel myself becoming sleepy and distracted banging my head upon the steering wheel completely out cold.

A screech from my brakes and the tyres crashing into debris in front of me wakes me up alarmingly. The storm has ceased but I have no idea where I have crashed. I am not injured, just confused more confused as I step out of the car into what looks like the countryside. Wherever I am, I am no longer where I was.

The countryside stinks of dung along with the foul smells of cows in the distance. My car is utterly screwed, the glass smashed, the tyres popped, the body dented.

“Christs Sake!” I mumble to myself.

The commotion from my crash must have alerted the villagers, all dressed from another time with cloth dresses or blue dungarees covered in mud. They wander up to me with caution holding pitchforks.

“I’m sorry for this mess, please don’t hurt me!” I whimper backing up slowly.

They freeze and look at each other laughing at a joke I am not apart of. Inside the crowd of farmers and their wives stepped their sheriff. A head strong woman with a wide stride, blonde flowing hair wearing a brown stratton hat.

“Sorry about the confusion.” She says not concerned for the mess surrounding me.

“No..” I stutter. “I’m sorry, honestly, I was driving in the storm, the wind was too rough to beat causing me to crash. It’s my fault, if you want me to pay for any damages-“

“Thank You.” The Sheriff unexpectedly said.

“I beg your- what?” I replied back, bewildered staring at the now turned happy faces of the farmers and wives.

“Thank you!” They cheered in unison.

“You see,” She started to explain to me taking me by the arm linking hers with mine and walking away to the crashed car sight. “You’re kind of a saviour.”

Judging from my expression, she tells me in detail pointing to the front of the car. There, stuck in between the wheels, flattened is a woman with black hair and wrinkles.

“Oh my- JESUS!” I gasp nearly falling over until the Sheriff catches me before I fall. “I killed a woman!” I start to hyperventilate.

“I’ll explain…”

“Please do… I’m a murderer, I’m a murderer, I’m a murderer!” I go over again and again out loud. I sense the crowd staring at me intently but with large smiling grins upon their faces. “Why are they smiling?”

“When you crashed your car into-“

“That woman…” I say panicking.

“Yes, that woman.” Sheriff tries to explain though I interrupt her. “You crashed into this woman, who happens to be not just any woman, but our mayor.”

“Oh my! It just keeps getting worse!”

“She was our tyrannical major, forced us all into opposition. We had to do her bidding, said the law didn’t apply to her. This way, we didn’t have to kill her, so thank you.” The Sheriff smiles. “The bitch is dead!”

Like unhinged psychopaths everyone around me cheers as if I am some sort of God, all but one. A tractor in the distance drives on the bumpy dirt road, smoke from the exhaust causes a cloud of smog. Everyone coughs as someone exits the vehicle in large off green wellington boots.

It is hard to tell from the squashed up face left from the woman I ran over with my car, but a second woman that walked towards me looked practical identity to her with her long black hair and wrinkles.

“This is her older sister, she owns this plantation.” The Sheriff whispers to me in my ear. “She is just as vindictive as her sister.

The woman marches in anger while The Sheriff lifts her gun in the air two hands wrapped around not about to let go.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot.” She says.

The woman is in no laughter matter. She stomps around the front of my car to see the body of her sister, crumpled.

“You monster!” She spat out kneeling to take a good look at her. “This means war.”

“It was an accident, I can assure you, perhaps we can discuss it?” I say my hands out in the air to show I mean no harm.

“Forget that!” She cries. “This is inexcusable!”

“I’m sure the rest we back me up, after all they were all here when it happened.”

I turned my head realising the crowd of people, including The Sheriff were backed away from me.

“You’re on your own now!” The Sheriff yells from across the field where cows stood. “You are screwed!”

I gasp in disbelief. “Come on now.. let’s talk this out.”

The women’s sister now sits upon her high tractor dialling some kind of authority figure.

“I have called the police, you’re going down for what you did!”

I turn to the others for moral support but they turn their heads as if they no nothing about it.

“Well, this is just great!” I slump myself upon a pile of mud.

The End. That is how my Wizard Of Oz would have been, not so happy and go lucky, eh? No yellow brick road, wizards or magic, just plain old bad luck with one dead bitch.

[sothisisablog]

My family being royalists boggles my mind. Our whole family is Scottish. My dad’s ancestors were kicked off of their land by the Royals. The modern Royals stole indigenous children. I don’t understand how you could think that they are people worth idolizing.

[yslkook]

IF I GOT YOU (7)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: one month later...and things start to come to a head. you feel more at peace than you've ever felt, but as usual, what remains peaceful is always interrupted.

pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc

warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, HELLA HELLA toxic friendship and dynamics, suggestive content (hooking up and other mentions)

word count: 4066

a/n: if you want to be tagged, send an ask plz. would love to hear your thoughts

Despite a month going by from the last time you spoke to Jungkook in the park and put all of your feelings out in the open, spring air, you feel lighter than ever. Maybe most of that has to do with the simple fact that you’ve finally cut out a toxic, deadweight from your life. Regardless of what ends up happening with you and Jungkook as friends or more than that, at least you are at peace and happy with being yourself.

Besides, it’s not like you don’t ever see him. You see him when you visit the tattoo parlor (but you haven’t allowed yourself to be alone with him and he hasn’t initiated), you’ve seen him at impromptu nights out, at Yoongi’s apartment. Neither of you allow yourself to be alone with each other, since you had both agreed to wait. Even your text message thread with him is dry, though.

You miss him, hoping that a notification of his name with the bunny emoji attached to it flashes across the screen. But it doesn’t.

For all of his bravado, he feels somewhat shy around you on the few occasions that he’s seen you. Jungkook will go out of his way to avoid you, hiding (as much as he can) behind Mina and Mei.

He misses you. Jungkook misses the feel of your lips molding against his, the way you felt in his arms, but most of all he misses your shy smile and your loud laugh. He misses the way your eyes shine when you speak about something you’re passionate about.

Mina had said you were both being stupid, taking time away from each other when you both are denying the inevitable. But it made sense in your mind and his. You want to know what kind of person you were without the burden of Sora’s judgment weighing heavily in every frame of your life. You take the time you need to take to recenter yourself and feel somewhat whole again.

It doesn’t take you long to adjust to life without a former best friend. You quickly begin to notice how different you feel, how differently you approach basic things that you hadn’t really put much thought to before.

It feels so refreshing to not feel like you’re walking in some metaphorical shadow of someone who didn’t really care about you. Well, you think on some level, she did care. But along with the insignificant way she made you feel, it’s not enough to justify it. And you’re really grateful that you don’t need to anymore.

In fact, you’ve already deleted most pictures with her on your social medias. You haven’t quite been able to block her yet, but you think you’ll be ready to do that soon enough.

The ever elusive notion of time really does seem to heal nearly all forms of hurt.

“So,” Yoongi starts, sitting next to you on his new black leather couch and handing you a glass of red wine.

“Don’t start with me,” You say, poking his shoulder.

“I’m not starting anything with you,” Yoongi shrugs, but his eyes twinkle.

“Oh? That’s the voice you use when you have gossip or when you’re about to interrogate me,” You mutter, rolling your eyes with a fond smile.

“Maybe it’s a little of both,” Hobi chimes in, sitting on your other side. He leans back and drapes his legs over your lap, to which you instantly rest your hands over his legs.

“How lucky for me,” You mumble, taking a long swig of your wine. You’ll need it.

“How’s that witch doing,” Yoongi asks bluntly.

“I don’t know, I told you I cut her off and kicked her out of my house like a month ago,” You reply, “Did you forget already?”

“No, I just like hearing that you finally came to your fucking senses,” Yoongi says, “She was awful, but I’ll commend you for sticking it out for this long. Cheers, the witch is finally gone-”

“I believe the phrase is, ‘ding dong, the witch is dead’, but this will suffice,” Hobi says and yelps when you swat his shoulder.

“Don’t be rude,” You say, “But… thank you for helping me see the light. Even if it took a while. And I’m sorry it affected our friendship, too.”

“Ah, well, we’re all here now,” Hobi says, pulling you in for a side hug.

“Yeah. So cheers,” Yoongi says again, raising his glass to you both, “Cheers to you for choosing yourself. And to new beginnings.”

“You’ll make me cry,” You say honestly, offering your friends a watery smile.

“As if we’ve never seen you cry before,” Hobi scoffs. And it’s true- they are two of your oldest friends, and even if you’ve come to the realization that maybe you hadn’t been the greatest friend to them… That bond is hard to sever, and you’re grateful that they’ve always had your back.

“Drink up,” You say with a smile, “Cheers to new beginnings.”

Yoongi has always been a little sly, unassuming but always with several tricks up his sleeve. When he so desires to cause a little mischief and stir the pot a little. And Hobi is all too happy to engage.

Which is how you end up several glasses of red wine and rose deep (yes, you mixed, rookie mistake but who cares. You’re in the presence of some of your greatest friends, after all).

And then Yoongi goes in for the kill.

“How’s our Jungkookie,” He asks, without missing a beat. You choke on your wine and wince when it somehow gets lodged in your nose.

“I don’t know. Think he’s good,” You finally respond, your words sounding slurred, “Ask Hobi. They work together, if you didn’t know.”

“Oh, thanks for the information. I had no idea.”

“Happy to be of service,” You say, leaning into Hobi's side, “Ikindofmisshim.”

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that,” Yoongi says, a self-satisfied smirk blooming on his lips. He heard you, of course he did, but you don’t seem to pick up on it.

“I said I kind of miss him,” You reply, a dreamy look in your eyes, “Do you think he misses me, too?”

Hobi chokes back a laugh but you hear it and offer him a glare. “Don’t make fun of me!”

“Nobody’s making fun of you, stupid,” Yoongi says poking your forehead, “And yeah. Your man doesn’t shut up about you. Always with those eyes around you.”

“He’s not my man,” You whine pathetically.

“Yeah, that’s a mystery to both of us,” Hobi says, “How long are you both gonna keep this up?”

“Keep what up?”

“This weird awkward dance you both do around each other. Avoiding each other when we’re all together. It’s kinda funny, like we all know you both wanna fuck so bad-”

“Shut up! That’s- that’s not- shut up!”

Yoongi and Hoseok both burst into laughter, drunken giggles loud in the living room and you can’t help but laugh with them.

Clubs were never your most favorite place to unwind, but you make an exception for tonight. For Mina and Mei, you’ll make an exception. The three of you had gotten ready together in Mei’s home, in between sips of cocktails that she had poured out. Mina had done your makeup for you, giving you the sharpest eyeliner you’ve ever seen on your eyelids as well as a bold red lipstick.

It’s not a club night if there is no red lipstick involved, after all.

Your makeup usually looks good when you apply it yourself, but Mina has a genuine eye and skill for makeup artistry. You recall her telling you that she’d always dreamed of going to beauty school but hadn’t pursued it. You had told her that it’s never too late to fulfill a dream and she had only smiled at you.

“Hey,” You say, “Is Jimin coming tonight? How’d your date last week go?”

“It was really good,” Mina says, something sweet in her voice, “He made me dinner and dessert. And then I sucked his soul from his cock an hour later and he even made me squirt. And yeah, he’s coming tonight to the club. We’ll see what happens...”

“Wow,” You nod, listening with wide eyes, “That sounds amazing. I’m really happy things are going well for you both. Including the horny stuff.”

“The horny stuff?” Mei laughs, “You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” You say, playfully shoving her shoulder, “It’s no joking matter that he made you squirt.”

“Yeah, I high fived him after,” Mina says slyly, “It was… a night. Can’t wait to have another night like that. But I’m gonna make him work for it tonight.”

“As you should,” You nod solemnly, “What about you Mei? Are we drinking until we blackout or are you playing hard to get with Seulgi?”

“Who says we can’t do both?” Comes Mei’s muffled response.

“Cheers to that,” You reply, “Are… Jimin’s roommates coming?”

“You think you’re slick, huh?” Mina snorts, “You wondering about Jungkook?”

“N-no, I haven’t seen Taehyung in a while either-”

“Tae’s coming, but Jungkook isn’t. Something about having a long week and wanting to chill at home.”

“Oh, gotcha,” You say, cheeks ablaze as you avoid her eyes. Unable to hold the slight sting of disappointment from your voice.

Mina and Mei see right through it but they say nothing, only handing you a refill of your now empty glass.

Despite the relatively steady stream of drinks in your hand (an illusion, really, you’ve been nursing the same two drinks all night), you’re almost completely sober. In fact, you’re more tired than anything else. It seems that Jungkook had the right idea to stay home tonight. You’re rather benignly jealous of his decision.

You enjoy dancing and singing with your friends, feeling the thrum and excitement of music and your close companions bursting through your veins.But environments like this overwhelm you sometimes. All of the flashing lights, sometimes smoke and all of the people… Tonight seems to be one of those nights.

“Wanna dance?” Comes a rich, velvety voice behind you to the right. It’s Taehyung, and you’d rather dance with Taehyung than anyone else in this club. With the exception being Jungkook, but he’s not here right now.

“Okay,” You nod, taking his hand when he offers it to you. Your thoughts flit to Jungkook briefly.

Taehyung is good company, always keeping you with a smile on your face and filling you up with laughter. He keeps you close with easy, gentle movements as you both belt out the words to whatever song is playing on the speakers. But Taehyung has always been observant.

“You don’t really wanna be here, huh? I’d take it personally, if I didn’t know you,” Taehyung teases.

“No, it’s not that,” You murmur, “Just have never been a big club goer, that’s all. Jungkook had the right idea in staying home.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung muses, “What are you two doing?”

He’s almost as blunt as Yoongi (who’s also in some corner of the club. Usually, he keeps you company at things like this, but conveniently, he’s nowhere to be found.).

“If I knew I was going to be interrogated in this club, I would’ve drank more,” You say dryly. Taehyung laughs at that and squeezes your shoulder.

“You both deserve to be happy. Just want you to know that.”

“Thanks, Tae,” You say, a grin spreading across your face, “I guess you’re not as sleazy as Mina says you are-”

“Me? Sleazy?” Taehyung gasps, pretending to be affronted. You roll your eyes and offer him your hand.

“Wanna dance?”

Taehyung turns you around and holds your hips tightly in his hands, dancing with you to the beat of the music. It’s nice to be held like this, even if it’s a little dirty.

You don’t notice a pair of sly eyes watching you from across the club.

By the time you excuse yourself to catch a breath and grab some water from the bar, you realize that most of your friends are off doing their own thing. It gives you a second to people watch from the second floor of the curb and lean on the railings, taking in your surroundings. Despite stifling a yawn.

You relish in the cool feel of the icy water flooding your senses, waking you up a little more. You wonder if you can convince Yoongi to take you to get fries or tacos after the night ends. At the thought of tacos, you salivate a little.

But your taco fueled fantasies are broken when a few girls try to push past you to get to the bar. You mumble a soft apology, but it goes unheard. The unmistakable sound of a voice, a voice that you’ve only recently been able to put out of your mind, breaks through the barrier and it makes your heart drop.

It’s an angry call of your name. Your stomach churns, and suddenly you’ve never wanted to learn the art of teleportation more.

Sora, in all her bitter glory, stands in front of you with a full drink in her hands. Beside her are two of her friends, looking resigned and trying to plead with her that they should go.

“Missed me so much that you followed me here, huh?” Sora sneers.

“I’m not even going to entertain that with a response. Or you for that matter,” You say tiredly, trying to step past her.

“All your friends left you. Look at you all alone,” She says and you roll your eyes with a dry laugh.

“I’d rather be alone than have anything to do with you, Sora,” You reply easily, “I’m leaving now-”

But she sidesteps you again, gripping your forearm and looking at you with so much animosity that it makes your skin crawl. Had she always looked at you like that?

“I can’t believe you just dropped me like nothing. After I gave you everything,” Sora says, as if you had said nothing at all. She’s clearly a little drunk, telltale signs of her drunkenness clear on her face. Her words are slurred and she stumbles a little on her feet. You cringe. You don’t want to have this conversation with her whether she’s sober or drunk.

“You treated me like I was nothing,” You snap, “I don’t want to discuss this with you. Now let me go.”

“Or what? There’s nobody here ‘cept you and me, babe,” She says, her lips twisting into a cruel smirk. Her friends have disappeared and warning bells start to go off in your head. She’s right, all of your friends have dispersed. But you manage to fish your phone out of your purse while she rambles to you and send a text to the groupchat, simply stating “pls help, Sora is here”.

Dread seeps into your pores. You just want to be done with her presence.

“Sora, just let me go. Nothing you say will change anything,” You say heatedly, “Fucking let go of me!”

You try to yank your arm out of her grip but her nails are sharp against your skin.

“I loved you, you know that? I fucking gave you everything, you were my best friend,” Sora hisses, “I just wanted to you be happy. To see that I’d do anything for you.”

It takes a minute for the dust to settle but you suddenly begin to understand. “You hurt me! That’s not friendship or l-love, or anything remotely close to it. Nothing you say will change that. I don’t want you around anymore. Take a hint, Sora,” Your voice is cold and deadly, nothing like what Sora is accustomed to.

“Please, let me go,” You beg softly, “Why won’t you let me go?”

Tears spring into your eyes, both from the force she’s holding you with and from how much this is exhausting you.

“What does he have that’s worth all of this?” Sora hisses.

“It doesn’t matter what he has. I like him and I enjoy spending time with him, that’s all that should matter, and I’m not explaining Jungkook to you,” You say coldly, “You lost the right to know a long time ago. If you took your head out of your ass for two seconds, you’d know that this friendship was over months ago.”

By now, both of your voices have raised in volume and pitch, attracting the attention of bystanders. This makes no sense to you, your head is starting to hurt from the implications of her words. You just want to go home. By now, Yoongi has seen your text and is trying to get to the bar to rescue you from Sora.

“He won’t give you what you need,” Sora exclaims.

“Shut up! Just fucking stop talking about him,” You shout, “I’m so fucking sick of this, just leave me the fuck alone. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me anymore, just drop it!”

You feel the need to defend him though, “He’s kind, he has a big heart a-and, you know what, I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just fucking drop it! Leave me alone!”

“You are so fucking blind! You’ve always been such an oblivious fucking bitch,” She screams at you and your blood goes cold. You’ve seen her angry, but not like this not when her eyes are blown over with rage.

Yoongi’s heart is beating in his ears as he tries to find you- this club is fucking huge, where the hell could you be? He’s already sent a text to Jungkook, telling him that you might be in trouble at the club and that nobody could find you.

“Where is he then? If he’s so kind, he must be here right?”

“What the fuck is your problem? You’ve always had a stick up your ass about him specifically- I mean you’ve always have a stick up your ass, but with him it’s like something crawled up there and died-”

“You couldn’t even cuff him? You dropped me for him and you didn’t even cuff him?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“What are you afraid of, babe?” She sneers cruelly, “Afraid he’ll find something he doesn’t like? Or are you afraid you’ll find something that you don’t like?”

Frustration and hurt boils in your belly, causing wetness to pool in your eyes. You shut your eyes tightly, willing the feeling to go away. With all of the calmness you can muster, you throw her hand off of you and rub your forearm gingerly.

Before you can say anything, her eyes narrow to slits. You don’t even have time to react before you feel a sudden wetness drench the front of your top. Remnants of her drink are splashed on your torso and you gasp, rage flaring through your veins once more. How dare she throw her drink at you? Before you can do anything though, a pair of arms circle your waist and you’re pulled into a strong chest.

You recognize the scent of his cologne immediately and the feel of his leather jacket. “Jungkook,” You mumble, looking up at him. He immediately gives you his jacket and pushes it through your arms wordlessly.

“Hi,” He murmurs, taking in your wide, nervous eyes and the trembling of your hands. He brushes a thumb over your cheek before standing in front of you and you take his hand in yours. Jungkook squeezes reassuringly.

He offers Sora a long, hard look and a shake of his head. She almost balks at his intense gaze. Almost.

“C’mon baby,” Jungkook finally says, “Let’s get out of here.”

“My knight in shining arm-” You shiver once you’re both outside the club, away from the eyes of strangers. You cut your train of thought off when he pulls you close to him, cupping your cheeks with both hands. Worry dots his eyes and he presses his forehead to yours shakily.

“Jungkook?” You say softly, “Is everything-”

He exhales, a shudder felt against your skin. He seems to be at odds with himself, an internal battle dancing in his dark eyes. But Jungkook makes up his mind and cradles your face again, the gentle pads of his thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“I missed you,” Jungkook croaks, “Shit, I miss you so fucking much. Can I kiss you, baby? Is it okay if I kiss you?”

You nod instantly, breathing out a soft ‘yes’. Whatever this recent development means for both of you, it makes sense. You want this and you want him.

And then he kisses you as if it was meant to be, as if he’s been thinking about your lips every minute of every day- soft, balmy lips against your chapped, red lips. Jungkook swallows your gasp, somehow brushing against the parts of your heart that missed him. His kiss is sweet and desperate as his tongue traces over your teeth before dipping further into your mouth. Your knees weaken slightly, but he holds you steady with one arm around your waist and his other hand cradling your cheek.

You’re overwhelmed by him and from the events of the night. Whatever wetness had gathered in your eyes clings to your lashes before dropping down your cheeks.

“Baby,” Jungkook says softly. He gathers you in his arms, hugging you tightly. You sink into his hold on you, inhaling deeply. The faint thrum of his heart calms you slightly.

“I missed you,” You reply, voice barely above a whisper, “Fuck, I missed you a lot.”

He kisses your forehead with a small smile, the hint of his dimples making you smile, too. Jungkook looks at you as if you’re transparent, trying to study the reason for your wet lashes and the tear stains down your face. A feeling of understanding passes between you both, calming your racing heart and your nerves.

“Jungkook,” You murmur, “Take me home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Yours,” You reply, not really wanting to be in your home just yet, “It’s only fair, since you spent the night at my place last time, right?”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Jungkook chuckles. He kisses you one more time before adjusting his motorcycle helmet over your head. When you wrap your arms around him, you press a kiss to the back of his neck and behind his ear.

He shivers.

Jungkook can tell you’re in your head a little bit, a little quiet and shaky. Even as you head into his bathroom to change into the clothes he’d given you, you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. When you returned from the bathroom with a bare face, you’re lost in thought, biting down on your bottom lip and chewing harshly.

He’d pulled you into his arms, applied his clear balm on your lips, and chided you for treating your lips like that.

You only smiled weakly at him and meekly asked him to hold you under his covers. He doesn’t deny you.

He’d caught the tail end of Sora’s tirade at the club, and he’d begun to understand. He thinks you had begun to understand, too.

“Hey,” Jungkook whispers into your hair, “Do you want to talk, baby?”

“I don’t know what to say,” You admit softly, pressing your hand over his.

“I can talk for both of us,” Jungkook says, kissing your temple, “Can I do that?”

“Yeah,” You mumble, threading your fingers through his and squeezing.

“I heard some of what Sora said,” Jungkook says and you tense up but he wordlessly tells you to relax, “I think in some weird, twisted, fucked up way. She loved you and her way of showing you how was keeping you to herself. It’s shitty, but it made sense to her. But you don’t owe her anything, baby. Not a damn thing.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I feel really gross and I don’t know why.”

“That’s alright, baby,” Jungkook says, rubbing your arm, “You didn’t know. That’s not love, not really. You’re safe here.”

“I know,” You say, turning to look at him with a small smile, “I trust you.”

You turn fully in his arms, resting your head on his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist. His heartbeat lulls you to sleep, as well as his gentle fingers over your back. It’s so easy with him, and you don’t need to think too much. Just how you like it.

Tags: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

MoM Tags: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe @beeeetsandskzreads @maichiverse @hordanhearsawhooo @anonymous2505

[glassblossomsthunderstorm]

Well, the High Rollers Crew asked for it, so I decided to deliver🐛🍂🎲

We Didn’t Start The Mire based on their Curse of Strahd campaign and Billy Joel’s We didn’t start the fire.

This is pretty much a summary of the events of HR COS up to episode 33, so obviously beware the spoilers!

Disclaimers: As much as I would like to be a kickass Alto, a kickass Alto I am not. Instead I’m one of dem High Sopranos, so the pitch of this song is... not exactly ideal for my voice. I’m also not a native english speaker, so please let me know if you find anything gravely wrong with the lyrics! I also don’t know the first thing about mixing music, so I’m aware that this is very amateurish, but despite my terror of the whole fandom laughing at this, somebody might end up liking it, hopefully, so here we go! The ending part was a last minute idea, but I like it :) I’m sure other’s have done something like this much more successfully already, but I’m actually pretty proud of how my lyrics turned out, so I wanted to share it anyways😊

Anyways, enough excuses, lyrics can be found under the cut, background track by ProSound Karaoke Band! Headphones probably help and check out High Rollers!

Travellers in Barovia,

Ravenloft and Bonegrinder,

The Kolyanas, Madam Eva, and Taroka Decks.

Shadow beyond the Veil,

Rose summons thorn and hail,

Yesper and the Dragonborns,

Vallaki is not safe.

Xiiki comes back from the dead,

But there’s something that she lacks,

Shadow figures, giant snail,

Bones of St. Andral.

Silver Dragon, He-Who-Grins,

Don’t you trust the Mystan-Twins,

Pacts made with Asmodeus,

Ireena is Tatyana.

We didn’t start the Mire,

It has always been here,

Before Strahd had sowed fear.

We didn’t start the Mire,

No, the earth is rising,

And it’s socialising!

Sunsword and Mad Mage,

Strahd is full of rage,

Towers are collapsing,

And Xiiki’s down again.

Shadow dies and Rose is grieving,

Yesper’s mad and Xiros’ scheming,

Ismark is a himbo,

And Strahd just fucking sucks.

Mistrust, secret deals,

Giving Xiiki guilty feels,

Dogsbody gives some hope,

Turns out he’s a lycanthrope,

Yesper-Xiros-heart-to-heart

Helps drawing another card,

Ezmerelda joins the Gang,

But she’s too intolerant.

Chorus

Scarecrows, Wereravens,

Vineyards and green gems,

Dragons walk their own way,

Nearly ends in TPK.

Xiros, Xiiki are no more,

Living in Avernus lore,

Tom and Rhi make new plans,

Coming back as the lands.

Party is completely torn,

But therefore the Mire’s born,

Bugs and shrooms are everywhere,

Lysaga isn’t fighting fair,

Flying skulls and kidnapped kids,

Snakes are being little shits,

Grasping vine and darkness cast,

Yesper isn’t made to last.

Chorus

Nope-ropes are cut in twain,

House is in rock throwing range,

Strahd owes me money now,

Yesper’s taking his last bow.

Finally the zombie dies,

Ireena makes a sacrifice,

Hut’s defeated, Rose is sad,

Ding dong the witch is dead.

Second relic is unveiled,

The party’s plans are derailed,

Because Ezmerelda’s back

In the town of Krezk.

  Chorus

Crystal ponds, abbey bells,

Alvaski versus truth spells,

Shadow’s breaking all our hearts,

Dead ducks don’t fly backwards.

Tracking down Vasilka,

Ismark of the Opera,

Stitched together angel pricks,

Silvered weapons, magic kicks.

Vasilka’s tearing wolves apart,

Alvaski’s story hurts my heart,

Rose’s quest is Shadow’s rest,

Mark, we all are fucking stressed!

Mirewolf and werewolf dens,

Laughing fits and opened cans,

Tom and Trotty ship their boys,

HR fandom make some noise!

[musas-muse]

After the take down of Essex House 

@persuasivewhispers​​

Sela laughed, an involuntary sound, as the cork of the bottle she had in a firm grasp finally popped, a delightful spray of bubble foaming out and over the top of the bottle. Her hips swayed along to the peppy jazz coming from the speakers of her CD player in the main room of her apartment. The cork rolled along the surface of the table as Sela discarded it, trading it in favor of sticking two long, thin champagne flutes between her gloved fingers. 

“Finally, it all went right, hm?” She spoke with a celebratory smile, her already lilted voice nearly sing-song as she rejoined her friend in the main room. Sela handed Tenzin one of the flutes and began filling it. “The House has fallen, the shoes have been stolen and soon” With the death of a specific few, “we’ll all be singing that dreadful song-- how does it go again?” She lifts the bottle as the alcohol in Tenzin’s glass nearly reaches the brim. “Oh yes, ‘ding-dong the wicked witch is dead!’”

[passionate-reply]

Great Albums is kicking off Pride Month with a special feature on one of the weirdest and wildest queer artists of the New Wave era: the one and only Klaus Nomi! Combining glam, synth-pop, and opera, of all things, Nomi’s tragically short career is nothing short of mystifying. Check out the video or read the full transcript, below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! In this installment, I’ll be looking at the self-titled debut album of one of the most unique, incomparable, and unforgettable artists in music history: the one and only Klaus Nomi. What is it that makes Nomi so noteworthy? Perhaps the most obvious thing is his background as a classically trained opera singer. While a lot of pop vocalists have some degree of classical training, it’s rare to find one who worked so hard to bring ultra-mannered, literally operatic lead vocals into an otherwise pop context.

The other thing I should mention is that Nomi’s voice part was the “countertenor,” giving his vocals an even more unusual dimension. Countertenors are men who sing in a high range usually covered by women, and even in the operatic tradition, they weren’t necessarily all that common, particularly since the rise of opera coincided with that of the infamous castrati--male singers who were castrated to preserve their prepubescent voices. The combination of partially electronic, New Wave compositions with these bizarre, but ultimately “traditional” vocals results in something that sounds simply otherworldly.

Music: “Total Eclipse”

“Total Eclipse” is probably Nomi’s best known track, due in part to being featured in the seminal concert film Urgh! A Music War, which sought to capture the diversity of the early 80s New Wave scene. Like a lot of classic songs of this era, it tackles the subject of nuclear annihilation, albeit with a nearly depraved, gleeful tone, that makes it feel like more of a party. For the verses, Nomi adopts a sort of rhythmic speak-singing, which was much more par for the course for “New Wave” music, only to shockingly explode into a powerful operatic rendition of the refrain. It reminds me a bit of how, in musical theatre, tension builds through spoken dialogue, before characters are so emotional they feel compelled to burst into song--or, of course, how recitative blossoms into arias in opera. In the context of this particular track, it’s easy to interpret it as an embodiment of how “cold wars” can suddenly burst into flame. While “Total Eclipse” was a new composition, written specifically for Nomi by Kristian Hoffman, this album also features several covers of past hits, such as “You Don’t Own Me.”

Music: “You Don’t Own Me”

Nomi’s covers of the Midcentury pop ditties “Lightning Strikes” and “You Don’t Own Me” repeat the structure of “Total Eclipse,” showing that this signature pattern of increasing tension leading to increasingly mannered vocals is just as effective when retroactively applied to pre-existing compositions. What’s also significant about “You Don’t Own Me” is that it was originally written for a woman, Lesley Gore, and its defiant assertion of self-confidence has long been associated with women’s liberation. Being openly gay, Nomi sees fit to leave the lyric “play with other boys” just as it is, and could be interpreted to be deliberately emphasizing that last word, intentionally queering his rendition of the song. Nomi’s ability to sing in a traditionally female voice range, combined with his eccentric, gender-bending personal aesthetic, makes the interrogation of traditional concepts of gender an integral part of his art. Some of the other covers on the album are even older than the Midcentury, coming from the golden age of opera, such as “The Cold Song.”

Music: “The Cold Song”

Also known by its opening lyrics, “What power art thou?”, “The Cold Song” is a rare operatic aria that was actually designed for the countertenor voice part. It was written by the English composer William Purcell, a noted fan of countertenors who lived outside the influence of the Italian castrati, for his 1691 opera King Arthur. Well, King Arthur is actually what’s sometimes called a “semi-opera”: not all characters sing, and those who do often tend to be supernatural entities. “The Cold Song” is sung by a winter spirit called the Cold Genius, when reluctantly awakened from icy slumber by Cupid. His lines are sung so as to stutter, as he shivers from the freezing cold of his surrounds. Unlike the pop covers on the album, the arias are actually played pretty straight, almost as if they serve as evidence of Nomi’s actual chops doing traditional opera the old-fashioned way. “The Cold Song” is certainly a great fit for Nomi’s unique stage persona, which presented him as a fey or elfin non-human visitor from some mythical Otherworld, or perhaps an extraterrestrial from outer space. This theme is addressed most directly by the one track on this album composed entirely by Nomi himself: “Keys of Life.”

Music: “Keys of Life”

“Keys of Life” is the album’s opening track, and perhaps serves as Nomi’s personal introduction to the people of our realm--a sort of musical “we come in peace” message. Its lyrics seem to portray Nomi as a benevolent visitor, but one with a dire warning for mankind: we need to get our act together soon, for our actions now are of great import, as we humans “hold the keys of life.” Perhaps Nomi’s mission is to prevent climate catastrophe on Earth, or, given the context of “Total Eclipse,” a nuclear apocalypse. With its warbling synthesiser backdrop, and Nomi singing fully in the operatic style throughout, “Keys of Life” is arguably the most experimental piece to be had on the album, and putting it as the very first track certainly pulls no punches.

It is, of course, difficult to fully address the significance of Nomi’s persona without getting into his visual identity. The cover of Nomi’s self-titled debut features his most iconic outfit: an oversized plastic tuxedo, with hugely exaggerated shoulders, and a pointed hairstyle with a bit of Streamline Moderne flair. I mentioned earlier that Nomi’s work seems concerned with gender, and in that context, I’ve often interpreted this look as a sort of caricature of masculinity, parodying men’s formalwear and calling attention to Nomi’s receding hairline. There is certainly something absurd about a high-pitched, perhaps feminine-coded voice emerging from a ludicrously masculine sort of character. The use of thin, shiny, reflective plastic, and the aforementioned Midcentury feel of the hairstyle, make me also consider interpreting it as less of a parody, and more of an alien’s bad attempt at adopting the appearance of an “ordinary,” upstanding, conservative human male in attire, using space-age materials to cobble it together.

The oversized, geometric appearance of Nomi’s garb reminds me of the great Dada poet, Hugo Ball, founder of the legendary Cabaret Voltaire. Ball was the inventor of what he called “sound poetry,” and enacted lively readings of poetry that consisted of entirely nonsensical words. He did this while wearing a strange, cylindrical-shaped cardboard suit, said to restrict his movements so much that Ball needed to be ceremoniously carried off stage when he was finished reciting. Given their shared German heritage and cabaret avant-gardism, I can’t help but wonder if Ball’s striking costume was something of an influence on Nomi here.

This album is, of course, self-titled, but that, too, is an artistic choice that can be analyzed. The artist was born Klaus Sperber, but adopted the stage name “Nomi” for his creative endeavours. In the context of the track “The Nomi Song,” the name is often used punningly in comparison with the English phrase “know me.” Nomi’s choice of stage name is almost a dare or a challenge, a request for us to attempt to know and understand this seemingly inscrutable being before us. As with many other portrayals of queerness as alien or otherworldly, the messaging here seems to be that Nomi may seem different at first, but his intent is ultimately benign, should mere mortals like ourselves be kind enough to give him a chance.

Nomi’s follow-up to this debut album was 1982’s Simple Man, an album which is much more similar to its predecessor than different. It has a wider variety of contributing musicians and different instruments employed, but it’s got a similar overall feel, and mix of tracks. You’ll find more covers, like “Falling In Love Again” and even “Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead,” more original compositions, like the Hoffman-penned sequel to “Total Eclipse,” entitled “After the Fall,” and even some more arias, like this stunning rendition of another work of Purcell’s. Referred to here as simply “Death,” it comes from Purcell’s Dido & Aeneas, and is sung by the titular Carthaginian queen, Dido, as she prepares to commit suicide. Also called “Dido’s Lament” or “Thy hand, Belinda,” its darkly descending melody is as captivatingly ominous today as it was when it was written, over three centuries ago.

Music: “Death”

Sadly, Nomi became gravely ill at around this time, and his own untimely death was just around the corner. He died of complications of AIDS in 1983, at the age of just 44, leaving behind an unfinished opera of his own creation, Za Bakdaz, which would go unreleased until 2008. That, and a posthumous live album released in 1986, would be the only other works under Nomi’s name. As with all artists who die tragically young, we will always be left wondering what else Klaus Nomi might’ve accomplished in the ensuing decades. I find it hard to imagine a timeline in which this sound ever became particularly mainstream, but anything else Nomi came up with would have undoubtedly been fascinating.

My favourite track on Nomi’s debut is “The Twist.” Yes, this is indeed Chubby Checker’s “The Twist,” another one of those Midcentury covers that Nomi was so fond of. But compared to the rest of Nomi’s covers, this one is much more of a deconstruction, perhaps even a “piss take,” featuring a sparse instrumentation, centered around a lethargic bass guitar, and the overall pace is slowed to a crawl. Add in Nomi’s piercing vocals and some nearly demonic, chittering laughter, and you’ve got a track that turns a fun, light-hearted dance craze into a surreal nightmare. As difficult as it is to be the strangest track on an album like this, I have to give that honour to “The Twist.” That’s all for today--thanks for watching!

Music: “The Twist”

[imagine-loki]

The sniffles

TITLE: The sniffles CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: 

After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

+

Imagine that against everything you both thought possible, Loki gets the flu. 

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s getting to be chilly season, so the flu is lurking about. Get your flu shots! Be careful! Socially distance! Language, maybe? Mostly fluff. Mentions of illness? (Do people tag that?) Not beta’d or edited, really–probs lots of typos.

SUMMARY: Loki gets sick, though he insists it’s just allergies. Charlie puts on her bossy pants and shows Loki she’s a bamf. Loki is a Nervous Nelly.

X

Loki had nearly frowned himself into an alternate dimension when it first happened–a simple sneeze. He had been sorting through some paperwork that Stark had asked him to complete, a mindless task meant to keep him occupied under the guise of his rehabilitation. With a shrug, Loki aired out the papers, assuming dust had tickled his nose for the briefest of moments, but thought nothing more of it.

Two years into his exile to Midgard and working under the tech guru, Loki had pretty much worked off his sentence in Tony’s eyes. According to anyone with half a brain, depriving Loki of his magic, the major condition of his exile, was punishment enough for the Prince (Loki would never admit that the act of cleaning a whole kitchen to perfection on his hands and knees was methodical and soothing, but it was one of the many joys of his near mortal existence). Still, it turned out that Stark was a bleeding heart and could recognize the tell-tale signs of a son who never got proper validation from their father (or enough hugs). It could have also been the fact that the former hissing-serpent-of-an-Asgardian all but turned into a golden retriever after he fell in love. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Stark was deathly afraid of the five-foot-nothing woman Loki now shared an apartment with, and who would most definitely cause him bodily harm for overworking her boyfriend.

All in all, within the constraints of this supposed punishment, everything was wonderful.

Then, Loki sneezed again.

And continued to do so.

But, of course, he wasn’t ill.

Achoo!

Charlie started, letting out a half-strangled shriek that soon turned into a groan as objects clattered on her desk. Her jaw clenched together so tightly, she thought her teeth would crack.

Now, Charlie wasn’t irritated that her dork alien of a boyfriend was sneezing in her presence while she was trying to get work done. No, she was irritated because she had sent him to bed (again, for the sixth time) twenty minutes ago when his fever and chills started to turn him into an unintelligible, hallucinating mess. She thought she had been quite clear in her order for him to get some rest. After all, it had been three days since Loki first sneezed, and though he had brushed it off as a bad case of seasonal allergies, his denial was starting to get ridiculous, not to mention, harmful.

Turns out thousand year old demigods-turned-mortal are no better at following orders than any other man on the planet. In fact, Charlie was pretty sure he was being more of a brat than any other mortal… not that she’d ever tell him.

Pushing away her keyboard, she stood away from the desk, taking a second to orient herself and stare in the general direction she had heard the sneeze come from.

She schooled her facial expression into what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression. “Go. Back. To. Bed.”

Loki grumbled, his voice particularly hoarse and gravelly with an added nasally quality from his blocked passages. “It’s allergies and I have things to do,” he retorted stubbornly, ignoring the fact that his whole world seemed to tilt ever-so-slightly with each step he took.

“Allergies, my ass. Loki Odinson, you have the flu. You belong back in bed. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”

He let out a half-hearted snort, pretending that he did not at all feel the need to double over and repeat whatever little breakfast he was able to get down his gullet that morning. “I am not sick. I haven’t been sick in four centuries. Your sorry Midgardian microbes cannot infect me.”

“Yeah, when you had your full powers. Now, though–”

“I’m fine-d.”

It was a small, momentary miracle that Charlie wasn’t able to see the way he swayed on a spot, holding his head pathetically against the sudden bout of vertigo that assaulted him. At least he thought she couldn’t. Though Loki could not explain the fact that her hand grasped him by an elbow a moment later with what appeared to be no difficulty. Clearly he was off his game, and he didn’t even bother complaining when Charlie half-dragged him all the way to the sofa and forced him to sit.

He couldn’t help but smile at the brows knitted together in worry or the lower lip being chewed within an inch of its soft, supple life. The extreme gentleness and care she took in smoothing back his hair and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead made his stomach twist in the most pleasant way. This was the best antidote, he supposed, just watching her fuss over his shivering body. Loki certainly wasn’t used to being taken care of in this manner. It felt almost wrong to succumb to the desire of slumping into the pillows and letting her dote on him.

“I love you,” slipped from his lips before he was even aware that his brain had attempted to convey the message.

Charlie beamed in response, cheeks turning warm copper with a blush. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his face to cup his cheeks. “I love you, too, sweets, but if you don’t stay still and rest, I will put on Stark’s suit and make you.”

Loki smirked, twining one of her curls around his finger and letting it bounce back with a gentle tug. “Have I told you how attractive I find you when you get all bossy?”

“Only every single second this week, Lo.”

“Well, I firmly believe in truth-telling, dove,” he added, voice betraying the exhaustion that seeped into his bones. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the gentle circles she drew around his temples were some sort of ancient magic. “I’m late for work,” he protested, making an effort to sit back up. He would admit that they way Charlie shoved him back onto the cushions was a little distracting for two entirely different reasons: one, he was weak enough that Charlie could push him down like it was nothing; and, two… it was sort of… sexy. He would take them both to his grave.

“I called Tony and told him you were sick.”

Loki frowned. “What did he say?”

“He asked FRIDAY to queue up ”Ding dong! The witch is dead“,” she joked, lips tugging up in a smirk. “He said to take the week off. No one needs your Asgardian super bugs rolling around the Tower.” Charlie’s lips pressed against his forehead, followed immediately by a sigh. “You’re burning up again, Loki.”

“Everything hurts,” he conceded in a small voice, feeling like a failure when the concern etched in her features deepened further.

Charlie took in the complaint with a resolute nod.

“OK. I’ll go to the pharmacy down the street for some medicine and some electrolytes. You get some rest.” She patted his cheek and made to stand when Loki’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“I’ll come with you.” He assured, at once, hoping the edge of nervousness wasn’t obvious in his voice.

“Nice try, super spreader.” Her fingers peeled his, dexterously. “No. Get some rest. I’ll be back in twenty.”

“But–”

“I promise you I will be fine, Loki. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Loki was still reluctant as he watched her cool and confident expression. He shifted awkwardly. He knew that Charlie was entirely capable of any task and she had adapted well to the technology available to her as a non-seeing person, but… Norns, he was just a pathetic mess when it came to her. The thought of anything happening to her… “I know, but–”

“You worry. I understand, but this is important, Loki. You’re important and you’re sick and you need me to go get you medicine.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against her hand for a long moment before finding the courage to speak. “Just… be careful, alright? Maximum alertness, yeah?”

“I promise,” she assured in a whisper, leaning in to kiss his crown. “Please get some rest until I get back.” Her fingers were back to scratching his scalp, combing through his shaggy locks until he could no longer fight against the heaviness of sleep. He uttered half a protest before drifting off, leaving Charlie to cover him up with the spare blanket she kept on the sofa and tucking him in.

Charlie would not say that she was nervous about going out without Loki, but she was certainly not not nervous. She wrapped herself up warm to ward off the autumn chill and triple checked her belongings: keys, phone, card wallet, cane. Her head turned over her shoulder on instinct, as if attempting to spare a glance at Loki sleeping on the couch, before she closed the door behind her.

Loki awoke with a start what felt like an eternity later. His hair was sticking out in all directions and his clothes felt like they were pasted to his body with sweat. He was no longer on the couch, but in bed, and he felt… marginally better. Still, his heart was thumping loudly against his ribcage with a sense of uneasiness.

Charlie.

Where was Charlie?

“Oh, gods, please no.” It was too still. Too quiet. “CHARLIE!?” He called frantically, kicking the covers off of himself, despite the fact that his head disliked his sudden change in momentum. He grit his teeth against the nausea that rose immediately after. He needed to get out of bed and–

“Oh, you’re up!” Charlie chirped happily from the doorway.

His head snapped toward her voice to find her standing with a tray and very carefully balancing a bowl of soup, a sports drink and a bottle of water atop it. The grace with which she was managing to balance the liquids over the wooden serving tray was uncharacteristic–Charlie had never been particularly poised due to her impatience and going blind had not helped matters. After a minute, she placed the tray beside him on the bed and managed to sit down without any major spillage. Loki beamed at the satisfied look on her face and the anxiously flitting and hovering gaze she got when she was particularly excited.

“You’re back,” he breathed softly, fingertips trailing over the hand resting closest to him.

“I was only gone for fifteen minutes.” Charlie giggled. “Do you not remember taking your medicine and coming to bed?”

Loki shook his head before remembering his replies had to be aloud. “Er… no. No, I don’t.”

“You were pretty out of it,” she admitted, not thinking anything of it. “We had a lot of extra veggies, so I made you soup.”

He swallowed at the lump in his throat to no avail as he watched the perfectly cubed pieces of vegetables floating in a golden broth. He could practically feel her efforts radiating off the bowl with every plume of steam that rose enticingly. “You cooked?” His voice caught slightly.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me if it’s no good. It took me forever to chop things, so I might actually cry,” she replied, only half serious.

He picked up the bowl and tentatively sipped at the broth, letting out an involuntary moan when the rich taste flooded his taste buds. “Charlie, it… it’s perfect. It’s delicious.” The satisfied grin she gave in response made the remainder of his pain float away like dandelion fluff. He sipped some more before letting out a contented sigh as his bones warmed. “You are a wonder of wonders, Charlotte Camden.”

Charlie snorted. “I went to the pharmacy and managed not to burn down the apartment. I am middling, at best.”

“Say what you want, but I am proud of you,” he whispered, enjoying the blush on her cheeks as he slurped down the rest of his soup.

He knew she was secretly pleased with the praise, even if she didn’t admit it. Loki was aware that he worried all too much about giving her extra independence with all the what-ifs that popped up in his head. She was always so eager to challenge herself and had proven time and again she was capable of so much more than what she did on a daily basis. Loki was still in her life because she desired it, not because she needed anything from him.

For goodness’ sake, here she was, minding him.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Charlie. I feel restored, already.”

“Finally, he admits illness!” She snickered under her breath while Loki grumbled. “Of course, Loki. It is my distinct pleasure.” She leaned in just enough to prompt Loki to proffer his cheek, skin warm from the flush that could only half be attributed to the warmth of the broth. Her fingers trailed over his scalp, making him shudder from head to toe. “Drink all your fluids and back to bed,” she ordered gently before disappearing back out the bedroom door.

Loki wasn’t used to being taken care of like this but… he could get used to it.

[5ammi90]

Supernatural rewatch

Season 1 episode 18

Monkeypuss???? What a weird pet name for your kid.

Oh this is thing that goes after younger siblings first, then goes for the eldest. The shtriga.

Closes white curtains that are thinner than air and more transparent than Casper. Yeah that will stop the monsters.

I feel bad for Dean in this one because he screwed up (according to John even though a 8/9 year should be left alone to take care of his younger bother but anyway) and went to the arcade and when he came back the shtriga almost got Sam and Dean was unable to shoot the thing. John showed up (wow) and shot it but they immediately left without checking whether it was fully dead because John was worried about Sam (well done but screw you, you have two kids. Not one kid and one solider). Now the thing has recovered and has started attacking kids again. Oops.

Lol “bikini inspector”

Yay flashback episode. I like seeing how these two grew up but at the same time it’s sad because you see the abuse (that they don’t even realise is abuse) these two have went through. The fact that they get left alone for who knows how many weeks. Also the fact that they only have a certain amount of money to survive on and sometimes John can be gone longer than expected and that means that the money and food have ran out. Dean is brainwashed is to thinking Sam’s survival is more important than his own, thanks John. It’s why he eats so much because he grew up starving. Honestly could rant about John Winchester parenting for years. 16 page essay I swear.

It’s the Doctor, he’s the shtriga. I can’t be 100% but I have a vibe.

Awwww little baby Dean he’s so cute. Little baby Sammy looks comatose when the camera first cuts to him but when it goes back to Dean then back to Sam he’s suddenly sitting up and watching tv. Weird. Also John asking Dean what’s most important and Dean immediately saying ‘watch out for Sammy’ along with ‘that’s my man’ (no sir that a baby) hurts in a way. This is what lead to Dean selling his soul and everything that came afterwards. Later on when Dean blames Sam and Sam blames Dean I just can’t help but yell it’s technically Cas’ fault (the whole time travel episode) and also John’s for playing right into everybody’s hands with the way he raised the boys.

Dean blames himself for the shtriga getting away and the fact that 6 kids are in the hospital. Sam has a terrible memory. Also Sam stop asking poor Dean questions. Dean has finally met his match. The difference is that kid isn’t the only one looking after the younger sibling. Also poor Dean someone give him a bowl of Lucky Charms.

They thinks it’s a she because it’s a type of witch. Well that’s just wrong. Witches can be guys as well. So cause they think it’s a woman they don’t think to look at the doctor. Nice works guys.

Great work Dean you nearly killed an innocent blind old lady. 10 points. Yes Sam laugh at him. The shtriga got Sammy 2.0. Dean really does relate with this kid even though it’s different because Dean actually knows what’s out there. Don’t let on that you know he’s the bad guy Dean.

Poor Dean. I really wanna hug him and tell him everything’s gonna be fine. Baby Dean locked the door and everything, he honestly didn’t think anything would try and attack Sam. He froze, poor boy. Fuck you John. Dean looks like he’s about to start crying, John is an ass. Dean was just a kid, way to much responsibility.

That kid really is Dean 2.0. The fact that he listened to there crazy story and put himself in danger all for his little brother.

The shtriga really is kinda freaky looking, even though you can only see half it’s face. Your imagination kinda goes wild. It’s not dead and I jumped when it grabbed Dean. Headshot, fatality. Shoots 3 more times just to be sure. Yay, ding dong the witch is Dead.

@arcadia30 @silverwing2522

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 10

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter ten [10/12] AO3

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Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

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a/n:  okay, we’re getting near to the end!  in the spirit of that, just a note to say that following this chapter, the last two chapters will both post next week:  chapter 11 on monday and chapter 12 as scheduled on thursday. 

for @thisonesatellite​ who, honestly, i cannot even remember how many times i rewrote this chapter--but i only made her read it once. (twice)  

and to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @katie-dub, because this was the product of another weekend of frenzied group sprints and VERY loud emo music.

to @captainswanbigbang for all of the things and the awesome.

i love this chapter, am very proud of it, and i hope that you also enjoy it.  (also, i think you will understand why the posting schedule change seemed like a good idea when you read it) 😇

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cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~5k AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine

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chapter summary: Ding, dong.  The witch is dead. But our tale is not nearly over. 

What better place than a jail cell for a family reunion?

--

Betamax.

The CCTV in the station was fucking Betamax, because of course it was.

How was that even plausible? How did a person even wire CCTV into a Betamax and then keep it running, for twenty-eight years?

How had no one ever noticed how completely ridiculous that was?

Magic.

And that might have been it, might have been the factor that finally pushed Emma over the edge, laughing somewhere on the knife blade between humor and hysteria as she watched the footage from her holding cell, her same one, the one where David had locked her back up the instant he walked in and saw a woman dying on the ground of his station and a man with a weapon and obvious intent standing over her.

Well, he locked Killian in first--then Emma--then there was the issue of Mary Margaret.

Emma still wasn’t sure why Mary Margaret was even in the station, not when Regina was too busy screaming--or as close to it as she ever came--which seemed to be, just, really fucking angry. Her eyes were doing that thing, where she looked like she might shoot fire out of them, and for the first time Emma wondered if maybe she could, if that was actually possible, because someone had just tried to pull her fucking heart from her fucking body.

And Hook--Killian--had--

“What did you do?” Regina demanded.

Which--it was a good question, and Emma kind of wanted to know, too, not the why of it, exactly, but the how, that and why Mary Margaret was in the holding cell next to her and if she could ever help Henry lose that look he had in his eyes now, watching Cora try to kill her on Betamax in all of its black-and-white glory.

Emma’s breathing still hadn’t completely recovered from--that. Her head was still spinning.

It had been one hell of a night.

“It’s dreamshade,” Killian said.

“That’s just a myth,” Regina said, and if Killian’s expression had been dark before--well. Maybe his eyes would shoot fire, because he sure as shit looked like he wanted to lay Regina out right alongside her mother.

Henry spoke up, almost indignant on Killian’s behalf. “It’s not,” he said, “it’s in the book. It’s the deadliest poison in--” He stopped suddenly, as though he only just realized who he was talking to; the look he gave Killian was almost apologetic. There was a part of Emma that wanted to smile, at the protective instincts of this kid who was somehow hers, and how fiercely he believed. Emma remembered the story, too, the one in the book where Hook’s brother had been killed by a poisonous plant from Neverland--which was a place, a real place, where dreamshade grew. The deadliest poison in all of ‘the realms.’ Plural. How many were there, exactly?

Captain Hook had just killed the Queen of Hearts with a plant from Neverland after they had used a magic curse to travel from an Enchanted Forest, so at least three, Emma decided, only because it was easier than contemplating the fact that the Queen of Hearts had tried to steal Emma’s heart out of her body, and been repelled by actual magic powers. That Emma had.

Fuck. This really was her life.

read the rest on AO3

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chapter ten

Betamax.

The CCTV in the station was fucking Betamax, because of course it was.

How was that even plausible? How did a person even wire CCTV into a Betamax and then keep it running, for twenty-eight years?

How had no one ever noticed how completely ridiculous that was?

Magic.

And that might have been it, might have been the factor that finally pushed Emma over the edge, laughing somewhere on the knife blade between humor and hysteria as she watched the footage from her holding cell, her same one, the one where David had locked her back up the instant he walked in and saw a woman dying on the ground of his station and a man with a weapon and obvious intent standing over her.

Well, he locked Killian in first--then Emma--then there was the issue of Mary Margaret.

Emma still wasn’t sure why Mary Margaret was even in the station, not when Regina was too busy screaming--or as close to it as she ever came--which seemed to be, just, really fucking angry. Her eyes were doing that thing, where she looked like she might shoot fire out of them, and for the first time Emma wondered if maybe she could, if that was actually possible, because someone had just tried to pull her fucking heart from her fucking body.

And Hook--Killian--had--

“What did you do?” Regina demanded.

Which--it was a good question, and Emma kind of wanted to know, too, not the why of it, exactly, but the how, that and why Mary Margaret was in the holding cell next to her and if she could ever help Henry lose that look he had in his eyes now, watching Cora try to kill her on Betamax in all of its black-and-white glory.

Emma’s breathing still hadn’t completely recovered from--that. Her head was still spinning.

It had been one hell of a night.

“It’s dreamshade,” Killian said.

“That’s just a myth,” Regina said, and if Killian’s expression had been dark before--well. Maybe his eyes would shoot fire, because he sure as shit looked like he wanted to lay Regina out right alongside her mother.

Henry spoke up, almost indignant on Killian’s behalf. “It’s not,” he said, “it’s in the book. It’s the deadliest poison in--” He stopped suddenly, as though he only just realized who he was talking to; the look he gave Killian was almost apologetic. There was a part of Emma that wanted to smile, at the protective instincts of this kid who was somehow hers, and how fiercely he believed. Emma remembered the story, too, the one in the book where Hook’s brother had been killed by a poisonous plant from Neverland--which was a place, a real place, where dreamshade grew. The deadliest poison in all of ‘the realms.’ Plural. How many were there, exactly?

Killian had just killed the Queen of Hearts with a plant from Neverland after they had used a magic curse to travel from an Enchanted Forest, so at least three, Emma decided, only because it was easier than contemplating the fact that the Queen of Hearts had tried to steal Emma’s heart out of her body, and been repelled by actual magic powers. That Emma had.

Fuck. This really was her life.

“The book?” Regina asked, but Henry just glared at her, refusing to answer, refusing to let Regina even touch him as he edged himself closer to Emma, and to Killian.

They watched the video three times.

“Is she--” Mary Margaret interjected, looking pale and gesturing at Cora, who was breathing heavily and barely conscious where Regina still held her. “Is she--going to be okay?”

“No,” Killian said. “She’s not.” He sounded satisfied, and Emma couldn’t find it within herself to be upset about it, either.

“Are you okay?” Mary Margaret asked, directing her question at Emma that time. Emma allowed herself one more long breath before she nodded.

Killian hadn’t asked. He’d barely looked at her. He looked--unsettled. Confused, even. When they did make eye contact, his expression was a cipher. It was the first time, Emma realized, that she literally had no idea what he was thinking. It wasn’t a mask. He just looked--lost.

“Sheriff Nolan,” Henry was insistent, literally tugging on the man’s shirt, “Grandpa, you have to let Emma go, so she can break the curse.”

There was a second of silence, and then David and Regina spoke at the same time.

“Why would you call me ‘grandpa’?”

“What curse?”

David sounded curious, as well he might.

Regina did not sound curious. She was suspicious, and angry.

“Ah,” a voice, accented and sounding pleased, came from the doorway. “What a delightful family reunion.”

Killian snorted.

Mr. Gold--Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, whatever, leaned on his walking stick as he took in the scene around him with a small smile and an obvious air of pure satisfaction.

“You,” Regina snarled, standing up. “You did this. You stole her life, cast some spell--”

“I?” It was one letter. Emma didn’t know one letter could carry so much malice. “I did nothing.”

“Somebody should call an ambulance,” Mary Margaret said, and it had to be the fourth or fifth time she had said it, if Emma’d had the presence of mind to keep count. It didn’t matter; no one was listening.

There was nothing they could do, anyway. Not against the deadliest poison in all the realms.

“You should be thanking me, crocodile,” Killian said bitterly. “I did your dirty work for you. But I sense that somehow you are not surprised.”

“On the contrary, Hook,” Gold was cheerful. “Believe me when I tell you that I am quite pleased at the level of your devotion to Miss Swan. More than you could possibly know.”

Killian’s silence spoke volumes, and Emma inhaled.

“For more years than you can imagine, I offered a black heart or an ugly death to everyone that I met, and I did it with a song in my heart--without conscience, and without remorse, because I had been done wrong.”

Because of Milah--his True Love. And Emma knew, suddenly, that the poison he’d so conveniently had with him--had been meant for Gold.

Not Cora.

Not initially.

But he’d brought it to the station, armed himself with it, because he thought Emma might need the protection.

“If you do not succeed in breaking the curse on your own, killing you breaks the curse just as well as anything else.”

But it had been the same expression on his face, Emma realized, the lost one, the one he wore now.

“Milah wouldn’t have wanted this,” he’d said. “I would have done anything for her.”

“You’ve changed,” Emma had said. “You’ve helped me when you didn’t need to, and whatever your reasons are--”

“My reasons are my own.”

And it wasn’t the expression she was so used to seeing in her own mirror. It was the look of someone who had found something they hadn’t even been searching for.

“You,” he’d said.

Gold smirked; in the space between his lips, his tooth glinted. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the look of a believer, Miss Swan?”

“I know what you did to your wife,” Emma said. “I know that you did all of this.”

“Do you,” Gold said, giggling.

“Emma?” Henry said, pushing his small hand through the bars. “Is that true? Do you believe?”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. But it wasn’t Henry she watched as she said it.

It wasn’t Killian, either, though she could feel his eyes on her.

It was Regina. “And I know,” Emma continued, “that Cora helped you.”

Cora laughed. It was a strange, strangled sound.

“Mother?” Regina said. “What’s wrong?”

“Your mother did you no favors, Your Majesty,” Gold said. “Not after she broke our deal.” He stepped, finally, into the room, and toward Cora. “A vision told me about you,” he said, “told me that this day would come. But it didn’t tell me what I really wanted to know.” With some difficulty, he maneuvered himself down to the floor, and whispered something into Cora’s ear.

She stroked the side of his face, and whispered back, and all Emma could see was the color draining from Regina’s skin, and Emma knew.

“Cora and the crocodile are old allies; Regina and Cora are old foes.” “They want the curse broken and will likely take any means that present themselves in order to affect that result.”

Gold and Cora. A broken deal. Gold’s curse, which Cora knew all about--and the way they had clearly not been working together on its enactment.

Regina, who cast the curse.

“You’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played.”

Regina hadn’t known.

--

David let Hook out of the cell long enough to help him move the body, and to cover it up with a spare deputy’s jacket.

Emma still wasn’t upset about it, if she was being honest.

But she did tell Henry not to look.

(Too late.)

--

Regina tried to leave, but David wouldn’t let her. “You’re here to make a statement against Mary Margaret,” he said.

“Well, get him out of here, at least,” Regina ordered, gesturing imperiously at Gold.

“I can’t,” David said, and Emma was surprised by the flash of impatience in his normally passive expression.

“You can’t,” Regina repeated, and Emma could tell that Regina was surprised, too.

“He’s Mary Margaret’s legal representation,” David said.

“You’re what?” Regina and Emma exclaimed.

“What did she do, anyway?” Emma asked.

Her mother. Her father. Her parents.

She had parents.

“She killed Kathryn Nolan,” Regina said, and Emma had to imagine that in other circumstances, this would have been a major victory--but for the body under the jacket, at least.

Prince Charming was arresting Snow White, his mistress, for the murder of his wife. It did have a certain irony to it.

Killian snorted again, apparently sharing Emma’s train of thought. “Well done, Your Majesty,” he said.

“A weapon was found in your apartment,” David said to Emma. “There was blood on it that matched Kathryn’s. Mary Margaret had no alibi.”

Emma looked from Mary Margaret, to Regina, to David. “You asshole,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “You believe it, don’t you?”

David hesitated. “Look, it’s this situation,” he said. “It’s been confusing and horrible for everyone. But, Emma, I don’t think she’s guilty.”

He wasn’t lying--that much Emma could tell. But there was something there. Emma thought back to the other morning; his vacant expression and his aimless wandering, “I’m looking,” he’d said.

“She’s missing, but I will find her." "I will always find her.”

The curse.

It was the curse.

Something in David was fighting against it, pushing back against the magic.

“Your curse is weakening." “All curses can be broken.”

“She doesn’t need your words of encouragement right now, Sheriff,” Regina said.

“She needs her attorney,” Gold said, his smile widening when Regina glared at him.

“What did I ever do to you, anyway,” Mary Margaret said, “that you would take so much pleasure in this? Why do you hate me so much?”

Henry walked right up against the bars, wrapping each hand around one, and leveling Mary Margaret with a very serious look. “Grandma,” he said, “I need you to listen to me.”

If everything wasn’t so fucked up, it would have been funny, the earnest frustration in Henry’s small, childish voice.

“Grandma?” Mary Margaret whispered.

“You’re Snow White,” he said seriously. “She blames you for the death of her True Love. It’s all because she wanted to take away your happiness. That’s why you’re here.”

“Henry,” Mary Margaret said, something pleading in her tone. “Emma and I--we’re the same age--”

She looked at David, who couldn’t quite meet her eyes, and then at Emma, who smiled. Or tried to.

“Because she made time stop,” Henry insisted. “It was part of the curse.”

Mary Margaret sighed, shaking her head, and looked at Emma again. Emma shrugged.

“Hook has owned The Rabbit Hole for twenty-eight years,” Emma said. “Graham looked it up. I have the records.”

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, and then closed it again. “Emma?” she said. Something in her voice had changed; it was like something was struggling to break through.

Just like David.

Emma reached a hand through the bars toward her friend--toward her mother--and Mary Margaret gasped.

She was looking at Emma’s tattoo.

Maybe--maybe if Emma could get them to remember--

Emma took a deep breath. “Magic is real,” she said, gesturing at the television screen, still paused with Cora’s hand deep within her chest. “Cora used it to try and kill me. To try and break the curse.” She could see Mary Margaret struggling to process it--wanting to trust her friend and roommate, her daughter, but she didn’t know how.

“The stories in Henry’s book are true,” Emma said. “All of them.”

That was the first time Emma had said that out loud.

“The stories,” Mary Margaret repeated. “Like the story that Hook told us in the bar?”

“What stories?” Regina said. “What were you telling my son?”

“Merely the truth, Regina,” Killian said.

“Henry?” Regina asked. “Do you think I’m some kind of...Evil Queen?”

Henry was silent, his eyes defiant.

“I’m your mother,” Regina said.

“No,” Henry said. “You’re not. Emma’s my mom.”

Mom. The word hit Emma as though her car had swerved off the road all over again. Mom.

That was the first time Henry had ever called her that.

“She’s the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming,” Henry said stubbornly. “And the product of True Love. And she is going to break the curse.”

And that was when Emma realized--

“Who said anything about an Evil Queen, Your Majesty?” Emma said, eyebrows raised.

Regina’s eyes widened.

But only for a second.

“This is ridiculous,” she snapped, turning away. “Henry, you’re coming home with me. You should know, Sheriff, that I am going to phone District Attorney Spencer about your handling of this issue. I’m not going to sit here and listen to Jones, a known murderer, spout tales about magic in front of my son--”

Killian laughed. It was a singularly unpleasant sound.

“Who’s ‘Jones’?” Mary Margaret asked tentatively.

Killian smiled--the tight, small kind that didn’t show any teeth. “Killian Jones, milady,” he said. “At your service.”

When Emma looked at him, she could still see the blood on the tip of his hook, but his eyes were clear and his anger was focused.

On Regina.

“Which murder would that be, Regina? The one you hired me for twenty-eight years ago? The one that bought my passage to this world?”

He moved to stand, to walk toward her as if he could make the bars disappear, and Emma put her hand on his arm, letting it fall down to his wrist. She felt him, she felt his reaction to the contact, the way his breathing hitched, and she didn’t--

She didn’t know, exactly, what she was trying to tell him.

Any port in a storm.

Maybe this time, there didn’t have to be a storm. Maybe, if her parents remembered, they could all--

Be a part of something.

Gold smiled again, and giggled, and Emma froze at the sound, that fucking sound that had haunted her dreams since Graham had died. “Oooooh,” he said, and it was very nearly a song. It made Emma’s stomach flip, the sheer glee in his voice, and she pulled her hand back. “I had no idea, pirate, that keeping you alive all of these years would prove not only useful, but entertaining as well.”

“How many years, exactly?” Mary Margaret said.

“Several hundred,” Killian said succinctly, keeping his attention on Gold.

“One might go so far as to say that he’s my oldest friend,” Gold said, and giggled at Killian’s scowl.

Emma couldn’t help but feel that they were having an entirely different conversation, the two men. There was a lot of history there, after all.

“The crocodile ripped her heart out while he made me watch.” “This man has an unfortunate habit of taking what is mine.”

“I’m flattered, crocodile,” Killian said finally, “but I could just as easily say the same about you. Or hadn’t you realized that the boy is your grandson, every bit as much as Snow’s?”

It hung in the air like an accusation rather than a fact, taking on shape and weight as it enveloped the room. Perhaps predictably, Henry was the first to speak up.

“Wait,” he said, and he was somehow so damn hopeful that Emma’s already-full, recently-stolen heart wanted to burst into a different kind of white light. “You knew my dad?” His eyes were round and bright and he had a kind of half-smile on his face--

Emma heard the change in his breathing; she knew the instant Gold saw it, too.

“You could have just asked me for the keys.”

Neal’s smile.

“Yes, lad,” Killian said gently. “I knew your father.”

“One day, we were going to go back for him.” “The boy who would have been my son, if I had had the strength to let him in.”

“Several hundred years,” Mary Margaret repeated. “That’s not--it isn’t--”

“That’s not possible,” David said.

Every trace of amusement was gone from Gold’s expression. “Baelfire?”

Emma didn’t answer.

“You knew Baelfire?”

“Mom?”

Mom. She knelt down in the cell, and smiled at her son through the bars.

“I can make you tell me, Miss Swan,” Gold said.

“You don’t have magic here,” Emma said.

Gold sucked in a breath and glared at her.

“I thought all of this was part of your big, elaborate plan, Gold,” Emma said. “The one to use Regina to cast your curse, and now you’re telling me this is all some kind of coincidence?”

“There are no coincidences,” Gold said. “Everything that happens, happens by design.”

“He can see the future,” Henry explained.

“Maybe,” Emma said. “But I don’t think he saw this coming, kid.” She stood up just as Gold and Henry spoke, their words coming on top of one another’s.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Emma said, focusing only on Henry. “I really don’t. Things got--complicated. He left me, and I had you, and I--”

“I know,” Henry said. “You wanted to give me my best chance.”

“Yeah,” Emma said.

“You had him in prison, Miss Swan,” Regina said, cutting in.

“Is that true, Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice held only sympathy, and Emma shut her eyes, just for a minute, at the pure motherly concern. She nodded, and felt the brush of Killian’s hand on her shoulder.

“But you found each other,” David said, speaking so quietly that Emma almost didn’t hear him.

“I’ll find you. I will always find you.” “You’re so much like her, you know.”

The question ran through her mind before Emma could even process it--did David mean she and Killian had found each other, like in the book?

True Love is the rarest magic of all.

But then she realized what he’d meant.

Henry.

“Henry is my son,” Regina said, looking only at Gold. “You’re the one that brought him to me. You arranged his adoption.”

“I needed the Savior to come,” Gold said.

“Yeah,” Emma said, “but that’s not what happened, is it? I came here on my own. I found a job on my own. I had a life, on my own, at least until you killed my partner.”

“You’re the Savior because it was all part of the plan.” "Rumplestiltskin mapped out your life before you were even born.”

Only--Gold arranged the adoption.

And finding Graham--and Ruby and Mary Margaret--her job and her life, it had been like coming home.

“And look at what you’ve accomplished since then, Miss Swan,” Gold said. “You’ve found your son, and your parents, and a pirate who pines for you. You might even say that I did you a favor.”

“You killed Graham?” Regina said.

“You killed him, Your Majesty,” Gold sneered. “I just saw to it that he finally died.”

Regina’s face, already pale with grief and contorted with anger, was nearly white. The look in her eyes, Emma realized, was fear--fear mixed with impatience as she looked at her watch, looked up at the scene before her, and checked it again.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said, “are we taking longer than you accounted for when you decided to railroad my best friend?”

My mother, Emma didn’t say.

“Is Kathryn even missing, by the way,” she continued, “or did you do that, too?”

Killian chuckled. “Got it in one, Swan,” he said. “Regina’s not going to let all of her hard work burn, is she?”

There was a knock at the door, and Emma jumped.

“Calm down,” David said. “It’s just the lunch I had sent up.”

--

It felt like it happened in a second.

Maybe less.

But in retrospect, as she stood there staring at Killian’s lifeless body on the floor of the station, it was more like a slow-motion trainwreck.

(Killian would have had a Shakespearean reference on the tip of his tongue, something sad and depressing but also beautiful. He would quote it, and she would roll her eyes, and he would explain it and wink and she thought it annoyed her but really--she kind of liked it.) (She liked him.)

--

@kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @scientificapricot​ @captainsjedi​ @carpedzem​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @eirabach​ @snowbellewells​ @searchingwardrobes​ @spartanguard​

[katie-dub]

A Special Day of Mourning

Fleabag Fic

Summary: Last time a wedding brought us together, this time it's a funeral. Still the tragic loss of Godmother in a freak accident involving a falling wall of plaster of paris penises has got to be good for something, right?

AO3

Yes, I’m back with more Fleabag x the Priest fic. Thank you as ever to the delightful @eirabach for reading this for me, when she doesn’t even go here! I love you darling.

15 Years Later

So last time you saw me, I was sending my sister off to go get the hot Finn who was crazy about her after my almost boyfriend the actual Priest delivered a terrifying homily about love at Dad’s wedding to the ever repellent Godmother. The Priest broke my heart when he chose God over me and exited pursued by a fox.

Since then I found love, tried the whole marriage thing, had a child, realised I was surprisingly good at motherhood but less so at being married and am now amicably divorced. I still touch myself thinking about that one night with the Hot Priest who was the first man I ever loved, unless of course you count Leonardo DiCaprio, which I don’t.

Claire and Klare have three terrifyingly beautiful children and she actually smiles constantly now. It was disconcerting at first, but after all this time, I think I’m used to it.

Dad’s still alive and kicking, at 88 years of age. Godmother, however, is not. She passed away in a freak accident involving a falling wall of plaster of paris penises at her sexhibition two weeks ago. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

Before The Funeral

I walk up to Dad’s house with my Daughter in tow. She’s 11 and has already entered her awkward teenage years a whole two years early. Fucking overachiever.

That’s not to say that she isn’t the light of my life, the apple of my eye and all other appropriate cliches. It’s just that I can finally appreciate how really fucking annoying teenage girls can be. And she hasn’t even started her period yet.

We ring the doorbell and I hum “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” very softly under my voice. If there’s a hell, I’m almost certainly heading there.

Claire answers the door. “Hello, are you ready for this sad, sad, sad day?”

“I’ve brought the champagne!” I reply, lifting the bottle I bought especially. Just to toast to our dearly departed Godmother in the manner she would have wanted, of course.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Claire says, eyeing me suspiciously.

“You know grief does wonders for my complexion, I can’t help it!” And if there’s an extra spring in my step at the thought of finally being free of Godmother, well you can hardly blame me.

I deliberately take a moment to compose myself. I do feel for Dad, burying his second wife has got to be monumentally shit, even if he is better off without her.

“Wait,” Claire tugs on my arm urgently, bringing me to a halt.

“Is everything OK?”

“Your Priest is in there,” Claire murmurs in an undertone, her lips barely moving.

I’m struggling to follow her meaning. “What?”

“You know, your Priest, the one you - you know?” Oh. Oh! “He’s in there with Dad, comforting him, he’s conducting the funeral. I just thought you might need some warning.”

I wonder if he’s still hot. “Is he still hot?”

“Painfully hot,” she says with a grim nod and a tone that implies catastrophe. “He’s also still a man of god, so just don’t fuck him again ok?”

“I do have some restraint! That said, he was really fucking good at it. I’m single again, why not hey?”

Claire’s jaw is tight. It’s fun to know that I can still wind her up like this at the age of nearly 50. “I mean it,” she pleads sincerely, “I know I wasn’t around much last time with Finland and everything, but I could tell how much that hurt you then and I don’t want to have to kick a Priest’s arse for hurting my little sister.”

There’s a steely glint in her eye that makes it clear she means it, and I find myself deeply touched. I swallow down a lump in my throat and shrug, an “if you say so” gesture. “Didn’t know you cared.”

She nods. “Right. Oh also, Godmother is in there.”

“Wait, Godmother? Like her body?”

“Yes, it’s a whole art thing apparently.” Claire says “art thing” like it’s an infectious disease. “Transparent coffin. It’s horrendous.”

We walk into the living room, Dad is sat on the sofa, head in his hands, the Priest is beside him, an arm around his shoulder. His neck is still beautiful.

And right where the coffee table should be, a transparent coffin, with Godmother inside, wrapped in some kind of hot pink monstrosity.

“Oh holy fuck,” I shout, stopping abruptly at the sight.

Claire somehow avoids crashing into me and steps around me muttering “I did warn you” under her voice.

I shake myself, forcing my feet to take me further into the room. I drag my eyes away from Godmother, seeking out Dad to comfort him, and I’m greeted by the sight of my Priest’s warm smile turned on me.

He has more wrinkles and his once dark hair is now salt and pepper, but age hasn’t changed one fundamental fact: he is deeply, unfairly hot. Lucky bastard.

And he looks pleased to see me, which I’ll admit does good things to my ego, I may be a divorcee fast approaching 50, but maybe I’m not completely unfuckable yet. Or maybe this is just a genuine friendly smile for a former lover. Either way, it’s a happy surprise.

“Hello,” he says, “I’m sorry to leave just as you’re getting here -” his eyes suggest that this comment is sincere “- but I need to be on my way to the church.” He grips my arm briefly as he moves past me, a small gesture of comfort that nonetheless sends a little shiver of anticipation through me. I’m surprised that even after all this time he can affect me like this. “I’m sorry for your loss, but it is lovely to see you.”

“You too,” I agree, “I’ll see you at the church.” He nods and heads out of the door.

Oh fuck, the church.

The last time I was in that church I was trying to wrestle him out of his clothes. I’ve never been back. Not inside it at least, although I may have dawdled outside it on more than one occasion. And now I have to sit through Godmother’s funeral there, all the time thinking about the way he ordered me to “kneel” in the confessional. Maybe about when he repeated that command in my house and I sucked him off.

I try to distract myself with other thoughts, but the only thing to look at is the coffin. It really is hideous, and not so much because it's a dead body, but that pink is a bit much and the embroidery on it looks suspiciously like - "is that funeral shroud really covered in fornicating skeletons?" I ask, looking to Claire in the hopes of hearing a sensible "no".

"It is," she confirms, her mouth a hard-set line of disapproval.

"Well fuck me."

The Funeral Procession

We didn’t do a funeral procession for Mum when it was her funeral. It was too over the top and showy for her. So of course Godmother insisted.

I’m packed into a car with Dad and Daughter driven by the Shepherd of the Deceased, as the man insisted on being called (I can see why Godmother liked him, but what's wrong with just calling yourself a funeral director?). Claire and her family are in the car behind us. We inch down the roads painfully slowly, surely pissing off half of London as we follow the hearse to the church.

My heart pounds at the sight of the church, a feeling that quickly gives way to confusion as we continue to drive past it. “Where the fuck are we going?”

“Language,” tuts my Daughter, and I’m tempted to stick my tongue out at her. I promise, I really am a good mum. Usually.

“No seriously, haven’t we just gone past the church?”

“Hmmm? Er, wh-what’s that dear?” asks Dad distracted and distraught and I’m beyond bewildered.

We pull up outside an entirely unfamiliar church, and it occurs to me that my Priest must have been moved to a new parish. All this time avoiding his church and he doesn’t even work there now.

I get out of the car and help Dad to do the same. I walk to the front door and that’s when I see the sign: St Jude’s Anglican Church.

Anglican?

What. The. Fuck?

The Funeral

There’s no chance for me to confront the Priest about his conversion before the service, so I sit by Dad’s side during it and stew on this startling revelation.

Anglican. He’s Anglican now, and so, apparently, no longer celibate. Not that he did all that well at the whole celibacy thing while I was around.

Does this mean he’s available? Or did he leave the Catholic Church for someone else, someone who he loved enough to really be with, someone who he is still with now?

I realise this sounds like I spent the past 15 years and all of my marriage pining for an unavailable man, when honestly, I haven’t. But it’s still something of a head fuck to discover that he is no longer forbidden fruit. The possibility of that is delicious, while also giving me doubts about what we ever had.

Like I said, a head fuck.

I can’t help but think, looking at his outfit with its minimalist design, that he must miss the robes from Catholicism. You can say what you like about their beliefs, but those Catholics have got style.

"Sometimes I worry that I'm only in it for the outfits," he'd said that night in the church, the alcohol and desire for me driving him to doubt himself. Well, he proved that wrong, didn't he?

A cameraman zooms in on my face and I find myself looking to camera, startled, before realising that I should probably focus on looking rather more distraught at Godmother’s death and rather less intrigued by the possibility of fucking the Priest again.

Trust Godmother to hire a camera crew to film her own fucking funeral.

The Wake

"I'm very interested in the conflict of my mortality, the desire to cheat death expressed in my pursuit of sexual pleasure with its promise of rebirth," Godmother narrates in her death video. "My custom-made burial shroud is a culmination of these desires, the fabric interwoven with fungal spores such that in my passing, new life springs anew."

I feel a presence beside me and assuming it's Claire, start to talk over Godmother's incessant monologue. "Is she calling death an STI? I think that's almost profound."

"Fucked if I know," a decidedly male Irish brogue replies. I turn to look at the Priest. "Sounds like a load of wank to me."

"That's Godmother in a nutshell," I agree and he laughs appreciatively.

"I'm not sure how those fungi will survive inside a sealed perspex coffin. Don't they need air?"

"Fucked if I know," I echo him with a shrug. "Still prefer funerals to weddings?"

"Generally, yes. You know I believe that we're going somewhere wonderful in the next life. This funeral has given me pause though."

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" I'm not quite sure what to say next, the thing I desperately want to say feels wildly inappropriate.

"I'm not Catholic anymore." I’m surprised by how direct he's been. "I just thought I'd put it out there. Although that now sounds like an awful chat up line, which it's not - "

"Well fuck you then," I say, trying to brush off the hurt of that decisive shutting down of my half-formed hopes.

"If you insist." There's a twinkle in his eye now. Maybe I've misread things.

"Are you propositioning me, Father?"

"You know, I think I might be."

"Mum! Mu-um!"

Of course, of fucking course, kids are the ultimate cock block. The Priest looks awkward, I probably do too. I swear he's trying to surreptitiously look at my ring finger so I use my hands in a way that probably resembles a muppet to show off how attached I'm not.

"Everything OK, darling?"

"Dad's here to take me to his place, says he's not comfortable leaving without speaking to you first." Daughter rolls her eyes. I wish I could do the same.

My ex is so considerate. What a prick.

"Sorry, Father, I have to go talk to my Ex." Had to get in that confirmation of my relationship status, just so he has all the facts. "We'll talk when I get back?"

"I'll be waiting," he says with a smile.

It takes longer than I'm totally happy with to wrap things up with my Ex. Unfortunately he's busy being concerned about my dad and asking practical questions about homework and after school clubs and I can't exactly tell him that I'm a bit busy seducing a Priest to talk.

It takes me a while to track him down when I finally escape, but I find him hiding and having a fag in the same secret corner where we once shared stolen kisses. Honestly I can't decide if it's romantic or a little pathetic that we're back here and history's potentially going to repeat itself.

Hopefully not to the same bitter conclusion.

I pull out my own fag and the Priest offers me a light. Leaning close to his hands I feel the same rush of anticipation I did back then, my heart fluttering at his presence like no time has passed at all.

"So," he starts, then breaks off.

"So," I agree with a nod. "I'm a mum - a single mum, and you're a hopefully single, no longer celibate man."

"I am."

There's a long silence that's almost deafening with its intensity.

"So what made you -" "I'm sorry I didn't -"

We both start speaking at once, stop and stare at each other for a minute then I gesture for him to speak.

"I'm sorry I didn't leave for you," he says, then looks me right in the eye. "I hope you know that it's not that I didn't love you, I just, I needed time to figure things out."

"I know. I knew that then too. So what did make you convert in the end?"

"The sex. I was really, really gagging for it," he deadpans. I snort with laughter, he waits for me to calm down before he carries on. "Honestly it did start with meeting you -”

“Me and my blasphemous tits.”

“Yeah.” He smirks at me, then looks a little sad. “I felt lost after we stopped - after I ended things.” He shakes his head and looks at me, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I was so lonely when we met and you came into my life and we just connected so deeply and I fell so hard for you.”

Oh fuck, I am not prepared for this conversation.

“No, don’t disappear, not now.” He takes my hand and waits for me to focus on him, so I try my best to fight against how overwhelmed I feel and to stay in the moment with him.

“I know that you don’t believe what I do, but I really do believe that God is love. 'Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.' That's what the Bible says. It just didn’t make sense to me that I could be so full of love and that that was a bad thing, something to be ashamed of. Isn’t love meant to be a wonderful gift from God?”

I can feel the tightness in my jaw, a prickle of tears, I seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

“As time went on the intensity of my love for you faded, but that seed of doubt was planted. Not in God, not in Him, but in the word of the Catholic church. A different denomination of Christianity would allow me to marry you, to celebrate our love, there’s nothing in the bible to say that we shouldn’t.”

These words hang heavy between us and there’s a long pause, while he takes a long drag on his cigarette and lets the smoke slowly drift out of his parted lips.

“Over time I noticed more and more of these inconsistencies and one day a teenage boy asked me for forgiveness for falling in love with his male best friend and I just couldn’t … I couldn’t understand why he needed it. I couldn’t in all good faith follow the teachings of the Catholic church and stay true to what I believe.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanted to marry me? It'll take more than that to make an honest woman of me."

He chuckles. “I don’t know. If we could've dated and my feelings stayed as they were? Maybe. I wanted the option.”

"When did you leave?"

"Four years ago."

"Did you -" oh wow, it's so hard to ask this, but I need to know. "Did you ever think of telling me?"

"No."

Fuck me that hurts. I drop my cigarette to the floor, study it as I stomp down on it to make sure that the fire is out. It’s my way of deflecting from the sudden urge to cry. He gently lifts my chin with his finger, bringing my face up to look at his.

"I knew you were married. Your stepmum said."

"Was she a dick about it?"

"Of course. Still, you were unavailable. What good would telling you have done?" He's right. I was still married when he converted, it was for the best.

"I saw you once with him. Or I think it was him."

"Am I detecting a smidge of jealousy there, Father?"

"Oh fuck off.” He didn’t deny it. “A parishioner had died and I just, I really needed a friend and I thought of you. You just got me so well, you know? I went to Hillarys and you were there in the arms of this man and you looked so happy that I just couldn't ruin that for you. I shouldn't have gone. Not when I didn't know if I could trust myself around you."

"And what about now?"

"Well I'm allowed to kiss you now, I don't need to worry about trusting myself."

"That's true. So do you want to come over to my place for a friendly game of strip poker?" He laughs at me, shaking his head while smirking. "Spin the bottle?" That devilish gleam appears in his eyes. "Seven minutes in heaven - or is that considered blasphe -"

He cuts me off with his lips on mine.

It’s everything I remembered and so much more. Intense, passionate, devastating kisses that drive me to cliches straight out of a romance novel. Pushed up against that wall my heart races, my chest heaves, and, yes, my knickers get fucking wet.

It feels just like it did 15 years ago. It feels like love. And that’s insane, we had barely even started when things ended between us and I’ve lived and loved so much since then. But this thing between us? It just feels right.

My body is on fire, I’m pretty sure it’s in the good, aroused way and not because God’s smiting me for defiling a priest. He’s a tad late to the punishment, if that was His plan. But I’ll happily let this fire consume me because it feels so good. After all this time, I never want what we’re sharing to end. But the need to breathe becomes too strong and we break apart, noses nuzzling and foreheads resting together.

“Can I take you to dinner tonight?” he asks but I’m so staggered by our kisses I barely hear what he’s said.

“What?” I breathe out in between pants.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” he says, stroking my cheek before leaning in for another dizzying kiss.

"Oh, I don't know," I pretend to be thinking hard. "Sounds a bit tame, I did have plans with a rabbi for a good hard fuck."

He barks out a laugh. "Oh really?"

"Yeah and tomorrow's my night getting spanked by an imam."

He raises his eyebrows holding back a laugh at what I'm saying and playing along. "What about Friday?"

"Threesome with a pujari and a Buddhist monk."

"What if I upgraded my offer to dinner and if you're really good you get dessert?" He ran his tongue along his lips.

"And what if I'm really bad?"

"You'll have to get on your knees and pray for forgiveness."

It's ridiculous how easily this man can turn me on. Although I have kneeled for him before, I remember the effect.

"I could be tempted to agree," I say, affecting disinterest.

"But you'll have to dump your harem of religious leaders," he all but growls.

"Oh I don't -"

He slams his mouth into mine, pushing me back against the wall, cutting me off with a fierce kiss. He trails his lips along my jaw to my ear. "Please," he murmurs, then kisses down my neck and pushes my collar to one side to suck and lick where it meets my shoulder. That fire starts up inside me again, his mouth almost painfully good against me, driving me to the brink of madness until I'm half tempted to push his trousers down and fuck him against the wall where anyone could see.

“OK,” I pant. "I - I guess I can do that."

"Good girl," he growls into my ear, then pulls away, righting my collar as he does, to hide the bruise he's surely worked into my skin. “We should probably get back before they start looking for us.”

And he steps back from me, innocent smirk on his face.

"I'm going to make you pay for that," I say, trying to sound commanding, although I'm so breathless that the effect is lost.

"Oh please do," he says with a grin.

We head back towards the party and one important thing occurs to me. “If you’re Anglican now, why did you do Godmother’s funeral? Isn't she Catholic?”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t think she was really all that interested in the religious side of being a Catholic.”

“Oh yes, she wanted one of those religion-free faiths.”

“Exactly. She may have intimated to me that she would very much like for me to conduct her funeral when her time came because her funeral should be a thing of beauty.”

I snort with laughter. “I didn’t realise it was possible to be vain from beyond the grave, but if anyone was going to find a way it was her.”

“You won’t hear me complaining - she brought me back to you.”

“She finally did right by me, she’ll be so disappointed.”

[sinfulwonders]

👀

Ahhh here’s a Neko Ouma story I gave up on :P I’m not a huge fan of the neko thing, like it’s alright, but it’s often overdone. BUT that being said I still wanted to try writing it. :P

Catkichi Ouma

“How the hell did this even happen?” Kokichi glared at the mirror, examining his furry cat-like ears sitting on the top of his head. They were adorned with dark, violet tipped fur, identical to the color of the hair on the boy’s head. They were also infuriating, but not nearly as much as the tail swishing behind him.

Kokichi Oma was part cat, and he had absolutely no idea how this had happened.

“Unless…oh fuck.”

The previous day he had chosen to harass the sleepy Himiko in her lab, forcing her to do a magic show for him, with the assistance of Tenko. He had a grand time watching the magician saw the aikido master in half, stick swords through her, and even pull birds from her ears. It was a great show, but noticeably lacking in the real magic department. So it certainly wasn’t Kokichi’s fault when he whined to the mage to show him the real stuff and she begrudgingly gave him one of her prized “potions” as proof. The supreme leader drank it and it tasted suspiciously like Panta, which was not a fact that he hated by any means, but it did lead him to believe that the potion was decidedly non-magical.

But I guess I was wrong.

Kokichi stared at his ears and tails and wondered how the hell he was supposed to go outside looking like a weird human-cat-hybrid without becoming the laughing stock of the killing game.

Laughing stock of the killing game. Jesus, what a title to hold.

It was true that Kokichi was pretty much the social pariah of the group, but that was according to plan. He needed to be feared and hated for his plans to work, and adorable cat ears and a tail were absolutely not according to plan. So here Kokichi would sit, away from everyone else, until this wretched potion wore off.

DING DONG

“Oma-kun, are you okay? You didn’t come to breakfast…” the soft voice permeated through the door, hitting Kokichi’s ears with enhanced ease.

I guess my hearing is better. That’s a plus at least.

The voice belonged to Shuichi Saihara, the boy detective that Kokichi adored most of all.

“Oma-kun, I know you’re in there. I brought you some food. Also some milk at Yumeno-san’s suggestion…”

Damn that witch bitch!

“Go away! I’m dead!” Kokichi shouted at the door, stomach growling almost as loud as he was talking.

Shuichi sighed, “I know you must be starving, so please, let me give you some food.”

Kokichi slowly made his way to the door, speaking in a much softer tone, “Just…promise not to laugh.”

“Laugh? Why would I-”

“Just promise, okay?” Kokichi pleaded to the detective.

Shuichi sighed, “I promise.”

“If you break it I’ll be forced to kill you,” Kokichi slowly opened the door, seeing Shuichi holding a plate of food, and his eyes widening. He rushed into the room and Kokichi slammed the door behind him.

“Oma-kun, what happened?”

Kokichi slank to the bed, not realizing that his movements were becoming more cat-like by the second until he literally curled into a ball on the blankets while tucking his tail along his body. He didn’t even feel like lying, “Ugh. Yumeno gave me a potion.”

“Wow. I suppose Yumeno-san really is a mage…” Shuichi mused as he walked over to the bed, holding the tray out, “Now, you should eat. Do you need anything else?”

Kokichi frowned, as he glanced at the tray of food. Shuichi noticed this, and slowly sat down next to Kokichi with the tray in his lap. The supreme leader stretched and crawled over, sniffing the bowl of oatmeal, before gingerly licking the contents inside. Suddenly he recoiled as he realized his actions.

“Shit. Can I not use a spoon now? Degrading if you ask me…”

“I’m sorry, Oma-kun, but don’t feel bad, you can’t help it. Would you prefer the tray on the ground? Or-”

Kokichi’s eyes lit up as he smirked, “Oh I know! Feed me Saiharrrra-chan!” His voice came out in a purr and he slapped a hand over his mouth, “Well this just gets better and betterrrr doesn’t it?”

Shuichi, cheeks dusted with a light pink, grabbed the spoon and scooped up a bite of the warm oatmeal, “Umm, here…”

“Oh wow, Saihara-chan actually did it! I’m thrrrrilled!” The supreme leader leaned over and took a bite of the rolled oats, purring as he tasted them.

After finishing the food, Kokichi let out a giant yawn and stretched, sitting up on the bed. Shuichi set the tray on the bedside table, and glanced as his now cat-hybrid friend, “Do you need anything else?”

Kokichi turned and stared at the detective for a moment, face blank. Shuichi let out a squeak as the supreme leader curled up in the detective’s lap.

“Sleepy…” Kokichi closed his eyes.

Shuichi stared at the small boy now curled up on him, “U-umm-” the detective stammered but then stopped himself. He figured Kokichi probably couldn’t help this in his state, and even if it was a joke the supreme leader probably needed the sleep. So Shuichi didn’t attempt to move the boy, but instead reached down and gingerly scratched behind his purple ears.

Kokichi let out a massive purr. The boy’s face instantly reddened as he muttered, “That was a lie…” It was unconvincing, but the boy seemed too relaxed to try any harder and instead just allowed himself to melt into Shuichi.

“So cute…” Shuichi muttered to himself reflexively, and the two boys blushed in silence, Shuichi continuing to pet the other all the while.

 --------

Shuichi awoke to something tickling his nose. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a purple tuft of fur in his face, as one of Kokichi’s newly acquired cat ears rested on his cheek, the fur barely brushing against the bottom of his nostrils. It seemed that Shuichi had fallen over onto the bed in his drowsiness, and now Kokichi was cuddled up to him, softly snoring. The supreme leader’s head was nestled into his chest, and his tail curled around the detective’s waist. Shuichi repositioned his face away from the soft ears, but that small movement was enough to wake the sleeping leader.

Kokichi let out a loud yawn, “Nyaaaaaawnn,” and he flinches at how annoyingly cat like it sounded, the events from the day quickly flooding through his brain.

Shuichi saw this, and started to comfortingly scratch the boy’s ears, “Hey, Oma-kun. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Kokichi blushed at the comment and the soothing pets, but mostly at how easy he had been to read, “How annoying, Saihara-chan doesn’t even know that I hate my ears being touched the most,” he glares.

Shuichi instantly stops, “Oh um s-sorry Oma-kun, it just seemed like it c-calmed you down.”

Kokichi shakes his head, “Nope, hate it,” but before he can help it, the supreme leader is nuzzling against Shuichi’s hands for more. The supreme leader frowns and mutters, “Damn it.”

“I won’t pet you if you don’t want me to, Oma-kun,” Shuichi stated, staring into the supreme leader’s large purple irises.

Kokichi let out a whimper that surprised them both, and let out a small whisper, “…please…”

Shuichi gave the boy a sympathetic smile and began to pat the boy once again, “Don’t be embarrassed. You can’t help it. But, we really should go talk to Yumeno-san to figure out how to fix it.”

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Good Friday

Summary: Friday the 13th, a summoning that brings back old times for the devil and a witch.

Oneshot

Mark X Reader

If I’m being honest, it was not my idea to summon a demon, especially, on Friday the 13th. (F/n) played ding dong ditch to the poor demon, summoning him and running out of my apartment; while I’m busy just drawing, and waiting for the oven to finish up the pizza I put in. A man is standing in my guest room appalled that no one is standing around the circle. He isn’t one to get easily upset, but come on, at least be near the summoning circle. He sighs, coming out of the circle and walks around the room. He sees that no one is hiding in the closet, he rolls his eyes, getting slightly ticked.

He walks out the door and down the stairs and sees someone drawing, and he is ready to snap his fingers and burst the drawing into flames. But something in the cavern where his heart should be tells him no. He listens and carefully asks “Um, excuse me did you summon a demon?” I turn up and look at him, “Well shit, I didn’t but man do I wish I did…” I flirt, “Let me get my friend,... she ran out after she summoned you so…” He rolls his eyes as I call up, (F/n),  I whisper yell at her, “You better get your ass over here, this is your problem, not mine.” Three minutes later in walks (F/n), once, she sees the demon and quickly hides behind me. I roll my eyes, “Either apologize to the man for summoning him, or tell him your business” I state sternly locking my eyes on her.  

Maybe I should explain? Yeah, I think I should, I come from a long line of witches, I know how to deal with demons, this isn’t my first rodeo nor my last, but oh how I wish it was. She says, “I-I… was wondering if you could tell me if I ever find love…” “You could have just asked your friend over there…” I tilt my head, and he points to my deck of tarot cards, I shrug and she pouts, “Yeah you will, but don’t let the present slip through your fingers or you’ll never have a future, okay?” She nods, and gestures for the two to sit down while I pull out my markers.

I vaguely pay attention, trying to finish this piece by the end of the night. “What’s your name?” “You can’t ask a demon its name, you have to guess it…” I say softly to her, “You look like a Jisung” He shakes his head, “Young-hyun?” Again he shakes his head, “Let me give you a hint, you can use it as a utensil” “A spatula??” I laugh at that one and it hits me, “Marker? Your name is Mark?” I caught his eyes staring at the markers giving me a clue, but that makes me wonder...

It can’t really be him, can it? Can it really be Mark? I’ll just take my chance, “Tuan?” His eyes nearly pop out of his head, “How do you know that?” Mark asks me, “I’m not as young as everyone thinks me to be, once upon a moon I used to dance with you” I smile, the memories coming back, but at that time he was once as we were, human. I knew it the minute I saw him, I just wanted to be sure, for it’s been a few hundred years since I saw him.

Before the witch trials I was rushed out of Salem, my aunt taking me into custody and I took on the last name of (L/n). Mark and I were closer to close in the old days, but as they say, you can’t bring back the dead. If it’s meant to be they will return to you, and he did, “Should I leave you two alone?” I shake my head, ‘no,’ “The stupid spell worked” he mutters and I gaze into his eyes, “You still remember me?” He nods, and circles around the table to hug me, “Ight, I’mma head out” (F/n) states with a peace sign, leaving me to deal with all the emotions that were swirling within me.

They never said you couldn’t put a spell on the dead to make them remember their past lives, what they said is that you can’t bring them back. I hug him back, and the memories flood me, the future talks we’d have laying in his backyard. Our first dance under the moonlight, our first kiss, the day he asked me to marry him, seems like it was just yesterday. Watching him die had to be the hardest thing, I did everything I could to reverse his disease, but at the time it was out of my grasp, I was only thirty-two, I had nowhere near the knowledge I do now.

I have him sit next to me, “Shit, I’m so glad your friend summoned me… I’ve been looking for you, but you’re so different from back then.” I tilt my head, “Was I supposed to stay the same?” He shrugs, “No, but that would have made it easier” “Did I make you a demon?” I ask, that spell must have did him in, “Um, no, actually that was my own doing…” “What did you do?” “I fought to get back to you, because you still looked the same for a few years,... and they kicked me out of heaven. Instead, of just making me into a fallen angel they made me a demon. It took me some time to get used to, and I wasn’t able to keep looking for you, so I lost track…” He sighs and puts his head into his hands, “I’m sorry” I shake my head, “You found me right?” He nods, “You have nothing to be sorry for,... I should be sorry I cursed you to remember me… when fate says I shouldn’t…” He shakes his head, “No, I’m glad you did, because that means I can do this without any qualms.” He reaches and grabs my face and kisses me, I kissed back, giggling into the kiss, he still gives me butterflies after all these years.

Placing his forehead against mine, looking deeply into my eyes he whispers, “Want to start that forever again?” I nod, “How about a first date though?” He snaps his fingers, and his horns disappear, “I guess being the devil has its perks” I give him a look, “Um,... God hated me so much that he made me King of the Underworld.” “What does that make me? Wait why do you still do summoning missions, then?” “First off, the queen, second off, I was looking for you…” I kiss his cheek, “You found me, you dastardly devil” “And I plan on never losing you” He grabs my hand softly and I look at him and intertwine our fingers.

That day was our start of forever, yes (F/n) never stopped asking questions about the future, but she did learn how to live in the present. I learned how to love the devil himself all over again, and he learned how to love me again. Yes, there have been times where we nearly strangle each other to death, figuratively, and literally, but you can’t kill the undead. Yeah, it’s still a lesson neither of us have yet to learn.

For when it comes to fights you take the time to work out the issues after the screaming and yelling, and figure it out together. To makeup for the things you said, even if it means buying another three headed dog, I swear Mark we don’t need another one. And thirty-thousand apology notes flooding the house whether it be from him or me. Marriages that last are ones that take time to work out the problems, the kinks in the water hose. It takes time and we have forever so we might as well make the most of it. I love him no matter how much we fight over stupid things. And I can tell he loves me too, not just from his actions, or him constantly telling me, it’s his stupid love notes. That make my heart flutter, with the stupid pink heart stamps all over them.

If you love someone, let them go, if they don’t comeback they were never truly yours. If they comeback they were meant to be, and here he is sitting next to me, laughing at a stupid joke our friend (F/n)’s, now husband, Jackson said. That peacock kept appearing around the neighborhood, and she finally paid attention to the present. I kiss his cheek, I’m glad he found me again. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, Bambam looking at us in disgust, “Yucky” before I can snap my fingers, Mark has Bambam’s shoes on fire, and I crack up before Jaebum tells him to knock it off. He does and sticks out his tongue, I shake my head. And yeah, Friday the 13th is a day of luck, after all, it brought Mark back to me.

[outweek30]

Riot Erupts at Stonewall Faerie Gathering Re-enactment Turns Real After Motorists Ram Crowd

NEW YORK [July 10, 1989] — What began as a reenactment of the Stonewall Rebellion on its twentieth anniversary erupted into an actual riot on Saturday, June 24 [1989], which sent four persons to the hospital, and left at least a half dozen others injured and one car nearly destroyed. In at least two separate incidents, motorists purposefully drove their cars into crowds of demonstrators, knocking down some and causing others to chase the drivers through the streets of the Village, according to eyewitness reports.

Scores of uniformed and undercover police, including a riot squad, were called in to assist officers at the Sixth Precinct, who were at times overwhelmed by the sheer size of the crowd, which at its height swelled to over 1,000.

[...]

The evening began peacefully, even joyously, at a gathering called by the Radical Faeries, a collective of gay men given to spiritual individualism and drag. The Faeries gathered outside of the Stonewall, which is now a men's clothing store, armed with yellow foam-rubber bricks. The re-enactment was arranged with the blessings of the store's owner, Statish Malik, who had closed his store for the occasion, and allowed the Faeries to set up a "Stonewall Shrine" in the basement of the store.

Participants threw the "bricks" (yellow for the Yellow Brick Road, explained one Faerie), while others dressed as police officers playfully pushed and shoved journalists and demonstrators and hit them with fake nightsticks, which were actually long, party-colored balloons. After about a half-hour of mock rioting, several people in the crowd reportedly shouted out, "Let's take Seventh Avenue," and the group, now numbering in the hundreds, moved north up the Village's main thoroughfare, blocking traffic as it worked its way towards Greenwich Avenue.

"It was kind of up and fun and bubbly at that point," said Gerri Wells, an OutWeek photographer who participated in the re-enactment. "A lot of people in the cars were getting into it. It was more like Mardi Gras than a riot," she continued.

Chanting "No more homophobia" and similar slogans, the crowd, led by a line of people carrying a blue police barricade above their heads, picked up steam and participants. But as it moved down Greenwich Avenue and then west on 10th Street, the mood somehow changed.

"There were people there hoping for some sort of affirmation of gay power," claimed David Hamburger, who was visiting New York from Boston and was present for the entire happening. "Everyone had their own idea of why they were doing it. Suddenly someone yelled about the two murders and how the police weren't doing anything about [them]," he added, referring to two Black men who were killed on the Morton Street pier early on Friday morning[.] The pier is a popular cruising area and gathering place for gay men, especially gay men of color.

That, according to Hamburger, provided the impetus for the marchers to proceed to the Sixth Precinct on West 10th Street. But others in the growing demonstration did not hear the announcement, and did not know the exact reason for going to the precinct.

As more and more marchers arrived at the police station, police officers inside quickly came out and formed a line in front of the entrance, The crowd cheered as several among them set fire to American flags. Police reported that windows at the police station were smashed by rocks. "The potential for a riot was there, The emotions were high, people were angry, it was hot," Wells said.

[... Commanding Officer Julia Thompson] told the crowd that the homicides did not appear to be bias related, and that they were under investigation. Many of those gathered responded by chanting "Bullshit," "No more lies," and by pelting her with condoms.

[...]

Once away from the precinct building, the marchers picked up the air of revelry again. But the mob continued its march around the Village[. ...] "I think we should do this every Saturday night." Michael Nesline, another of the marchers, characterized the evening as "a completely spontaneous, mob-led action."

[...]

It was apparently other angry motorists that precipitated the evening's most serious violence, In two separate incidents, cars allegedly sped through lines of demonstrators, The first injuries occurred on West 10th Street near Julius, a gay bar, after the mob had returned from West Street. "He tried to run us over," said a tearful Ralph del Valle, who said he had been hit and sprained his ankle, "Then he backed up and tried to run us over again."

An angry mob chased the car through the streets of the Village, as it sped around other cars and up onto sidewalks, ignoring orders from the police to pull over. The crowd caught up to the car, a red Chevy Cavalier[. ...] As police removed the driver and four passengers and shoved them through a side door at the theater to protect them from the crowd, people in the mob surrounded the car and began smashing the windows and lights, using a police barricade as a battering ram." Others pulled off the hood and kicked in the sides, before the police could move them away from the car.

"They all had their middle fingers up, They thought they could get away from us, but they don't know our territory," said Sean Ortiz, an 18-year-old high school student from Forest Hills.

[...]

By midnight the mood of the crowd had once again become mellow and celebratory, although the glass from the smashed car's windows still glittered along Christopher Street, Much of the crowd seemed unwilling to end the night, and the Radical Faeries led cheers of "sodomize tonight." At one point, everyone in the intersection joined hands above their heads and sang, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," as they swayed gently back and forth, and then began dancing to "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead."

[...]

Well after midnight, and after the police had blocked off the Village to traffic, a police captain at 14th Street and 7th Avenue was asked by a motorist why he could not drive through. "You've got to avoid Christopher Street, Sheridan Square, that whole area," the captain replied. "A bunch of homosexuals blocked off ... oh, don't ask."

— Andrew Miller, OutWeek Magazine No. 3, July 10, 1989, p. 8.