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flowercrowngods · 7 months

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shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

part 1 / 7 | or: read on ao3

The fog rolls in like a heavy cloud that morning, leaving the city in eerie darkness as Steve hurries toward the heavy door to the steel manufactory, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep out the cold so uncommon for late September.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the gruff, broad man who holds open the door for him. He sees him every morning but has never had the chance to ask about his name. The question is on the tip of his tongue when, with a nod and a touch to his sturdy-looking hat, the man walks down a different corridor than Steve.

Where outside the fog was so thick that all noise seemed dulled, like cotton in his ears, the manufactory is a cacophony of banging and clanging, hissing and whirring, and Steve needs a moment to breathe the polluted, heavy air that’s always just a tad too hot for his lungs.

He doesn’t mind the work, is good with his hands and enjoys the single-minded focus it provides on a good day, the deafening noise loud enough to drown out most of the comments the other workers throw his way; comments about his father, his upbringing, and his rather sudden downfall when Richard D. Harrington decided to disown his eldest son three years ago without rhyme or reason.

Steelwork, engineering, intricate cogs that work massive machinery — they fascinate him, they keep him busy fourteen hours a day, and they leave him dead to the world when the shift is over and graciously let him sleep through the dreams that have been haunting him ever since he can remember being haunted.

It’s always the same dream, in the fall more than in the spring. A lighthouse trapped in the sea, waves rolling and crashing, water rising so high that it might as well swallow the lighthouse whole. And through it all, a beacon. And through it all, a voice he cannot make out. And through it all, a ticking that echoes through his skull even long after he gasped awake with a lungful of water that Robin says might be Tuberculosis.

He blinks away the gloom that has laid over his heart like the fog over the city, shakes off the trancelike feeling that overtakes him every time he tries to think about the lighthouse when he is wide awake, and rubs away the headache that comes with sleep deprivation. It’s fall again, which means he spends his nights haunted by ghostly images of a lighthouse he’s not even sure exists, robbed of all chances at resting if he doesn’t work himself to the point of absolute exhaustion.

They are earlier this year, the night terrors. Everything is a little earlier this year.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Emerson arrives behind him, leading him to their station with idle chatter about the weather and the horrible, horrible fog that Steve has not the patience to partake in today — which is just as well for Emerson and his sunny disposition, he’ll simply talk enough for the both of them. Steve is fond enough of him to let him be as he falls into the routine of working steel and breathing overheated, coal-stained air.

They work in unison until noon, the headache dull enough as long as he keeps busy, but almost blinding when he stops for even a second. A booming voice makes him look up from his station, though, as he is being summoned to the office.

It’s never a good sign, and Steve can feel the blood draining from his face, pulling the ache with it as it travels down his spine and settles in his centre in a pit of nausea.

“Oh no,” Emerson murmurs under his breath, even managing to sound genuine about it. “What did you do?”

Images assault his mind. Prison, if he’s lucky. Asylum and electroshock therapy if he’s not; if his father changed his mind about making it public that his eldest son and heir deserves punishment, or treatment for moral insanity. Steve tries not to think of that too often, tries not to look at men like that anymore — tries not to look at anyone anymore until the public forgets about him.

But every time he is reminded that he exists is another time of fear. Fear of being found out.

“I… have no idea,” Steve says after a while, looking up to where the door to the office looms above all of them, leaving them to feel like prisoners in a panopticon.

“Better not keep ‘em waiting, then. Probably too late to run, eh?”

“Probably,” Steve says, dazed, not really listening to Emerson as he kicks into motion and walks briskly up the stairs, pretending not to feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

It is out of a nervous habit that he pulls the watch from his pocket, its silver chain linked to his vest. It springs open in his hands as he takes the steps one by one, providing comfort for no reason other than it’s his. It doesn’t show the time, never has, but after losing everything at his father’s whim, the pocket watch stayed with him.

“Keep it,” Richard had sneered. “The blasted thing isn’t worth a penny!”

The fingers only ever moved incrementally over the years, and backwards, but still there is something about the watch that makes him keep it close at all times. Collecting himself, he closes his hand around the light metal and filigree ornaments and mentally counts to three before putting it back in his pocket and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Harrington,” the superior manager says, his voice sounding like gravel as per usual. The man has a habit of competing with the steel manufactory’s chimneys, only he smokes cigars instead of coal dust like his workers. Steve remembers the smell of fine cigars, and this office smells like the best among them.

It only helps to strengthen his disdain for the man.

Still he nods and aims for a pleasant smile. “You asked for me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, leaning back in his thick leather chair and motioning for Steve to take a seat at the sturdy, delicately engraved mahogany desk. “Sit down, sit down, time is money and I give you more of that than you deserve anyway. I have a proposition for you and you are in no position to decline, yes?”

“Yes?” Steve says dumbly, taking his time to sit down just to spite him.

The man, however, is not as easily perturbed. “That’s what I want to hear, I have to admire your morale, Harrington. Here,” he turns and reaches for a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before—

The blood in Steve’s veins freezes, leaving him cold and too hot all at once.

Underneath the beefy hand, he makes out a photograph — or possibly a postcard — showing a stark white lighthouse trapped in the sea, gigantic waves crashing into it, threatening to tear it down and carry it along to wherever the tides lead. The beacon of light is steadfast and stubborn, guiding and pointing at something that’s out of the frame, but what Steve can only assume is absolute nothingness out in the open sea.

He slides it over the table to lie in front of Steve, and he fights every urge to recoil, only gripping the arm rest far too tightly.

“See, we got a telegram earlier today that they’re having problems with the lighthouse up north. They say it’s something with the generator, not fit enough to last in the cold, where the air is made of saltwater more than oxygen.”

Steve nods, though he is only halfway listening, his heart hammering in his chest at the picture of the lighthouse, etched onto the paper like it has no idea it is also etched on the very forefront of Steve’s mind — has been, for almost three decades now.

“And since you’re the only one here traditionally educated in reading and writing,” the man continues, either unaware of Steve’s dizziness or delighting in it, “and you know your way around a machine or two, fixing the generator and handling the light shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an offer.

Steve wonders if maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head, if maybe the sleep deprivation is finally leading to hallucinations like Robin keeps warning him.

“You want me to fix the lighthouse?”

“That is precisely what I want, yes. Stay there a while, find out what seems to be the problem.”

He’s getting up, walking over to a cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of what Steve can only assume is whisky. A biting, earthy smell floats through the room, thick enough to cling to his clothes if he stays here much longer.

“You’ll find yourself familiar with the equipment, as it is us who supply them. In fact, you have built generators and fixtures and engines like that. You’re a bright spark, Harrington, I can admit that. You’re the best fit. And I’m not asking.”

His jaw clicks shut, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he meets those dark eyes head-on.

“When do I leave?”

An ugly grin spreads the man’s face, gaining too much joy from other people’s powerlessness down the food chain.

“Tomorrow. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you do not have much business to attend to, and even fewer things to pack. I trust you will find your place at the train station at five tomorrow morning. Emerson will know to fill your shoes in your absence.”

How long will I be gone? he wants to ask, but is too afraid that the answer will only be another cruel smirk and a sip of whisky.

He gets up, certain that he is being dismissed, and getting no sign that he’s wrong.

“Oh, and Harrington.” He stops with his hand on the door already. “Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the lighthouse is without a keeper. I have offered your services for the time being, seeing as you will already be there. The salary, of course, will be thrice as much as your usual.”

The daze is back, smelling of saltwater air and whisky, rushing in his ears like waves bursting on the cliffs.

“What happened to the old keepers?” he dares to ask.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does. What happened to the old keepers?”

“I think you shall find out soon enough.” A beat of silence — horrible, tidal silence. Then, “You’re dismissed.”

***

The train ride is blessedly pleasant, the first class ticket providing the luxury of comfortable seating and relative silence, the wheels occasionally clicking along the railway loud enough to drown out the near-deafening rushing of the ocean in his ears — or perhaps it’s not the ocean, perhaps it is his own blood, pumped with fear and apprehension.

The only upside to all of this is the telegram he’s been gripping tightly all morning so as not to lose it, not to forget about it, not to think it was a dream. A childish, hopeless dream, a longing for company to battle the fear of the dark.

I’ll meet you there. 3 days.

Signed: Robin Buckley. She never took his name, said she did not want to be associated with Richard and the Harrington wealth that came with the Napoleonic wars — never mind that they happened almost a century ago.

Blood money isn’t wealth, Steven, she’d said to him on many occasions, and he loved her for it all the more.

Maybe it will be fine if Robin is there with him. Maybe they won’t end up succumbing to madness like people are wont to do, subjected to the endless loneliness of lighthouse keeping. Confronted with a darkness so deep it needs human invention to remain habitable. Maybe, he wonders idly and with shortness of breath, the world will end if all its lights are gone. Maybe all that will remain is nothingness and the ruthless sea — maybe, until the sun rises again and the light returns. But up north, the sun doesn’t stay all that long. Up north, they say the darkness is different. They say it’s sentient. They say—

A servant offers him some tea or coffee if he pleases, ripping hit out of his obsessive spiral of apprehension and fear.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes, miming quiet politeness to cover up the lack of air in his lungs. The servant nods, not at all perturbed by Steve’s rather horrific disposition, and moves along.

The tea helps a little. It’s hard to think horrible thoughts when there is a steaming cup in your hands smelling comfortingly of herbs and just a hint at something spicy. It feels almost primal, his fear of the lighthouse — but just as primal is the comfort he finds in the warmth spreading from his hands all the way through his body. The shaking stops after a minute, and breath has returned to his lungs in a way that doesn’t leave him scared to let it out.

It will be fine. The sea will lose its terror, and so will darkness. He will read, and fix what needs to be fixed, and laugh at it all with Robin by his side, who will teach him about birds they will never see, about authors that don’t live anymore, and about the stars they get to watch.

It will be fine. He will be fine. Always, with Robin.

***

He arrives at the seaside town just before nightfall, and the first thing he notices is not the rushing of the ocean, but the crispness of the air that feels vastly different in his lungs to the grey and brown, polluted city air. It’s like he’s a babe taking his first breath in this world; and just like a babe, he is overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, only pinches the bridge of his nose and grabs his bags — two of them, filled only with clothes and books to pass the time.

The walk to the next inn is a long one, and by the time he arrives there — guttural laughter coming even through closed doors and windows — he is frozen to his bones. If he’d thought that fall was quick to arrive in the city, he might as well have entered an arctic winter up here. The half suspects, though, that the cold comes from his empty stomach and the bitterness that replaced the fear just as well as the actual, biting cold.

And to think it’s only just early September.

He pushes the door open and finds it blissfully warm, a large fire roaring in the fireplace and in the hearth, leaving the food steaming on the plates. Silence settles almost immediately, and Steve freezes on the spot. Being perceived in a situation he has no control over has never been his strong suit, and he wonders just what these people have heard about him. If they heard anything at all.

“Come in or get out, but leave the cold out there,” a large lady says from behind the bar, an apron wrapped around her skirt and a towel in her hand as she eyes him with wary but not unkind eyes.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, stepping further into the inn and letting the heavy door fall shut behind him.

“Ahh,” someone says from where he’s sitting on a round table with six other, quite burly men. Fishermen, Steve assumes, or harbour workers, if their sun-tanned skin and general muscular build are any indication. He places his jug of beer on the table and eyes Steve rather closely. “You’re the boy they sent. Who will fix the lighthouse, aye?”

“Aye,” Steve says stupidly, internally cringing at himself. Then, turning towards the woman, “Have you a room to spare?”

“Have you money to spare?” she retorts, clearly mocking him for his odd choice of words — it’s hard, laying down his aristocratic upbringing, especially in a town auch as this.

“Of course,” he says. “For food, drink, and someone to bring me to the lighthouse in three days.”

Another man of the group snorts loudly, shaking his head and studying his ale like it would tell him the future.

“No way, boy. Ain’t no one gettin’ close to that thing.”

“She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close. ‘S what lighthouses are for, eh? No getting too close. You get too close, you die. Simple as that.”

Steve takes it in, the pale faces of the men all nodding along, the thousand yard stares they all have in common — and his fear is back. But greater than his fear is his annoyance with men who insist on calling him boy and decide to speak in riddles instead of making sense.

“Haunted?” he asks, taking one of two spare seats at the table, nodding at the woman in thanks as she brings him an ale that only barely smells like piss. “How?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a fourth man, the oldest of them, speaks up. “There’s a curse on the lighthouse. No one gets out alive. We only ever bring her new stock, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. She takes. She takes and takes, boy.”

“So you do bring them,” Steve points out, far too tired and irritated to listen to a ghost story before he’s even had a proper, warm dinner.

The men still, and Steve places a tower of money in the centre of the table.

“It’s yours,” he says, looking at each of them, one after the other, “if you take us there in three days. Four, if the weather decides to play.”

“Us?”

“My wife,” Steve says.

“Fine,” one of them, the one who first spoke to him, grumbles, reaching for the money. “Now go. This table is for grownups, boy.”

With an eye-roll and an air of arrogance, Steve gets up and finds a seat at another table closer to the fireplace. Soon after, fresh stew is placed before him and he dives in.

***

The lighthouse towers on top of the cliffs and Steve watches, mesmerised, as he makes out its shape even in the pitch black darkness. It’s eerie, the power it emanates, the myths and legends that weave around it and its kind. Legends that would be fascinating learning about them in the safety of one’s bed, but which are horrifying to remember days before the nameless fates could be one’s own.

The darkness of the night really is endless here without the lights of the city, and he can only imagine how the lighthouse would help, how it would bring back hope and security, a promise of safe passage. It’s brings him a sort of peace; a purpose, imagining this town in the lighthouse’s beacon. Safe for the night, safe until the sun comes back.

Still it doesn’t ease his night terrors, filled with whispers as they are, growing in urgency and almost clear enough to make out.

Three days pass. Four. Five. There is no sign of Robin. Anxiety grows within him, because Steve knows Robin was going to take the seaside route from the Cunningham estate — well, one of them, at least.

She has a mind of her own. She takes and takes, boy. She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close.

What if…

No. No, there is simply no way. Haunted lighthouses taking lives. There’s no— no way. He won’t fall for their ghost stories.

Unfortunately, however, they don’t fall for his charm either, and on the seventh day, when the sea is calm and the sun steady above them, the man who took they money — Old John, apparently — approaches him.

“We’re leaving now,” he says, shoving Steve ahead of him, deaf to his protest that they have to wait, they have to wait. “Your sweetheart ain’t coming, kid. Don’t think she’ll be coming anywhere ever again if she really took the ship. They talk of a ship that got lost in the storm, burst on the cliffs because there was no light. I’m sorry, kid, but I won’t risk waiting any longer.”

A ship lost in the storm?

But… No. No!

“No,” he whispers, letting himself be shoved onto a tiny boat and rocked this way and that, feeling nauseous for more reasons than one.

He’s wrong, Steve knows; feels it in his very soul. Robin is not dead. She’ll come.

She… She will come. She won’t leave him alone, all alone, in this place that has been haunting him for years and years.

She’ll come.

The lighthouse towers above them, perched on top of cliffs that make Steve understand why nobody wanted take him here. There’s no safe way of getting close, let alone climbing up the stairs carved into the cliffs, leading up to the door with no railing, no rope to hold onto. One large wave crashing into him, and he’d belong to the ocean.

He wants to cry again. Wants to curl in on himself and weep as the reality of everything begins to settle in the deepest, darkest places of his heart.

If he leaves the boat, he’ll be trapped with no way of getting out, no way of contacting the land they’ve left far, far behind. Supplies are said to last several months, he knows, he studied the file he got. Several months without human interaction unless Robin magically, wonderfully appears in a few days after all.

“Good luck, kid,” is the last thing he’ll ever hear of Old John as he pulls himself onto the cliffs, reaching for his bags from the old man’s hands. The sea is deafening here as waves crash and burst relentlessly, and he can’t hear what else Old John is saying, but he thanks him and salutes, which the seaman returns with an air of melancholy.

Steve climbs the stairs, soaked to the bones by the splashing water, but somehow — miraculously — malign his way up. As he turns around, fog is starting to gather above the water, but he can make out the tiny silhouette of the boat.

He watches, and it’s meant as a last goodbye, one last glance at his one way out. But terror fills him as he watches, helplessly, powerlessly, as Old John’s boat keels over and disappears. He keeps his eyes fixed to the spot, not daring to look away until there’s proof of life. But Old John doesn’t break the surface again.

And Steve is left filled with horror and the absolute certainty that he might not make it out if he sets foot inside the lighthouse.

Behind him, the door opens with a horrible, terrifying creak, and the beating of his heart is too loud for any other noise to exist in Steve’s world right now.

🌊 part 2 (coming 26 October)

tagging (trading tags for kindness): @klausinamarink @vampeddie @steviesummer @sharpbutsoft @auroraplume

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #spooky lighthouse au #dio words #this is so long i’m so sorry 😭😭 i’ll try not to let the other parts be so extensive with exposition hdhdh #it will go up on ao3 when i’ve had the time to proofread this but as things are rn we just fuck around and ignore typos #*frantically scrambling* does any of this make sense so far???

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daizymax · 6 months

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descent to depravity | psh, cs (m)

summary: just when you think you have convinced yourself that the sinful creature who visited you all those nights ago was merely the product of a vividly erotic dream, he returns to you — and this time, he is not alone...

pairing: seonghwa x fem reader x san

genre: fantasy, smut

word count: 8.1k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: part two of these wicked delights; incubus!seonghwa; incubus!san; profanity; supernatural elements; slight religious elements; graphic sexual content; dubcon; d/s roles without proper safety or aftercare; threesome; dirty talk; oral sex (f receiving); unprotected piv sex; multiple creampies

author's note: rewritten for ateez and reuploaded from my old blog. meant to upload this on halloween but oh well. heed the warnings and enjoy y'all.

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

---

It all ended in a dream.

Because it was never real. Of course it wasn’t. It was merely a strikingly vivid dream.

It had to have been.

That’s what you have been repeating to yourself in regards to the bizarre — and erotic — encounter you’d had with the mysterious, otherworldly creature months ago. It was both easy and difficult to write the experience off as some sort of demented fantasy brought to life during the worst dry spell you’ve experienced. After all, the dream has never once revisited your sleeping mind, despite plaguing many of your waking thoughts.

So when a wave of foreboding pinpricks trickles down your spine, paranoia makes you twist away from the bathroom sink to look behind you. Nothing seems out of the ordinary in your bedroom, however. There is no visitor sitting on the bed, nothing has been disturbed.

You close your eyes and shake your head, then resume brushing your teeth. But the tingles that linger at the start of your spine are just so familiar…

After you finish rinsing your mouth, you turn off the bathroom lights and shuffle tiredly to bed. Just as you pull back the covers to slip under them, you catch sight of two circular, red lights in the window from your peripheral vision.

It’s him, those are his eyes!

When you lift your head to get a proper look, the red glow has vanished. You step around your bed and up to the window to peek through the blinds, but the only lights to be found are the one reflecting off the rotund moon and the ones from the street lamps. There is nothing and no one to be seen — least of all a creature with eerie crimson eyes in the guise of a humanoid body.

You decide it was probably just some passing tail lights from a car and remove your fingers from between the blinds.

Switching off the bedside lamp, you do your best to push away the thoughts of the demonic being from your mind as you snuggle into your pillow. Your breathing and heart rate slow as you relax, lulled by the chirping of crickets and the occasional hum of car tires rolling by outside.

Just as you are finally sinking into slumber, something suddenly brings the hairs on the nape of your neck to attention. The pinpricks from earlier ripple over the entire expanse of your skin with greater force. Before you can roll over, your muscles are stiffened to total ineffectiveness, though the sound of his haunting voice would surely have frozen you just as effectively.

“Hello again, pet…”

The dehumanizing way in which he greets you is chilling, but you cannot shiver.

This is just a dream… you repeat your sacred mantra silently because your lips are sealed tight. This isn’t real…

“Ah. You wound me, child,” the creature laments in response to your thoughts. “I did not think it too terribly narcissistic of me to expect a warmer welcome, hm?”

“She is afraid,” drawls a second male voice, every bit as melodic as the first, “but not of you. Not directly. She is afraid to admit how much she truly enjoyed your last visit... and she is wondering who I am.” He reads and voices the question in your mind before it can even fully form.

“I have brought another of my kind to accompany me tonight, my pet,” the first one explains to you. “Think of his name as ‘San.’ Do you remember my name, child?”

You flinch again at the way he thinks of an adult woman as a child compared to his innumerous years, but not before your mind recalls the answer to his question.

Seonghwa…

He hums, seemingly pleased.

“You were right about this one being a desperate little thing,” the one named San muses. “The vibrations of her lust are remarkably strong for a human. I am curious to know if she is truly as sweet and supple as you claimed, Seonghwa.” The tone he accentuates on the name sounds like a tease, if you are not mistaken.

“You will still address me respectfully, novice,” Seonghwa bites back. “Especially if you wish to discover her sweetness for yourself.”

San does not seem to have any comeback for that and remains silent.

“I can sense that others of her kind have done the same in the time since I left her,” Seonghwa goes on. “There is a lingering stench on her skin that is not hers. Faint, but there, particularly between those supple legs.”

You feel your face heat up at the memories of your recent, meaningless hookups. You had been relieved to have finally quenched that previous dry spell with tangible encounters with real people, but the powerful creature’s tone fills you with a surprising sense of shame.

You try to gather your thoughts to form some sort of defensive explanation, but Seonghwa cuts you off.

“I am not upset with you for attempting to fill your baser needs, child,” he tells you almost soothingly. His voice is so sweet, so beautiful. “In truth, I am partly to blame for that. I told you our time spent together would take its toll, did I not? Our encounter has fueled the carnal desires I meant to sate, and now it is nearly impossible to sate them, isn’t it? You crave more and more. That is why I have returned and brought along another. Though San is younger and less experienced than myself, he is quite… voracious. And a quick learner. Between the two of us, you will never need to seek a lesser form of pleasure ever again.”

“Shall we begin, little one?” San asks without missing a beat.

A weight presses against your shoulder through your blankets, and you assume it is a hand. San’s hand, from the proximity of his voice. All of your movements and sounds are still constricted by the foreign yet familiar force held over you, however, and you are still rendered blind.

“She will not deny us, hyung,” the newcomer tells Seonghwa knowingly. “I know you can hear the blood thrumming in her genitalia. Her body is screaming for us to ravish it; there is no need to keep it bound. Release her. I want to hear her proclaim her wanton desires with her own tongue.”

Surprisingly, Seonghwa obliges the request, and a baited breath rushes past your lips the instant they loosen. You blink your eyelids slowly to allow your pupils to adjust to the scant light in your bedroom.

When you shift and look up, you recognize Seonghwa’s towering form standing in the shadows several feet from the foot of your bed. His black hair is swept back from his forehead, giving you a clear view of the eerie ruby eyes set in his ivory face, calmly observing you.

Next, you turn your head to the side to seek out your other ‘visitor.’ Your gaze first falls on the claw of a hand still resting on your covered shoulder. The fingers are slender and knobby at the knuckles; the nails are black and pointed. You feel heat swirl in your lower belly when you suddenly recall the way your inner juices had shone on Seonghwa’s fingers during your last tryst.

A hum of amusement draws your gaze upward to properly see the demonic figure looming over you, and you gasp softly at the sight of him. The fringe of his blond hair dangles into his crimson eyes; the orbs are a lighter, brighter shade than his elder’s. High cheekbones jut sharply out of alabaster skin. A tendon in his creamy neck flexes under your scrutiny. The thought that this could be Satan himself briefly flits through your hazy mind.

It is impossible to discern which of the two creatures is more beautiful.

San chuckles to himself whilst reading your mind, and the abyssal timbre of the sound — almost like music — makes you shudder.

“My companion is quite proficient at hearing unspoken thoughts, but he wishes to hear you speak your desires, pet,” Seonghwa says to you. “So, go on and tell us how desperate you are for us to use your body for our pleasure as we give you yours.”

“We cannot guarantee we will be gentle,” San inputs as a warning, “but all parties shall be sufficiently satisfied in the end.”

You look back and forth between the two hellish beings — taking a quick second to be thankful for having control of your body, unlike before — as you contemplate the situation. If these were normal men, there is no chance you would agree to this, no matter how good-looking they were…

Would you?

The mere presence of these beings makes you question your reality and your morals.

“Why does your mind dispute your body’s wants, little one?” San wonders aloud. He sounds genuinely curious. “Would you truly rather return to a slumber filled with fleeting, unfulfilling fantasies than have us drive you to the brink of madness one orgasm at a time?”

How easily your morals crumble from one salacious promise.

“Please...” you finally croak weakly.

San’s fingers tighten in the sheets. You wouldn’t be surprised if he has punctured tiny holes in the linen. “Please what?” he presses.

You lick your lips and utter, “Fuck me,” in a voice you can barely recognize as your own.

San finds something funny with your words and laughs darkly. “So crass,” he tsks, but sweeps the sheets from your body nevertheless.

In two swift, easy motions, he slashes your sleepwear to shreds, rendering you nude. The action startles you, and you automatically curl in on yourself out of sudden shyness.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Seonghwa tuts in disapproval. “Do not make me restrain you again, child. Be a good pet and let your master look upon what is his.”

He steps closer and coaxes your legs apart, not with unseen force, but with a manual graze of his large hands along the flesh of your thighs. His touch is light and frigid, and you shiver as you let your legs fall open. Once your center is visible to him, he traces the pad of his thumb along the outer circumference of your folds. There is a sort of reverence in his gentle touch.

From beside you, you notice San craning his neck to glimpse the view his elder is enjoying.

“San,” Seonghwa calls softly.

San obeys the unspoken command, moving to sidle beside Seonghwa in a motion so seamless he almost seems to glide across the floor. Your nerves tingle when both of their red gazes are fixed so intently on your naked pussy.

“You may proceed in discovering how sweet and supple our little pet is,” Seonghwa grants him, as though your body were his personal property to give away as he pleases. And of course he hears your silent (and justified) protest, because the next thing he says is: “Your body is my property, child. When I am here, I am the master, and you are the pet. My cohort and I will give you more pleasure than could ever be found behind Heaven’s gate, but on our terms. You must comply to our every whim because you are not in charge here, not even of your own body. Am I in any way unclear?”

His voice booms deeper on the last sentence. You meekly shake your head no.

Seonghwa hums and pats your thigh approvingly. “There’s a good pet. You may proceed, San.”

A wide, wolfish grin appears in the darkness below San’s glowing eyes. “Gladly.”

With that, he becomes a blur of motion from how fast he kneels to dive between your legs. His wide shoulders knock against your knees, and his fingers roam up your thighs to replace Seonghwa’s with a strong grasp. He drags you downward until your ass is even with the edge of the bed. When his nose nudges the folds of your cunt, he takes a moment to breathe the scent of you deeply, and your face burns hotter than you thought possible.

“Intoxicating, no?” Seonghwa asks as he moves out of the younger’s way.

“Indeed,” San agrees. His lips are cold but his breath is steaming hot as he ghosts over your sensitive skin.

Not another second is wasted before he pokes his tongue out to take that first anticipated taste of you. The muscle feels scaly and clammy, precisely the way you recall Seonghwa’s tongue. It is not entirely unpleasant, however — especially when it drags upward from the bottom of your slit to fit itself snugly between your petaled lips and inside your hole. The walls of your pussy instantly clench tighter at the sensation of being filled by the inhumanly long muscle.

“How is she?” Seonghwa — who has wandered up the side of the bed to stand at your side — asks. He busies an idle hand with one of your breasts, rolling and pinching the nipple almost absentmindedly. You automatically arch into his touch, and he smirks down at you crookedly.

San has to withdraw his tongue from your insides to murmur his response, “Even sweeter than you led me to believe, hyung. This one is quite a treat indeed. A sweet little flower.”

You can’t help but feel flattered by the compliment coming from the ethereally beautiful creature tonguing you in the most intimate of places.

Seonghwa grunts in satisfaction — and perhaps also a sense of validation — at his companion’s apparent enjoyment. The accompanied pinch he gives your peaked nipple sends a twinge of pain and pleasure straight to your core, and you are sure San is aware of the increased wetness pooling into his mouth. He starts licking wide stripes along your opening; back and forth, up and down. His actions are not done with much finesse, and the slurping sounds he is creating are more than a little lewd, but he does seem to be enjoying you, and having someone eat you with such gusto is a turn on of its own.

“Is he making you feel good, my pet?” Seonghwa asks, switching his ministrations to your other breast.

You nod and moan a breathy, “Uh huh.”

San seems to gain encouragement by your answer and begins mouthing at your pussy faster. His lips sweep against yours while his tongue digs deep. His actions are undeniably pleasurable, but you soon realize it isn’t enough when your clit is being neglected.

Seonghwa senses your mild frustration and speaks up on your behalf. “San, you selfish glutton, be sure to administer to her clitoris as well.”

“Her what?”

“Do you not remember? It is the small nub at the top of the human female genitalia that gives them great pleasure.”

San pulls back to study your pussy again. He quickly finds what he is looking for and brushes his thumb against it experimentally. You gasp and writhe your hips appreciatively.

“My apologies, little flower. Is that better?” he asks you in a tone both impish and honeyed.

You nod again and squeak out a tiny: “Yes.”

He directs his next words to Seonghwa. “Are you always this attentive to your pets’ desires during your time with them, hyung?”

“Of course. This one climaxed thrice when I last visited upon her,” Seonghwa says matter-of-factly.

“Hm. Well, we can easily reach that number with the both of us here,” San says. The circular motion of his thumb does not falter while he holds the conversation. “In fact, I am certain we will. My favorite part is watching them come undone and cry out for me as though I am their savior, after all.”

“It seems you still have quite some work to do on our little pet, then,” Seonghwa spits.

San grunts at the criticism, but rather than biting back, he returns his full attention to the task of undoing you. He bends to plant a rather kittenish kiss on the hood of your newly-found clit, then latches on to suckle at it. The graze of a sharp tooth elicits a gasp from you, and a succinct shiver courses throughout your body from the danger of having his fangs in such close quarters with a sensitive place.

“Mm, do not fear, little one. I wish to unravel you, not harm you,” San purrs. “Now let me hear those lyrical sounds spill freely from your lips.”

A whine issues in your throat at his words, but it is quiet and pinched. Hardly ‘lyrical’ at all.

“If you want her to sing for you, you have to make her,” Seonghwa says, unimpressed. He removes his hand from your chest to shove the younger demon’s face tighter against your center. His fingers twist in the blond hair. You can tell the action is far from tender.

As though a whip has been cracked, San groans and redoubles his efforts to gain the noises he so craves by adding a slender finger knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt. He curls it in slow but unmistakable ‘come hither’ gestures. The scratching of his jagged fingernail along your most delicate skin should by all means be painful, but it isn’t. Not in the least.

And you are by no means complaining.

“How did you ever fit inside of her, hyung?” San asks. “She is so tight around just my finger.”

“You will learn more of her tightness yet,” promises Seonghwa.

It does not take long for a trail of fire to ignite your nerves, sending your limbs twitching with pent-up energy and rising pleasure. The embers in your blood bring forth a thin layer of sweat onto your skin. Your breath comes and goes in shallow puffs as if your lungs have suddenly lost all holding capacity. Every hot, wet lashing the unholy creature’s tongue gifts you is a step you take closer to the brink, and the brink will soon be within tumbling distance.

Seonghwa, however, seems displeased by the rate at which San is building your climax.

“Do you consider this to be ‘unraveling’ her?” he hisses, fisting his fingers even tighter against his companion’s scalp.

San whines at the physical assertion bestowed upon him, and the vibrations of his sound travel through your center, all the way to the polar ends of your toes and fingertips.

“She is so easy, yet you are having to work so hard,” Seonghwa taunts. “Do better if you wish to achieve your own release tonight.”

The blond growls in determination. His response to his elder’s words is to bring the total number of fingers in your cunt straight to three. He does not push the additional two fingers in one at a time, but rather in a single forceful thrust of his hand. A shriek escapes you at the sudden stretch to your walls, soon followed by a long, low moan at a particularly powerful swipe over your pleasure point. Both demons hum, deep and satisfied.

“She sounds as heavenly as she tastes, does she not?” Seonghwa says, seeming much more proud now.

“A perfect choice of word, hyung,” San agrees with his tongue still around your clit.

“Keep going, just as you are,” Seonghwa urges, though it seems San has no intention of doing anything to the contrary. You can’t take your eyes off the crown of his head between your legs as he licks and sucks and flicks and strokes you into a frenzy. Your fists repeatedly clench and unclench in the sheets around you as every thought in your mind concentrates on that looming ledge.

“It’s ecstasy, isn’t it?” Seonghwa whispers to you now, and you whine something incoherent in response. He cards the fingers of his other hand through your hair as well, then fists them right at the scalp with a firm tug, just as with San’s. Except instead of pushing, he pulls your head further backward on your pillow to tilt your gaze up to his. His eyes are daggers under a coat of blood. “Isn’t it?” he repeats. His voice is not particularly loud, but the power of the question reverberates against the walls all the same.

“Y-yes, it f-f-feels so good,” you whisper, not daring to break eye contact.

“Mm, yes, I know it does. San is working diligently to prepare you for me, isn’t he?”

As though to verify Seonghwa’s claim, San thrashes his face back and forth in the juncture of your thighs with animal-like fervor. Seonghwa’s arm shakes along with the motion from where he still has a grip on the demon’s scalp.

“Such a good pet. A pretty little lamb, so willingly being devoured by the ravenous wolf,” Seonghwa coos at you, syrupy-sweet. “Let yourself come undone for him, pet. Give San what he so desperately craves. Come in his mouth.”

The casual yet inherently filthy way he uses the terms ‘come’ and ‘in’ is all it takes to fling you off the ledge and into your climax with eyes shut tight and a loud cry. Every muscle in your body pulls taut as a bowstring, and San opens his mouth wider just in time to catch the gush of wetness that bursts forth. The steady rumble of his groan — along with some softer strokes to your g-spot — helps your high taper off into a shaky yet satisfying finish.

“Oh my god,” you whisper under your breath when San finally removes his fingers and lifts his face away from your quivering, sensitive core. He looks downright devilish as he tongues his inner cheek with a smug smirk and hooded eyes. He seems proud of the mess covering his chiseled chin and cheeks, and he is looking at you as though he could devour the rest of you whole.

“God? He would never give you this much pleasure, little one,” San purrs.

Seonghwa chuckles and scratches the top of San’s head, equally proud of him. You vaguely register the tickling of his fingernails on your own scalp before he pulls his hand away from you to grab San’s — the one dirtied with your juices. The raven-haired demon takes the blond’s slick fingers, brings them up to his lips, and slips them inside with slow purpose. San does not resist the intimate act. On the contrary, you can just barely see the way his wrist moves with the way he presses his fingers back and forth against Seonghwa’s reptilian tongue.

Your mouth falls open at the display of pure eroticism, but you cannot find enough humility within you to close it again — especially when San pulls his fingers back with a wet slurp and pops his thumb into Seonghwa’s mouth next, unprompted. The two hellions lock eyes until Seonghwa has apparently sucked all the remaining residue from San’s last digit.

Only when Seonghwa finally looks back to you do you snap your jaw shut. He sneers at you and drawls, “Just as I remember: sweet as nectar.”

“She has had her pleasure. I want to take mine now, hyung,” San declares. You watch him reach down to palm at his genitals, and your eyes widen at the sight of his erection standing proudly out in the open. “I need to feel her wrapped around me.”

“You will...” Seonghwa sighs. He curls a hand around the back of San’s neck in a seemingly tender gesture, then uses his other hand to shove San away with impressive force. “...but not until after I have taken my fill of her, you selfish, impatient glutton.”

San rolls his neck and peels his back off the wall, staring coldly at Seonghwa. He does not argue, however. He just wipes the rest of your wetness from his face with the back of a hand and stalks over to wait at your side.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa takes up San’s previous position at the foot of the bed, and you shift upward on the mattress to prepare for his next move. He kneels onto the bed to follow your movement, then presses a hand onto your stomach to stop you when he judges you’ve gone far enough. His touch feels solid, but the mattress does not creak under his added weight the way you know it is prone to do.

“Not another inch, pet,” he murmurs. “Stay right there, just like that.”

He pries your legs apart again, and the tip of his sizeable cock prods against your inner thigh as he situates himself. The burn of his rigid flesh feels like a brand on your skin. You hiss when he lines himself up with your pussy.

“This may be easier than last time, but still painful, despite how drenched you are,” Seonghwa warns.

You nod in understanding. When he lifts one of your legs to wrap it around his slim waist, you take in a breath and hold it.

“Exhale, child,” Seonghwa guides you as he begins to ease himself inside.

You try to let go of your breath, but the reflex to hold it to cope with the stretch of his burning shaft is too much, and you end up gasping instead.

“Relax, little lamb,” San murmurs from your side, adopting Seonghwa’s new pet name for you. He returns his hand to your shoulder and squeezes. “Hold on to Seonghwa-hyung and breathe.”

You lift your hands up at once to find purchase along Seonghwa’s wide shoulders. His skin is buttery smooth, but the muscles beneath are rock hard. You were unable to touch him like this — or at all, actually — the last time, and you find your fingers roaming greedily. It is a good distraction from the pain coming from below.

If Seonghwa is bothered by your wandering hands, he does not show or comment on it. He simply continues feeding his cock into you, inch by inch, until eventually he can go no further.

“How does she feel?” San demands to know before anyone can do or say anything else.

“Like silken bliss,” Seonghwa answers, to which you tuck your head down shyly. One of his fingers hooks under your chin to lift your face back toward him so you can see his wicked grin. “Such a shy little thing. And yet here you lie beneath me, penetrated by me, desperately wishing me to pound you into this flimsy piece of furniture.”

“Yes, yes, I can hear her wishing that very much, hyung,” San says excitedly. “Are you going to oblige her?”

Rather than verbalizing a response, Seonghwa sways his hips backwards to withdraw a portion of his girth from you, then surges forward again. You barely have time to register the sensation of the jostling motion before he repeats it with a distinctly sharper snap. The wet slapping sound of the movement is every bit as erotic as the friction being created. His length easily reaches places inside you that other lovers can only aspire to. Every ridge of his bare shaft pulses tightly against your walls, making you mewl and squirm in no time.

“Don’t tear up our pretty pet before I have had the pleasure of her,” San adds. It sounds like a warning, a tease, and a whine all at once.

“I have not even started on her yet,” grunts Seonghwa. He peels your fingers off of him, and as he moves to pin your wrists above your head in a tight grip, the weight of his solid torso settles squarely upon yours. His skin is cool to the touch at first, but soon warms as it absorbs your heat. The movement of his hips has altered from jarring snaps to a deep, continuous roll. It feels as though his cock is quite literally stirring a second orgasm within you.

All the while, the unnatural creature keeps his deep ruby eyes on yours. It seems he wants to witness the exact moment your orgasm boils over, and you are certain it will not take long. The close proximity of his beautiful, marble sculpture of a face alone is enough to set fire to both your cheeks and your loins, as well as tug the knot in your lower belly tighter.

“She enjoys this angle, hyung,” San comments. His palm manages to slide its way flat against one of your cheeks, and his cooled touch is most welcome on your sweaty, burning skin. “But I can barely touch her when you are draped over her like this.”

Seonghwa smirks and says, “We can remedy that, if you are truly so impatient to join in.”

“Please. At least allow me to touch her as much as possible while you are tearing her apart.”

“Very well, but I will not cease taking my own pleasure for a moment.”

That is the only warning you receive before Seonghwa hoists you up with him. He stands at the foot of the bed again with his cock still sheathed securely inside of you. Your arms and legs reflexively wrap around his muscular body to keep yourself from falling, but his strong hands — and whatever otherworldly force he wields, perhaps — are more than enough to keep you upright. He uses those hands and that force to set you to moving along his turgid cock.

The shift in position does nothing to lessen the depth at which his cock reaches; if anything, it feels as though he is hitting even further inside of your soaked, narrow tunnel.

After only a few bounces, you feel San’s hands press firmly against your back and push you even closer into Seonghwa. His shove also forces Seonghwa to step backwards until it is his back that meets the wall this time, along with your crossed feet on the small of it. Immediately after Seonghwa connects with the wall, San connects with you, effectively sandwiching you in the middle of this most unholy union.

Seonghwa does not stop moving you up and down his cock. He keeps the pace he has set against your g-spot evenly. A wanton moan breaks through your throat at the sensation of all the sinewy skin and rippling muscles covering you front and back. San’s erection twitches against your lower back, giving away his own excitement at the situation.

“Mm, she likes this position even more, hyung,” he purrs against the nape of your neck. His hands circle around to trap your breasts in a tight grope. He pushes them close together, pulls them apart, tweaks your pert nipples; every fondle takes away just a bit more of what little breath you have.

Eventually, San’s fondling fingers slide their way down from your breasts, across your stomach, along your hips, and finally around to your backside where they help hold what flesh of your ass Seonghwa’s hands are not already covering.

“I know, I can hear her, too,” says Seonghwa. “Her other lovers are not able to ‘fuck’ her in this fashion, so it arouses her even more. I can feel her getting even tighter around me with every stroke.”

“Even tighter, hm?” San gently nips his razor teeth into your shoulder, and you can feel his lips curl against your skin. “That is because you like being stuffed full, don’t you, little lamb? Seonghwa-hyung’s cock is filling you up so well, isn’t it?”

It is all you can do to bob your head in agreement, since it seems your voice can only be used for moaning while you are pistoning up and down Seonghwa’s cock through no effort of your own.

“Your sweet genitalia is not the only orifice that can be stuffed full,” San goes on. “I have always wondered just how tight the hole on the other side is…”

For a brief second, you fear he will attempt to shove his well-endowed member up your ass with no further warning, but his hips do not move. Instead, he takes you by the chin and turns your head until you are facing him as much as your neck will permit with the angle, then taps against your lips with one of his fingers. You grant him entrance, and he lies his finger flat against your tongue.

“Lubricate it well,” he instructs into your ear, then licks the shell of it as though to demonstrate exactly what he wants you to do.

You dutifully flick your tongue around his finger, sucking on it until all you can taste on it is your own saliva. Only then does San retract his hand to drop it down below and probe between your jiggling backside where you cannot see.

In the midst of his thrusts, Seonghwa adjusts himself to stand straighter against the wall, then uses the full grip he has on your ass to spread the cheeks further apart and allow his companion better access. You hiss in a sharp breath when San hits pay dirt directly on the ring of your smaller hole.

“Breathe, little lamb. Just as before,” he whispers next, lush lips still caressing your ear.

You slowly let go of your breath, and San begins to push his finger past your rim. The continued up and down movement of his target does not deter or hinder him from plugging your anus. He wags his spit-slick finger back and forth inside your clenched ring of muscle as he goes. The stretch of it stings, but it is not as uncomfortable as the initial pressure of Seonghwa’s cock had been a moment ago.

In fact, you have never felt more lust-frenzied, mind-hazing pleasure all at once than you do right now, with a pair of strong hands cupping your ass, your thighs wrapped around a sturdy waist, a thick cock plunging through the walls of your cunt, a silky pair of lips trailing down your neck, another cock poking into your back, and the feeling of damnation in your puckered hole. Every nerve ending you possess has been ignited to an unquenchable pyre.

“The flower between your legs is tight, pretty pet,” San breathes, “but this sphincter of yours is at least doubly so. And hotter, too. It is a shame it is not also self-lubricating.”

An ambiguous-sounding groan rumbles through you, but every fiber of your being is in agreement with his words and actions, and San knows it.

Seonghwa knows it, too. Your eyes fixate on his beautiful lips as he drawls, “Yes, you like being penetrated front and back, don’t you, pet? Speared by my cock and skewered by San’s finger simultaneously?”

At Seonghwa’s words, San drags his finger down to tease shallow circles around your opening, then wiggles all the way back in to his knuckle. “She is loving it, hyung. Just listen to her trying to form a coherent thought right now; she cannot.”

Seonghwa hums in agreement. “Yes, she is so close to unraveling again. Just a few more thrusts against this sweet spot inside of her… and a little stimulation on the nub between her soft legs…”

San brings his other hand around to take care of the latter, tickling the swollen point between your legs the way he learned earlier as best he can while you continue to jostle up and down against Seonghwa’s hip bones.

“Are you going to release soon as well, hyung?” San asks. “Are you going to fill her?”

“Mm, yes. I suspect I can time it perfectly with our pet’s release,” bets Seonghwa. “It will not be long. She has just gotten even tighter again at the thought of being filled with my seed.”

He has barely finished calling you out before your orgasm hits, and it hits you like a freight train. Your toes curl and every muscle in your body clenches as a shockwave of pleasure detonates in your core. Your holes clamp down on the cock and the finger inside of them as you let out a shriek, sinking your fingernails into Seonghwa’s broad shoulders as he brings your body to a halt at his hilt. He lets out a booming moan of his own as his cock swells even more and erupts. A copious amount of hot liquid squirts against your cervix and lines your walls. Some of it leaks down around the plug of Seonghwa’s still turgid dick from the pull of gravity.

You let out a pinched moan as your climax spikes to its peak, then fall limp as a rag doll against Seonghwa’s frame with your forehead against one of his shoulders. San does not remove his fingers from your clit until your legs begin shuddering violently from the overstimulation.

“That’s it, my pet,” Seonghwa praises at the same moment San coos, “Such a good little lamb.” Both demons caress you as you pant heavily. Seonghwa’s hands massage your butt where he is still holding you up. You had almost forgotten San’s finger was embedded in your anus until he withdraws it and rubs your shivering spine.

You lift your head off Seonghwa’s shoulder, suddenly curious to see if he is any worse for wear than you are. He has some markings of being fucked-out: some strands of his hair have fallen out of place, and his hairline is slightly sweaty, as is his neckline and the cleavage between his pectorals. But he does not appear the slightest bit breathless, even after all his exertions in giving you the ecstasy you just experienced.

While you are still coping with the sheer amount of beauty before you, you are suddenly torn off and away from Seonghwa and tossed back onto your mattress by San. He retakes his earlier position kneeling at the foot of the bed. Without physically touching you, he drags your body down the mattress until your used pussy is inches from his face, then spreads your legs wide with firm hands. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows, scrambling to see his next move.

“You made quite a mess of our pretty little flower, hyung,” mutters San, cocking his head as he studies your sullied and swollen cunt. He sounds far from upset over this observation, however. In fact, you might even say he looks awed by your condition.

Seonghwa steps to the side of the bed and watches on as his companion appreciates his handiwork. Wordlessly, he dips a hand in front of San’s face and drags two slender fingers along your slit, and you shiver from sensitivity.

“So I have,” Seonghwa muses, unapologetic. He lifts his fingers to examine the tips of them shimmering with a pearly mixture of your cum and his in the moonlight. When he rubs his thumb against them as though to test the consistency, you are certain you have never felt more aroused in your life.

Thankfully, you do not have to voice your most vulgar, hedonistic desire in the moment, because Seonghwa hears you loud and clear. With a lopsided grin over your shameless thoughts, he brings his sticky fingers to your already parted lips and settles them directly on your tongue.

“So foul,” San breathes, sounding more reverent than appalled as he watches you suck Seonghwa’s fingers clean of your own free will. “Our sweet lamb will be wholly corrupted yet.”

Seonghwa draws his fingers from your tongue and slowly, so slowly runs them over your lips. You try to chase and recapture them, but he grabs your chin roughly. You flick your eyes to meet his, and his bloody stare sears you, body and soul.

“Take her,” he commands in booming bass.

The younger hellion is over you at once, pinning you to the mattress and feeding his steely length into your sloppy cunt in one smooth thrust. He grunts as he makes his entrance and bottoms out within the same second.

The cum inside you has barely had a chance to cool before it begins frothing from the incessant withdrawing and plunging of the new cock assaulting you. The excess leaks down your ass crack, but any discomfort you may feel from the unpleasant stickiness is overridden by the sparks rekindling in your blood.

From the pulses coming off the veiny shaft inside you, you get the impression that San’s blood may also be boiling. The notion that his riled-up state could be caused by you and not just a primal, carnal instinct makes your core throb tighter, however far-fetched it may be.

“He enjoys you,” Seonghwa confirms for you, tracing his thumb along your jawline. “He enjoys your scent, your taste. Right now he is swearing that your cunt is the tightest he has ever felt in his long life.”

San groans in agreement. His pace momentarily stutters as he redistributes his weight over you, and you marvel for a quick second at a bulging vein in his neck when he leans closer. “How is she still this tight after taking you, hyung? The pressure is divine. It makes me all the more eager to penetrate and get a proper feel of the vise that is her other hole, but I realize now that it would be excruciating for you, little one. Your wet little cunt will have to do for now.”

You give a silent prayer of thanks for the surprising consideration for the sanctity of your asshole. San chuckles lowly when he hears it but provides no further comment.

One by one, he takes both of your hands in one of his to lift your arms up from your sides and pin them over your head exactly as Seonghwa had done earlier. Without being prompted to, Seonghwa takes that hold on your wrists out of San’s grasp and into his own, leaving San’s hands free again to prop himself up and hover above you. The fringe of his blond hair bounces to and fro with every thrust of his hips. His eyes are cast down at your heaving breasts. His perfectly pink lips glisten with a clear coating of spit applied by a swipe of his lolling tongue. A muscle near his jawline briefly pops as he concentrates on achieving the release he has patiently awaited.

You long to stare at the heavenly yet sinful feast before your eyes forever, but your eyes are gradually rolling back into your head from the onslaught of his flared cockhead against your cervix.

Suddenly, San stops his hips altogether and pulls away to straighten his back. You roll your eyes back around in time to watch your feet hike themselves up into the air and onto his shoulders by his mystical power before he leans in closely again, essentially bending you in half as his torso presses into the backs of your legs. Your muscles burn with the unaccustomed stretch, but the languid roll of his pelvis against yours is all that is important. He grinds against your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, much to your mutual pleasure.

You arch your back at an especially deep press, but Seonghwa’s grip on your wrists keeps you from going too far. You turn your head to look at him and find him looking right back at you. He cocks his head and smirks when he listens to you wonder if he is enjoying simply watching the ‘show’ without participating.

“I do enjoy watching you, pet, but fret not; I will participate again in some capacity before the night is over,” he promises.

San pays no mind to your short conversation; he continues rutting into you, but his speed is not as frenzied as his pace from just a moment ago. The angle allows him to hit your inner pleasure point with ease, however, and he is keen on hitting it with each and every plunge.

You would say it is hard to tell which of you is closer to the edge… until all of a sudden, San lets out a bellow of a moan a mere second before his cock throbs even harder and discharges a long stream of cum, then another, and another, until the heat of it can be felt down to your bones.

He continues to grunt in deep baritone as the last of his impressive release dribbles out of him and into your clenching pussy. He gives a few last shallow thrusts, and as soon as his cock withdraws, his cum — along with whatever is left of Seonghwa’s cum combined with yours — trails out of you and onto the sheets.

The blond sighs in satisfaction and slides his fingers through his hair as he pulls away. Your feet fall from his shoulders and your legs slump to the sides. San closes his eyes and bites his lip as he recollects himself; he does not seem nearly as coolly composed as Seonghwa was after his climax moments ago.

By now, you are feeling much too exhausted to care that the two creatures did not bring you to the predicted three orgasms. Your body is a little numb, your vision is slightly blurred, and it feels like there is barbed wire in your head.

“Mm, you are a revelation, little lamb,” San murmurs huskily, breaking into your thoughts. He reopens his eyes to peer down at you, and when he finds you staring back at him, he grins and licks his lips again. One of his hands comes down to cup your chin and cheeks. He tilts your head back and forth, side to side, as though determining whether or not you are the one who is truly real after all this. Then he runs his fingers down the slope of your neck, between the valley of your breasts, over your belly button, until he reaches the mess between your spread legs and stops. The sharp tips of his fingers edge around your sticky, swollen folds.

“You have sullied our flower as well, haven’t you,” Seonghwa speaks up. It is more of a statement than a question.

Without waiting for a response, he releases your wrists and glides beside San to see for himself. His eyes drop down, and for the second time tonight, both demons are staring at your bare sex — except this time, it is in a much different state; the ‘after’ depiction in a set of ‘before and after’ pictures, you imagine.

San snickers at your crazed thoughts and latches his thumb onto your clit. “You make for a pretty picture, even in this state.”

“Especially in this state,” Seonghwa emphasizes.

“Wrecked...”

“...ruined...”

“...corrupted…”

“...debauched…”

“...depraved…”

Your mind flutters between a state of conscious and unconsciousness with each blasphemous word they spit your way. Your eyes fall closed as San accelerates on your slippery bud, rebuilding the pleasure he failed to bring to fruition while inside of you. But just as he reaches a tempo that will have you cresting in no time, his thumb is replaced by a pair of lips. You cannot bring yourself to see whether they belong to San or Seonghwa; your eyelids are leaden, and so is the rest of your body.

A couple fingers enter your weakly clenching core as a wicked tongue flits intricate patterns onto your clit. Hands roam along your thighs and hips; one of them reaches up to contour around your throat.

“Let go for us, pretty pet,” purrs San. His voice sounds faint and distorted, like your ears have been submerged in water, but you recognize that it comes from above you, not between you. “Let it all go...”

He sweeps that sweet spot at your center, and Seonghwa gives you one last suck to pull you over into the abyss. If you had any control of your limbs, you would clench your fingers in the sheets and curl your toes again, but you don’t. You can’t. You remain stiff as a board as a final row of pleasure washes over you. A moan swells in your throat beneath the fingers around it when it cannot pass your clamped lips.

Your mind is much nearer to the side of oblivion than wakefulness when you vaguely hear San ask, “Is there any hope left for her soul, hyung?”

The mouth leaves your quivering pussy with a parting kiss.

“For this one?” Seonghwa whispers with a light smack of his lips. “No, I am afraid she is beyond redemption.”

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

#seonghwa smut #san smut #park seonghwa smut #choi san smut #ateez smut #atz smut #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #sanhwa x reader #ateez x reader #atz x reader #descent to depravity #daizymax

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artemfication · 2 years

Text

“MC goes Buzzfeed Unsolved with the demon brothers while fucking with the entire human realm internet!” Part 3

CW: swearing. Lots of swearing, mentions of death/murder, all the typical stuff related to summoning entities, haunted places, live streaming, not proof read.

Part 2

MC goes ghost hunting in the human realm pt. 3

Even though this entire trip clownshow was planned from start to finish, MC can’t help but feel slightly creeped out. Only slightly! That voice sounded way too serious and it will probably haunt them for a good few days, once they’re back in Devildom. Lucifer really is terrifying when he is taking his role as a demon seriously. Takes them back to all the times he tried to kill them…aah, the memories…

“Which room did you say that ritual took place?” Solomon interrupts their thoughts and teasingly shines his light into their eyes, getting a groan in response.

“First of all, get the fucking light out of my face, I’m already blind as fuck. Second of all, is that a holy watergun?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna use that?”

“Probably not…”

“Then why do you have it.”

“To scare the hoes.”

“You mean the demon of lust?”

“GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!” A high screech comes through the ghost communicator and both MC and Solomon cover their ears with a pained expression.

“Argh, make it stop!” Solomon whines and MC tries to turn off the communicator as the screeching won’t stop. They desperately try to stop the call and when they finally hit the red button they slump to the ground in relief.

“Holy fuck…”

“You can say that once you get fucked by an angel.” They glare at the sorcerer who, despite having severe temporary hearing damage, still manages to take the piss with them.

“Out of the two of us, you’d be most likely to fuck an angel than I am.”

“Damn….you’re right, I’m just that divine!”

“Okay grandpa, let’s go to the ritual room!” MC jumps up and wanders off ahead of him, leaving Solomon questioning if they just memed him or outright personally attacked him.

“H-hey, how dare you call me grandpa!” He scolds, quickly following to catch up to them and only getting a victorious giggle in return.

When they finally have reached homeroom 4, MC tries to peak through the window, however, the windows are too dirty to even be considered windows so they turn to Solomon who has pointed the camera at them.

“User “skellyfucker” just asked “are you going to lay down in the pentagram if there is one?” Are you?”

“First of all, I don’t think fucking a skeleton is…pleasurable. Second of all, was that a rhetorical question or a genuine one?”

“User “Satanswhore” also wants to know how many demons you’re going to summon.”

“We’ll see how many we can contact. Also tell them to change their name, if anyone is fucking Satan, I am. He is my boyfriend!”

“Have you fucked Satan though…?” Silence falls between them and MC gives him a “be serious” look. Does he want to expose their lives in Devildom?!

“Do you fuck the demon of Lust?”

“No.”

“This is why you’re maidenless.”

“That’s not even an answer!”

“It’s a reality check!”

“Get out.”

A distorted voice says through the ghost communicator and both cry out in surprise.

“We are not leaving, fuck you!” MC screams out of habit, making Solomon lose his composure and laugh.

Sudden smoke starts filling the ritual room and MC swore it feels like they’re back in Levi’s room with the nasty scent it gives off.

“Open the window!” They cough at Solomon who is already moving and they cover their mouth and nose with their hoodie.

“You just angered an entity, I’m going to let you solve the problem too.”

“I might know who is behind this stinking surprise and we call him after an Attack on Titan character.”

“A WHAT NOW?”

“Nevermind boomer.” MC waves him off to continuing to examine the eerie classroom. The blood on the walls and the in red drawn ritual symbols with burned out candles really sketch out the typical horror room and if you would see it, you’d say it was all fake.

Well…the acting is. But the room surely isn’t. Many content creators have visited the site, though they all did an overnight video, the spookiest content they got is something that’s either not caught on camera or it’s such blurry footage, you wouldn’t be able to actually call it anything supernatural.

“Alright, if you’re done with the ratting around, should we start the ritual?”

“You always have that little pocket book of yours right?”

“It’s not just a book! It’s my precious grimoire!”

“Yeah that thing. You know some summoning spells so we can try something to lure out a demon or perhaps the janitor’s ghost!”

“The jani- are you crazy!?”

“Was that even a question? C’mon, sing one of those little spells of yours!” MC flops down in the middle of the summoning symbol and patiently waits, lying down like a starfish and giggling like psychopath.

“Are all of your spells in Latin?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“What if we translated it to English? Would it work too.”

“MC.”

“I’m just saying, what if the demon only speaks English and then he hears your singing and gets confused so-“

“OH MY FUCKING LORD MC WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I’LL MAKE YOU!”

Solomon signs as he flips through the pages of his grimoire, and clears his throat as he finally found the spell he’s been wanting to try out on their adventures.

He starts to speak as his hand hovers above MC’s head and MC can feel the floor shake a but the longer Solomon goes on with repeating the spell. The burned out candles suddenly lit up one by one clockwise and suddenly turn blue as they continue to light up brighter and brighter. The once stone cold atmosphere in the room has turned into something you could define as a nuclear explosion from the brightness of the flames. The power of Solomon’s magic puts a heavy pressure on the concrete walls and when the magic has reached it’s peak, the light disappears in the blink of an eye, returning the room to it’s former endless darkness.

The two stay quiet for a while, waiting for a sound or for something to happen. One minute…two minutes…

“This is bullshit.“

“MC.”

“That thing is a fucking coward, come out you wussie!”

“MC…”

“A whole ass demon but they don’t even answer to a summoning spell-“

“MC!”

“What?!”

“I’ve been expecting your arrival.”

Tags:

@percypup @reshi-galaxy @shmaider @seerachii-art @brushtailedhusband @darkflowerav @frozengoldie @p-ersus @lostsomewhereinthegarden @zenbutnotreally @crazypriestess @blubearxy @magimagi17 @thesimpiestsimp @cptg00s3 @xdendenx @wecky @liminalimmortal @ineedsomeconfidence @hana-chie

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nocturnalghoul · 1 year

Text

Mushy May Day 27: Game Night

A little something about the ghouls having a weekly ttrpg game (in this case Monster of the Week). Cirrus takes over running the weekly game and is feeling a bit imposter syndrome-y but the enthusiasm of her pack quickly shows her she had nothing to worry about.

I tried to make it rules-light enough that even if you have never played MOTW or any ttrpg it should still be followable.

Also a quick little tag for @ghouletteanon because you had asked me to way back at the beginning of the month :)

Words: 699

Rating: Gen/ Everyone

Read below the cut or on AO3 here

The ghouls have been playing their current Monster of the Week game for a few sessions now, and Cirrus was extremely pleased with how it was progressing. For a while Dew had been DM’ing a game of DND for about half the other ghouls, but they all had to stop when everyone's dice kept “mysteriously” disappearing. They pretended it was a mystery but really Rain was stealing all the dice that were pretty and hiding them around his room, and Mountain wouldn’t stop eating the others. Soon enough there were just normal standard bulk set d6s left so they decided to switch to another system.

Cirrus had taken over the helm of GM since they switched to the new system and it was a lot so far, but luckily the pack has been super supportive. Everyone finally seems to have a decent grip of the new rule system and character classes so she finally can start to get into the proper mystery. Running a game is a bit more nerve wracking than playing in one though and Cirrus has been struggling to keep up her normal collected confidence as she runs the game.

She finishes up describing the large sprawling labyrinth below the main city the characters find themselves in and starts humming the soft eerie notes of a melody faintly heard down one of the pathways. Once she looks up away from her notes she notices the way that everyone at the table, as well as Aether and Cumulus who were playing cards on the other side of the ghouls den are all looking at her completely enraptured. There is a sense of pride that bubbles up inside her as her confidence in her abilities solidify slightly.

“So, how do you guys proceed?” she prompts after wrapping up the haunting tune. Everyone just blinks at her for a second before remembering oh yeah it's a collaborative effort and getting back to the game. They explore the large labyrinth for a while, until finally getting to a point of interest that whatever monster they are looking for clearly just vacated, Cirrus laying heavy details of all the general mayhem of the area and the scuttering sound that while present before is now gone.

Sunny rolls uncharacteristically well in her attempt to investigate. As she composes her thoughts on what to ask, Cirrus can’t help but smile as she shuffles a few papers around. Luckily the way everyone tries to investigate leads to exactly what she was hoping for.

“All of the clutter in the chamber seems to point to one centralized area. In the dead center of it you find this.” Cirrus narrates beaming. She pulls out a wrinkled stained piece of paper with burn marks along the edges from a tiny wooden box and hands both items to Sunny.

“You made fucking physical props for this?!” Dew immediately shouts out, attempting to take the paper from Sunny to read aloud. “Shit Cir’ you are killing it. Making my old half-assed effort look bad.”

Dew reads what appears to be a diary page relating to the strange occurrences aloud. Just as Rain and Mountain begin to argue over what it all could mean, Copia walks in interrupting the flow of conversation.

“I know it is game night, but I really need to borrow Swiss for 10 minutes at most real quick” he sheepishly tells them. Cirrus begins to say that’s fine and that they can all just take a break real quick, but the rest of the people playing immediately launch into complaints about how important story things are happening and can’t Copia wait a little bit so that they can sort everything out.

Cirrus re-asserts that they can just take a break and watches as Swiss sighs and moves to follow Copia. “Fine, but nothing better happen while I’m gone.” he grumbles as the two walk off.

Whatever doubts Cirrus was having about her ability to run the game are squashed as she watches everyone playing last maybe 20 seconds before they launch into thoughts and ideas about what's happening based on the diary entry.

Swiss does in fact, miss out on a lot while he is gone.

#fun fact I didnt go into the module but Cirrus is running one I wrote :)#I can still catch up by end of month idk what you are talking about #mushy may #nocturnal mushy may #the band ghost #nocturnal writings

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lumine-no-hikari · 4 months

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #22

The friends who said they would visit today did not come. They said they are feeling unwell. That is okay. Still, I wish I had known earlier in the day; I could have gone to Eggcellent to work on the music box. Ah well; some other time, perhaps.

It's very breezy at my house. The sky is bright to the southwest, but the clouds loom doomishly to the northeast. I took a brief walk and marveled at the contrast; the juxtaposition was both gloriously beautiful and just a little bit unsettling and eerie. Spooky, even.

I don't know why, but I get the sense that in the near future, something will occur that will change my circumstances, the way I look at the world around me, or both. The air seems to almost crackle with potential as the winds of change flow around the things in my vicinity.

…I don't know what any of it means though, haha. And I recognize that it could just be all bunk. Still, the skin on my fingertips and the small hairs on my arms and brow seem to almost quiver with anticipation in response to it all. The wind blows, cold and lonely, and the trees, well-practiced at this sort of thing, dance effortlessly within its sharp, haunting caress. As I look towards the horizon, I wonder what it is that might be coming along, if anything. Maybe I'm supposed to feel uneasy, but the only sensation I can seem to muster up is curiosity.

I wonder if you've ever had sensations like these. I wonder if any normal human has sensations like these. Probably not, haha… Perhaps let's never mind it… it probably sounds pretty weird.

I have another little song for you today. This one doesn't contain any words, but it matches the general feeling that surrounds me, and the flow of my thoughts at the moment:

youtube

Are you staying safe where you are? Are you taking good care of your body? Are you resting when you need to? Are you mindful of the sensations of your needs, and do you heed them? Are you reaching for the hands outstretched to you? Are you allowing the voices speaking words of love to fall upon your ears, your mind, your heart, your soul? Are you using your immense strength to make good, kind, gentle, merciful, loving choices, despite everything that has befallen you?

Though over here it feels, in a way, like a calm before a storm, I'll still be thinking about you, hoping for good things upon you, singing little songs for you, and looking forward to when you return home to us.

Please stay safe out there. Please be careful as you go about your things. And please remember that you are loved by so many people.

Your friend, Lumine

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silkling · 3 years

Note

I have the weird headcanon that TFRB Cody could adopt Lazerbeak brother, Buzzsaw. I haven't read a lot of TF comics so I don't know he's current status, still I always saw Cody as a typical animal owner, and I think it would be kind of cute too. Could you write some scenes of theme meeting and become friends

Come Home to Roost

Buzzsaw was tired. He was so, so tired. He missed Soundwave. He missed Laserbeak. Pit damn it, he also missed the those infernal twins and that Pit-spawned cat. They had been family for so long. Had been home. It had been them that he returned to every night to roost. It had been them that he had built his nest among. It had been them that he had come to call flock.

Now though…how could they be flock, when they had left him behind? Even his sister had left. He had thought Soundwave cared more than that. Apparently not, though. It had been a miracle that he’d made it off Centauri-12 after being abandoned. But he had, and he’d wandered the cosmos, stowing away on any ship he could find. He didn’t know what his goal was. To survive, he supposed. Find a new roost, though knowing how Primus had abandoned him thus far in his life, he doubted their “benevolent” Creator would have such kindness to direct towards him.

And perhaps he should not be surprised, really. He had been one of Soundwave’s most vicious Cassettes, after Ravage. But was that really something to be punished? He had had to be vicious. His sister had refused to be, and before Soundwave that meant he’d had to step up to keep her safe, to keep them both safe. Cybertron had not been kind to Cassettes, after all. Under Functionism, Cassettes had been viewed as little more than slaves, pets, property. He’d had to be vicious, then. It had been the only way they’d kept their lives, kept their freedom. After Soundwave, he’d had to continue to be vicious. Whereas Laserbeak had been the Host’s spy, Buzzsaw had been the attacker from above. Where Ravage had killed and torn from the ground, Buzzsaw had swooped in and brought death from the skies. After Soundwave, he’d been vicious because his new Host had needed him to be a protector still. And with Soundwave there had been Megatron, and he’d gone from protector to soldier.

Now though…now he wasn’t much of anything. Left behind on an uninhabited world that had drawn the War to it due to its energon mines, forgotten by the very one who had vowed to shelter and care for him, by his kin, by the family had come to call his own. He didn’t even feel them over the bond they’d shared anymore. They’d known he was alive when they’d left Centauri-12. He knew they had, the bond had told him as much. But they’d left anyway. And so he’d broken it. It had almost killed him. Cassettes were hard-coded for loyalty. It was part of their very core. To break the bond when he’d sworn his loyalty to Soundwave….it had made his spark burn with agony. But what other choice had he had? They’d left him behind, cast him aside, and left him with nothing.

He’d had to hitch a ride in the Autobot ship, which had left the planet later then his former allies. He’d been discovered when they’d landed again, and had had to flee. He’d continued like that, going from ship to ship, Neutral, Autobot, and even Decepticon, always fleeing when he was found. He’d even hidden away on the ships of organic species. It seemed his luck had finally run out, though. He’d been on the ship of a species called the Kaminoans, but after they’d found and attempted to capture him he’d been forced to flee into the vast expanse of space. It had almost killed him. He wasn’t space-faring. His armor couldn’t stand the pressure for long. Thankfully, his long-range sensors had detected a habitable planet in the nearest star system, and he’d fled as fast as his tired, starved frame could take him. The Kaminoans hadn’t given chase.

He remembered his first view of the planet. It was blue, with large green landmasses. Then he’d breached the atmosphere, and his systems hadn’t been able to handle the stress. He’d offlined, and come to surrounded by some sort of extremely salty liquid. He hadn’t been able to fly, and had had to go on foot, hoping to make his way to land. He didn’t want to rust on the floor of some massive salty pool of liquid. So he’d forced himself to move, and eventually he’d dragged himself onto some tiny, rocky shore. He’d only had the energy to cast out his sensors for one look around, enough to realize he had dragged himself onto some sort of island, and then his systems had dragged him into an emergency shutdown.

Blissfully, Buzzsaw knew no more.

——————————

When his systems pulled him from his forced recharge, Buzzsaw knew he was in trouble. His optics onlined with a dull glow, and his focused briefly on his HUD, taking in the messages flitting across it. After a moment, he chuffed and forced himself to stand. His self-repair had healed just enough damage to drag him from the edge of a stasis lock, but then the system had shut down in response to low energon. He was at 15% right now, which meant he had the rest of this orn to find fuel before his frame went into emergency stasis. After that..it would be too late for him.

The only way for a Cybertronian to be pulled out of emergency stasis was for another bot to fuel them enough that their systems kicked back online. Otherwise, the stasis would keep the bot in question under, only the bare essential systems running in order to keep the spark alight. Eventually, even those would give out, and the bot would die. Buzzsaw had heard claims that it was a peaceful way to go. That after entering stasis, you wouldn’t be aware of anything, which meant death was just like slipping under. You wouldn’t actually feel pain, wouldn’t feel your spark gutter.

Personally, Buzzsaw didn’t believe that. He thought dying like that was frightening. How could it not be? Feeling your systems fail and shut down, one by one, until you didn’t even have the strength to vent on your own. Your frame shutting down slowly, a klick at a time, until your awareness and consciousness was the last to go, but able to feel each and every one of your non-vital systems go offline. Your processor slipping under, your spark forced to still and shrink to conserve energy, your last thought either a prayer to be found or the grim knowledge you’d die where you lay.

No, Buzzsaw didn’t see the peace in a death like that. He looked around, taking in his surroundings, and then started walking. His wings were folded, and he made no attempt to fly. It would take too much of his energy. So he had to stay on the ground to conserve what precious little he had left. He only hoped he found an energon source. If he was extraordinarily lucky, this planet produced it. His best chances were at finding a underground mine. Liquid energon wells weren’t found anywhere but Cybertron. Other planets only produced the fuel in its crystalline form.

He hobbled along, and it wasn’t long before he was stumbling across a cave. He felt the faintest stirrings of hope as he hobbled in, sending out a faint ping of his sensors. Maybe he would find energon after all. Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice when the ground under him crumbled, and he fell into the deeper caverns below. He hit the ground hard, and his HUD threw up frantic damage warnings.

He dismissed them dispassionately, resignation settling in his spark. The fall had taken out his left leg, and his right wing was bent. He wouldn’t be able to move. This was it for him. He was going to slip into stasis lock and die here. As his systems started to shut down, he only had enough energy for one last action. Just before his consciousness was stolen away, he thought of the family he’d lost, and the life he would no longer be able to live.

Buzzsaw lifted his head and released a haunting cry, the caves all over the island echoing with his grief and regret. Then his optics went dark, and his helm fell to the dusty ground with a soft clang of metal on rock.

In the tunnels around him, his death knell echoed on.

——————————

Optimus shuttered his optics and tilted his head when the haunting cry floated from the tunnels leading out of the bunker. The Rescue Bots and their partners, who were also in the Lounge area, paused what they were doing and looked up. The Prime frowned, concerned. Young Cody was in the tunnels. Was he perhaps hurt?

“It must be a bird.” Graham said after a moment. “That’s what it sounds like, anyway. It might be lost in the tunnels and calling for its flock.”

That reassured Optimus. Now that he stopped to think, the cry HAD sounded more animal than human.

“Should we go help?” Boulder asked, clearly concerned.

“No.” Chief Burns said after a moment. “Let’s give it a bit. It might get out on it’s own. If it’s still crying like that in an hour, then we can help.”

“Got it, dad.” Graham agreed, and then he and his partner were returning to their previous task.

The other Bots and humans soon followed suit. Optimus was left staring at the tunnel entrance, lips twisted in a frown. Something was tugging at his processor. That call had definitely been animal in nature. But it had also sounded just faintly mechanical. His audials had barely even picked up on that aspect of the eerie wail, but he had heard it, he was certain of that.

The buzzing of the comm. system tore him from his thoughts. It was Cody.

“Uh, Dad? Guys?”

Chief Burns was answering in less than a minute. “We’re here, Cody. What is it? Do you need help?”

“No. Well, kind of. I don’t need help, but I found someone who might.”

Kade scoffed. “What, is a lost bird flying around in a panic? Just try and scare it back towards the entrance, it’ll be fine. We heard that call, I’m sure it was just calling for its friends.”

“Um, no.” Cody was blunt. “It’s not a bird. Not an Earth one, anyway.”

“Can you repeat that, son?”

“It’s not an Earth bird. I think it’s Cybertronian. And it looks like it’s hurt pretty bad.”

Optimus froze. A Cybertronian bird. That wasn’t possible. The only types of Cybertronian avians he knew of were Cassettes.

“Cody.” he cut in. “What color is it? Is it red and black?”

“No, Optimus. It’s black and…brown, I think? It’s really dirty. I can’t see what the other color is very clearly. It might not be brown.”

Not Laserbeak, then. But he didn’t know of any brown and black avian Cassette. Maybe one had escaped Cybertron on its own? It was extremely unlikely, but he supposed it wasn’t impossible. Cassettes were perfectly capable and intelligent.

“Oh, wait. I have a towel in my pack. I can see if I can clean some of the dirt.”

“Why do you have a towel in your bag?” Kade snarked. “You were just exploring the caves.”

“Sure, but I wanted to go to the beach right after. Hang on, I almost got it…” there was a pause. “There. It’s black and yellow. It’s still hard to tell because the grime is really caked in and the paint is old and fading, but I think the other color is yellow.”

Optimus froze. Black and yellow. But how? Buzzsaw had been lost on Centauri-12. Except…that wasn’t quite right either. He vaguely remembered a report that Jazz had found the Cassette stowing away on the Ark after the Autobots had left that planet, but that he’d been chased off before he could be captured when they’d been near a space docks. Had the little avian really survived on his own so long? It seemed almost ludicrous to even think it, yet he knew there was only one black and yellow Cybertronian bird who had left Cybertron.

“Hold on, Cody. I believe I may know who that is. Tell me, is he awake?”

“It’s a him? And no. I’m almost not sure if he’s even still…” Cody trailed off, but Optimus understood.

“I see. Stay where you are. I am coming now. And be wary. If I am correct, then that is Buzzsaw. He is a formidable foe, and if he wakes you must stay away from him.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.” the boy agreed, the the comm. cut off with a click.

“Wait, foe? Is this one of those Decepticons you mentioned, Optimus?” Chief Burns asked.

“He is indeed.” The Prime informed him.

“Then why should we help?” Kade asked. “If he’s one of the bad guys, shouldn’t we leave him there?”

“No.” Heatwave stood, crossing his arms. Glancing around, Optimus could see the same resolve the fire truck was showing in the rest of the Rescue Bots. “‘Con or not, we aren’t leaving him. We’re Rescue Bots, we save anyone who needs it, regardless of who they are. If you won’t help, we’ll do it on our own.”

“You are correct, Heatwave. It would be wrong to leave Buzzsaw to perish.” Optimus agreed. He looked down at the humans. “If he is truly as injured as Cody says, then he will be of little threat. So long as you are wary, he will likely be unable to cause you harm.”

“Are you certain, Optimus?” Chase asked.

“Yes. Buzzsaw is a Cassette. He is far smaller than any of you. He is also very young. I believe that he is the equivalent of a human teenager, if my memory is not mistaken.” The Prime soothed.

That was clearly the key to convince the Chief. “Go.” the human said. “If we can help, we will. It wouldn’t be right to leave him there.”

Optimus nodded, and then folded down into his alt-mode and drove. He had not told the humans, but he was certain that the call they had heard earlier had in fact been Buzzsaw himself. He had not wanted to mention it, to avoid distressing the others too much. But he was certain of it now.

That haunting cry hadn’t been a call for help, it had been a death song.

——————————

Optimus pulled up alongside Cody, shifting to root mood as his optics found the still form lying limp on the ground. Primus, it really was Buzzsaw. He crouched down, one large hand slipping under the too-light form of the downed Cassette. This wasn’t right. Cassettes were smaller and not as heavily armored as a normal mech, but the avian shouldn’t be this light. Looking at him now, the Prime was starting to realize that Buzzsaw had likely been on his own and in a state of gradual starvation ever since Centauri-12.

“Optimus? Is he going to be okay?” It was Cody, and the boy was frowning up at him.

He hesitated, then folded into his alt-mode, carefully ensuring that Buzzsaw ended up in his cab. He opened his door, letting the human climb in, and then he was driving back to the bunker. He was silent for a lone moment before he finally spoke.

“I will not lie, Cody Burns. Buzzsaw’s status is…not promising.” he said after a moment.

There was silence as he drove, and then-

“You said he was a foe. Does that mean he’s a Decepticon?”

“Yes.” He answered simply.

There was more silence.

“Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“Why did the Decepticons start the War?”

Optimus was silent for a long moment. The boy truly was perceptive. But how could he answer that?

“Cybertron…was not kind to all its children.” he said after a long moment. “There were many policies in place that kept those of high status in power, and left those of lower social classes struggling.” There. That should be a simple enough explanation.

“And the Decepticons were those lower class bots?”

“Many of them, yes.” Optimus paused. “You must understand, Cody. Cybertron was not the utopia some of my Autobots may believe it was. There were many who suffered greatly. However, while the Decepticons may have risen from a just cause, that does not justify the depths they have since fallen to.”

Cody hummed. “I get it.” he said softly.

Optimus relaxed. Good. He didn’t want to lie to Cody, but he didn’t want to boy to think that the Decepticons were harmless. He feared that if that were the case, the young human may do something foolish in the future. No, it was better he understood the War for what it was.

“Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“What’s going to happen to Buzzsaw?”

Ah. “I…do not know. If he is able to recover, I cannot allow him to go free. It would cause immense trouble for my team and my Autobots if he were to rejoin his Master.” he sighed.

“Master?”

“Buzzsaw is a Cassette. They do not often live their lives independently.”

“Why?”

“…perhaps that is a detail best explained with all the others.”

“Okay.” Cody tilted his head. “So you can’t let him go. Can you take him with you?”

Optimus winced. “That would not be wise. I am afraid my team would not understand. I am all too willing to give Buzzsaw a chance, but if I were to bring him to my base I fear the others would argue in favor of his…deactivation.”

“Deactivation.” A pause. “You mean they’d want to kill him.” he whispered.

“The Decepticons have caused my mechs a great deal of pain, Cody.” Optimus said softly. “They would not do it to be cruel, but I know there would be more than one among them who would believe such action justified. An eye for an eye, as the earth saying goes.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“No.” Optimus agreed. “But it is War, and those who suffer the effects of it long enough do not enough grasp right from wrong any longer, only what hurts have been inflicted and how best to return them.”

“It’s a cycle.” Cody said sadly.

“A cruel, bitter one.”

Optimus could see the light of the bunker up ahead. He drove towards it in silence, spark heavy.

“Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think…Buzzsaw could stay here? On Griffin Rock, I mean. Maybe I could help him. The team too. He looks like he’s been on his own a long time. At least, I think he has been. If he has a “Master” like you said, I don’t think they’d let him get this bad off.” There was a pause. “Maybe he’s tired enough to not want to go back to the War? It’s worth a try, right? I want to help him.”

And Optimus, for the first time since he realized who the downed Cybertronian was, felt the faintest stirrings of hope.

——————————

Buzzsaw was resting. Blades had prepared a large crate on which to treat the injured Cassette, and as soon as Optimus had released the avian the small copter bot was scanning him and bustling around to repair him. He’d gotten an energon line started already, and currently his digits were transformed into the medical tools he needed to repair the damage to the Cassette’s internals and armor. As Blades worked, Optimus shared everything he had told Cody in the tunnel with the others.

“So he can’t go with you because your team might kill him, and you can’t let him go because he’d go back to his Master and cause trouble for your team.” Heatwave sighed. “I suppose that means his Host is here on Earth?”

“Soundwave is here, yes.” Optimus hummed. “He is Megatron’s Third in Command and Chief Communications Officer.”

“Ah, yes. I can see how that would cause issues if such a mech were to regain access to his Cassette.” Chase said.

“Cassette.” Cody said slowly. “You called him that in the tunnel too. It’s important. Why?”

Optimus hummed. “First, you must understand that Cybertronians are divided by our frame-types. There are flight frames, and among them you have Helios, Jets, Shuttles, and Seekers. Among the ground frames, there are cars, two-wheelers, trucks, and even more. There are even aquatic frames, though they are few and far between. Beyond them, you have triple-changers, bots who naturally have two alt-forms rather than one. There are also those with non-vehicular alt-modes. And finally, you also have mini-bots, and alongside them there are Cassettes.”

The humans were staring, focused intently on the overly simplified lesson. The Rescue Bots didn’t pay it much mind, however.

“Among all those frame-types, barring Cassettes, it was not uncommon on for some bots to have additional abilities on top of the normal abilities granted to them by their frames. Host mech are one such example. They can be any frame-type, but they are set apart because of their ability to bind their sparks to those of Cassettes in order to form a symbiotic bond.”

Cody blinked. “What do they each get out of the bond?”

“The Cassettes gain protection. Cassettes were…not a well-regarded class. They were found on the streets or in the wilds, and often forced to struggle for their very survival. Most Cybertronians viewed them as simple-minded or feral. They were not thought of as having much intelligence, or even sentience.” Optimus forced himself to continue at the disturbed looks the humans wore. “So for Cassettes, a bond with a Host was a chance at safety. They relinquished their freedom to their Host, and in return they would be given fuel, shelter, care, and above all else, safety. In return, the Hosts received the obedience of their Cassettes, and the Cassettes would help them with any task, function, or job they required.”

Cody was sitting next to Buzzsaw, and the Prime saw him extend a hand to lay it on the avian’s head. “That…that doesn’t sound very fair, Optimus.”

“Perhaps.” he agreed. “But most Hosts treated their Cassettes well and were very fond of them. Such a bond was necessary for many. Cassettes get their name because they do not have an alt-mode capable of movement. Their alt-mode is always a cassette tape or something else very similar. When the bond is formed, a Cassette gains the ability to dock within the armor of their Host while they are in their alt-mode. It is an added degree of safety.”

Chief Burns hummed. “I think I get it. The important bits, anyway. The cultural stuff…” He trailed off. “That I have a harder time wrapping my head around, but I get why our guest being a Cassette matters.”

“Oh?” Optimus had little doubt he did. The Chief was an intelligent man.

“He’s going to want to return to his Host. Because Soundwave is synonymous with safety for him, right?”

“That is likely.” Optimus agreed.

“But you said Hosts usually care a lot about their Cassettes. If that’s true, how did Buzzsaw get like this?” Cody cut in.

The Prime tilted his head. “The last reports of Buzzsaw’s location are many years old. He was last seen on an uninhabited planet that briefly became a battlefield for the War. The Decepticons fled, and the last reports on Buzzsaw are from after Megatron took his army off Centauri-12. It is likely the damage he sustained is a result of him being on his own.”

“So he might have been abandoned?”

“That…seems the most likely scenario, yes. Though Soundwave’s fondness for his Cassettes has always been well known, so I am at a loss as to why he would be left behind thus.”

“Does it matter why?” Cody asked.

“What are you thinking, little brother?” Dani sounded amused.

“If Soundwave abandoned Buzzsaw when he was supposed to be caring for him, then would Buzzsaw really want to go back?”

Optimus reset his optics, startled. “I…had not considered that.” he said after a moment. “I do not know. That is something you will have to ask him yourself.”

Cody perked up. “So you think he would benefit from staying, then?”

Optimus turned to Chief Burns. “If your father agrees, then yes, I do believe so. I have seen the effect you have on bots, young Cody. I believe you can soften even the hardest of sparks. If you are willing to put forth the effort, then there is a chance that you maybe able to help Buzzsaw.”

Chief Burns crossed his arms. “Will he be dangerous in any way?”

Optimus turned to the copter bot still treating the avian. “Blades. Can you disable his weapons systems and battle protocols?”

“Already did.” The young bot sounded distracted. “I disconnected his turbines and anti-gravs too, so he won’t be able to fly. Though I don’t recommend keeping that second part a thing for long. He’s a avian, he needs flight as much as any other flyer.”

Optimus nodded, then turned back to the oldest human. “With those measures in place, I believe that he will be a minimal threat. If he turns out to be a greater risk than you are willing to take, you can always call me.”

Chief Burns considered it, then nodded. “Alright. He can stay. It’s only right to give him the chance.”

Kade frowned. “Is that really so smart? Optimus said it himself! He’s one of the bad guys!”

“But how much choice did he have, if he fought the War his Host joined?” Graham asked.

“Does it matter? The ‘Cons still hurt people!”

“Our War is not so black and white, Kade Burns.” Optimus warned.

“So some political policies and social perceptions sucked! That’s bad, but is it really a reason to start a war?” Kade demanded.

“The Senate used ritual disfigurement as a punishment.” Blades’s voice carried over, sounding distracted.

All heads snapped to him. Kade gaped, and the other humans looked horrified. Privately, Optimus winced. Perhaps that wasn’t the nicest detail to share, but it was too late now.

“What?” Kade sputtered.

“The Senate were the political rulers of Cybertron. They controlled pretty much everything.” Blades mumbled, still focused mostly on Buzzsaw. “When a bot went against them, even in a minor way, they’d use punishment called empurata that involved surgically removing the bot’s face and hands and replacing them with one large optic and a pair of claws.”

Kade swallowed. “Okay. So it was really, really bad. I guess I was wrong.” he said, sounding too sick to care that he’d just admitted to being wrong.

The other humans also looked horrified. Cody looked like his entire worldview had been shaken.

“Cybertron was not kind to all its children, before the War.” Optimus said quietly. “The Decepticons were more than justified in rising up to fight for their freedom. But they took things too far, and now their original cause has long been lost.”

Chief Burns was the first to recover. “That’s often the case, with wars.”

Optimus nodded solemnly.

“We’ll take care of Buzzsaw.” Cody’s voice carried over. Despite how horrified he’d seemed earlier, now he just looked determined. “We’ll show him there’s good in the world. Maybe he doesn’t want to fight anymore. I want to help him.”

The Prime smiled, them dipped his helm. “And so you shall.” he agreed. “When he wakes, tell him that I am leaving him here. I recommend you tell him that Soundwave is on this planet. If you withhold the information, and manage to befriend him, then he may feel betrayed if he learns you hid the fact from him and return to Soundwave on his own.” he warned.

Cody nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

Optimus hummed. “We cannot set him free at this moment. But if you feel it is right, you may also tell him that his other option is that he will remain a prisoner in the Autobot base, but that in that scenario I will have difficulty guaranteeing his safety.” he warned.

Cody tilted his chin up, clearly displeased. “That won’t happen.”

The large bot chuckled. “I hope you are right, Cody Burns.” he nodded at the other humans, flaring his field in a good-bye to the Rescue Bots, and then he was folding into his alt-mode and driving out through the tunnels. He’d get the mainland and call for a ground bridge from there.

He truly hoped Buzzsaw could find happiness. Primus knew the Cassette had earned it.

——————————

Awareness came to him slowly. At first, Buzzsaw was confused. He was fairly certain he’d slipped into emergency stasis. He hadn’t onlined his optics yet, but the messages blinking across his HUD didn’t help his confusion.

Fuel Level: 37%

Warning: Low energon

Movement not recommended

Energy Level: 12%

Warning: Energy rerouted to essential systems

Cause of Energy Drain: Starvation and damage

Recovery time necessary

Internal Communication System: Disabled

Sensor Array: Offline

External Spacial Sensors: Online

Transformation Cog: Offline

Weapons Systems: Disabled

Battle Protocols: Disabled

Self-Repair: Online

Fuel System: Online

Wing Turbines: Disabled

Anti-Gravs: Disabled

Warning: Unknown medical access to internal systems detected

Warning: Unauthorized medical access to combat systems and flight capabilities detected

Self Diagnostic Report: Severe damage and starvation

Low Fuel: Addressed

Armor Integrity: 49%

Fuel Pump: Functional

Fuel Tanks: Shrunken, functional

Intake: Minor rust detected, addressed

Fuel Lines: Damaged, patched

Wires: Damaged, patched

Conclusion: Frame in need of full recovery

Rest recommended

Strenuous activity not recommended

Warning: Presence of unknown Cybertronian and unknown organic life forms detected in proximity.

Well. That last warning certainly warranted some degree of alarm. Red optics snapped online and the avian lifted his helm. His gaze immediately found the aforementioned Cybertronian. It was a small orange and white copter bot, and immediately clear was the Autobot insignia on his chest. For a moment, Buzzsaw tense, his vocalizer releasing a sound halfway between a screech and a growl. He made to stand, to fight off the perceived threat, when the bot pressed him down with a hand between his wings.

“Easy, easy. You’re okay.” He soothed. “My name is Blades, of Rescue Team Sigma-17. You’re on a planet called Earth. My team and I just want to help you.”

His words made Buzzsaw pause and take another look. Huh. That was right. The badge on his chest wasn’t the Autobrand after all. But how? He was fairly certain that Megatron had destroyed the Rescue Force and killed all its Teams. How had this lone team survived? He cocked his head sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“You’re Buzzsaw, right? Optimus Prime was here earlier. He told us about you.”

Well. There went his hopes of his Decepticon status going unknown. And the Prime was here, on this planet? That meant Megatron was doubtless here as well. But who else was?

Blades shifted under his gaze, then sighed. “Just stay still, okay? I patched up what I could. Now your self-repair needs to handle the rest. You need to rest if you want to recover.” He made to leave, then paused. “Also, Optimus told us to tell you your options. You’re on an island called Griffin Rock. You can stay here and stay out of the War, or he can return and keep you prisoner in his base. He said if you go with the second option he’d have a difficult time guaranteeing your safety.” Buzzsaw could see that the small mech was clearly uncomfortable with that last series of statements. He didn’t seem fond of the idea of violence or what amounted to keeping someone against their will.

After another beat, the bot nodded at someone else in the room. Buzzsaw snapped his helm in that direction and saw a small organic. He heard Blades leave, and then the organic was looking up at him. The small creature beamed, and them he was climbing up onto the crate that the avian found himself confined to.

“Hi! I’m the one who found you. My name is Cody.”

Buzzsaw stared, optics narrowed.

“I’m sorry about your choices here, I know they aren’t the best. Optimus doesn’t want you going back to Soundwave though.”

That made him freeze and perk up. Soundwave was on this planet too? A part of him was excited and wanted to seek out his Host. He remembered the kindness, the affection, the gentle treatment. He remembered the safety and security that had come from being bound to the spymaster.

He also remembered the abandonment. Remembered the years of fear and pain and hunger that had followed. Remembered the loss and betrayal, the desperation that his Host would return only to be forced to come to terms with the fact he’d been cast aside.

Buzzsaw clacked his beak, then looked away and forced down the sad coo that wanted to escape him. He felt something on his armor, and looked over to see the organic–Cody–pressing a small, soft hand to the plating of his neck.

“He left you, didn’t he? Optimus told us a little bit about Hosts and Cassettes, and about Centauri-12. You got like this because your Host left you.”

Buzzsaw stared, not knowing how to respond. A part of him, the part that was vicious and angry, wanted to rip off the organic’s limb. The larger part of him was just tired, though. After a long moment of staring, the avian sagged, optics dimming. What was the harm in telling this organic anyway? It wasn’t like he was really a Decepticon anymore. Not really. It also wasn’t like Cody would be able to cause him much harm, anyway.

He nodded, his beak clacking and his wings rustling as he let out a gust of air from his vents. That hand hadn’t left his neck, and it moved to stroke up and down the plating.

“I’m sorry.” Cody said softly. “No one deserves to be abandoned by their family.”

Buzzsaw stared for a moment. The organic had said they’d only been told a little bit about Hosts and Cassettes, yet it seemed he already understood the bond was fairly deep. Either he’d been told more than he let on, or he was just very perceptive. Either way, a part of Buzzsaw couldn’t help but be grateful for the understanding.

He knew he should be lashing out and trying to fight. But what was the point? His weapons systems and battle protocols were disabled, he couldn’t fly, he couldn’t walk, and his fuel levels were too low for him to have the energy to do anything significant. Even without all that, he was just tired of fighting. True, he’d always enjoyed a good, honest fight, but he’d only ever used his more excessive forms of violence because that was what had been demanded of him. He’d had to be violent to survive the wilds before Soundwave, and after he’d had to be violent to fight for his new Host. But he hadn’t wanted life as a fighter, as a soldier. And now, confronted with everything he’d learned, and the last few years of his abandonment…he was tired. He didn’t want to fight this organic. He just wanted rest. He could figure out everything else later.

Besides, the gentle contact didn’t feel so bad. It wasn’t heavy enough to hurt, and it was more reminiscent of the preening he’d used to do with his sister. His optics dimmed, and he let his head come to lay on the crate. Cody didn’t seem offended at his lack of responsiveness. Instead, he felt that small hand move up to stroke over the top of his helm.

“Get some rest, Buzzsaw. I’ll be here when you wake up. I want to help you get better.” the small organic murmured.

Buzzsaw didn’t know what to do with that sentiment. A part of him scoffed at the weakness of it. The other part was too tired and beaten down to care. He released another heavy vent of air, and let his optics slip offline. Moments later, he was slipping into recharge, even the brief moment of consciousness having drained what little energy he had.

——————————

Cody was indeed there when he woke up. It was only for a few moments though, because then the organic had to go to school. Apparently, this planet also has educational institutions. Buzzsaw didn’t have much of an opinion on that. While he was gone, the rest of the Rescue Bots introduced themselves, as did their own organic partners, and he was informed that the organics were called “humans”. Again, Buzzsaw didn’t particularly care. It was useful information, he supposed.

The others left him to himself throughout the day, except for the brief moment when Blades came to remove the energon line feeding fuel into his frame and replace it with a small cube of energon that was set in front of him. After that, he was left alone. Perhaps they sensed his mood, perhaps they were busy, perhaps they didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t particularly care. It did give him time to think on his situation, though. Obviously, they wouldn’t let him go free. Even if he did promise to not return to Soundwave, he knew he would have difficulty hiding here. Since, apparently, it was very important that the human race didn’t learn about the Cybertronian presence on their planet. One would think they’d have figured it out when the alien war came to earth, but he wouldn’t question it. Still, it meant he couldn’t just be let loose on his own.

He also refused to be an Autobot prisoner. As for returning to his Host…he was torn. A part of him wanted to. But the larger part of him was still hurt. And after his distance from the Decepticons…he wasn’t sure he wanted to return to the faction itself. Pits, he didn’t even have his brand anymore. He’d come across a Neutral medic sometime after Centauri-12, and he’d offered up his services to locate energon in return for the medic’s services to remove the brand. It had been a thin sheet of metal painted purple and welded to his chest, so it had required the aid of a medic to remove without damaging his armor. But it had been done, and then they’d gone their separate ways. He hadn’t worn the Decepticon badge in years.

So where did that leave him? He couldn’t escape in his state, but even when he recovered, what then? What was there for him on this little island? What was there for him on this planet itself? Would it be worth staying?

He must have drifted into recharge at some point, because he was startled awake by Cody’s loud greeting to the others. He jerked, optics flashing on as he lifted his helm. The human blinked when he came around the corner, then smiled.

“Buzzsaw! You’re up!” he called out. He walked over, pulling himself up onto the crate beside the avian. “So, I had an idea! Blades told me you don’t have to be hooked up to anything anymore, and I noticed how your armor seems pretty dirty, so I was wondering if you’d like to get clean?”

Buzzsaw blinked at him. The human gestured to the corner, and he looked over to see a large tub and a bucket that hadn’t been there before. There were rags in the bucket.

“Boulder offered to help. I figured you might feel better if you can get the grime off?” He offered.

He stared for a moment, and then he dipped his head in a nod.

Cody grinned. “Great! I’ll get Boulder. I have to change clothes really quick.”

Buzzsaw cocked his head sharply at that. Clothes?

Cody interpreted the curious gesture for what it was. “Clothes are what humans wear!” he plucked at the colorful things clinging to his frame. “We don’t have metal armor like you guys, and we don’t need it, but we wear clothes to cover ourselves because it’s not considered decent to go without them.” He tapped his chin. “Chase once told me it would be like if a Cybertronian went around without any armor at all.”

Buzzsaw jerked his head back, optics shuttering. Ah. That, he understood. So human had their own version of a protoform underneath their clothing. He did not want to see a fully bare fleshy protoform, thank you very much. He lowered his helm, bumping his beak into Cody’s back to encourage him to go. The boy laughed, then jumped off the crate and trotted away.

A moment later, Boulder came around and smiled at him. “Hey, Buzzsaw. Cody said you accepted our offer to help you clean?” He nodded at the tub. “Is it okay if I carry you there? You shouldn’t be putting weight on your leg.”

Buzzsaw grumbled, but after a moment he nodded. He didn’t exactly want to be carried like a helpless sparkling, but he couldn’t get there on his own. Not in his state. Boulder paid no mind to his grumbles, and instead stepped forward to slip a large hand underneath his frame. The avian was lifted up, then carefully cradled in gentle hands. He was brought to the tub, then lowered into the liquid that filled it. He cooed in pleasure upon realizing it was warm, frame relaxing every so slightly.

Cody chose that moment to return, his lower half covered in something very colorful and the rest of his form bare. He climbed into the tub with Buzzsaw, then dragged the bucket in after himself. On the outside of the tub, Boulder grabbed a larger rag and dipped it into the liquid in the tub.

“Is the water okay? Not too hot?” Cody asked.

Oh, right. This was water. He recognized it now. Other planets had it too. He nodded, watching the Rescue Bot soak the rag in the warm water and hold it out towards him.

“Boulder is going to take care of your armor, and I thought I’d use my smaller size to get in between everything and get all the dust and muck out from your armor seams?” Cody suggested.

Buzzsaw stared for a long moment. That was…rather intimate. But he also hadn’t been able to have such an in depth cleaning since before Centauri-12. He could feel the dirt and grim in between and underneath his armor plates. Even if he didn’t trust these people, he did trust they wouldn’t hurt him. They’d have done so already if they were going to hurt him at all. He could bear some rather intimate grooming if it meant getting clean. He nodded.

Cody beamed, and then Buzzsaw felt the gentle pressure of Boulder wiping off the surface of his armor. While the bot worked at that, Cody chose a rag from the bucket that Buzzsaw now saw was full of cleaning cloths and brushes. The human soaked it in the water, then lifted it and started wiping it along the edges of his armor plates. The avian let himself relax into the warmth of the water, optics slipping offline. He didn’t know what to make of his situation, and he wasn’t sure he liked being forced to stay, but for now he’d enjoy the moment of comfort.

He didn’t realize when he slipped into a state of half-recharge. He was barely aware as the bath finished, and then Boulder transferred him to a large towel which was used to dry him off. Cody went to get blankets while Boulder did so, using the soft fabrics to make a comfier “nest” on the crate that Buzzsaw was returned to a moment later. The avian cooed as he was set into the soft nest, optics offlining fully as he rested his head in the fabrics.

Clean, warm, and comfortable for the first time in years, it didn’t take him long to slip into the most peaceful rest he’d had since he’d lost his flock.

——————————

A few days passed in much the same pattern. Cody would go to school, Buzzsaw would be left alone, and then the boy would return and spend the rest of the day talking with him. The avian never responded, content to listen and learn all he could about this world and the species that dominated it. Things fell into a routine, and he came to be comfortable in it. He even stopped minding the way Cody would touch him and stroke his plating as he talked.

And then the routine changed. Cody came to him after school one day and told him he wanted to have a “movie night”. Apparently, he believed that showing Buzzsaw human entertainment would be a good way for the Cassette to learn about human culture. The avian made no protest. Cody talked to him for the afternoon, then went to have his nightly meal with his family. After that though, he returned for the “movie night”, enlisting the aid of Boulder to move Buzzsaw’s crate in front of a large vid screen.

Cody then joined him on top of the crate, settling into the nest of blankets and wrapping himself in one of his own. He was dressed in clothing that he informed Buzzsaw was called “pajamas”. Then, the movie started and the avian let himself be distracted story unfolding on the screen.

The movie was about two humans under a curse, one who turned into a creature called a wolf by the day and the other who turned into a hawk by night. It was a fairly simple story, and while Buzzsaw certainly found some of the attitudes of the characters to be irritatingly soft he could understand the appeal. He might even say he enjoyed the movie. It was fun. Maybe human entertainment wasn’t as bad as he thought.

And then Cody put on a movie that he said was “animated”, and Buzzsaw was very quickly insulted. The movie was about living cars, except they had no other form to transform into. The main character was a cocky, irritating fool, the tow-truck was the most annoying creature he’d ever been forced to watch, and the mentor was a smug, pompous aft. Buzzsaw hated every character in the movie. If that wasn’t enough, even the setting was insulting.

“What the frag.” he hissed. “How is this garbage supposed to be entertaining? There’s no way those insufferable creatures would have successfully built a civilization. They lack any appendages that would allow them to hold, build, or invent anything. Temporary gripping attachments don’t count, those lack dexterity. Primus, those things would have all died out within the first few generations of their species existence. They certainly should have.”

The movie was paused, and Buzzsaw turned his help to Cody to find the reason. He saw the human grinning brightly, looking thrilled. His plating bristled, and he narrowed his optics.

“What.” he snapped.

“You finally talked.” Cody was beaming.

Buzzsaw shuttered his optics, tilting his helm. Ah. So he had. “Did you think I couldn’t?” he demanded.

“No.” Cody shook his head, smiling. “I knew you could. I didn’t want to push to make you talk to me before you were ready though.”

The avian paused, staring uncomprehendingly. That meant that Cody hadn’t actually thought of him as a simple minded beast. He’d known Buzzsaw was more than that. And he hadn’t tried to force his will on him to make him speak before he wanted to. He had been content to wait. Seemingly as long as he needed to, if Buzzsaw understood the subtext of this conversation correctly.

“Why?” he asked wearily.

“You deserve to be treated with respect.” Cody said seriously. “Just because you look like a bird and don’t have a vehicle mode doesn’t mean you aren’t deserving of being treated like an individual with your own thoughts and feelings. It would have been wrong to push my own wants on you. I want to help you get better. That means going at your pace.”

Buzzsaw twitched. “Many Cybertronians would not agree with you. They would argue I am little more than a beast and thus deserve to be treated as one.” he paused. “My pace?”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t on Cybertron, isn’t it?” Cody pointed out. “And yeah. Your pace. I want to help you recover from the things you’ve experienced and discover your own path, discover the things you want to do and the life you want to live. But I know that sort of recovery won’t be immediate, and it may not even be as fast as I want it to be. But that doesn’t matter, because it’s your recovery, not mine. So we go at your pace.”

Buzzsaw stared at the organic for a long moment. “…I don’t understand you.” he said.

Cody smiled. “That’s alright. As long as you understand I want to help.”

He stared for a beat longer, then grumbled and turned back to the movie. He needed to process this. Cody seemed to understand he was done talking, because the infernal movie started up again. Buzzsaw wasn’t paying attention, though. Instead, he was lost in thought, turning over the things he’d learned.

He didn’t notice as the movie ended, and another one started. He did feel it, however, when halfway through the next move is a slight weight settled against his side. He looked down to see Cody had fallen into his own recharge and had slumped against Buzzsaw’s side in the process. The avian didn’t move to wake him. He stared at the slumbering human for a long beat, then heaved a sigh and lowered his helm to rest it on the lip of his makeshift nest. He refocused his optics on the bid screen, paying half attention to the new movie playing. It was something about singing cats. Buzzsaw wouldn’t pretend to understand.

He relaxed, Cody’s warmth curled against his side, and his optics dimming slowly as recharge crept up on him. By the time the movie ended, it had claimed him completely, and he and his odd little companion both slept on peacefully as the credits rolled.

Neither of them woke as Chief Burns came down to retrieve Cody. He paused when he saw the scene, and he turned off the TV, dimmed the lights, and left the sleeping pair to their rest.

As Buzzsaw slept on, his hardened spark cracked just a little. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

——————————

Buzzsaw was watching Cody. He did that a lot as of late. The little human still talked to him a lot, though the avian didn’t always talk back. Most of the time he was content to listen. In the past few days, he’d learned a lot about the odd little organic. In that time, his legs had also fully healed, and his nest had been moved to the floor and tucked into a corner of the bunker so he could maneuver on his own. His wing was still injured, but even if it wasn’t his turbines and anti-gravs were still disabled.

Right now, Cody was quiet. The boy was sitting on a box a bit away from his nest, working one something he’d called “homework”. Judging by the frustrated expression he wore, he was having some degree of difficulty. His curiosity piqued, Buzzsaw stood and stepped out of his nest, walking over to see what the human was working on. He sidled up behind him, tilting his helm to peer over his shoulder.

Oh. It was math. Buzzsaw could work with this.

“You’re missing a two.” he grunted.

Cody paused. “What?” he asked, turning to look at the again standing over him.

“You’re missing a two.” he repeated. “In the third problem. You’re missing a two. That’s why the first part of your answer isn’t matching up with the second.”

Cody blinked, then turned back and looked over his work. He made a noise of triumph, perking up and correcting his work. Then he returned his attention to the Cassette.

“Thanks, Buzzsaw!”

He only grunted, helm cocking sharply.

Cody smiled, used to his non-verbal communication by now.

“So you know some math?” he asked.

“Sure.” he Buzzsaw grunted, folding his legs and settling down. “Laserbeak and I never received a formal education; Cassettes weren’t allowed to. But Soundwave taught us some things after he bound us to him. He wanted us to have a greater knowledge of a variety of fields.”

“Laserbeak? Is that another Cassette?”

“Yes.” Buzzsaw paused, his optics dimming. “My sister. My twin, actually.”

Cody sat up, eyes wide. “You guys can have siblings?”

“Yes. It’s a rare occurrence, but it happens. Though Soundwave did have another set of Cassette twins besides us, too.”

The human stared, then seemed to realize something. “She’s…gone, isn’t she?”

“No.” he huffed. “If she was, I would have felt her loss in my spark. But she left me when Soundwave did. I cannot entirely blame her. If he told her to leave, she would have had to obey. Still, it does sting.” Buzzsaw admitted, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

And Buzzsaw didn’t understand, but the human did seem genuinely upset on his behalf. He sighed, shaking his helm to get rid of the memories.

“It’s whatever.” he grunted. “It happened. I can’t change it. Gotta live with it.”

“You miss her.”

Buzzsaw froze, his optics snapping on to the human. He stared, then couldn’t stop himself from slumping. “I so. I miss all of them. Primus help me, but I really do miss them.” he hissed, hating himself for it.

Cody put a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry they left you. You didn’t deserve it.”

He went still, then jerked his gaze away and focused on the paper. “Yeah. I suppose. But you have work to finish, don’t you? I can help.”

He seemed to understand that the avian was done with that topic of conversation, because the human dropped his hand and nodded, returning his own attention to the paper. “Sure. Thanks!”

Buzzsaw scoffed. “Don’t thank me yet. Now, let me see those problems. Tell me how you think you need to solve them, I’ll say something if your approach needs an adjustment.”

——————————

Buzzsaw was alone when he woke up. That struck him as odd, especially since his chronometer cheerfully blinked up on his HUD to inform him that it was only midday. He’d checked twice. He dismissed the notice with a grumble, hopping out of his nest and wandering around the bunker. His wings were folded away, the damaged one finally having fully healed the day before. It was a relief to be able to relax it fully now.

He looked around, sending out a ping of his sensors, and picked up the signals of the Rescue Bots above him. He walked over to the large pad they used as an elevator, tapping the console with his beak and letting the platform lift him up. As soon as it stopped, he was walking out of the open doors of the building he’d been informed was called a “firehouse”. He picked up on some unidentifiable noises, following them to what ended up being a court for some sort of ball game. The Burns family and the Rescue Bots were all playing. After a moment of observation, Buzzsaw realized the objective of the game was to get the small ball into the small hoop that the opposite team was guarding. It reminded him just a little bit of Cube.

He made his way over to where a bench was sitting to the side of the court, hopping up onto it. It was just low enough he could manage that much without his wings. Then he turned his attention back to the game, watching curiously as the ball was tossed around. After a few minutes, a stray toss sent it in his direction. Buzzsaw tilted his helm up, catching the ball on the tip of his beak and bouncing it once, then he tipped his head, letting it roll to the top of his beak before he tossed his head to send the ball back towards the others.

Blades caught it, smiling when he saw the avian. “Good morning, Buzzsaw.” He greeted.

The Cassette nodded, turning his attention to Cody as the boy padded up to him.

“You’re awake!” he smiled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon from your nap.”

“It’s fine.” Buzzsaw dismissed. “What are you playing?”

“Burns Ball! It’s version of a popular earth game we adapted for our own rules!” Cody said brightly. “Do you want to play a game?”

“My legs aren’t as efficient as all of yours and I can’t use my talons to grip when I’m on them.” he answered dryly.

Cody frowned, considering. “What if you could fly?”

“Is that really a good idea?” Kade interrupted.

Cody shrugged, then turned back to the avian. “Are you going to leave if we give you back your flight?”

“Where would I go?” Buzzsaw scoffed. “I refuse to return to the Decepticons, and I’d sooner eat my own thrusters than join the Autobots.”

Cody blinked, then beamed. It as clear he understood what Buzzsaw was really saying. It made him want to groan. He was getting soft. When had he gotten so easy to read? And by a tiny organic, no less.

“You won’t leave.” he translated. Then he turned to Blades. “Can you do it?” he asked hopefully.

Blades hummed, already walking over. “Are you sure?

“I’m sure.” Cody confirmed.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Buzzsaw offered in a low drawl. “Cody wanted to fix me, so now he’s stuck with me.”

Blades and Cody both giggled, but then copter bot got to work. The Cassette didn’t move as his turbines and anti-gravs were reconnected with his main flight system, and then Blades was stepping back.

Buzzsaw stood, wings spreading fully. He crouched, then leapt up and activated his turbines. They roared to life, his anti-gravs clicking on, and he let out a victorious shriek as he flew in a wide circle around the ball court. After another few circles and dives, he glided down to land next to Cody.

“So.” he hummed. “How about a ride?”

Cody jerked in surprise, and grinned. “Seriously?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I lack hands. I have no way of holding on to the ball, and my talons and beak would pop it.” he sniffed. “You’d be doing me a favor, honestly.

“Noble!” Cody breathed.

Buzzsaw had learned what Cody meant with that odd phrase in the last few weeks. He lowered his helm and bent his legs, letting the human clamber in to his back. He had a set of thrusters lower down on his back, but unlike Seekers, Jets, or Shuttles his only served the purpose of granting him a speed boost in the air. He didn’t actually need them to get airborne.

Once Cody was seated securely at the base of his neck, Buzzsaw straightened and took to the air. He circled the court, and with a toss of the ball, the game began.

——————————

The rescue missions weren’t unusual. At least a couple times a week, something happened on the island that required the whole team to mobilize. Most of the time though, it was simple. An earth cat stuck in a tree, a lost hiker, a damaged traffic light. The type of thing that only required one or two of the Rescue Bots to handle. Today, it seemed, would not be one of those times.

It had started out peacefully. The Rescue Bots had been out of the bunker, taking care of various things around the island. Boulder was on a “nature walk” with Blades and their partners. Heatwave was with Kade at the school teaching a fire safety class. Chase and his partner were out on a patrol. Cody had remained behind, and he and Buzzsaw were seated on the couch of the lounge watching what the human had called “cable TV”. Buzzsaw didn’t get the point.

Then the program they’d been watching had been taken over by a news report. There was a massive landslide in the mountain that was threatening to bury the whole town. Immediately, the rescue alarm sounded and Cody was racing to the command center. Buzzsaw stayed where he was, as he usually did when an emergency occurred. On the screen, he watched the chaos unfold. Thankfully, the human reporter was there with his camera to record everything.

It didn’t take long for the Rescue Bots to get to the site. It seemed to be progressing well, from what the again observed. Then Blades flew too low, and a stray rock took out his tail rotor. He was forced to land, and the team lost their aerial view. Blades could still help the team on the ground, but without proper “eyes in the sky” as Cody had called it, they would doubtless miss things.

Buzzsaw didn’t really think before he hopped off the couch. He flew to the lift, tapping the console that raised it, and as soon as he had space he was flying up and out of the firehouse. He flew around to where he knew the command center was, noting that the main window was open. Good. He landed on the ledge, optics locking on the screens Cody was viewing. Yes, things were definitely going badly.

“Just hang on, everyone! I’ve called Optimus, he said he’ll be here as soon as he can!”

“Yo don’t need Prime. You need an aerial view. That’s why you’re missing things.”

Cody whirled around. “Buzzsaw!” he cried out. “That’s not possible. Blades is down and there’s no way he can fly with his tail rotor damaged.”

“I know.” the avian straightened. “I’ll go.”

Cody froze. “Buzzsaw, are you sure?”

Before the Cassette could respond, the comm. burst to life. Clearly the others had heard their discussion.

“There’s no time to debate this! Lives are at stake! Cody, do you trust Buzzsaw?” Chief Burns demanded.

“Yeah, Dad. I do.”

“Then give him a communicator and send him out here. He’s right. We need eyes in the sky.”

Cody looked up at him, then nodded. He dug around a drawer, then walked over to Buzzsaw with a comm. unit in hand. He let it magnetize itself to the side of the avian’s helm, and quickly returned to the command console. Buzzsaw would definitely need the comm. His internal comm. system was still disabled. He didn’t say anything to the human, and instead turned and took to the skies.

It didn’t take him long to reach the disaster site. Immediately, he could see where he was needed.

“Heatwave, around the corner from you there’s a boulder baring down on a human couple.” he said sharply.

The firetruck replied with an acknowledgment and went to take care of it. Buzzsaw didn’t pay any mind. He was already focusing on the next issue that needed addressing.

“Boulder, mud and stone are about to take out those houses behind you.”

The bulldozer quickly went to take care of it, digging a trench in front of the houses to keep them from being hit. Buzzsaw moved on.

“Chase, down the mountain from you there’s a human youngling trying to outrun the landslide.”

The police car was quick to move and save the child. Buzzsaw didn’t pay much more attention after that. He couldn’t afford to. He needed all his focus on finding the smaller emergencies within the larger landslide before they could happen. Cody trusted him. He was the first in many years to do so. Buzzsaw refused to let him down.

The boy had earned his loyalty, though damn him if he didn’t know when. He didn’t intend to disappoint the one who had so much faith that he could be more than what he had been. Failure here wasn’t an option.

It never was.

——————————

By the end of the whole ordeal, Buzzsaw was reeling. He’d been part of a team again, even if only temporarily. It had been…nice. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. But now the job was done, and he was on his way back to the firehouse. The others had remained behind to do cleanup work, and apparently Chief Burns would also need to explain his presence to the political leader of the town with an excuse.

He made his way back to the firehouse, his processor starting to calm after the excitement. As he neared, his sensors picked a Cybertronian signal in the courtyard where the basketball court was. It only took a moment to realize who it was. Cody had called in the Prime for help, but that help was no longer needed. That didn’t mean the message had gotten to Prime in time, though.

Sure enough, when the firehouse came into view Buzzzsaw saw Optimus Prime standing in the courtyard. Cody was at his pedes. The avian flew down, alighting on the back of the hoop in front of the larger bot. He would ordinarily have landed next to Cody, but he’d spent too long seeing the Prime as an enemy to put himself on the ground in front of the large mech.

“Buzzsaw.” Prime greeted. “I was told you provided aid to the Rescue Bots.”

Buzzsaw didn’t say anything.

“Tell me, what would you do if you were able to leave?”

“I can.” he snapped. “I’ve got flight. I’ve had it for a while.”

Prime’s lips twitched. “So you have.” he agreed. “Then what are your intentions?”

“Cody decided to get into my business. As far as I’m concerned, he’s stuck with me now, whether he likes it or not.” he scoffed.

Prime’s lips twitched again. Clearly, he had been able to read between the lines to understand what Buzzsaw was saying.

“In that case,” he rumbled. “How would you like to join the Rescue Bots here on Griffin Rock?”

Buzzsaw shuttered his optics. “What.” he deadpanned.

“Would you like to become a Rescue Bot, Buzzsaw?”

“I don’t believe that’s up to me, Prime.” he pointed out. “Or you, for that matter. You don’t lead the team.” he sneered.

“Oh, for Primus’s sake.” Heatwave’s voice came over the comm.

Oh. That was right. Buzzsaw was still hooked into the team’s communications system. The Prime must have opened the previously silent comm. line to Heatewve for at least part of the conversation.

“Choose for yourself, Buzzsaw.” Heatwave continued. “If you want to, we’ll all be happy to have you. You proved to be a good teammate today. No one will have a problem with it. Pit, I’m the one who told Optimus to make the offer before you got there.” Then the comm. clicked off.

“Oh.” Buzzsaw said.

“Indeed.” Prime seemed amused, the fragger. Buzzsaw hoped he got slagged. “What Will it be, then?”

The avian cocked his head sharply. “Ugh.” he made a noise of disgust. “You know what? Fine. The soft idiots need all the help they can get.”

Prime chuckled, then lifted his hand. The armor in his palm shifted, and then a laser was shooting out and hitting Buzzsaw’s chest. There was no pain from it, and he watched as the Rescue Bot badge was put on his armor. The laser stopped, and the Cassette spent a moment staring at the new mark emblazoned on his chestplate.

He looked up when he heard Prime move. “I must leave now, I’m afraid. I am needed elsewhere.” the mech said, inclining his head towards them. Then he walked to the road, folded into his alt-mode, and drove off.

Buzzsaw stared after him, and after a moment he fluttered down to land next to Cody. The human smiled up at him, then lowered his gaze to the new badge on his chest. He lifted a hand to press it over the black lines, looking pleased.

“You’re sure?” he said softly.

Buzzsaw scoffed. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t sure. Like I told Prime. You made the decision to get involved with me, so now you’re stuck with me. I’m not leaving, no matter how much you want me to.” he said, his sneer lacking all its usual bite. He paused. “Besides,” he continued, his voice just a notch softer. “You really aren’t all that bad.”

Cody blinked once, then beamed.

Buzzsaw had to look away, feeling almost embarrassed. He hadn’t dared to hope for so many years, but it seemed Primus had deigned to show him kindness after all.

He’d finally found a new roost.

———————————————————————————————————

Well. That’s done! That was long. It took me multiple days to write. But! It’s done!

I had fun with it. Buzzsaw is a grumpy asshole and Cody is very indulgent of his dramatics. And yes, I made him capable of speech. I know he and the Laserbeak can talk in the comics, so.

Also, please excuse my liberal use of headcanons for some of this. Anyway. I hope y’all liked it! I’m sorry it took so long to get out.

Until next time, folks!

138 notes · View notes

darthfrodophantom · 3 years

Text

Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Ouija Board

Summary: To get into the spooky season spirit, Tucker and Sam convince Danny to play a video game late at night, and Danny isn’t pleased about the subject of the video game.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34303123

Too Close to Home

“Let me get this straight,” Danny interrupted. “I fight ghosts - real ghosts - on a nightly basis. And now that I actually have a free night you want to take up the time that I should be sleeping to fight fake ghosts?”

He shook his head as he looked at his computer screen, the only light in his entire bedroom aside from the digital clock that showed the hour: 11:45. From the first-person view of the computer game on his screen, he watched the avatars of both of his friends attempt to throw basketballs into a hoop.

“But this is way more fun,” Tucker’s voice said over Danny’s headset. “And it hurts a lot less! Ah! Dang it Sam - you messed up my throw!”

Sam cackled triumphantly. “Better pay more attention to your timing then.”

Tucker groaned as his avatar abandoned the basketball for spray paint cans, which he chucked at Sam. “Besides Danny, we’re not fighting ghosts: we’re hunting them.”

“Fine, fight, hunt, whatever. I still do both of them,” Danny argued.

“Not like this you don’t,” Tucker grinned. “God he’s gonna get creamed.”

“You know Danny, maybe we should let you go to bed. You’re gonna ruin my perfect streak,” Sam teased.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Or maybe you’ll actually do better because you have a true ghost hunting professional on the team,” he defended. He had no idea why he was bragging - he’d just been given an out and given the late hour he should take it, but now it felt like he needed to defend his pride as a ghost hunter. …That thought sounded a little too similar to something his parents would say and he quickly dismissed it. “Besides, I played the tutorial, I know what I’m doing. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re doing this.”

“Because it’s spooky season,” Tucker replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“We are only five days into October, Tucker, and if you’re gonna keep doing this all month I am going to hit you with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick,” Sam threatened.

“I dunno, it might be worth it,” Tucker teased. “What do you think Danny?”

Danny shook his head, even though none of them could see it. “As the only person in this group who has actually been hit by the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, I would back off,” he advised.

“Listen to Danny Tucker,” Sam chuckled as her avatar walked over to the white board to set up the hunt. “He’s actually speaking wisdom for once. Now come over here and pick out your gear.”

The playful teasing between best friends stopped as they actually got serious and picked out the gear they would need for their mission. Since Danny had no money, he couldn’t really participate in the conversation, but it seemed like Tucker and Sam had played this enough to know what they needed to bring. Sam started the mission, and their avatars found themselves inside the trailer looking at another whiteboard.

“Alright, looks like our ghost is named Thomas Clark and he responds to all of us,” Sam informed the group while Tucker’s avatar walked over to the shelves to equip supplies.

“Well that’s a dumb name for a ghost,” Danny complained as he looked at the bulletin board next to the computer. He had to squint at his screen to read them, but the articles were fairly legible and contained ghost stories he remembered hearing his parents talk about. It also had a recent article that he actually remembered running in USA Today proclaiming Amity Park as the most haunted city in the world - he didn’t know whether to feel proud or annoyed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam agreed, though her voice was laced with sarcasm. “He should have gone with Thomas Phantom instead.”

Danny rolled his eyes as Tucker burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, now that sounds like a proper ghost,” Tucker added between laughs.

“I knew I was going to hate this,” Danny groaned under his breath. “Can we just get this over with?”

Sam’s avatar turned to face the new whiteboard. “Alright, fine. Objective one: find out what kind of ghost we’re dealing with - standard. Objective two: witness a ghost event.”

“I am a ghost event,” Danny smirked, causing Tucker to burst out laughing again.

“Objective three,” Sam snapped, “capture a photo of the ghost.”

Tucker’s avatar grabbed a camera and snapped a picture of Danny’s avatar. “Got one!” he proclaimed, which drove both boys into laughter.

“Objective four,” Sam said louder, “get a ghost to walk through salt.”

“What? That’s dumb. Everyone knows that’s an old wive’s tale,” Danny complained as he shook his head. Did the creators of this game actually do any real research before they made this game?

“Are you regretting this yet Sam?” Tucker asked as he finally stopped laughing.

“Let’s just get in the house,” she groaned. Danny smirked in triumph, and he could tell Tucker was sharing a similar smirk on his end.

They divided up equipment between the three of them, but not before Danny could comment on the inaccuracies of each of the pieces of equipment and how useless they’d be in an actual ghost fight. From faulty science to just being plain incorrect, Danny made sure to have pithy comments about all the equipment. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that it had to be accurate - he was not his parents - but as a ghost and a ghost hunter, it just felt a little more personal than he wanted to admit.

Because he was the newest one, Danny got stuck with the Spirit Book (“What? Are they trying to imply all ghosts can’t write? That’s alivist!”) and the EMF Reader (“...Okay that one’s actually accurate”) because they were apparently the easiest to use. Laden down with their gear they walked up to the small house. Sam’s avatar unlocked the door and they headed inside. Danny noticed the tonal shift immediately. Outside he could hear wind and crickets chirping, but once he stepped inside the doorway, an oppressive silence covered his headphones. It reminded him of the sensation on a pressurised airplane and it unnerved and unsettled him...a lot more than he planned to admit to his friends.

“Alright, spread out,” Sam instructed. “See if you can find the ghost room.”

Ghost room, right. He remembered that from the tutorial. It had been the garage in the tutorial, so he figured he should start there. He walked back through the dark house, turning lights on as he went. It wasn’t because he was scared - absolutely not, he was a real ghost hunter! - it was just much easier to see. He pulled out the EMF reader and walked into the garage. It had an eerie quality to it, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he remembered seeing the ghost there last time (a mean looking (and inaccurate) ghost covered in blood and holding an axe) or if it was because he was alone and the room was so large, but he did not like being in here.

“You know, in the tutorial, the ghost was a bloody axe-man,” Danny remarked over the walkie talkie.

“Yeah, I think he’s standard in the tutorial,” Sam remarked offhand. He did not want to admit how good it felt to hear her voice in the oppressive silence of the house. They were clearly focused on their tasks, and that was a good thing, but it felt a lot better hearing their voices.

“Red blood,” he continued, simply to trigger more conversation. He didn’t get any EMF readings, so he gratefully left the garage. “Not ectoplasm. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

“Ugh, Danny, they’re going for a horror aesthetic, not something real,” Sam sighed.

“What? Ectoplasm-stains are horrifying,” he countered as he walked through the rest of the first story. Still no EMF readings.

“Only when it’s yours,” Sam said, and the weight of those words echoed in the silence of the house that made him stop moving for a moment. “No cold spots upstairs,” Sam informed them to break the silence.

“Yeah, no EMF downstairs,” Danny added. “I’m gonna check out the basement.” That’s where they loved to hang out in the real world, so it seemed the next best choice.

“Oh hang on, if you’re going down there I’ll go with you,” Tucker spoke up.

Danny stopped halfway down the stairs. “It’s fine, I’m pretty used to basements,” he joked weaky.

“Yeah, well the last time you went into a basement alone with untested ghost equipment you died.” Tucker said it light-heartedly as a joke, and it was one they’d said a bunch of times before, but somehow it just didn’t feel the same in this tense environment. It felt too...personal.

He waited for Tucker’s avatar to appear before they walked down the stairs together into the basement. Unlike Sam’s basement or his own, this basement had a much creepier feel to it, with the foreboding worn brick walls and discolored cement flooring. Honestly he was glad Tucker went down there with him because it just felt better having another person there.

“Sam, maybe you should get down here with the thermometer,” Tucker mentioned as they both walked through the basement. “Because we’re not--”

Danny whirled around as he heard something thud hard against the ground behind him while he jumped in his chair. The EMF reader in his hand jumped up to three dots and blared at them while he stared at a box of tools now on the ground. The ghost was clearly in the room. Danny half-expected his ghost sense to go off, but he had to remind himself it was just a video game. There wasn’t actually a ghost here.

“What happened?” Sam’s urgent voice said over the walkies.

“Ghost knocked something off the shelf down here,” Tucker said as his avatar walked over to the toolbox. “Ooh! We’ve got fingerprints!” he cheered as his avatar shined a light on a glowing handprint.

“Oh that’s so not how that works,” Danny complained, just to help lighten the mood. Honestly he felt a bit jumpy knowing that the ghost was in the room...and he couldn’t sense him. He’d dealt with invisible ghosts before, but his ghost sense always gave him a vague idea of where they were...except for now. He turned in his chair to check the room behind him. No ghosts, no ghost sense. It’s just in the computer game.

“Figures that the ghost would be in the basement,” Sam remarked as her avatar walked down the stairs and opened her journal. Right! Journal. Danny opened his and placed their one piece of evidence inside. The sooner they got all of those the sooner they could leave, and he really liked that idea.

“I’m not seeing freezing temperatures, but it is a little cooler than the rest of the house,” she continued. “So let’s start setting stuff up in here. Tucker get the DOTS up and I’ll place the camera. Danny place the spirit book.”

Okay, this wasn’t so bad with the three of them in the room. He could hear them moving around and he could see them, so it made him feel a bit better. And there was still no sign of the ghost. He put the spirit book down near the toolbox and looked away from it. Maybe the ghost wouldn’t write in it while he was watching? He didn’t know.

“Ooh!” Tucker cried excitedly.

“Did you see it in the DOTS?” Sam asked.

“No - Ouija board! Oh yeah!” Tucker cheered. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Oh I love these,” Sam agreed. Danny’s brow furrowed as he looked at the screen. Why were they acting so happy - didn’t they forget there was a ghost in this room with them?

“Hang on, let Danny try the Ouija board,” Tucker suggested. “You know, because he’s never seen it before.”

“Ooh good idea,” Sam agreed. Danny walked over to where they were and saw Sam’s avatar set down a light brown board.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sus about your motives right now,” Danny said. He had a bad feeling about this...

“No Danny, it’s fine. These are actually pretty cool in this game,” Sam assured him. She quickly explained how the Ouija boards worked in the game and what questions to ask, and against his better judgment, he walked over and activated the board. The numbers and letters glowed orange against the light color of the wood.

He decided to start with something easy, so he swallowed and forced his voice to come out clear. “How old are you?” He jumped in his chair and his avatar backed up quickly as the planchette moved across the letters.

“Y - O - U - N - G,” Tucker read. “A young ghost.”

“Oh God, I hope that doesn’t mean it’s the crawling baby ghost,” Sam sighed. “I really hate that one.”

“Ask it something else,” Tucker encouraged.

“I don’t know,” Danny hedged. For some reason the Ouija board set him on edge. Something deep in his gut did not like this. Even if it wasn’t real and he kept telling himself it wasn’t real, he didn’t like it.

“No dude, it’s okay,” he assured him. “You can ask two questions before a significant sanity drop. Just ask it one more and you can go back to the truck.”

He very much wanted to go back to the truck. He just needed a chance to regroup. He was a ghost and fought ghosts for a living and he could not understand why this game unnerved him so much. But Danny Phantom wasn’t scared of ghosts, any kind of ghosts, and he wasn’t about to show it on a video game. “Fine,” he groaned as he picked up the board again. “Who died?”

This time he knew what to expect, and didn’t jump as much as the planchette started moving. First to the D, then to the A. Over to the N, then looping back to the N. It ended on a Y.

All three of them stopped moving. The silence became even more deafening around them. Danny dropped the Ouija board and backed up as far as the game would let him. He felt a cold sweat drip down his back. Danny. It spelled Danny. How did it know his name?

“...That has got to be a coincidence,” Sam finally said after the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

“The ghost’s name must be Danny,” Tucker suggested, voice full of forced bravado.

“...No it’s Thomas,” Sam said slowly. “It must just be reading your username to scare you,” she decided.

“No my...my username is GhostBoy,” Danny reminded them, finally feeling like he could speak.

“Is this game actually haunted? Danny, what did you do?” Tucker accused, voice bordering on hysterics.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Danny yelled back. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He put a hand up to feel his breath - still normal temperature. He looked around his room. There wasn’t a ghost here. But how did it know his name? And that he did almost die in a basement? “You’re the one that told me to use it!”

“Okay, let’s just calm down,” Sam interrupted. “It’s gotta be a coincidence. Let me try it and see if it says the same thing or gives me my name. It could be a new update that checks the name on the Steam account or something.”

Sam moved closer to the board, but before she could touch it all their flashlights flickered.

“Shit!” Tucker yelled.

“Run!” Sam cried in a panic.

Danny followed them up the stairs to the main level. The idea of running from a ghost, not fighting it, was so foreign to him, but he had no choice. He was powerless here. No ghost powers, no weapons, no thermos. He was completely helpless against this ghost.

He bolted for the garage, the one other room he knew how to get to. Sam’s avatar was running next to him. He could hear footsteps behind him and he swore as he ran towards the garage. Sam diverted into another room, but he continued into the garage. He found a locker he’d opened before and rushed into it. He barely remembered to turn off his flashlight and he waited. Seconds passed and he realized he was holding his breath. No...not holding his breath. Not breathing. He looked down at his hands and saw the glowing white gloves. When...when did he change into his ghost form?

Sam’s voice over the walkie startled him. “What the--? Oh my G--” The walkie feed cut to static and then nothing.

“I...I think it got Sam,” Tucker’s voice said over the walkie. Danny turned on his flashlight and saw that it was no longer blinking. He threw his head back in relief. The hunt was over. He climbed back out of his locker, keeping the door open again just in case.

“Dude, she was running right next to me. It must have followed her instead of me,” Danny told him. “Ugh, well what are we going to do now? She’s the only one who knew what she was doing!”

“Wait, I thought you would be a pro because you’re a ‘professional ghost hunter’ - isn’t that what you kept saying?” Tucker teased.

“Yeah, well I lied! This is nothing like ghost hunting!” he argued as he walked out of the garage. He was going back to the trailer. “Real ghost hunters would bring some kind of weapon and wouldn’t just run around helpless! We should just call it.”

“What? No! We’ve got two more pieces of evidence to collect. And we haven’t done any of the objectives! Tucker retorted.

“Fine!” he snapped as he walked down the main hallway. “if you want to keep looking for clues you can, but I’m going back to the trailer to check--”

The front door slammed shut. His flashlight blinked again.

“Shit!” Tucker cried.

Danny could hear the footsteps behind him. He could feel a heart thumping in his headset. He started running off to a room but stopped. No, he was not running again. He was going to stare this ghost down and prove that Danny Phantom was not scared of some ghost. His image struck fear in the hearts of ghosts and his name carried respect in the Ghost Zone. He was not going to let some video game ghost get the better of him and spook him with some Ouija board trick.

He turned around to face it, camera at the ready. If he was going down, he was getting a picture of it. The ghost blinked in the hallway and Danny saw the cause of his anxiety for the first time. The ghost floated down the hallway, with white hair and a black and white jumpsuit. It...it was him. The ghost was Phantom.

He completely forgot to take a picture as his own image rushed at him. He saw two gloved hands cover over the screen and then everything went dark. He heard the crash of breaking glass, saw a strange underground cavern for a second, and then he was back in a foggy blue version of the house.

The ghost of Sam’s avatar approached him, and he heard her laughing over the headset. It sounded like she’d been laughing for awhile. “Oh my god Danny, did you see the ghost?” she asked between laughs.

“It...that was...oh my God,” he groaned. It all made sense. Spelling Danny was likely an Easter egg, a cute nod to his name of Danny Phantom. The fact that it happened in the basement was just a coincidence, because it’s a creepy spot and a commonly haunted area. He hadn’t summoned anything. He wasn’t being targeted by some ghost in the computer. It was just an Easter egg paying homage to him.

Suddenly all the stress left him and he laughed. God, it felt so good to laugh after all that panic. This game had gotten him so worked up and over what? Over a ghost that looked like himself? Suddenly it all seemed so silly that it scared him that much. He had felt actual dread and fear, enough to trigger an unconscious transformation out of a need to protect himself, but there weren’t actually any real consequences. Now he just got to walk around unhindered in this ghostly version of the house, but nothing else actually happened.

Sam laughed along with Danny. “So you did see it then?”

“It was...oh my god Sam it was me! It looked just like me!”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “As soon as I saw it I forgot to keep running and stared. So of course it killed me. I did get a picture though,” she bragged.

“Oh man. I meant to, but I was just too stunned.” Now that he felt much better, he decided to wander around the house following Tucker who, for some reason, was still trying to finish the level on his own.

Sam suspiciously stopped her laughing. “Wait...Danny, your voice sounds weird. Are you...are you in your ghost form?”

Danny bit his lip as a slight blush graced his cheeks. “I don’t want to hear it.” But the telltale whoosh of the glowing rings turning him back to his human form seemed to be all the confirmation she needed. Except, he didn’t hear her laugh.

“...Danny, I wanted to apologize,” she said, and that made Danny stop moving and look quizzically at the screen.

“What? Apologize for what?” he asked.

“For goading you into playing this game,” she clarified, her voice surprisingly serious. “While I’ve been hanging out here in the spirit world, I realized why this game set you off so much.”

“What do you mean? I never said it set me off,” Danny defended. How could she possibly know that? He thought he was playing it pretty cool.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’re in your ghost form and you were panicking after the Ouija board thing.”

“Hey you would panic too if--”

“Danny I’m trying to say that I get it,” she interrupted. “Being near a ghost without your powers? Without any weapons? Being powerless? It’s one of your biggest nightmares, that your powers will fail when you need them. And this game, it’s too close to home.”

Danny stopped moving and stared at the screen, because she was absolutely right. This was too close to home. How many times did he have to check to make sure his ghost sense wasn’t actually going off? How many times did he keep thinking about how similar everything felt to his own experiences? How unnerved he was about a ghost in the basement? It was too similar to his real life...except he had the tools he needed in his real life. Not a flashlight and some dumb spirit book, but actual real tools and powers and weapons, but here they were all taken away from him. Everything he relied on to fight ghosts had been stripped from him in the game and trapped him helpless in a house with his friends. Of course that bothered him. It was, as Sam said, one of his more recurring nightmares.

“...Yeah I think I’m good never playing this game again,” Danny admitted, the closest he planned to get to acknowledging everything she said was true.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Sam agreed softly. “I think it’s easier for us because we’re used to this role: when there’s a ghost in the area, we help figure out what’s going on and support you. It’s not all that different from this game,” she explained. Her ghostly avatar followed Tucker out of the house and he followed after them. “But when you’re used to doing the fighting and defending and can’t...I guess it’s probably harder to separate yourself from the game.”

He reached behind him and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. It was too similar to his daily life, and as he tried to argue at the beginning, he didn’t need to hunt fake ghosts poorly when he knew how to fight real ghosts well. “You know you sound like Jazz,” he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

“Wow, you’re going to insult me after I tried to help you?” Sam scoffed. “See if I ever help you again!”

Danny smiled at the screen, glad to be back to the teasing. He definitely felt more relaxed and more like himself. “Oh look, Tucker’s finally calling it quits,” Danny observed as Tucker closed the door to the trailer.

“God, I can’t wait to find out if he saw you.” He could hear her grinning through the headset and honestly he felt the same. Out of all of them, Tucker would be the most excited about this addition.

The screen changed over to the menu screen, showing all their accomplished objectives. It also meant that all three party members could talk to each other again. “I can’t believe you left me!” Tucker complained. “It’s even worse when you’re in there on your own! Do you know how much more evidence we needed to collect? Um, a ton!”

Sam laughed, and Danny had to join in. “Okay so we are sorry about that, but Tucker did you ever see the ghost?”

“No, which is probably why I’m the only one that survived!” he complained.

“Oh my god Sam, he didn’t see it,” Danny groaned.

“Oh my god.”

“No wait, didn’t see what?” Tucker asked. His voice had calmed down a bit and was colored with curiosity.

“Tucker...the ghost was Danny,” Sam told him.

“Uh no, we clarified his name was Thomas,” Tucker corrected.

Sam and Danny both groaned. “No Tucker, the ghost was Danny Phantom. It was skinned to look like Phantom,” she clarified.

Tucker’s line sat silent for a long time before he finally exploded in a shower of shock, excitement, and regret. “NO WAY! No! That is so cool! I mean I knew the developers were fans, but this is so cool! Like literally the best tribute ever. Oh my god I can’t believe I missed it! No!” he cried. He was so loud into the microphone that Danny had a hard time believing Tucker didn’t wake his parents.

“It’s why both of us died,” Danny explained. “We were just too shocked seeing it.”

“We’re going back in. I need to see this,” Tucker demanded.

Danny bit his lip. He was not going back in. He meant it when he said he was done. He almost had his explanation on his lips before Sam spoke up first. “I doubt it’ll show up two times in a row. I Googled it and the skin will be here for the whole month of Halloween as a random draw, so you’ve got time to see it. But if you want to try again tonight, I’ll keep playing if you want. Danny...he needs to get some sleep.”

“What? No, it's so much easier with three people. Come on Danny,” Tucker pleaded.

“Nah, Sam’s right, I should go to bed. Gotta be rested for those real ghosts tomorrow,” Danny chuckled. “Besides, being killed by my own image was a little weird.” And also a little too close to home, considering some of his memories of Dan.

“Yeah, this game isn’t Danny’s jam,” Sam explained simply. He had a feeling Sam would talk to Tucker more about what they discussed while their avatars were dead, and honestly he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Tucker, he just really didn’t want to talk about it any more tonight.

Tucker sighed. “Alright, fine, you’re off the hook. At least you gave it a try though.”

“I did, and you’re both gonna owe me one for doing it too,” Danny reminded them.

“Dude, pretty sure you’re in the negatives when it comes to IOUs from us,” Tucker pointed out with a good-natured laugh. “Testing out inventions, excuses at school, doing your homework, remembering the thermos when you forget it, distracting your parents…”

“Okay okay, I get it,” Danny groaned as he left the screen and exited out of the game. “Well fine, then I’m less in the negative now. And on that happy subject, I’m going to bed. Good night guys.”

“Good night Danny,” Sam replied. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Danny almost hung up on their private Discord server when he heard Tucker speak up. “Hey Danny, wait.”

“What?” he asked curiously, his mouse still hovering over the disconnect sign.

“The type of ghost...was a Phantom.”

I’ve never cross-posted on tumblr before, so this will be a first! I hope you enjoy!

#ectober month 2021 #ectoberhaunt trick #ouija board #Danny Phantom #phasmophobia #light angst #2k21 prompt ouija board #2k21 day 5

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professorspork · 3 years

Note

superhell fic prompt: Jaune talks to Ruby (or tries to)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

“I just-- I really think we should talk about this--”

“It’s fine, Jaune,” Ruby grits out, audibly at the limits of her patience. “We can deal with everything later. Right now, we just have to keep moving. Find the team, find a way out, get to Vacuo. The rest can wait. It’s fine.”

But it’s not fine-- even assuming there is a way out. If it were fine, Ruby would talk to him. If it were fine, Ruby would at the very least look at him, instead of refusing to even turn her head as she brusquely slashes through the underbrush with Crescent Rose as they make their way deeper into the island. They keep single file, Blake serving as a silent buffer-- head down, but ears swiveling back and forth between the two of them every time Jaune tries to engage in conversation. The only spectators to his utter failure.

“I’m sorry, but-- I don’t think it can wait. We know better than to push each other away by now; if you’re mad at me just say so and--”

“I’m not mad at you,” Ruby interrupts, even as the set of her shoulders belies her eerie calm. “It would be stupid to be mad at you, and a pointless waste of time. So I’m not.”

“But you should be; I’m mad at me, so why can’t we just--?”

“What do you want me to say, Jaune?” she bursts out, sheathing her weapon and whirling on him. He flinches to see the tears in her eyes. “That I hate you? I don’t! That you made the wrong call? Join the club! All I’ve done since getting to Atlas is make the wrong call, over and over and over.”

“Ruby--” Blake breaks in softly, reaching out, but Ruby shrugs her off.

“That I don’t forgive you, when all you did is what Penny asked you? I understand! She asked me, too! Only I didn’t do it, because I never could, and I-- I didn’t have to, because you were there. You fixed it, because that’s what you do. You make people better. All I do is-- I--”

Ruby sways precariously, looking nauseated; this time, when Blake offers an arm, Ruby grabs onto her elbow to keep steady as she sinks dizzily to the ground. Blake sits beside her, entwining their fingers, but Jaune doesn’t dare join them. He feels rooted where he stands; frozen.

Ruby’s voice is bitter: “I was just being naïve. Again. Thinking I’d get to keep her twice; that I’d outsmarted anyone. I should never have gotten clever with Ambrosius; we should have just knocked her out after she opened the vault and figured it out in Vacuo. And even if we didn’t manage it, even if she’d hurt herself, if she hadn’t been in her stupid new body it was my stupid idea to make, we could have-- Dr. Polendina would have somehow found a way to--” She’s shaking, now, body wracked with hiccupping sobs. “Don’t you get it? It’s my fault. You didn’t kill Penny, Jaune. I did.”

“What? No, that’s-- you can’t say that--”

“But it’s true, I--”

“If you killed Penny, then I killed Pyrrha,” Jaune says, voice cracking on her name. He means for it to sound absurd, for it to show Ruby how irrational she’s being, but now that it’s in the air... well. There’s still a voice in his head that goes but you did, you did, you did. He’s suddenly not sure whom he’s trying to convince. “If that’s all it takes, then-- then it counts just as much. She asked me for advice and I pushed her into danger, she was only there because of me, so--”

“You can’t blame yourself for that, she made a choice--”

“And I made a choice, with Penny. I didn’t have to listen when she told me her plan, we could have found another way, I was just--”

“Adam was my first kiss,” Blake murmurs, and her quiet interjection is so profoundly unexpected it knocks both of them into silence. “He was-- a lot of other things, too, terrible things, but. He meant something to me. I loved him, once. He was a person. But when the time came that he made me choose, I put an end to it. Because otherwise, he was never going to stop hurting people. Hurting me. And I’m not--” Blake pauses, swallowing hard. “I’m not sorry, for what I did. I’d do it again if I had to. But... I think about it every day. Every day.”

Jaune meets Ruby’s eyes, suddenly feeling like a complete asshole. How was it only a day ago that he was admonishing Ren for making it everything about his own insecurity, instead of staying focused on what matters? And now he’s back to doing the same thing. If the look on Ruby’s face is anything to go by, she feels just as contrite. Even from this far away, he can see how tightly she’s squeezing Blake’s hand-- in apology, in thanks, like a lifeline.

But Blake’s not done talking, her voice soft yet threaded with steel: “I can’t talk you out of carrying this-- either of you-- if you think it’s yours to hold. I don’t think it’s something we get to just put down. But I think... arguing over who should bear more of the blame...” She shrugs, helpless. “You shouldn’t make it heavier than it needs to be.”

“It feels easier, though,” Ruby says-- not arguing, really, so much as chuckling ruefully at herself. “To point fingers, I mean. Instead of just... letting myself feel sad.” She looks up at Jaune again, eyes shining. “But I really mean it-- I’m not mad at you. Even if I get why you want me to be; because maybe that would feel easier for you, too.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, heaving out a breath and feeling just the tiniest bit of weight leave his shoulders on the exhale. For a second, they all just stare at each other, reveling in the released tension.

Ruby collapses into Blake’s side, resting her head in the crook of Blake’s neck. Then she reaches out towards Jaune and makes grabby hands: “What are you still standing there for? Get over here; bridge hug!”

“Bridge?” he asks, even as he obediently trots over to them and joins them on the ground, folding them into his arms.

“That’s us,” Ruby says, wiggling to cuddle closer. “Team BRJ.“

“Oh, I’m in charge?” Blake laughs, sounding-- charmed, in a terrified sort of way. Or maybe Jaune’s got that backwards.

Ruby hugs them both tighter before leaning back, just a bit. “I think Jaune and I might be leadered out for a little while,” she confesses, smile sheepish but the haunted look in her eyes showing only painful honesty. Until they suddenly spark with mischief: “Unless Operation: Find Yang is something you don’t feel up to taking point on...?”

“I think I’ll figure it out,” Blake replies lightly, joking tone undergirded with an unshakeable determination. After pats on the back all around they get to their feet, energy renewed-- but Jaune grabs onto both the girls’ wrists before they can get going.

“Hey, I-- thank you. Both of you.”

Ruby’s lips quirk in a shadow of her usual grin. “What are friends for?”

#Anonymous #penny of course also made a choice but no one here wants to hear that rn #someone put these kids in so much therapy #rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #blake belladonna #fic what i wrote

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years

Note

assuming you're still doing the prompts and i need more of this in my life so

touch starved willie ft willex?

hiii i'm So Sorry How Long This Took but have exactly what the doctor ordered <3

i've been bruised by your light | 1.6k | willex + willie&julie&the phantoms | G

Usually, arriving at the studio is the strangest mix between utter, overwhelming chaos, and finally feeling like he can exhale. On one hand, Willie’s arrival is greeted by a blended cacophony of tuning instruments and varying amp volumes, interrupted by cheers when someone notices his presence. The song crash-lands as Reggie yells in delight, Willie!, and Julie twirls around, lights up, almost trips on her microphone cord.

Luke complains about stopping halfway through the song, but with this huge goofy grin on his face, the kind that proves to Willie that Luke actually isn’t mad in the slightest because two moments later he unceremoniously dumps his guitar on the couch to bound over to Willie, hands outstretched, palms up. (The way Luke Patterson acts, you’d think no one had ever hurt him before.)

Finally, once the others have stopped bounding around like puppies with guests, Alex will navigate his way out from behind his drum set. His bright, nervous smile will make whatever Willie risks by coming to visit utterly worth it.

And, well. If the memory of the way they all tackle-hug him, right there on the Molina’s driveway, keeps Willie going on the days when he doesn’t think he can stand it any more, all the sneaking around and the glancing over his shoulder and the cold sweats when Caleb looks at him a moment too long -- then that’s unrelated, probably. If the only way he can hold himself together is by taking a moment, late at night in his own room, to close his eyes and envision these moments, with arms around him and chatter above him and elbows in his ribs and he doesn’t even care, where he’s surrounded by friends and their excitement and love, where his body feels real and the ache that seems to haunt his chest temporarily abates -- that’s his own business.

Today, though, when Willie arrives at the studio, he’s primarily met with an eerie silence. He knows the silence itself contains nothing ominous, and that his own afterlife experiences has left him predisposed to dread, but still. He can’t help the prickling down the back of his neck when he appears outside the studio to no sound at all. Immediately, his brain begins producing worst case scenarios: Caleb found out. Caleb found out and has taken them all as punishment. Someone scarier than Caleb got there first.

He pushes these thoughts aside, and takes stock of his surroundings. He can’t see any signs of a struggle, not that a ghost-struggle would leave many signs. The door is propped mostly closed, but it opens easily when he pushes against it. So he opens it with one hand, the other curling into the hem of his sweater.

The sight that greets him floods him with relief, like warm water dumped over his head, like surfacing out of a pool when he’s held his breath too long. At the same time, it fills him with a longing that strangles him all over again.

It looks something like this: Julie and Reggie are cuddled up on the couch, in a tangle of limbs so tightly intertwined it’s impossible to tell where one vocalist begins and another bassist ends. Reggie’s hair is all messy, like he never lets it be when he’s awake, and he’s drooling slightly. Julie’s still in her exercise gear, so Willie guesses she had dance in last period at school or she just got back from working out with Flynn. Regardless, her clothes have sweat-stains and her cheek, pressed to Reggie’s arm, is all squished up so he can hardly see her face. Luke is plastered on top of the pile, spread across them like a weird impractical blanket, snoring.

And at the end of the couch, bearing the not-inconsequential weight of three pairs of legs across his lap, Alex sits, head tilted against the back of the couch. Always the lightest sleeper of the group, though, Willie has barely drawn a breath in the studio before Alex is squirming, rubbing one hand across his eyes and sitting up, blinking against the light spilling in from the open door. He looks unfairly adorable, and on top of the relief, it makes something in Willie’s chest both soar and ache.

“Willie?”

Alex whispers, but his voice seems to echo in the space. It’s a great practice room, Willie thinks, with these kinds of acoustics. The others don’t stir; Luke carries on snoring just as steadily as before, and Julie doesn’t move. Reggie’s nose twitches, but maybe it would have regardless.

“Hey, hotdog,” says Willie.

Right away, Alex asks, “Are you okay?” even though he’s still waking up and even though, to Willie’s own ears, he sounded level and casual and fine.

Willie takes stock of the shaking in his fingertips, the deep pond of hurt in his chest that seems to spring up from inside him whenever he isn’t distracted, the cold sweat of relief down the back of his neck. Thinks that these things should have ended when his life did. “Yeah, man” he answers. “Just didn’t know where you guys were, couldn’t hear the, y’know--” He makes a little high-hat noise with his mouth, just to see Alex’s nose scrunch up in response, “--from outside, so I thought you might be… somewhere else.”

Alex tilts his head, looks at Willie through slightly narrowed eyes. Then says, “Are you cold?”

Shit. Willie drops his hand from where he was rubbing the inside of his elbow, because he hadn’t even noticed himself doing it in the first place. “A little, I guess.”

Alex reaches for him, before looking down at the legs still stacked high over his body, and frowns, in such a comically put-out way that Willie stifles the urge to laugh. His body hums, the relief and the shakes easing off but the ache, the whirlpool chasm inside him opening up deeper. Usually that feeling is gone, once he’s here with Alex, with all of them. Once they’ve all rushed up to greet him, once he’s been knocked flat by their overenthusiastic hellos, like he’s just entered a puppy daycare.

“Here,” Alex says, shuffling down the couch a bit so that there’s slightly more room on his lap. “If you can sit on the arm?”

Willie gets the idea. The arm of the couch looks pretty sturdy, despite its age, and technically Willie is a ghost, so he’s not sure if he weighs anything at all to a piece of furniture. So he sits, sideways along the arm of the couch, and Alex wraps an arm around Willie’s waist, fingers curling into Willie’s hip.

All at once, the feeling, the one that’s usually gone, starts to ebb and fade, like it’s washing away. Willie caves to the instinct to tuck himself closer, presses along Alex’s side until they’re connected from shoulder to knee, and tries not to let the desperation for it show, tries not to crumble apart altogether.

“How long do you have?” Alex asks, voice barely a murmur into Willie’s hair just above his ear. Willie sighs out a longer breath than he meant to.

“Not -- not that long,” he manages.

“How long?” Alex checks again, his thumb swiping up and down Willie’s side rhythmically in a way that lulls Willie under, makes him rest his cheek on Alex’s shoulder before he can even think about it.

“Like, an hour?” Willie lets his eyes close as Alex runs a hand through his hair, not even flinching when Alex’s fingers get stuck a little at the back of his neck and he has to tease out some tangles to continue. “Maybe a little more, but not a lot more.”

Alex presses his face into Willie’s hair. He maybe kisses the side of Willie’s head, but Willie might have imagined it. Luke wriggles a little in his sleep, and it doesn’t burst the bubble Willie had created in his head, more expands it, opens it up just a little more so that instead of it just being Willie-and-Alex inside of his ball of safety, it’s Willie-and-Alex-and-Julie-Luke-Reggie.

“Okay,” says Alex easily. Then, softer, “I’m really happy to see you.”

“You too,” Willie whispers back. He’s turning to goo, he can feel it, as Alex rubs the hand from his waist up and down his back, while the other continues to gently detangle Willie’s hair. He feels… dopey, almost, exhausted from the huge rush of feelings and then the series of reliefs, one after another. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Wanna actually see you, not sleep.”

“Please relax,” Alex murmurs. “I’ll wake you up before you need to go. I’m just glad you’re here with us.”

Alex feels like a blanket, Willie thinks blearily. Or not like a blanket, but the feeling of being with Alex is like the feeling of being under a wonderful blanket. On the inside of Willie’s chest, they feel the same.

Soon enough he’ll have to go back to the club. Prepare for the show that night, make small talk with the other staff, pretend to Caleb like today is any other day. Before he knows it he’ll be in his own bed, lying staring at the ceiling, reliving this moment, trying to grasp every sensation, every phantom touch. Will even try to remember how it sounded when Luke snored, the way that Julie’s toes kept poking him under the arm, how Reggie keeps whispering gibberish under his breath in his dreams, because all of them sound safe and like home.

For now, though, it’s real and all around him. For now, the ache in his chest subsides, and Alex’s hands are gentle and careful, and Alex’s body is warm wherever they touch.

All Willie can do is savour the feeling, so he can remember it better when it’s gone. Until next time he can sneak away to a rehearsal.

#this is quite literally just a jatp cuddle puddle feat. willie and i love that for them!#jatp #willex #willie jatp #alex mercer #fanfiction #ask #fairylightsandrainydays #julie and the phantoms

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

I... I would... I would love to see Jameson testing Jake some more... I mean the drabble of him demanding Jake let him do things for him for food was... good...

Your wish is my command, my love

CW: Noncon/dubcon (nightmare, semi-explicit), noncon/dubcon touching and kissing, internal dehumanization, flashbacks, survivor initiates spice and is rejected, conditioned behavior, trauma response, knives, blood

More salt-copper-sweetness than sugar and vanilla, now, Nanda’s voice is rough with his breath hot against the pet’s ear. It’s a warmth that covers him, inside and out.

It presses against the underside of the pet’s skin, and he opens his mouth to pant, sure that the blood will come back out from within him when he does, that he’ll spill Nanda’s voice back at him, a waterfall of the touch and tension and twist leaving him to fall like an offering or a plea at Nanda’s feet.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” Nanda asks, licking at the shell of his ear, and the pet shivers, all his awareness stretched between the hot tongue on his skin and the cold blade of the knife, the flat side pressed against his ribcage on one side.

Each is a promise, and the pet wants both to be kept.

“I-I...” His own voice is weak, snap of twigs, rosemary boiled in water until the flavor is gone. He shifts, kneeling somewhere that he can’t remember, a small room in a small house on a small street in a town where everything is named for the glory of the man he saved her from. There’s a folded paper on a desk and if he can only look, he’ll know, he’ll know why and where and when. If he can only look-

“I thought it might b-be difficult-... ah!”

Nanda’s hand, rough palms and calloused fingers, curving around the back of his neck over his collar, jerking him closer, and he forgets the note and the room and the town and there is only Nanda, there has only ever been Nanda and the pain. There are metal cuffs around his wrists, his favorite ones that scratch him and sting perfectly for hours after they’re done, keeping his hands behind him, just touching the small of his back with his wrists and his knuckles brush even lower.

“What might be difficult, pet?”

Oh, there’s the sugar, the slow melody of vanilla and egg. He loves how his owner says what he is, he has to love it, he was told to love it and there is no love but this one, no life for him but the custard voice of the man who cuts him to ribbons until he begs for more.

The pet’s mouth opens to pant as the knife is turned, Nanda’s motions slow and controlled, and the bright light of perfect pain sparks inside him as the knife draws a line. His skin opens like silk for the blade, and he moans, dropping his head forward onto Nanda’s shoulder, listening to the sound of his laughter like a spoon cracking the crust on creme brulee. Sugar, and fire, and blood.

“That... that it’d be difficult... mmmmn, fuck-... what with y-you... being dead.”

Nanda goes silent, shifting one thigh between the pet’s legs, pressing kisses into the soft, short shorn hair with bald spots from Robert’s muzzle, humming softly in thought. His thumb rubs, ever so gently, at the pet’s nape while the knife slips a little deeper.

The pet whimpers, rocks, ruts helplessly against Nanda’s leg, turns his head enough to lock at the soft skin of Nanda’s neck the underside of his jaw. Blood trickles in a welcome hint of sensation down his side, over the flat space just inside his hip.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Nanda murmurs, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling it up and back enough to see the pleasure-drunk haze in the pet’s eyes, watch him bite his lip to muffle his whimpers and moans as he rocks in an erratic rhythm against the expensive fucking tailored pants Nanda is wearing. “To leave me like that.”

“You... ah, mmmh... fuck, you left me.”

“Look at you.” Nanda’s voice is a whisper again. The knife dips, swirls lazily through his skin like an artist pulling color across canvas. It presses in just a little too deep (not deep enough) and the pet throws his head back, briefly breaking Nanda’s grip, back arching into a perfect bow as he cries out. Nanda’s hand pushes between his legs, then, too-warm and not warm enough, firm grip curving around him, stroking with the same lazy slowness that he has with the knife. “What is it like, to love the pain?”

The pet swallows, the knife digs and digs digs into soft skin along his belly, drops down to his thigh, blood wells up swift and absurdly brightly red there.

“It’s... it’s hell,” He whispers. “I hate, ah, ah, ah-... I hate this.”

Nanda’s laugh breaks apart like a mirror, shatters into a thousand bites of sweet blood, drips over his mind like oil. If he was kneeling before, he’s on his knees again with his face pressed down against the cool concrete floor of the specialty room, legs spread, and his back is heat and blood and pain.

Nanda’s hands are on his hips, gripped tightly enough to leave the bruises he will kiss later, as he murmurs, “We know all about coming back from the dead, here, don’t we, J-”

Jameson wakes up.

There’s no gasp, no dramatic sitting-up-in-bed like in the movies. In one moment, Nanda’s voice murmured a name he can’t remember as the pet’s body gave way to his demands and in the next his eyes are open to pitch-black darkness and the soft sound of his roommate’s breathing across the room.

The pet’s-...

Jameson’s body shudders, shivers roiling under his skin. He is hard and throbbing, and one of his hands brushes down over his ribs just to make sure his fingers don’t slip through slick blood. He breathes in through his nose, heart pounding, and looks across the room.

The barest hint of moonlight through the window gives him enough to see Allyn by. Their hair spreads light red and thick around them, the blue light of night turning it all slightly eerie and haunted. The rounded lines of their face, the soft relaxation of their mouth. He wishes Allyn would bite him hard enough to make it bleed, and then pour their rain-voice over him and tell him he’s good. He wants their hands on him.

He wants someone’s hand on him.

He reaches under the pillow and grabs his collar, keeping his fingers over the buckle to muffle its clinking, and pulls it quickly on around his neck, choking on a sob, on his rage, on how badly he needs to be cut apart until he feels taken in ways he wants no one to ever take him again.

The constriction is soothing. He’s safe.

He’s safe, here.

He’s so hard the slightest brush against his boxers feels like he could finish just like this, just from the memory of Nanda’s voice whispering are you ready for me, pet?

A different voice, sonorous and droning, are you ready to leave the darkness and come back into the light-

False memories. Stop. Leave me alone. He bites his lip until he feels blood break free, but it’s not enough.

Jameson pushes the blankets down - he’s pouring sweat, cold but it doesn’t make him feel any better - and sits up. His feet settle onto the cool smooth hardwood, as old as the house, and he stands, stumbling to the door. He thinks-

He thinks, water.

A drink of water.

Rub one out to the memory of a dead man, then water, and back to bed.

The bathroom door is open. The light is on. He almost stops, but he knows Nova never turns the bathroom light off if she uses it, she says it’s bad luck, he doesn’t ask but she says it anyway. Everyone thinks he fucking cares about their shit here. He doesn’t.

He just needs-

water-

touch-

to be bled by someone who tells him he is a good boy-

The big guy who owns this place is in the bathroom. Jameson stops in the doorway, staring at his back. Muscles ripple under mostly unmarked skin, the slight curve of waist and small of his back. Jameson pictures his own nails digging into the skin, the soft red welts he could leave there, lines to mark him. How Jake’s hands could leave him bruised in all the best places.

How easily he could force his legs apart or shove him up against a wall and hold him there, hands around his neck, thumbs digging into his jaw on either side. How Jake’s voice would sound when he moaned, when he buried himself inside, when the pain between them was perfect, like it had been with Nanda, like it can be again.

His heart is still pounding, thumping so loud he’s sure Jake can hear it, pouring adrenaline in his veins he tells himself is lust and not fear of how deep this runs.

He moves.

Jake’s eyes must have been closed, whatever he was doing, because he doesn’t see Jameson coming, and he jumps when his hand lays against his back, turning quickly around. He’s so tall, and strong, but there are no bruises from him on the pet’s-

on Jameson’s skin.

“Hey,” Jake says, voice low, river under rock, wearing what seems eternal slowly away. His eyes drop to the collar buckled tightly around Jameson’s neck, and he takes in a breath. There’s no surprise, there. He’s seen this before, they’ve seen so many pets, but none like me, Jameson thinks, almost desperately. Not like me. Not like this. “What do you-”

Jameson backs him into the sink and grabs his face in his hands, pulling him down, forcing their mouths together. It’s less a kiss than a challenge, and Jake makes a sound of muffled uncertainty before his hands slide up to Jameson’s shoulders, and he thinks, yes, make it hurt-

Jake shoves him back and away, holding him at arms’ length. “No.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Jameson snaps, trying to twist free of the grip, but Jake’s hands are strong. “I want you. I want this. Fuck me!” He shivers in pleasure as he pulls too hard and feels a burst of pain that goes right between his legs, his already nearly painful erection seeming to throb even harder. Being hurt hasn’t felt so good since Nanda died.

Since he walked away-

“I said no.” Jake shakes his head. There’s a stubble along his jaw, and Jameson hates Kauri suddenly for getting the redness on his skin where the stubble scratches even though Jameson never does, not anywhere, not on his inner thighs, nowhere at all. Hates how they smile at each other. Hates that Kauri doesn’t feel like this, not anymore, and Jameson can’t imagine it will never stop for him. “You know I won’t ever touch you that way.”

“I want you to!” His voice cracks, he’s desperate, and when Jake lets go, just for a second, Jameson grabs his hand and shoves it down, so Jake can feel how hard he is, rocks forward against the heat of Jake’s palm. “See? I want it. Please, fuck, please-” His eyes are wide with need, and fear - of himself and Jake and his mind and his broken betraying body. “Please, I’m good, please-”

Jake’s hand jerks back with a hiss and he moves away. “I. Will. Not. Fuck. You. Listen to me. Just talk to me for a second-... I need you take in a deep breath, I think you are reacting to a reminder of-”

“Oh, fuck off! If you won’t fuck me, get out of here so I can take care of my fucking s-self.”

God damn it, his voice is weakening, he feels like he’ll collapse under the weight of death he’s walked away from or caused by his own hand. He slumps down onto the ground, onto the bathmat next to the tub, and puts his hands over his face.

There’s a pause, then Jake again. “Just-”

“Just fucking go!” His eyes burn bright and hot, his breath hitches. Still desire runs up through his nerves and won’t let him go. “Get out! I hate you! I should have stayed with h-him, I shouldn’t have left, I should have been good and good and good and good until, until, unt-til-”

There’s a whisper at the door, Jake’s low murmur in return. Jameson hears, tell everyone I’m handling it if they ask, stay out here. Make sure Allyn goes back to their room, just in case.

Just in case what? In case he hurts them? In case-

He came in here so he wouldn’t.

Oh, fuck, what if he hurts Allyn?

A pause, and then the click of the door closing. Jameson looks out from behind his fingers, only to find Jake slowly sliding down to sit with his back against the door.

“Talk to me,” Jake says softly. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

Jameson’s tears break free, then, burn down his cheeks like a volcano is pouring liquid fire into a city below and leaving wreckage and empty air in the shape of bodies behind. He chokes on a sob and curls up around himself, shaking his head, again and again.

He can’t stop crying, and Jake doesn’t stop him, only waits.

He nods.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice is low. Fresh water on his tongue, a snowmelt waterfall by the side of the road. He laughed, didn’t he? He held his hand out to feel the icy water slide through his fingers and sink into the thawing earth below.

It doesn’t snow here.

Why won’t his mind stop inventing memories that aren’t his?

“What happened in your dream? You don’t have to tell me, only if you want to.” Jake’s voice, low and calming, doesn’t stop Jameson’s tears but instead it opens him up to them, he cries the same way he bled, helpless to stop.

“M-My-... my first-... I was w-w-with him-”

“Okay.” Jake hesitates, and then asks, softly, “Can you tell me what you were so afraid of that you put the collar on?”

Jameson doesn’t look up. He keeps crying. Eventually, though, he manages to answer.

“M-myself.”

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

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setzappersto-pew · 3 years

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StarKid and Musical Score #2

Pop culture parodies tread fine lines to avoid copyright violations, especially when it comes to music. Some go for a certain mood or genre to evoke the source. Holy Musical B@man! is a great example. Nick Gage and Scott Lamps used strictly synthesizer and an electronic drum kit. They made great use of the standard synthesizer sound, calling to mind ‘80s new wave electronic music; a darker electric guitar sound to capture the gritty Batman from The Dark Knight or The Killing Joke; and light and playful bell tones, representing the innocence of Robin or perhaps the campy silliness of the ‘60s Batman TV show.

When it’s a parody musical of a musical, the challenge is even greater. Enter Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier.

There’s not a lot of interstitial music to set the scenes, but what little there is excels with capturing the mood, like the eerie strings and woodwinds coupled with sporadic percussion during Aladdin’s breakdown near the end. Instead, Twisted features a large number of songs to fill its 2.25 hour runtime, so I’m going to focus on the instrumentals of those for this post. The instrumentation for this show includes keyboard, drums, guitar/bass, violin, cello, flute, clarinet, and alto/tenor saxophone. It’s a much bigger and more varied band than any StarKid show had before or since.

The endeavor that composer A.J. Holmes, accompanied by incredible lyricist Kaley McMahon, set out on was to evoke not only the source material, Disney’s Aladdin, but also other Disney movies of the same era and the Broadway musical Wicked. The Disney references are all over the place, including the Disney-fied StarKid logo. The latter was accomplished via the title (Twisted: The Untold Story of a Royal Vizier vs. Wicked: The Untold Story of a Wicked Witch), the album cover, the method of role reversal (a villain posed as the hero of their own story), and even a direct reference to the book. But A.J., along with orchestrator Andrew Fox and music director Justin Fischer, took it a step further with several songs to give the audience a truly immersive and magical experience.

To keep it simple, I’m going to link each song--or most, as some I can’t quite figure out--to another Disney or Wicked song that A.J. was likely, or even obviously, taking influence from. The similarities are often in the instrumentation and tempo; chord progressions and adjacent melodies; or lyrics and character situations.

Not a song, but the opening music evokes the haunting strings and bells in the opening of Beauty and the Beast to a tee. Like...it’s a dead ringer, obviously in purpose.

“Dream a Little Harder”: An opening ensemble number like “Belle” from Beauty and The Beast. Introduces the protagonist and the surrounding characters with a sweet and tremulous flute at the beginning and bouncy strings throughout. Lyrics mirror each other, i.e. “Fuck you” = “Bonjour”...Nick’s favorite line, “Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!”...they all hate Ja’far vs. they all think Belle is weird. Belle is even part of the ensemble, telling Ja’far to keep his “fat face out of the mother fucking book”! It’s a pretty obvious comparison.

“I Steal Everything”: “One Jump Ahead” from Aladdin is the obvious parallel in orchestration, melody, tempo, lyrics, character situation...everything.

“Everything and More”: Again, an obvious parody of “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid. Same gentle yet sweeping melody, same lilting tempo paired with vocals timid one moment and powerful the next, lyrics exploring desire for more.

“A Thousand and One Nights”: This one was a little harder, as really none of the Disney princesses have duets with their princes. But I think it pairs well with “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King, at least after Timon and Pumbaa have their moment! The back and forth between lovers talking to themselves about the other has a similar feel. Honestly, this song is pretty original and yet manages to evoke Disney love song perfectly without copying any. The gentle melody, sweeping yet sweet orchestration, and the dialogue really sell it. They knew it was the love song because they went ahead and parodied the cheesy pop covers that ‘90s Disney movies are known for with a true bop performed by Britney Coleman and Carlos Valdes.

“Orphaned at 33″: Perhaps the reprise of “One Jump Ahead”? It’s slower and more melancholy and has similar chord progression and crooning vocals. Maybe “Go the Distance” from Hercules? Both are songs of sadness and longing, but StarKid’s Aladdin is far more pathetic and creepy than Hercules. EDIT: “Proud of Your Boy”, which was cut from Aladdin and put in the stage show, is absolutely the reference here! Again, a song of sadness and longing and self-pity and lamentation of a bad childhood...and StarKid’s Aladdin is still more pathetic. Musical parallels: similar chord progressions, embellishments, instrumentation, time signature, tempo, etc.; starts with delicate notes and Aladdin just talking (this starts at 46 seconds in “Orphaned at 33″, after a prelude); lilting and tiptoeing melody in the middle (1:56 for “Orphaned”, 1:08 for “Proud”); powerful sustained vocals and sweeping winds and strings to finish. I know this song was in the back of my mind, but it just wasn’t coming to me. Thank you @hatchetfieldtheories and @melchron for helping me out!

“Happy Ending”: The last half, at 1:50, really reminds me of “Defying Gravity” from Wicked, specifically at 5:15. The quiet and tense music make way for powerful vocals and are just waiting to burst forth for a showstopping ending. Both songs are also Act 1 closers. I can’t really place the rest of “Happy Ending”, but it all reminds me of Wicked with the powerful rock guitar and drums paired with cinematic strings. Plus, I always love when multiple melodies come together as reprises, most often as Act 1 closers!

“No One Remembers Achmed”: A sillier version of “Gaston” from Beauty and The Beast. The spurned villain’s cohorts are pumping him up and singing his praises! Both melodies are jaunty, though with different instrumentation...Twisted’s featuring sillier sound effects and goofy xylophone.

“Take Off Your Clothes”: A sexier version of “A Whole New World” from Aladdin. Slightly modified melody, and obviously the lyrics, but it’s exactly the same.

“The Power in Me”: A solemn and sweet farewell duet between friends like “For Good” from Wicked. The delicate woodwinds and strings sound similar to the gentle synth in “For Good”. Vocal performances are cautious and tender at first but quickly become strong and confident. “You are the power in me” and “I have been changed for good” follow almost the exact same rhythm.

The titular song has many facets, so I’ll detail them here:

Opening to 1:03 and 5:55 to the end = “No Good Deed” from Wicked, with the same intense strings and percussion. The whole situation and lyrics match, with both Ja’far and Elphaba deciding to just be antiheroes because no one sees them as heroes anyway. “I’ll be twisted, it’s my turn” matches “No good deed will I do ever again” and “I’m wicked through and through”.

1:10-2:06 = “Poor Unfortunate Souls” from The Little Mermaid...it’s Ursula, so of course...but also, the woodwinds and keyboard mimicking brass evoke the same bouncy yet menacing rhythm, akin to an evil polka.

2:07-2:50 = “Be Prepared” from The Lion King. Obviously, it’s Scar’s moment...but also, they have similar deep and primitive drums and woodwinds.

The rest of the songs (”Sands of Time”, “Golden Rule”, and “If I Believed”) I couldn’t really place, but they still evoke the source materials. “Golden Rule” has a classic musical theatre ensemble number feel, with fun strings and woodwinds and delightful choruses; the reprise turns it on its head with menacing piano and bass. “If I Believed” is another take on an “I want” song; the flute and cello pair very nicely together to support Dylan’s soulful voice.

My next post in this series will likely be about the Hatchetfield series: The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, Black Friday, and Nightmare Time. There’s a lot in between, like the AVP Trilogy, ANI, and Starship, but the music for those stands out less to me. They’re great, don’t get me wrong, but I think that the score is not what makes them special. The Hatchetfield stuff, however...is intense.

Thanks for reading!

#starkid #rewatchers1000 #twisted: the untold story of a royal vizier #holy musical b@man #disney #wicked #sk musical score

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secret-engima · 3 years

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In your LC Birbs verse, what would have happened if Ardyn had found Ozpin before Ramuh had intervened?

hgfgf forgive how long I’ve been perching on this ask but it’s just- has many possible answers and so I was hoarding it a little. Also I shall proceed to meet timeline for the sake of Prompto’s existence, just be aware XD.

-If Ardyn had found Ozpin before Ramuh had, he would have likely been in denial at first. He would have likely just been skulking around during a bout of restlessness, since as the Accursed sleep isn’t really an option very often, and found this isolated clone tank. Because the clone in that tank is dark skinned, at first he wouldn’t even have suspected the child was his. But then Ozpin, dimly sensing magic outside his tank and desperate to be free of this constant sedated haze, reaches out and Ardyn.

-Freezes.

-He knows that magic.

-He presses close to the tank, hands rising up to shakily touch the cold glass as the little one inside (probably only about half a year old in this AU? If that) stirs faintly. Gold eyes fight open to half-lidded cracks, and little fingers struggle through the haze of sedation to reach for Ardyn on an almost subconscious need-help-please-please. Ardyn feels his breath stutter as he looks at those gold, gold eyes and feels magic that burns slightly at his Scourge in a mix of LC-Oracle-Ardyn-Aera and feels the pieces collide.

-He yanks himself away from the tank and stalks away. It can’t be. It can’t be. The Scourge is toying with his mind again, making him see things, feel things.

-He mentally slaps at the magic that desperately reaches for him, and tells himself he feels no regret when it turns from hopeful-pleading to terrified and shrinks away.

-Ardyn tells himself he was imagining things for a month. Maybe two. Maybe far more than that, time is so hard for him to grasp. He tries to forget. But he can’t. He obsesses. The sight of the child in the tank haunts him whenever his eyelids shut, burns at him whenever he visits the lab after and catches a flicker of magic before it vanishes again.

-Finally, the need to know is too great. He returns and breaks into Besithia’s private office. He sorts through the papers about the MT project with growing frustration, yanks open locked drawers with raw strength of the desperate and paws through files of words that make little sense until he finds it.

-Project: Remnant stares back at him, a collection of photos of the tank child, of reports of various infant experiments that he cannot fully understand but sound like they would hurt (for doesn’t even the mildest strike of electricity hurt no matter how ultimately harmless it is?) and ... his origins. A project to clone the Accursed (to clone ARDYN) and while he doesn’t understand all the fancy words and self boasting littered in the reports, he understands the gist. That the initial clones all failed, daemonified within days. That Besithia had to eventually combine two extra strands of DNA in order to stabilize the child now in the tank. One of those strands was just a placeholder, a sample he had on hand that is at fault for the subject’s dark skin. The other strand-

-Tombs of the Oracles. The First Oracle.

-Aera.

-Aera-Aera-her-child-his-child-AERA’SCHILD

-Things get hazy. He remembers standing in Besithia’s quarters while the man writhed and screamed and paid for daring to desecrate Aera’s grave. He remembers setting ... a lot of things on fire, his armiger tearing open the walls as he raged.

-He remembers the crash of glass and black blood pouring from his arms before they healed as he pulled Aera’s drugged child free of the tank. The little one was so small, so alone, and somewhere with that thought in his head he thinks he snatched up another child on the way even though it was of Besithia’s blood, because there’s a screaming in his head that isn’t human but isn’t entirely the insanity of daemons insisting that hatchlings need playmates to grow up properly.

-He comes back to himself far away from the ruins of the laboratory, trekking through the wilderness with not one, but two children in his arms, one of them an infant barely a few months old. The other is his- is Aera’s- is their son. The infant is shivering and he takes a moment to securely wrap it in a spare coat (he didn’t intend to steal one of Besithia’s little MTs but he did and so this child is HIS now) before inspecting his blood child. The little boy is still drugged into sleep, unresponsive to Ardyn’s careful prodding, and Ardyn feels something inside him crack in pain as he inspects and realizes that the boy is no longer an infant, but a toddler. Perhaps two years old, bordering on three even.

-How long had he spent running away in denial while Aera’s child floated in that tank at Besithia’s mercy? Too long. Unforgivably long.

-“Oh my little one,” he breathes hoarsely, “Oh Aera. I abandoned our son. I would strike myself down were he not in need of me.”

-He carts both children through the wilds, slinking into the nearest town only to steal as many supplies as he can before flitting away again. The blond infant he’s stolen is not drugged and so wake up periodically. Ardyn had no real intention of getting attached, but his own son has reawakened things inside him, and the realization that this tiny infant is already well trained to not cry even when hungry or in discomfort makes his stomach churn and his armiger flicker briefly into being. He tries to distract himself from his worries over his sleeping son by fussing over the infant, making silly faces and cooing as he tends the infant who will be his own child’s playmate and little foster sibling. The little one needs a name.

-He will decide later. He must name Aera’s child first.

-He must ensure Aera’s child is alright first.

-The toddler finally wakes up on the second day of their travels, sluggish and confused. Ardyn feels precious, precious magic unfurl sleepily, tentatively little fingers of energy trying to pinpoint his new surroundings. Ardyn reaches back, eagerly, instinctively.

-The flinch from his son as gold eyes snap awake in fear, the way too-young magic all but recoils from him, hurts worse than Somnus’s blade through his heart all those centuries ago. The toddler in his arms gasps faintly, looking around, wide awake and confused-afraid. Ardyn shakes free of his shock and tries to hum a soothing note, but all it gets him is his child clumsily trying to raise his arms over his head like he expects a blow.

-Ardyn remembers that first meeting, that first sighting in the tank, the way magic had reached for him half asleep and needy and so vulnerable.

-He remembers how he had lashed out and slapped it away.

-It’s painfully, achingly, burningly clear that his son remembers it too, even though he shouldn’t, even though he should be too young to recall that horrible mistake, and Ardyn has to fight to breathe past the guilt screaming in his skull even louder than the Scourge. He can’t lose his mind, not yet, not again. He can’t lose his mind or run away or try fruitlessly to execute himself for the crime of hurting Aera’s child, because the little one (little ones, he hasn’t forgotten the burbling infant) need a caretaker and Ardyn is the only one (the only one who knows, who can be trusted, a magic child will suffer if given to non magical parents and he wouldn’t trust Somnus’s bloodline as far as he could throw Ifrit).

-He talks soothingly, mindlessly, trying to get the toddler in his arms to uncurl. He does eventually, looking around in fear-confusion, but his magic stays coiled tight inside him, and Ardyn’s tentative poke at it is met with another flinch and a wild-eyed gasp of terror.

...

-Ozpin wakes up and doesn’t know what’s going on or where he is. At first he reaches out, but the moment he brushes up against another, larger, magic, memories of Salem and half-formed impressions of this same magic striking him in anger that might be a dream or might be truth make him retreat and curl in on himself. He feels small, helpless, there is an eerie silence in his head where only faded memories lie instead of a new voice and a new host and he doesn’t understand.

-Talking draws him out of the haze of half-panic, but when large, dangerous magic pokes at his core again he recoils, expecting it to turn into fangs and the burning agony Salem was so very good at unleashing. It’s been so, so long since he felt any other magic than Salem’s or his own that he cannot stop himself from assuming pain will follow. That all magic not his own is intended for pain.

-The man holding him falters in his speech, like he’s in physical pain, and Ozpin uncurls again to peer at him. Is he injured? Who even is he?

-Ardyn, Ozpin learns as they travel. The man’s name is Ardyn, and Ozpin is in a toddler’s body that seems to belong to no one but him, there is another child, a blond infant who doesn’t look like he’s related to Ardyn or Ozpin but is with them anyway, who gurgles too-quiet in the way abused children do. Ozpin thinks, hazily, that this man might have rescued the pair of them from somewhere horrible. Or he might be at fault for that horrible place.

-Ardyn names the infant Prompto, and calls Ozpin “Zagreus” and Ozpin is too wary to tell him he already has a name. They’re traveling through the wilderness, one that Ozpin doesn’t know, and the moon above their heads is strange and unbroken.

-Ardyn has magic. Ozpin is too wary still to do more than flinch and hold painfully, obediently still whenever the man cautiously brushes it against Ozpin’s senses, even though he knows it hurts Ardyn to be rejected so, even though he knows he should be brave and reach out in return, because he doesn’t think this man has ever hurt him. Not yet at least. Not intentionally. The man is terrible at self care, so Ozpin thinks those repeated stretches of forgetting to feet him and Prompto are unintentional. Ozpin works up the nerve to keep track of time himself and repeatedly (hesitantly) tug on Ardyn’s coat when he thinks it’s time to feed Prompto and himself.

-Ardyn calls Ozpin his son. Ozpin has yet to figure out if that’s true or not. If he mingled magic, he’d be able to tell he thinks, because there is a strange new magic woven into his core, bolstering and healing his long-faded green and mingling into it with strands of blue and gold he can see behind his eyelids, but- he can’t.

-Every time he thinks of trying, all he can think of is Salem. And all the ways she killed him. All the times she forced their magics to mingle so he could feel her rage and hate and possessive, poisonous love as she carved him open and ended yet another lifetime.

-It doesn't help that Ardyn is ill. It’s not Grimm Darkness, he thinks after the first three panic attacks that trigger when he glimpses the man’s sickness. But it is very similar. Too similar. A part of Ozpin, his gold magic, itches to reach out and fix it, but after seen Ardyn look more Grimm than man when tearing apart the strange night monsters that sometimes hunt them, it’s all the self control he has not to grab Prompto and run into the wilderness. To let Ardyn pick them up and continue on their way. They will die without Ardyn, he knows that.

-It doesn’t make him any less afraid.

-It takes a long, long time to be able to fight down that fear even a little, to not stiffen in preparation for a strike when shaking hands pet his hair, to not duck his head and breath slow when Ardyn looks at him and speaks to him, trying to coax out a response that remains frozen silent on Ozpin’s tongue. He knows he’s acting poorly. But despite his infection, despite being so very hauntingly like Salem in some ways, Ardyn never loses his temper at either of them. He never turns violent or raises a hand against them, or withholds food or clothes or stuffed toys when Prompto misbehaves or Ozpin once again recoils from the touch of Ardyn’s magic.

-They’re wandering another continent entirely, and Prompto has already started babbling his first choppy words (Ze and Dyn respectively), by the time Ozpin works up the nerve to let his magic out into the air again. To probe at the air around them while Ardyn goes desperately, fragilely still and watches him without daring to reach out for fear of scaring Ozpin. It takes a lot of nerve, but he manages to brush his magic against Ardyn’s in gratitude-trust before retreating again, exhausted from pushing past so many lifetimes of Salem’s pain to do even that. He’ll try actually speaking aloud another day. Maybe.

-A few days later though, Ozpin hears two birds cawing hoarsely in the air and feels something familiar, and suddenly he’s racing away from Ardyn as fast as his tiny legs can carry him, chasing those birds in the sky and reaching for them with magic and need because that feels like-

-The birds plummet from the sky, and a moment later, two scraggly, wild eyed children with black hair and bright red eyes burst out of the underbrush to tackle him with gleeful cries.

-He’s found Raven and Qrow.

#SE asks #shiki-inori asks #Secret Engima Rambles #LC Birds verse #Shadowed Wings verse #oh look spin off au #Hmmmm #Ardynson verse

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some-days-we-get-sundays · 3 years

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It’s A Wildmoore holiday wish list🍂🍎🎃🦃❄️🎄

Picture this:

Wildmoore going to a pumpkin farm and picking apples and getting pumpkins and drinking warm cozy drinks together and snuggling under a blanket. They’re just friends at this point but the flirting and closeness has amped up. Mary suggested that her Luke, Ryan and Sophie all go out for some pg-rated fun to get to know each other better since they will all be part of The Bat Team. There are new dynamics now with Sophie having quit the crows and looking to work with The Bat Team officially. Ryan is in her second year of being The Bat and feeling like she finally isn’t flying in Kate’s shadow, and Luke is now Batwing. Mary says it’s like a professional development meeting. So they go to the pumpkin farm and cute autumn shenanigans ensue. Cue Ryan trying to show off by grabbing a huge pumpkin, only for the stem to come off of it as she is carrying it and for the pumpkin to fall onto the ground and burst. Sophie can’t stop laughing. Cue Ryan and Sophie finding a bench and sitting on it, huddling together under a flannel blanket sipping hot ciders and hot chocolates. Even though Luke and Mary tell them it’s not that cold. Sophie and Ryan roll their eyes at Luke and Mary. They all go back to Ryan and Mary’s shared place and they bake pumpkin seeds and make apple pie.

Deeper into the month of October they all go to a haunted house. Ryan is terrified of haunted houses, she claims that Black folks and horror don’t mix. Both Sophie and Luke try to lecture her about Black folks and horror and how they do mix until she says FINE I WILL GO IF YOU BOTH SHUT UP! They go to the haunted house and there is also a maze. Ryan see’s the maze and says there is absolutely no freakin’ way she is going in a maze. Sophie whispers into her ear that she’ll protect her and Ryan gets goosebumps along her entire body. They go through the haunted house and Ryan jumps into Sophie’s arms at every single sound. Even the times when there was no sound Ryan grabs Sophie’s hand or her arm because the lack of sound is also scary. Sophie pretends to be annoyed but she secretly loves protecting Ryan and she thinks Ryan being Batwoman but also being a scaredy cat is just plain adorable. They all go through the maze next and Ryan in the crisp and biting October air and eerie full moon night discreetly never lets go of Sophie’s hand. Sophie runs her thumb over Ryan’s thumb and she thinks that their hands fit perfectly together.

Thanksgiving rolls around and they all decide to have a Bat Team feast. On account of none of them having good relationships with their parents, and half of them not having parents who are alive and well, they decide to start their own tradition. Sophie invites Jordan and Jordan takes every chance she gets to elbow Sophie or wiggle her eyebrows at Sophie any time that Ryan is mentioned or any time Ryan comes over to Sophie to speak to her or any time the group laughs at something mindless and Ryan and Sophie glance at each other while laughing. Jordan regards the situation with a smirk. Sophie constantly kicks Jordan under the table. Luke and Sophie are the ones who make most of the food. Turns out Luke is a very good cook and Sophie while she doesn’t like to cook she decides to help out with most of the food. Ryan makes vegan mac and cheese that she found an amazing recipe for on youtube. Mary says she doesn’t trust herself to make food that won’t get them all sick. They thank her for not risking their lives. They all watch football even though none of them know much about football. Sophie and Ryan snuggle into each other and everyone but Jordan pretends not to notice. They all share what they are thankful for and they are all thankful for a lot of different things but one of the most important things that they are all thankful for is each other.

It’s December and Ryan loves the holidays. Nobody else is as into it as she is so she has to beg everyone to come look at Christmas lights. She begs them to put lights and a tree up in the bat cave. They all go sledding a couple of times and Joran tags along. Mostly because she loves her big sister and is happy that they are spending more time together, but also so that she can watch Ryan and Sophie pretend they don’t have feelings for each other. Jordan thinks Ryan is sexy and she’s never seen Sophie more happy than when she is around Ryan and The Bat Team. Jordan thinks about trying to get them to kiss by hanging mistletoe. They go to a ski lodge even though Luke and Mary are the only decent skiers in the group. Ryan wants to go for the ambiance. Jordan wants to learn to ski so Mary and Luke take her out for lessons while Sophie and Ryan chill in the loft near the fire place. They snuggle under the same flannel blanket that they shared in the fall. They lean against each other and share inside jokes and hushed conversation. They sip hot tea and soul soothing warm coffee. Ryan gets sleepy and she puts her head on Sophie. Sophie sees Jordan, Luke, and Mary all come back from skiing. Jordan is about to say something about how Ryan is asleep on Sophie’s shoulder but Mary puts her hand theatrically across Jordan's mouth and drags her away from Ryan and Sophie and back to their rooms.

Christmas is getting closer and Ryan tries to get them all to do Secret Santa. That is where they draw the line and Ryan pouts. Sophie later on texts Ryan and tells her that they can just get gifts for each other and not tell the others. Ryan likes this idea. Everyone is out and about and Ryan asks Sophie to come to the loft so that they can do their gift exchange. Ryan gets Sophie a beautiful gold necklace with a bat symbol on it. Sophie eyes it curiously with a twinkle in her eye. She asks Ryan if this is to remember her by. Ryan laughs and says maybe but it is also a gift to welcome her to the Bat team. Ryan tells Sophie that she is happy to have her here. Sophie asks Ryan to help her put it on and when Ryan stands behind Sophie to put the necklace around her neck her hands linger on Sophie’s collarbones and breathing from both women hitches. Sophie pulls out a small book from the large red bag she has. It’s a book about the symbolism of plants. Ryan smiles wide when she reads the cover of it. Then Sophie reaches into the bag and pulls out a small succulent plant. She tells Ryan that the succulent represents loyalty and endurance. She tells Ryan that it represents someone who is trustworthy and always there for you. She tells Ryan that she sees her in that way and that she hopes one day Ryan can see her as trustworthy and always there for her. Ryan tells her she always sees Sophie in that way. Next Sophie pulls out a small cactus plant. She tells Ryan that the cactus represents protection and endurance, it’s good for someone who is going through a hard time but is a determined person. Sophie tells Ryan that she sees her as a protector but that she always will also do her best to protect Ryan as well. Lastly she takes out a ficus plant. She tells Ryan that the ficus represents abundance and peace. It is a great plant for someone who is a leader and symbolizes unity and success. Ryan has tears in her eyes and she walks over to Sophie. She places her hand out for Sophie to take it. Sophie does and now Sophie is standing too. Ryan wraps her arms around Sophie holding her in a deep and meaningful embrace. They chat and have tea, hot chocolate and cookies and then Ryan walks Sophie to the door.

It is only a week before Christmas and the Bat team are holed up at Mary and Ryan’s loft. It’s a snow day across Gotham and thankfully Batwoman is off tonight and so is Batwing. They figure if something major goes down they will hear about it. They just want a few days where they don’t have to be superheroes. It is the holiday’s after all. Ryan has made them all watch tons of Christmas movies. They all groan about it but secretly they enjoy feeling like a family. Ryan says they should all get matching Christmas pajamas and someone throws a pillow at her. Ryan squeezes onto the couch between Sophie and Mary so that she can be close to Sophie; she is practically in her lap. Everyone regards each other with knowing looks that Ryan and Sophie don’t seem to notice. Jordan decides this is a good moment to sneak up behind them on the couch and dangle mistletoe above Ryan and Sophie’s heads. Everyone laughs nervously but Ryan leans over just the few inches and places a soft kiss on Sophie’s lips. Sophie deepens the kiss and then Jordan shouts HAPPY HOLIDAYS GOD BLESS US EVERYONE! Everyone laughs and gets into their own conversations or back into the movie playing on screen. Ryan snuggles into Sophie once again. Sophie whispers in Ryan’s ear; never failing to send shivers down Ryan’s spine, and she tells Ryan that she can’t wait for what the New Year is going to bring.

#i just wrote this so randomly yall just literally typed it up now #wildmoore #ryan wilder #cw batwoman #sophie moore #i just really love the holidays and they are almost here #i had to write a little sum for these two #it's not really a fic more like a snapshot #idk #enjoy it tho #havent written wildmoore anything in a minute #the new wildmoore ao3s inspired me

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zamoimagines · 3 years

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There’s Your Trouble

Word Count: 3,529

Pairings: Billie Dean Howard x Reader, Sally McKenna x Reader

Chapters: 1, 2

Summary: You and your girlfriend, Billie Dean Howard, are staying at the Cortez for the weekend but you meet a pretty ghost.

A/N: Chapter two is finally here! Hope you guys enjoy :)

The rest of your night wasn’t what Billie had promised. You remember telling her how excited you were to spend time with her at a hotel because it meant you both could maybe have a little alone time. She was constantly working on her show, or traveling, or doing interviews, or signing autographs on the street. This was a chance for the two of you to actually spend some quality time together.

How wrong that assumption was. The rest of the day was spent interviewing different residents who obviously didn’t want to be filmed, and some of them even looked as if they were the ghosts themselves. Billie was so focused on learning the history of the building and asking the owners about James Patrick March. She cared more about her crew than anything you had to say. Any time you would try to speak, someone would cut you off and Billie would completely ignore that you had said anything at all. You were an afterthought to say the least. It had been this way long before you’d arrived with her at the Hotel Cortez. This seemed to be a pattern that never ended.

Night fell rather quickly. You didn’t realize that it was dark out until you glanced out one of the windows of your room. Billie was still going on about all that needed to be filmed before Devil’s Night to her worker bees.

“Uh.. Billie?” you tried to interject.

“I’m thinking we can get a couple shots of the front for dramatic effect? I talked to Liz as well, she said we could see the basement if we really wanted to.”

“Billie-”

“Oh! And what if we got a scene in front of that creepy empty pool?”

“Billie, can I please talk to you for a second?”

The blonde finally turned in your direction. She gave you a wild smile.

“Yeah! Sorry, honey. What is it?”

“Are we gonna go to the bar and get some alone time? I figured tonight would be perfect since we just got here.”

“Of course!” she replied happily. The sound of that brightened your world.

“I’ve just got to get a few shots first.” Your heart sank in your chest.

“Oh… okay.”

“Honey, I promise we’ll go on a date when we get the footage we need.” Billie pressed a small kiss to your forehead. “Do you want to come with us? You could see all of the chilling content first hand!”

“I-I’m okay. I think I’m gonna wait here until you get back.”

“Are you sure, baby?”

“Yeah, I gotta unpack anyway.”

“I’ll film as fast as I can. It won’t be too long, right guys?” Billie looked to her crew for reassurance, though all they did was glared coldly back at you. They barely knew you and couldn’t give less of a shit about your romantic endeavors. She stood up while grabbing her mic before leading everyone out of the room.

“Why don’t we just go out tomorrow night?” you offered.

“It won’t be too late, Y/N, I promise-”

“I’m just tired. It’s no big deal, really.”

“Okay, then. I’ll try not to stay out too late. I’ll see you later, sweetheart!”

“Bye, Billie.”

Alone. Yet again. Your own girlfriend cared so much more about her damn TV show than about spending the evening with you. It stung quite a bit, though you wouldn’t dare to ever let her know. She worked hard to get where she was. You just wished she would care about more important things sometimes.

Instead of wallowing, you figured you would change into something more comfortable. You changed out of your travel outfit and immediately ditched your bra before slipping on some shorts along with a big t-shirt over your head. A sigh of relief escaped you. Folding your old clothes, you began to unpack your bag and put your belongings into the drawers of the dresser. You switched on the tv just to have a little background noise as you finished putting everything away. The only thing left was your makeup bag and a small carrier full of hygienic products. Taking the last two bags, you sauntered into the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

As you started to brush your teeth, your mind wandered aimlessly about Billie. You only agreed to come because she told you that she had so many things planned for you. Every business trip turned out to be all about your girlfriend and she’d always happened to just forget about every promise she made to you. This one was only proving to be the exact same. How could a damn TV show be more important than your own relationship? You didn’t understand her thought process whatsoever.

You finished up before making your way back to the bed. Though, there was something off about the room. Something felt incredibly eerie but you couldn’t quite place what it was. Perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. After all, you were spending your week in a haunted hotel, so it was probably normal to feel a little creeped out by your surroundings.

Just as you sat down on the bed, you heard a soft humming sound. Your head quickly turned in the direction of the bathroom door. Was someone in your room?

“My, my… You’re even prettier than I remember, Princess.” a familiar voice spoke. You nearly jumped out of your spot as you let out a gasp.

There standing in front of the doorway was the woman you’d met from earlier. The one in the elevator. You thought you’d locked the door but perhaps you actually had forgotten to and it slipped your mind. She was still as gorgeous as ever, only now she was just dressed in a simple black nightgown. Her fingers were laced around two glasses and a bottle of some brown liquor was in her other hand. You noticed large rips in her fishnets as she made her way closer to you.

“H-How long have you been standing there?”

She shrugged as she inhaled the lit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, “Just a minute or two. The walls are paper thin here, though, so I heard your little conversation with the girlfriend.” She paused to take a longer drag. As she exhaled smoke, she raised a brow.

“Saw her leave too. She seems a little… Prissy.” Sally added in a disgusted tone.

“Billie isn’t prissy. She’s just well-rounded!”

“Keep telling yourself that.” She plopped down next to you on the mattress with a sly grin on her face, her cigarette draping smoke all around your body as she nestled in closer.

“Just because she’s high maintenance doesn’t mean that she’s a bad person.”

Sally handed you one of the glasses before popping open the bottle. Pouring some alcohol into your cup, she chuckled in disbelief.

“I’m not sure I believe that. The bitch is more infatuated with her camera than her own girl.”

Those words definitely stung. You stared blankly down at your drink as you tried hard not to think about it too much as water pricked your eyes. Sally poured her own glass then glanced back up at you.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a debbie downer or anything. I just think it’s fucked up that she’d just leave you here.”

“She’s… She’s just very professional. She takes a lot of pride in her work.” You tried to explain, “Besides, she said we could go on a better date tomorrow.”

She raised a brow. “A bit too professional, don’t you think? How could she pass up a night with a gorgeous girl like you?”

There was a thick silence that hung in the room.Your vision grew fuzzy as more tears welled up in your eyes, though you were quick to wipe them away to appear like you had everything together. “Oh, my poor baby girl.” Sally cooed as her index finger lifted your chin. You could see that her own eyes were watering but you weren’t entirely sure what for. She offered you a soft grin that caused the skin on your cheeks to flush; it had been so long since you’d received this sort of affection from anyone. “Why don’t we have a drink, hm?”

You looked down at the glass skeptically. Was this a trap or something?

“I’m not sure I should-”

“Oh come on, you were gonna go to the bar earlier anyway. What’s one little glass going to do?”

She was right. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do with your night. Rather than waiting for her to pour you a glass, you simply took the bottle from her and screwed off the cap. Your lips pressed against the mouth as you quickly took a huge swig.

“Straight to it.” Sally chuckled as she grabbed the liquor back from you, “What a good girl you are.”

Your whole body felt warm. So warm that you couldn’t notice that damned blush on your face was becoming more apparent. It was probably just the effects of the alcohol and not the fact that her remark had been incredibly smooth.

Nearly two hours had passed in which you both kept passing the bottle back and forth. Each swig from the bottle made you significantly more inebriated as you both talked about everything under the sun. You told Sally about your life, and in return she told you more about herself. You’d learned that she used to be a musician, that she had been dealing with a drug addiction for decades, and that she lived here at the hotel. She even made you crack a smile or two.

There was so much alcohol in your system now that you were completely relaxed. It was as if Sally took every problem you ever had and melted it away with simple conversation. You had to admit, no one had ever made you feel this way before. Not even your own girlfriend.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked, your words slightly slurred.

“Only if I can ask you one in return.” Sally replied with a sly grin.

“That sounds like a fair trade.” “Then go right ahead, gorgeous.”

You took a deep breath as you tried to summon the right words. It might’ve been stupid, but you had a sneaking suspicion that there was something paranormal about this woman. You could’ve sworn you felt something deep in your gut telling you that it was true. The worst that could possibly happen was that she’d think you were crazy. “I’ve noticed that you’re rather unique.” You gulped, “This might sound stupid to ask, but uh, are… a-are you a-” Before you could finish your sentence, she cut you off completely. “Are you asking if I’m a ghost?” Your brows furrowed as your eyes widened slightly out of shock. It was as if she had taken the words right out of your mouth. The blonde chuckled to herself when she saw your reaction, then inhaled more smoke from her sixth cig of the night. “Yeah. I’m a ghost. Been dead for fucking years now.” She paused briefly, a fire in her eyes now. “Does that scare you?” So it was confirmed. Sally wasn’t alive… If you were honest, you weren’t sure how you felt about that. You’d seen enough of Billie’s work to know all of the signs but you didn’t figure you’d be the one that would have a run in with the dead. Shaking your head, you could feel yourself growing dizzy from this new information. You weren’t about to act like a wuss in front of her now. “Not at all.” You muttered maybe a little too quickly. Sally raised a brow at your response. “Do you believe me?” You shrugged. “I mean, you practically walked through the wall when I wasn’t looking. And you took me for a spin in the elevator earlier, which was a little eerie.” “So is that a yes?” “Yes… I believe you.” Sally looked rather pleased with you as she took back the bottle. “Good… You’re not a skeptic.” She took a swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I fucking hate skeptics.”

You simply just nodded along as you listened to her. If you were honest with yourself, you were still on the fence as if you actually believed her or if it was the alcohol getting to your head. You had been overthinking the matter so much that you had barely missed the other women speaking directly to you. “Shit- Sorry. What did you say?” You asked.

“I said it’s my turn.”

“For what?”

“To ask you a question.” A mischievous grin appeared on her pretty pale lips.

You gulped. It was just a question, and surely what she had to say wasn’t too terrible.

“R-Right. Go right ahead, ask away.”

Sally paused for a moment to fully pivot her body in your direction. She leaned forward a bit before asking,

“Why do you stay with a woman who doesn’t give you the time or day?”

A much more loaded question than you were expecting. Instead of responding, you simply took the bottle from her lap and took a very long swig to avoid saying anything whatsoever. The blonde chuckled to herself as she watched you chug the liquor down. “We had a deal, Princess.” She sang out. There had definitely been a deal, and you needed to hold up your end of the bargain.

“Billie does care about me. I promise… She’s just really busy.” You set the bottle back down before continuing, “She’s been waiting for months to get coverage on this place. There’s a reason she’s so preoccupied.”

“I’m sure that’s what it is.” Sally scoffed. “I don’t mind, though. I’m just very happy that you like blondes.” She gave you a wink as she ashed her cigarette into the glass bottle.

You were at a loss for words. No matter what you said, your new acquaintance never believed a word that you said despite explaining yourself over and over again. In a way, you felt completely defeated. You were defending a cause with not a lot of evidence to back you up. Sally could tell you were getting upset, for she got even closer and let out a whine of sympathy.

“Awe, don’t pout. Here, I’ll make a bet with you.” She began, “If this Billie chick comes in here tonight and fucks you when she sees you in this number, then I’ll keep my distance and respect your relationship. But if she goes straight to bed?” She paused for a moment to discard her cigarette completely, “You have to come by my room and let me show you how pretty you are.”

The immediate flush upon your cheeks was enough for Sally to chuckle darkly to herself. You were sure you had never blushed this hard in your life. You couldn’t remember how long it had been since someone had flirted with you like this, let alone your own girlfriend.

“U-Uh- I’m not so sure about that-” You stammered.

“Let me put it this way; When will you ever get to tell someone that you got to make a bet with a ghost?”

She had a fair point. Surely the drinks weren’t helping you to make any logical decisions. Your head felt like it was spinning as the words fell out of your mouth,

“Fine. Sure, why not.” You were sure that the blonde was just bluffing, what harm was one little bet going to do?

But oh how you would regret ever saying a damn words.

“Good.” The next moment, Sally’s face was only an inch away from your own and those deep brown eyes were staring directly into yours.

“How about you let me give you a sneak peek?” She whispered.

Your breath caught in your throat. Her stare put you into a trance, though you did your best to stay grounded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Mm, it’s only a kiss.” Her fingers reached out and danced upon your shoulder, “Maybe two.”

Before you knew it, you were paralyzed under her touch. Your eyes shut tight as if to try and wake yourself from some sort of dream, but as you did so, something hot pressed to the side of your neck. Her soft lips brushed against your skin, your heart beginning to beat rapidly in your chest. Her hand traveled up to caress your cheek and her forehead rested upon yours as you slowly opened your eyes. There was no denying there was a heated passion building inside you.

“Come on, Princess. Let me taste those pretty lips of yours.” Her voice was so dark and inviting. You couldn’t help but swoon into her touch.

“Sally…” You tried to protest, but you were finding it hard to resist. Your vision grew hazy the moment she captured your mouth into a tender kiss.

You felt as if you should’ve been beating yourself up for not stopping her, but you craved the amount of affection she was offering you. After the first, she kissed you again with much more confidence. Her tongue slid against your bottom lip as if to beg for entrance. Your mouth opened with ease as she eagerly deepened the contact between you both, slowly but full of lust. A low groan escaped her which in turn caused you to whimper against her. You could tell how bad she wanted you, but more importantly, you were starting to realize how badly you wanted Sally.

You pulled away briefly to catch your breath though you managed to stay close. The other woman let out a soft laugh before practically moaning, “I could eat you up.” She bit her lower lip as her gaze studied your mouth and back up to your eyes.

“I can’t imagine what your pussy tastes like.”

“Sally- jesus.” You hissed.

Thankfully, she rose from where she had been sitting before picking up the bottle of liquor and the two glasses she had originally come in with. Her hip was cocked out to the side as she watched your every move.

“You just wait,” She said as she pointed toward you, “You’re gonna lose.”

“I will not!” You rebutted.

“We’ll see about that.”

You moved to protest her words, but in the blink of an eye, she had completely vanished. The room had seemed to change as well for everything seemed much darker than a moment ago. The window revealed a black sky full of stars. How much time had passed?

The faint sound of clicking heels echoed down the corridor outside your door. Billie.

At least she was finished filming so you could forget this night had ever happened. You made sure to freshen up your hair and get into a position that looked inviting for your girlfriend to walk into, for you were sure you wouldn’t lose your end of the bet. Billie loved you, and that was a fact. She wouldn’t deny the chance to spend a sensual evening with you.

The door swung open. In the doorway was Billie Dean, her posture slightly slouched as she flashed a winning, yet sleepy smile to you.

“Hey, Honey. How was your night?” She asked, her voice groggy as ever.

“It was fine.” You replied immediately. Your head was still woozy from all of the alcohol. “I missed you, though.”

Billie plopped down on the opposite end of the bed as she kicked off her heels. She shimmied out of her skirt, then worked at the buttons of her blouse to reveal her silk slip. You did your best to appear sexy but it was proving to be difficult when she wasn’t even paying attention to you.

“I missed you too. I’m so exhausted, we spent hours wandering this place and didn’t find a damn thing.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah. We’ll try again in the morning.” Once she was situated for bedtime, Billie got under the covers next to you. She leaned over to press a soft peck to your cheek before turning around to turn off the lamp beside her.

“Goodnight.”

“Wait, don’t you want to spend some time together?”

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so tired. Why don’t we grab breakfast in the morning? I promise I’ll make it up to you after I’ve had plenty of sleep.”

“But-”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

She turned completely away from you and didn’t notice a damn thing. Not what you were wearing, or what you looked like, or how she had made you feel so lonely. Instead of fighting her on the matter, you sighed sadly to yourself.

“Goodnight, Billie.”

You turned off your own lamp before curling up under the blankets and faced where Billie’s back had turned. Tears stung your eyes once again, though you managed to stay completely silent to try and drift to sleep. You were nearly asleep when you felt a familiar sensation upon your neck; hot breathing and a soft pair of lips. A warm kiss was placed upon you as you heard Sally’s voice faintly whisper in your ear,

“I win.”

#sally mckenna x reader #billie dean howard x reader #ahs #ahs imagine

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