#trust him with all your netherworld needs

[flyingspicerack]

Ichijuice. Ichijuice. Ichijuice!!!

[meabh-mcinness]

I really loved your Narnia courting headcanons!, can we get the same but for Kalego and opera?

You sure can! We’ll start with Kalego and then do Opera in a separate post because space~ totally not because I find them harder to write hahaha😅

Kalego Courting Human!reader

Much like his older brother, it’ll take a minute for Kalego to even admit he likes you, much less try to court you.

But for a completely different reason.

Whereas Narnia wouldn’t want to because you’re human, Kalego wouldn’t want to because he seems to have some less than desirable thoughts towards “love”.

Likely due to the way he was raised I will strangle whoever came up with the Naberius rules, I swear He seems to be the type to believe love is a distraction rather than something to seek out or even want.

Probably doesn't help that you're related to a boss he hates and a student who constantly causes trouble. Not to mention who your security devil is.

Also, he probably doesn’t know you’re human still, at least in the beginning.

Because let’s be honest, at this point it’s not so much that no one trusts him with the secret so much as you just literally forgot to tell him and have assumed he knew, since both Shichirou and Opera do, and he's always involved in things that happen.

(This leads to a very funny confrontation one day when you kinda just throw out some knowledge about the human world in comparison to the Netherworld.

“You act like you’ve been there.”

“Well of course I have, it’s a bit hard to be born a human down here. Although I wouldn’t be too surprised if there's a small colony or two hidden somewhere. As a race, we're rather adaptable, it's why Iruma and I can attune to different situations so well.”

“…born as a what now?” 😐)

He may have a tiny fit about this at first.

Humans are considered weak and fragile, after all.

But he gets over it.

Once he finally admits to himself he does in fact fancy you, he still won't make a move right away.

Kalego is a surprisingly cautious demon, and he doesn't want to risk the humiliation of rejection, or make either of you uncomfortable.

He will however choose to be around you more, subtly testing the waters with your reactions to different things.

He isn't very good at it, though.

You ask to borrow a pen since yours has run out of ink? He'll hand one over with only a bit of snark, his fingers purposefully brushing against your palm and linger for a moment or two longer than necessary.

You complain, only to him, about running out of your favourite brand of something? The next day, you have an "anonymous" gift of that very thing.

He is only slightly less petty to you. Whereas other 'newbie' teachers will end up with piles of work as tall as them, yours is maybe half that.

Just as I said in Narnia's, I think demons start courtships with gifts!

I think he'll probably give you something along the lines of practicality, but specialized practicality.

Perhaps a leather-bound notebook with a pretty one of a kind design on it. If you're the artist type, he might get you the highest quality brushes with your name ingrained on them.

I still stand by that Kalego is the silent acts of service, gift giving and quiet quality time type.

He's a confirmed rich boy, and so has no issue giving you gifts he thinks are worthy of your station.

Definitely not into PDA. The most you're getting out of him in a public space is an offered elbow and a hand on your back to guide you in crowded areas. If you're lucky, you might get a hand to hold.

I don't know why, but hand holding with him just seems super OOC to me. But him placing a possessive hand on your back seems far more in character.

He's an old school lover by personality and training.

He is better at initiating at home, but not by much.

Will hug you randomly when he needs comfort, though. Buries his face in your neck to inhale your scent until he has nothing but an empty brain and you.

While he's bad at initiating touch, he's perfectly fine with you doing it. Just gotta warn him before you do bigger things.

Want to rest your head on his shoulder while you both grade? AOK, as long as you're in private.

Want to sit in his lap while you both read, sharing a glass of wine, music playing in the background? He's more than OK with that.

He also enjoys having you pet his head. Enjoys the pressure of your fingers against the spots where headaches had been forming, and then are chased away by your skilled ministrations.

Also, I feel like he would enjoy ear messages?

I personally think that much like Narnia's been confirmed to have a seriously good sense of smell, Kalego has seriously good hearing.

He says "Silence!" so much, even when the people around him don't seem that loud, because they actually are that loud to him.

Better than normal senses are both a blessing and a curse. For him, though, it's mostly a curse.

He works in a high school filled with loud teenagers and just as loud co-workers. His ears are probably practically bleeding before the first period has even started.

Which is why he enjoys the ear messages. Helps the pain go away.

When it comes to you, though? He's never been happier to have it.

He loves music, but he's found no better rhythm than your heart beat and has never heard a better vocalist, even when you're sick with a scratchy voice.

You are quite literally his favourite song.

Hope you're brushed up in musical terms, by the way. He will use them a lot.

Despite his love of music, he probably doesn't get much chance to talk about it. So you're going to bear the brunt of everything he wants to say from the "The lyrics are atrocious, but the melody is quite lovely. Though they could stand to add a piano bit here and perhaps a few more strings." to "Have you heard so-and-so's latest album? It's really very good compared to other things coming out lately. It almost seems like this band knows what they're doing. Almost."

Although let's be real, hearing him jabber on about his interests is not going to be a chore.

Speaking of interests, I hope you're OK with cacti because they are everywhere.

He likes to collect them and takes great joy in caring for them.

Will occasionally compare you to one, but he means it in a good way.

Not in a 'you're really prickly' way, but in a 'Much like their beauty, yours is incomparable and unmatched before anyone else's' kind of way.

He'll also do things for you without prompting.

Running low on items needed for a beloved hobby? You'll suddenly find them replaced the next day.

Need to eat, but you don't have the energy to cook? He'll either cook for you or have a spontaneous restaurant date.

He'll always have a fresh steaming cup of tea for you in the morning. Or your whatever your favourite drink is if you don't like tea.

On a side note, I feel bad for you coffee lovers because I'm pretty certain it doesn't exist in the Netherworld, and it doesn't seem like there is a counterpart to it.

Have fun going cold turkey! -Love from a tea enthusiast

He will play music for you!

And if you also play an instrument? Even it's just singing or a light clapping of the hands, he would love to duet with you. Having a partner to play music with is literally something I can see him looking for in a partner.

If you don't play an instrument, but like to dance? He would more than love to see you dancing to his music.

It makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel.

If you can't music or dance, don't worry! He's more than happy to just play for you as you listen.

If you're interested, though, he'll be more than happy to teach you.

Little at home dates teaching you to play the piano or the violin, or any instrument you want to learn, is one of his favourite ways to spend time with you.

Line Break

He's quite distressed though when he realizes that by courting you, he's exposing himself more to the Sullivan family. He had to call out for a few days from the headache it gave him and wanted to cry at the fact he'd have to be related to the two demons he hated most, plus his favourite problem child.

Unlike Narnia though, he's incredibly helpful with raising Iruma since he practically already saw him as his own pup anyway. (Lets be honest, all of the misfits are his kids, even if he won't admit it.)

He brings the stricter side of parenting to your softer one to help balance it out. Iruma is quite happy with this arrangement, since now he has another parent to bring pride too and encourage him.

Sullivan cries a lot at Kalego blocking him from a good portion of his overboard ideas when it comes to you and Iruma. It's one of the few times you can see Kalego and Opera working together without complaint.

He's also a real guard dog when it comes to you.

He is fully willing and able to fight off anyone and everyone who decides they want to have a go at you. Even if it's his own family members. Whether it be members who have gone rogue coughNarniacough or members who think that courting is beneath Naberius's, especially unranked demons, he'll fight them all.

Listen, I have a headcannon that the Naberius clan uses highly ranked surrogate carriers and just don't do courting/marriages because romance would be a distraction.

Kalego fully believed in this until he met you. Now he's fighting the other family members (i.e his father, because his uncle couldn't care less) into submission because he refuses to give you up.

Speaking of Naberius headcannons I'm pretty sure they all have dog tails, and while Kalego usually hides his, he'll let it out and about for you. When you're alone, of course.

He refuses to admit it out loud, but he enjoys your fingers running through his tail fur, move your fingers just right, and you might even get to see it wag a little.

Will occasionally sit down next to you and just plop his tail in your lap for the pets while pretending to have not noticed and be doing something else.

Also, he's addicted to you even if he's very good at not showing it.

He's not pleased to go an extended amount of time without seeing you.

Will be extra grump and waspish during that separation period, and then will actually be slightly touchy when you're back.

Especially after the HeartBreaker exam, he will be keeping an incredibly close eye on you, and will be making lots of excuses on why you should be spending time together. From schedule/training planning for the misfits, to paperwork discussions when on school property, to a lot of at home dates when you're not at school.

In other words you have your own personal guard dog.

[t0kidal]

What if? Part 2.

Now that yes, you and your son are safe, you’ve lost your wings, all that was left to do was adjust.

More or less...

After all, one of a demon’s most distinct traits were their wings... without them... 

Needless to say, learning to cope without them would be a bit hard.

But it wasn’t like anyone else had to know.

Yes, ‘No one else has to know’, is what you were thinking until (after a little cry session with your son) the doors leading to outside opened...

And in walked Sullivan, one of the three greats. 

His cat demon butler.

A Naberius.

And their really big masked friend. 

‘Shit.’

You shouldn’t be this calm... but what could you do? You were still weary and weak from whatever ordeal you and Iruma -- who was still clinging to you as if you might vanish before his eyes -- went through.

So you go on the initiative.

You sit up and cover your horns then your fangs as you spoke, “Good afternoon. Thank you for taking care of me and my son. Is... there anything you needed from us?”

Swallow your nerves and steel your resolve.

Meet their eyes straight on.

That quickly crumbled as you subconsciously squeeze your son a little tighter when the biggest one comes walking over. But... he does so slowly...  making sure you see each step he takes as he pulls up a chair and sits at your bedside opposite of Iruma.

“Hello, Ms...?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Balam Shichiro, you can call me Balam.”

He seems a little hesitant to continue... but as you look at him expectantly, and relax your hold on Iruma (who takes to standing by you, his hand in yours) He continues.

“First, I’d like to ask how much do you remember.”

And so the questions continue, slowly, gently, you managed to ask him a couple in return and learn that he’s a scientist, he tutors some magic history but his main course was on...

Imaginary creatures...

‘Shit!’

Seeing your eyes widen when you learn this and how you squeeze Iruma’s hand, he’s quick to cut to the chase, a little panicked himself

“We know your son’s human. But! It’s ok, truly, he’s not in any danger, or trouble.”

“But the same can’t be said for you.”

You’re pale, almost faint as the Naberius growls that out. His unhurried steps full of poise and grace only told you how dead you were.

Instinctively you bare your fangs.

He only scoffs at that.

“You’ve violated Netherworld law-”

“Kalego-kun!” Interrupted his friend, but he keeps going.

“As you know the Naberius clan works as the best guardians in the Netherworld. With my position as Babyl’s guard dog, my older brother stands as a vital part... Of Border Patrol.”

You don’t say anything, you can’t say anything, what to do, what do you do?

“I should re-” A hard chop to the head by the cat demon startles you. ‘Kalego-kun’s’ head is snapped forward as he trembles in barely contained rage.

“Bad dog.”

“OpEra... SenPai.”

“Now now, settle down you three~”

Ah... if you didn’t know you were screwed, you’re screwed. It only takes two steps for him to usher ‘Opera’ and ‘Kalego’ out the room.

Leaving you with himself and the scientist.

“You’re not having Iruma.” You rush out. “You’re not going to lay a hand on him, so help me Delkira-”

“Now now~ I understand you two have had a long and stressful week~ But let’s settle down and discuss the most important details.”

You fall silent, still extremely unsure, but then...

A gentle squeeze, a gentle voice...

“It’ll be alright mom, I think we can trust them... they watched out for me while you were sleeping. And were so kind...”

...

You sigh, “Alright... if you say so, Iruma.”

As Sullivan explains, you were asleep for a week, Iruma had woken up four days before you did, they’re not taking him away, no one’s going to eat him, unstable magic released from the border caused the extreme pain but... that’s not all that’s happened.

“Iruma-kun... Why don’t you show your mother what we’ve been practicing~”

At that, Iruma take a second to concentrate... and suddenly, a pair of wings spread from his back. 

Feathered, a dark almost black indigo...

They looked just like yours.

Iruma could only smile sheepishly at your expression, surprise, mixed with amazement, and disbelief. Was this possible? was this real? would your boy finally fly as he wished? 

“Oh my gosh this is... Amazing Iruma! You... you have wings! Wings of your very own!”

All of their smiles fall... and the atmosphere thickens... at that last phrase.

“Hmm?” You look around, a little confused...

“Mom... These wings... aren’t mine...”

“They’re yours, Y/n-san.” Balam continues, “As a human... he can’t grow a pair of wings... such is simply... outside of his biological capabilities. But... as he shares... some kind of connection with you... it seems like... somehow.. wing roots were transferred to him.”

“From... me...”

“Yes.”

You pause... letting it all soak in... before tentatively reaching behind you... touching your back, trying to touch where your wing roots used to be... trying to call out your wings...

Your wings...

And you slowly give up... and let go... 

“Oh... I... I see...”

You don’t look at them as you think for a second... they’re saying something to you but you don’t really hear them...

But you quickly snap out of it when you hear sniffles and see... your little boy, crying.

“I’m sorry mom... I shouldn’t have asked what it was like to fly, I should’ve-”

“Iruma.” You calmly interrupt him, “What did I say about ‘Should’ve’ or ‘Shouldn’t’ve’ or ‘what if’s ?”

“They don’t help anyone... most of all yourself?”

“Exactly. Iruma, I’m not mad, I’m not sad. You don’t have to worry about me. I understand that you do because you’re my son and you love me just like how I love you. But none of this was your fault and it never will be.”

You take a brief moment to pause, wiping away his tears, casting a look to the other two still in the room.

They take the hint and leave... once they do, you scoot over and let Iruma lean into your side. He almost never does this, always being so self sufficient even without your teachings and you were so proud of him for his resilience.

“Iruma, to tell you the truth... last night... I made a wish. Deep in my heart I knew how frustrating it must’ve been to be so different from the other children, and wanting what they had... I knew that, this spiel of ours... you, a human disguised as a demon in the Netherworld, might end one day. Lucky for us it doesn’t look like that’ll be today... but that’s besides the point.”

You take to stroking his hair, the little cowlick on the top of his head relaxing as he did.

“I have wanted nothing more than for you to be happy here... safe from the cruel humans who left you here... free to pursue your ambitions. Now that you have wings... and look more like a demon... I think it’ll be a bit easier for you... I love you, Iruma.”

This prompts him to cry a little more, and you let him... after all, he needed these moments... moments to decompress and be allowed to grieve, as he was already so strong. 

You hope that your son, never falls to despair. 

~~~

Little did either of you know the serious faces on three out of the four outside as they listened to your spiel.

~~~

“Thank you for your Hospitality” You can’t help but bow, “Are you sure we haven’t overstayed our welcome?”

Naberius and Balam had left a few hours earlier after a checkup and a firm talking to. As Balam ran some check ups (big warm handed himbo alert) you had a bit of a... dilemma killing the blush that threatened to tint your cheeks.

Whereas Kalego made it very clear that, should you cause any more trouble he’ll be forced to take action... but nothing about his brother so you assumed that he’s saying he’ll help if anything else happens.

“Nonsense~! It’s always nice to have guests around~. It’s been much too quiet~!” Sullivan, as you came to learn, was a wild card and liked variety in his life.

“Sullivan-sama, shall I prepare dinner for all of us?”

“All?”

“Why yes~! You’re staying for dinner aren’t you~? It’ll be quite darks soon~!”

Well... that was true... you guessed it couldn’t hurt... After all you were still a little weak, and should anything happen you might not be able to protect both yourself and Iruma.

“Thank you again for helping us.”

“It was my pleasure!”

~~~

But that was Friday. Saturday, and Sunday, you tried to return home only for Sullivan and Opera to give more excuses. You were grateful but unsure of why exactly they wanted you and Iruma around so bad.

On the Monday after, you decide to walk with Iruma to school. 

It felt a little more like he was walking you though. No doubt with the loss of your wings you felt... more fragile... brittle... like a youthful old woman if that made sense... And you supposed Iruma could sense that too despite your reassurances that you were still fully capable of self defense. 

Granted, the option to run away is severely limited now but it wasn’t anything to cry over...

To your surprise, you were personally greeted by Iruma’s teacher. You had called ahead to sign him up for flying supplementary courses... oh...

There was Naberius Kalego standing behind them.

Rest in peace.

“Y/n-san! It’s so good to have you!” They were almost crying... what is going on?

After seeing the mirth and the question on your face, “He was here to do an evaluation...”

You pat their shoulder, “Rest in peace.”

They sob, ‘thank you’ s faint as you turn your head in question to Naberius.

“Tch, that damn Chair demon sent me here, I’ve already finished my investigation of the environment, and will be leaving soon.”

You only nod. 

Iruma and his teacher went inside not soon after, and you too this opportunity to start walking to your shift. 

And you hear another set of footsteps walk with you.

... ‘Lo and behold, it’s Naberius.

Some time during your walk, your work place was neither close nor far from Iruma’s school, Naberius Kalego decides to break the ice.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day. Springing on you like a wild dog was unbecoming of me, and put unnecessary stress on you after such a horrifying experience.”

“... It was... really painful...”

“I can only imagine, and I’d like to say... I’m sorry. Though I know that can’t make up for much of my rudeness.”

“.. Thank you... I really appreciate that... But you’re right.”

You’re still a demon after all, though you do appreciate the apology.

“How do you plan on compensating me for this?” You pause and whip your gaze over to the demon.

“Tch, What? I suppose you’ll be asking for a favor? Whatever it is I’m not do-”

“It’s for Iruma. Since he’s still new to flying... I’d like it if you could watch out for him... I’ll probably ask Balam-san if he knows any other avian demons to teach him how to fly... er...”

Aaaand there goes your bravado.

But to your surprise, he’s actually considering it.

“He’s going to be a first year in the high school division after this summer right? Your request, makes sense... after all, it’d put Babyls to shame if I didn’t do my job properly... Granted, he might not be in my class.”

True... but.. you do a slight bow, “Thank you anyway... I really appreciate it.”

He looks so shocked, and perplexed, but says nothing and leaves with a coffee after you clock in for work.

He wasn’t your only visitor for the day. Soon after, Balam came along. You were about to just, sit around for lunch, but apparently, he had something to talk to you about.

So, once you two were seated, in the back, he started to discuss (VERY quietly) possible connections, other than emotional ones, that would allow your wings to go from you to Iruma.

“Do you recall.. if anything happened?.. Like... maybe some kind of transference of blood?”

You had to snort at that, and you do, but you almost choke on your food. 

But he takes this as wrathful disbelief, “Not to say that you intentionally drank any or anything of the sort bu-”

“No no.. you’re fine... I wasn’t quite sure just what he was when I found him. He was just a little kid right? But he smelled unusual... which attracted a lot of monsters near my house.. I had to fight them off... but... I got hurt pretty bad at some point.”

He listens intently, curious, you suppose that that’s normal for a scientist...

“And then..” you smile, “even as a little kid... no older than four maybe five... he tried to protect me. And it was so strange and heart warming that someone so small trusted me already... But of course, this didn’t suddenly make him an expert at combat no... then, when he was struck, a little drop of blood, by some miracle or force of luck, landed in my wound and I was healed.

That’s the only occurrence that comes to mind...”

Balam was satisfied with this, and frantically jotted down some notes, he stays and you chat for a little, before he ultimately has to leave.

Feeling eyes on your back, you turn your head and see your juniors looking at you with starry eyes. 

“Y/n-san, was that your partner?”

“No! How could he be! She walked over here with that devi-handsome guy! The one with the sharper face!”

“But then who just left? who stayed to talk to her?!”

“Th-”

You gotta nip this in the bud, “Alright! Alright! Let’s leave it be alright? I understand that this is a rare occurrence but they were just checking on me after that emergency last Friday, remember? And I don’t recall ‘updates on personal lives’ to be a part of our contracts.”

They immediately droop, which makes you feel a little bad but it’s for the better.

“C’mon, don’t you two have any tea from your lives to spill?”

You could only laugh as they both turn red and protest.

Opera had come by later that afternoon to pick up another order for Sullivan.

The ensuing conversation led to a lot of questions after though...

“Y/n-san, we were wondering if you’d be interested in moving a little closer to town.”

That made you pause, before continuing to double check the order information.

“Opera-san, I understand that what happened was... startling, but as you and I both know, I’m perfectly happy where I am. It’s a place where I can live through my own volition as well as provide Iruma with all that I can. I would hate to impose on you and... (here, you drop your voice) Sullivan-sama.”

His ears twitch a little, and you can clearly see that he doesn’t plan on giving up.

He also drops to a whisper, “In actuality, Sullivan-sama and I have grown fond of you and Iruma. (noticing your immediate distrust) And no, it’s not because of you know what.”

You sigh and get back to work, “I said no, Opera...” it could be an opportunity for Iruma... “It’s too sudden for my tastes.”

“Understood, I’ll try again later. Take care then.”

“Wait no- that’s not what I-” Aaand... he’s gone.

~~~

Iruma’s day was... enough to say, chaotic as all hell. 

Which is technically where he lives but still.

His classmates, though many did not like him for his gentle nature, were more or less unsurprised by his wings. It was a bit of a fuss when they were first having flight classes and he had to sit out so often in the past, seeing how perfectly healthy they are now changes some things...

But it was ok, really, he was going to be graduating and going to high school soon.

The day he got these things though... his classmates call it a freak growths spurt...

‘A wiggling under his skin, and then a sharp pain that traveled everywhere, up and down, settling behind his eyes and in his toes...’

He shakes it off, opting to not think about it.

What he can’t stop thinking about, however, is how important these wings are...

His mom, the woman who raised him, who kept him alive for so long despite her own struggles and provided him with every necessity he could ever need... not to mention that unconditional love critical for any child’s growth... 

What was she supposed to do now?

He knows how important wings are in demon society... it can determine your love life, your profession, the difference between life or death...

Even though she reassured him, he still worried... but for now... he’s got no other choice than to trust her.

And to get stronger so that he could stay with her. Yes, as a human... he’s got no choice. 

He wants this, he needs this, because this is where fate brought him... and this is where he chooses to be.

[snippychicke]

For Sake of a Smile

Ohhhh changing jobs and depression is kicking my ass. Here after two weeks of delays is Chapter thirteen!

Title: For the Sake of a Smile-- Chapter Thirteen

Fandom: Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything.

And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| mairimashitai! Simps Discord

Kalego arched a brow as Shichiro slumped into the chair in front of his desk, looking rather pitiful. The news had reached him about Shichiro finally having asked you to court - which had been a massive headache considering how unruly his students had been since. He presumed the demon would be elated; not look like one of the many 'subjects' had died or ran away.

"I just… what do you get as a courting offering?" Shichiro asked quietly. "Nothing seems good enough."

"We are talking about the demon who barged in because of one of your picture books, her tone so high it made Cerberion whine?"

Shichiro flushed slightly, sinking even lower and the memory. He had been completely oblivious of Kalego's - and Cerberion's - discomfort, instead enraptured as you praised his work.

"She's going to be happy no matter what," Kalego continued with a sigh. "Don't stress so much, the last thing you need is to trigger an evil cycle."

"True," Shichiro sighed, though his hands continued to be restless in his lap. "But… this should be special, right?"

"What did she give you?"

It had been the gossip of the faculty, discussing that while Shichiro reportedly was the one to ask you to court, you had been the one to give him an offering first. But no one had figured out what the offering had been.

While he would refuse to answer the others, Shichiro would surely tell him if he asked - especially if it was to help decide on his own offering (and not just for curiosity's sake.)

Except Shichiro was silent, looking more like a reluctant student than anything as he avoided Kalego's gaze. 

"Seriously?" He swore, arching his brow once more, causing the larger demon to squirm.

What would cause him not to…

Oh.

Kalego felt his own cheeks warm. "I honestly didn't think her to be so… forward."

There was a look of confusion on Shichiro’s face before it turned a deep red as he caught on to Kalego's train of thought.

"No! It's nothing like that! It's just, uh, well…."

Shichiro fumbled with his words, which only confused Kalego more. If it wasn't something more risqué in nature, then why was he being so secretive about it?

"She… gave me something very… valuable, and personable," Shichiro admitted after a moment. "And…  also something that might cause others to have… questions about how she acquired them."

That made absolutely no sense to Kalego. The mystery that surrounded you was only growing more perplexing, and it was starting to become irritating.

Especially if you were dragging Shichiro into the mess.

"She is a member of Babyls now," Kalego pointed out coldly. "Bound by the same oath we took. While we all have our personal lives and history, our duty to our students comes first." Balam finally met his gaze, tilting his head slightly. Kalego leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "I appreciate that she is your intended, Shichiro. And while I trust Lord Sullivan, I do not do so complacently. If whatever she is hiding is a danger to the school, or to its students…"

"Absolutely not," Shichiro answered firmly. "Believe me, Kalego, she is no danger to anyone." He paused, contemplating something before admitting quietly. "If anyone is in danger, it's her."

It didn't lead him closer to any answers, but Kalego relaxed back into his chair. He didn't trust Lord Sullivan blindly, but he would Shichiro.

If he said you weren't a threat, then you weren't.

But if he said you were the one in danger… "She won't lead trouble to Babyls, will she?"

Shichiro shook his head without hesitation. "No. Her secrets aren't mine to tell, Kalego. So please, trust me when I say she is innocent, and won't cause any trouble."

Kalego sighed heavily. "Considering how troublesome her son is - along with how the rest of the Misfits seem to flock to her - I find that hard to believe. But, for your sake, I'll try."

Shichiro relaxed as well, a smile hiding behind his mask. "Thank you, Kalego."

The black-haired demon waved his thanks away, "I still say she'll be delighted with whatever you end up giving as an offering. Though, she is a bit of a bookwyrm. Almost as bad as Furcus, come to think of it..."

---

"...and then Purson started talking, and he didn't quit," Iruma explained in between bites of food. "He went from not saying a word to talking more with one breath than I thought was possible."

You recalled the lavender-haired child that you frequently saw tagging along with the rest of the Misfit class; he was quiet with a usual apathetic expression on his face. Yet every time you went to ask if he was okay, he'd disappear into literal thin air.

"And then it turns out he's the Pixie! You know, the mysterious trumpet player?"

You, Sullivan, and even Opera nodded heads. Everyone at Babyls knew about the trumpet player that announced the end of the school day with their vibrant and usually quick-tempo pieces.

"He has to be part of our musical! Not just because he and Elizabetta need to rank up two ranks, but because he deserves the recognition!" Iruma said firmly, his determined expression ruined by his cheeks puffed with food.

Well, not ruined. Just more adorable than anything else.

"Why don't you focus on eating now, and plan later," You offered while Opera pushed the tray laden full of desserts closer to him. Iruma eagerly accepted the idea and helped himself to some of his favorite pudding.

"What about you?" Sullivan asked, turning towards with too innocent a smile. "Anything interesting happen today?"

You stared at your food acutely aware of everyone's attention now focused on you, full of expectation. You knew that this confrontation was inevitable, but you had yet to figure out how to deal with it. Your instinct was to deny, deny, deny, but… you knew that wouldn't work.

Besides, Shichiro was nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, just thinking about him filled you with a comforting warmth and happiness.

"Um, well," You started before taking a deep breath. "Shichiro and I have… come to an understanding."

Opera perked up, tail and ears betraying their excitement. "Shichiro?"

Oh. Oops.

Before you could react, Sullivan tackled you with a hug as he cried happily. "My baby girl is growing up so fast! Soon, I'll be able to hear the little click-clack of tiny clawed feet running around! And my beloved grandson will be a big brother!"

"Dad!" You protested, feeling yourself turn red at the thought, but also felt your stomach twist. You glanced over to Iruma, worried about his reaction to Sullivan's wild fantasy. After all, he finally had a family he deserved - and you could completely understand if the thought of having to share his family would cause some… issues.

Except the boy was grinning excitedly, obviously not at all bothered by the idea.

Still. "We just started courting! Literally yesterday!" You protested. "It's far too soon to think about… 'bout…" Children. Babies. With Shichiro.

Which meant....

"But, big brother?" Iruma asked, still obviously excited and thankfully derailing those thoughts. It wasn't the time nor the place, really.

"Look, Shichiro and I haven't had any kind of discussion about this and I really think it's too early to start daydreaming about it."

Iruma was persistent however, as he slowly made his way to your side. "But. If you do, eventually, I'll be their big brother?"

You gave him a slight frown. "Well, yeah? Of course."

You soon ended up being tackled by Iruma as well, and squished between him and Sullivan in a hug-pile. You squawked in an undignified manner, and then again when Opera draped themself over your shoulders; a picture in their hand.

It was a photo of a young boy, with white fluffy hair smiling at the camera while holding a small lizard creature towards the photographer. You could barely see long, large, too big for his body chick-feet; which made the picture even more adorable. It took you a moment to realize it was a very young Shichiro, before whatever caused his scar.

A squee escaped your throat despite your best efforts as your maternal instincts reared its head, temporarily overcoming your common sense.

He was so cute!!!

For a brief moment, you could easily see yourself mothering a few mini-Shichiros; those big feet and fluffy hair and that adorable smile, and then Iruma happily helping out and playing with his younger siblings - because he would be an amazing big brother. He'd be so kind and attentive as an older brother, showing interest in whatever they were playing with and carefully teaching them life lessons....

Oh. Devi. They had successfully corrupted you.

---

One moment you were lost in your thoughts as you walked towards Furcus's prep-room that she shared with Dali, arms laden with the books that you had convinced Sullivan--dad-- to find (which he hadn't even hesitated, wrapping you up in a hug as he promised to do his best). The next you were literally swept from your feet and being cradled gently but firmly to a familiar chest, shoulder-length white hair tickling your nose.

"Shichiro!" You laughed as you clutched to him, careless of the books that had been unceremoniously dumped on the ground.

"Good morning," Shichiro mumbled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"Good morning," You agreed, whole body feeling warm and your heart light. This wasn't at all what you had expected, though you wondered why you hadn't considered it. After all - he was already affectionate, but now that you were courting? You could easily get used to this.  "How are you this morning?" You asked, raking your fingers through his hair, careless of the looks you were garnering.

"Good, you?"

You were about to say 'better' now that he had literally swept you off your feet - how could you not? But Kalego's heavy sigh interrupted you.

"Really, Shichiro?"

"You're just jealous," You teased, clinging to him as you looked down at the dark-haired professor.

"Disturbed is more-so the correct word," He shot back. "You're both making a scene in front of the students."

There was a rebellious part of you that wanted to make more of a scene, but that would mean removing Shichiro's mask and you weren't sure he would be happy with you doing that in public.

"Oh, right." Shichiro set you down before picking up the books you dropped. "Sorry."

"Don't be," You answered honestly as you accepted the books back. "You just made my day a hundred percent better."

He grinned behind his mask, cheeks a deep pink. "I'll see you at lunch then?"

There was no way you couldn't recall lunch the day before, when neither of you had anything to eat. You unconsciously bit and worried your lip, reliving those wonderful moments.

"I don't want to know," Kalego once more interrupted your daydreams. Your face felt as warm as Shichiro's dark-red cheeks looked, and the relatively-smaller demon tugged at his friend. "Come along Shichiro. I don't trust you two alone at this point."

----

It was no secret that the entirety of Babyls faculty and students knew about you and Shichiro courting by mid-morning. Looks and conspiratorial giggles followed you through the halls, and you found even more students attempting to watch you nonchalantly but failing utterly.

Though after the revelation of Iruma's classmate Purson, you wondered how many more were watching without you noticing.

But really, you couldn't care less at the moment. Your heart as well as your mind was happily drifting on cloud-nine as you went through the day, eagerly awaiting the noon hour.

"Ma'am?"

You looked up to see the half-dozen students that formed the small Library Battler; headed by Furcus and her love of knowledge, they had been a large part of helping organize the library.

Furcus had teased you were also stealing her students affections from her. (Well, you had assumed it was one of her dry teasings.)

Yet today, instead of vibrating from excitement about some new rare book their teacher had shared with them - or fuming with righteous anger of another student disrespecting a text - the six young demons looked unsure; most of them standing behind Mneme, the fifth-year student leader of the batra.

"Who did what?" You asked with a sigh. After all, they would only pull their noses from a book if it was something important.

"We heard you've... accepted Professor Balam's offer to court." Mneme continued, clutching her book tightly. "While we are not skilled fighters like many of our peers, we wish to offer our assistance."

You blinked owlishly at them, sure you misheard or misunderstood. "Assistance...?"

"Professor Balam, while one of the more powerful of demons, and skilled with the knowledge regarding biology of both flora and fauna of the Netherworld," Alim offered as he peeked around Mneme. "He also has... questionable hobbies."

You groaned, "Devi, not that stupid rumor again. Professor Balam does not experiment and torture students. Yes, he can be a bit handsy and enthusiastic at times..." Which weren't exactly negatives in your book by any means.

"We're aware of that, Ma'am," Ji-Su interrupted as you trailed off, your mind trying vainly to clamber back into a daydream of being wrapped up in Schichiro's arms, him mindlessly stroking your hair as you nestled in his lap, safe and happy. "But we mean his other hobbies."

Other...hobbies? "Huh?" You asked, mind turning to try to figure out what they were talking about that would warrant such a sneer in their voice.

"Well, the picture books," Ismene admitted with a whisper. "What kind of self-respecting demon - let alone a professor of Babyls - likes picture books."

"His picture books? Thats what's got you all up in arms?" If you weren't struggling before, you were now. A soft snicker escaped first, before you started laughing whole-heartedly, or maybe it was hysterically. Devi, they had issues because of that?!

"He is a teacher!" Mneme protested. "Ma'am, as powerful and intelligent as he may be, you have to admit its disconcerting."

"I wouldn't say disconcerting. I actually find it quite adorable."

"We are scholars," Wasi spoke. "Such things are beneath us! Professor Balam is one of the leading scholars when it comes to biology."

"And imaginary creatures!" You protested.

"Well, yes, but again thats hardly something a demon with his status should be focusing on! Theories that can never be proven, and books that dumb down knowledge are beneath him! Beneath Babyls!"

Ah. Now you could kinda see where they were coming from. "But, I believe it's a testament to his knowledge of subjects to be able to explain it in such simple terms. If we didn't have picture books, how hard would it be to capture the interest of small children? Also, while imaginary creatures are impossible to prove, I think its a great mental exercise. And plus, have you even seen his drawings? They are so cute!"

The group of young demons looked at each other, doubt and suspicion on their faces. "Perhaps she is just as mentally unstable as the professor after all."

"Hey! There is nothing wrong with enjoying picture books, let alone creating them!" You defended, humor slowly melting away. "There is literally nothing wrong with that! Cute pictures to entertain, funny little stories to help explain the intricacies of complicated subjects in a way others can understand. It's part of the reason that I fell in love with Shichiro! Those books helped Iruma --and myself-- so much on subjects we were struggling with!"

You realized you might have said a little too much in your passionate speech, judging by the looks the Literature Battler - as well as the other students - were giving you. How were you going to salvage this?

"Both me and Iruma... didn't have the greatest resources growing up," You explained awkwardly. "Especially before the Chairdemon found us. So, to be honest, our knowledge of some fundamentals were... spotty at best. Professor Balam's books helped a lot to fill in the gaps, bringing both joy as well as understanding."

Silence still reigned over the library, making your pulse seem even more deafening in your ears.

"Ma'am, did you just say you loved Professor Balam?"

If you weren't embarrassed before, you were now. You crossed your arms, however, and jutted out your chin defiantly. "And, what if I did...?"

"We concede," Mneme spoke, giving a slight nod. "You have always been an unorthodox teacher..."

"I'm a librarian, not a teacher."

"And as the librarian - with a love of knowledge that rivals Professor Furcus - we must admit we obviously have more to learn from you." Mneme answered. "Nor did we mean to insult your beloved."

You opened your mouth a few times to argue - or at least say something - but words escaped you until the bell screamed. "Just, uh, be more willing to think outside the box-- and apologize to Professor Balam, not me!"

The students gave varying noises of agreeing as they left. You wondered if admitting that you loved Shichiro was too soon, but you couldn't deny your feelings. You had been enamored by the giant demon for quite a while, and you had still had difficulty understanding why no one else had taken to him before your arrival to the Netherworld.

------ Thirteen Short----

"Hey Clara, what's it like having younger siblings?"

The green-haired demon blinked at Iruma's question before grinning.

"It's super-duper fun! Granted, when they're itty-bitty they like to cry a lot, but when they get older you get to play all sorts of games with them! And you can teach them all sorts of things! Like when I taught my brothers how to do the Char-Char dance!" She jumped up to show the other two the dance, though it wasn't anything like the choreography that Kerori was trying to teach them. It was wild and chaotic that would only befit a fast-pace tempo.

"What has you wondering about younger siblings, Master Iruma?" Asmodeus asked after politely applauding Valac's dance (though he would refrain from ever calling it that.)

The boy flushed as he scratched his neck. "Just, uh, the conversation the other day at home. I realized that someday, I might become a big brother. I've never had siblings before, and I haven't spent a lot of time around little kids either. So, as exciting as the idea is, I'm kinda nervous about it."

"Oh! Iruma-kins can come over to my house!" Clara eagerly offered. "You know my baby sibs! You can have plenty of practice there!"

"I-I have younger cousins that live with me," Asmodeus quickly interjected. "They would be great practice as well! Not that you would need much, Master Iruma! You've already proven that you'll be great with younger demons."

Iruma turned red as he fidgeted in his seat. "Do you think so?"

"Absolutely!" Both demons exclaimed at the same time.

"No matter what, any demon that has you for an older brother will be highly honored," Asmodeus continued.

"Yeah! And they'll also have me and Az-Az!" Clara clapped. "And we can be their big sister and brother too!"

The thought made Iruma relax into a grin. He wouldn't have to figure out what it meant to be a big brother by himself; he'd have his friends by his side. He'd have you too. After all - before you adopted him, he had seen you as a big sister. Along with Grandpa, Opera, and everyone else really. Both Sabnock and Kerori had younger siblings, while Jazz and Lied had older siblings. Surely - between them - he'd figure out how to be a good brother.

[drpg-global-archive]

DRPG - EVENT - GET BACK! CAT CAFE CRISIS

5/5 A Bro's True Intentions

The party takes a break after a heated battle with the Sardine Doods, but then they notice something strange.

Abducted Cat

Xenolith: …………

Rainier: I've no idea where that Prinny Gang... I mean  the Sardine Doods have gone. Then it's time for us to continue our fight.

Virunga: Wait!

Etna: Now what? Is it another plot obstacle to overcome?

Virunga: Some of our cats went missing!

Etna: Eh!?  Where did they go?

Barbara: It's him! He took them away!

Rainier: Don't panic, Barbara. Are you mad?

Barbara: Of course I'm mad! Xenolith took away our hard-earned cats! 

Etna: Huh!? Why would he do that!?

Stage 1 - Progress in Confusion 1 Stage 2 - Progress in Confusion 2

For the Cats

Virunga: Xenolith has been helping us all the time, but why did he…

Rainier: You're an angel. Don't tell me you trusted that red-haired demon.

Virunga: N-No, I didn't… Just by the way he treats cats, I can tell that he loves cats.

Barbara: I don't understand what love is, but I thought Xenolith was fond of those adorable cats! I didn't think he would betray us! I'll never allow him to take away our adorable kitties! I... I will save them!!

Rainier: Hey, Barbara! She loves taking charge when it comes cats.

Virunga: Count me in!

Rainier: Are you going, too, Etna?

Etna: ...Of course I am. Yeah. I haven't got my dessert coupon yet!

Stage 3 - Follow Barbara! 1 Stage 4 - Follow Barbara! 2

Xenolith's Purpose

Virunga: F-Finally, we've caught up with him…

Xenolith: You're here too.

Etna: What's that supposed to mean?! I need those cats to get my free dessert! Give them back!

Barbara: Why, Xenolith? Don't you love these adorable cats just like we do?

Xenolith: That's…

Etna: What the hell is wrong with you?  You dragged me into your scheme, and  now it has come down to this. But... the look on your face when you petted cats… Are you trying to use these cats too?

Xenolith: ...No, you're wrong.

Etna: Then why did you take away those cats from us?

Xenolith: I don't have time for this.

Etna: ...Oh, really? I get it. Barbara, Virunga, and Rainier. And you, [Player]. Let's beat him up. He's practically begging for it.

Virunga: Are you sure?

Etna: Yeah, it is. If he doesn't want to tell us, then I'll make him spit it out!

Xenolith: ...I guess I have no choice. If you insist interfering, then I'll have to fight back.

Stage 5 - Big Bro in the Way

Boss - Xenolith: I'm sorry, but I won't let myself get caught.

The Cat-connected Stories

Xenolith: You fought well.

Etna: Of course I did. But that's not all!

Virunga: Give the cats back!

Etna: That's it…

Flonne: Stop right there!!!!

Etna: Flonne?! Don't stand in my way! I'll give him a beating he won't soon forget!

Flonne: No, Miss Etna. Xenolith didn't do anything wrong!

Virunga: But didn't he steal all of our cats...? Wait...?! Why is he carrying only some of the cats with him?

Flonne: Xenolith only took the kittens who got sick because of the environment here in the Netherworld!

Etna: Huh?

Flonne: I help out at the Netherworld Hospital during my free time. Xenolith was trying to  bring those kittens to me. He was in such a hurry that he didn't even have time to explain anything to you.  That's how much he cares about cats!

Etna: Wh-What is this all about?!

Xenolith: Virunga, how are those cats doing?

Virunga: Ah, thanks to your and Flonne's help, they received in the Netherworld Hospital and are all fine now. Flonne scolded me for talking about loving cats all the time but failing to notice they were unwell. If it wasn't for your help, I can't imagine what might've happened. Thank you so much.

Xenolith: No worries. I did it all for the cats.

Barbara: That was impressive, Xenolith! Despite our suspicions, you still proved your unwavering love for cats! Please, you must join my  "Cat Clique"!

Xenolith: I'd be happy to deliver the final strike.

Etna: You always keep everything to yourself, all bottled up. Why didn't you just tell us what happened? That would be much less irritating. 

Xenolith: It was my fault. Upon seeing those cats, I thought of you before I realized. So I acted a little rashly. 

Etna: Wh-What...?! Don't be ridiculous! How am I like a cat?! Anyway, I've got the free coupon from Virunga. If you're too scared to go there on your own, I may consider accompanying you until the free desserts run out. Even though you're so irritating... You're still my brother at the end of the day.

Xenolith: Okay. Thank you, Etna.

[taeminscoconuthead]

Idk if the read more thingy works but yeah- (CW // vent, dec 18th, sui, cyber bullying, self deprecating humour, self esteem issues, just so many stuff…)

—

Bruh I was so excited for dec 18th because of the milk thing and now it’s getting daunting again. Not because I’m sad now that Jonghyun is… well…. but it’s because I’m constantly being reminded about the time I was getting cyber bullied online. I’m still remembering all the times someone told me to kill myself and my mind instantly was like “well I might of well since I’m pretty sure nobody would miss me the way everyone misses Jonghyun because I’m a nobody” and my stupid ass would start crying whilst trying desperately to end this suffering since there’s nothing for me to do or anyone to run to.

I would constantly talk about how much he hates me and if I died he’d probably beat me up and make my eternal life hell with his pure lust for my soul. In fact, once he finds out I was sent to the netherworld he’d run over like a fanboy not to ask me for an autograph, but to give the devil a holiday so he could torture me instead to unleash his raging anger at me. If I was there at that very moment, he’d probably rip through me like he was celebrating the Christmas he missed out at 2017. As soon as he saw me, his eyes probably lit up like a kid and I could tell you that Jonghyun would scream of joy and I’d be over there, laying on the ground as I tell him to get it over with since nothingness feels so much more than somethingness at this rate. At this point, I’d probably cured his depression all together since he’d wake up happily knowing that “it’s time to beat the shit out of that bitch again” and would wave good morning from the window but really he meant to say “bad morning” because it was about to turn back to torture again. WHY DIDN’T I SAVE HIM BEFORE? I could of easily saved him by simply existing and him hating the idea of me existing! Why was I a stubborn piece of shit when I could of saved millions of heartbreaks around the globe. Oh? I was too young to travel to Korea? Boy shut up. Bang Chan went when he was 10, bad excuse. You should of went and then saved Jonghyun. Oh poor dear Jonghyun, a selfish little 12 year old refused to come and save you from your suffering because they cared about themselves more than other people. You should be ashamed of yourself. Shawols hate that you didn’t save their precious bling bling and now you don’t deserve to ever use that title ever in your life. You’re a disgusting, pathetic human being and I hope you die — never mind, Jonghyun doesn’t need anymore unsolicited guests. Oh well.

Honey don’t say thattttt! Jonghyun loves all of us and he’s never single anyone out for their race, gender, sex, shawol status, etc.

I know this year will be even harder than the last since you had to go through all the bullying and the harassment online, but look at you. You’re still alive and didn’t die! Jonghyun is probably watching you with his jaw to the floor seeing that you survived something like that whilst going through depression.

You may not think so, but some Shawols could even be his idols! Anyone who has went through depression and actually makes it out alive, he idolises them and is fascinated at the fact that someone would actually see the light of day. That doesn’t mean that if a Shawol doesn’t make it, he’ll think badly of them. It would mean that he’d feel their pain and is quite understanding. Trust me, Jonghyun is way different than how you interpret him to be. He won’t beat the shit out of you just for existing, but rather make heaven much more comfortable for you as he shows you around.

Don’t worry hun, you’re very valid and bullying like this should never of happened to you. As a Shawol, I’m so sorry you had to go through something like this. I hope you heal well and hopefully Dec 18th wouldn’t be as bad now that you got me and the gang! You are such an amazing Shawol and even an inspiration that you make the room shine when you step into it. Your vibes are so cool, nobody would dare to hate you at all. Only complete strangers would act like this to you because I’m saying this as a friend. You’re doing well, keep going.

[literarygoon]

“The Hell’s Gate Scramble”

by Will Johnson, July 2023

Once the hooch business was booming in Salmon Creek, largely thanks to Shuswap Joe’s timely distribution ingenuity, Clif Garcia began to groom him into position as his righthand man and confidante. Joe found himself shaking hands with people like the mayor and the police chief, as well as their netherworld counterparts, all while wearing immaculately tailored and custom designed suits provided by his employer. He had arrived in town wearing a dead logger’s clothes only months ago, barefoot and penniless, but his tenure with Clif's bootlegging business had changed everything overnight. Joe felt like an absolute imposter as he ascended through the ranks. He feared anyone who spent even a small amount of time with him would quickly discover that underneath his suit he was nothing but a feral boy who couldn’t read or write a word, hardly better than a tramp.

“Some of the best people who ever lived were illiterate,” Clif told him one day, with his boots casually kicked on to his desk while he smoked a stogie. Joe had confessed embarrassment over this inability to pick up a newspaper and understand what it says like everyone else.

“Think of it like one skill among many. You may not know how to read a book, but I’ve seen you read a room. The way you climb trees, nobody around here can do that. You understand the song of the river, and you’ve swum among the salmon. If some prick comes along feeling superior because you missed a couple days of school, pay him no mind. There’s more to this world than you can read on a sheet of paper.”

“You think so?”

“Listen, I’m no choir boy. Being a good person might not be in the cards for me. But you don’t get to a position like mine without being a good judge of character. You always need to know who’s going to stab you in the back, and who is worthy of trust. It’s a survival skill. And you, kid, you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body.”

“It’s just that I feel as if I don’t belong.”

Clif slapped the desk hard, and gave a choking laugh. “Most of those people, these men you’re working with? They would plant you in the ground without hesitation if they thought it would benefit them, if they figured they could get away with it. See, I used to think there were good people and bad people in this business. But in reality it’s just people acting how the system requires them to, how the laws tell them to, how their boss tells them to. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Joe took a long and thoughtful slurp off his drink. “You’re saying people have many bosses, that they are nothing but broken branches being pulled along in the current.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, kid. Yes.”

Clif leaned over his desk to refill Joe’s glass, letting out three or four healthy glugs of Shuscotch. They’d been drinking all evening, swapping back and forth between business and personal topics, all while the window glowed purple from the cloud-streaked sunset. Joe’s boss had a thick sheen of sweat across his forehead, beads dribbling down his temples and spotting his shirt. His face was puffed up, the bags under his eyes almost squeezing his eyes shut. He was a nostalgic drunk, and a touchy one. But when Clif threw his scrawny arm around Joe’s broad shoulders, it conjured in him a warm throb of happiness, of belonging, that he had never felt before.

*

Sunset over Little River burst across the sky in fiery orange tendrils, and it painted the surface of the water in shimmering pink and crimson. To anyone watching from the banks, the flashing reflection of the churning water looked eerily similar to flames — the whole scene conjuring a paradoxically watery forest fire. It was a narrow waterway, meandering down from Salmon Arm to the Thompson River, with thick brush along either bank that dragged in the swelling current. Little River felt young and tumultuous and defiant, like following a teenager through a shoplifting spree at the local grocery store. Shuswap Joe stood out on a rickety dock and watched the water lap up towards his boots, surging forward and then receding again, persistent but playful. He was used to listening to the voice of the water, but in Little River it was speaking a language he could hardly understand.

Behind him was the Squilax General Store, located a half day’s ride from Salmon Creek. Built atop a steep grassy hill a stone’s throw from the Thompson River, during the day it operated as a grocery and post office while at night their operation’s Shuscotch barrels remained hidden beneath a false floor. Late at night the smugglers would roll them down the grassy embankment to a dock that hung braced against the sweeping current and load them on to rafts, which they launched down the river and on to their next checkpoint.

The store was owned by a World War I veteran named Tom Halverson who had lost both his legs and one of his hands during the fighting overseas, but its day to day operations were managed by his plucky paramour Blair — a bright-eyed blond woman in her fifties who was just shy of five feet tall, always wore a homemade floral apron, and had her light blond hair cut short like a man’s, with a swoop of bangs across her forehead. The building was constructed of red brick, had a mossy green roof surrounded by heavy, groaning trees, and consisted of one main interior shopping space stocked with cigarettes, vegetables and canned goods. The other three rooms they used as a bedroom for their children, an office, and a dining room that overlooked the river. They themselves had taken up residence in a derelict caboose that had been left riverside to rust after a derailment.

It was Joe’s responsibility to oversee all the storehouses strewn across the Shuswap area, but it was Squilax that he liked returning to the most. Not only was the property serene and peaceful, but Blair had taken him under her motherly wing the moment she met him. He was still young — though he’d never known his real age — and she’d been able to identify the scared boy hiding inside the mountainous gangster he was rapidly becoming. Every morning she would make blueberry and rhubarb pancakes, serving them at an outdoor table alongside her three young children.

Eventually Blair decided to take Joe’s tutelage into her own hands, inviting him to participate while she instructed her children at the dining room table. She taught him the basics, starting with the alphabet and simple math, then transitioned to more intellectually challenging pursuits like philosophy and history. She’d never had a more attentive student, rapt with wonder as she tip-tapped her rolling chalkboard and always raising his hand to ask a question. His reading in particular was voracious, and within a few months he was devouring novels by Robert Louis Stevenson and Jules Verne. She even wrote him up a real report card one day, giving him A+s in every single subject. Joe knew it was silly, how moved he was by this little piece of paper, but nobody had ever taken any interest in his education before.

She was half his size, but made him feel like he was the small child.

One day, after a long April afternoon at his dining room desk, Joe found Tom sitting in his wheelchair overlooking the river. He had a blanket draped across his lap and a paint brush dripping from his dangling fingers, with three unfinished canvases on easels surrounding him. One of the paintings depicted a sitting woman with the strap of her dress drooping down her arm, the second was a train caboose, and the final one was a horror of chaotic colour that didn’t resemble anything Joe had ever seen before. It looked violent. Tom nodded in his direction, and for a moment they listened to the mountain breeze intermingle with the lonely call of a distant train.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Joe said, finally, unsure if Tom had even sensed his presence. “Those must be your paintings back in the house?”

Tom turned to him with bleary eyes. “Didn’t know the old cripple had it in him?”

“I’ve never met an artist before.”

Tom laughed. “Sure you have. We’re all of us artists, one way or another. The question is whether or not you take the time to discover that fact, or if the world convinces you that other things are more important. If I was half as good at painting as I was at killing, kid? I would be world famous by now. Instead it’s just me and my lonely canvases, counting down the days before I ascend from this hellscape.”

“I like that last one, the messy one. I like the colours.”

Tom turned to it, laughed to himself, then swabbed a new streak of purple across it. “I take it you never went overseas,” he said. “For the war.”

Joe nodded. “I was just a kid.”

Tom coughed, not looking at him. “Hell, you’re still a boy now. We were all boys. Boys pretending to be men. Men pretending to be soldiers.”

“Were you afraid, going over there?”

“Anybody who tells you they weren’t is lying. Or stupid. Being afraid is okay, though, because that what keeps you alive.”

Joe liked listening to Tom’s stories, though they were confused and meandering. Sometimes Tom lost his place, or forgot what he was talking about, but eventually the narrative always returned to that muddy horror show he endured in Europe. Tom conjured up scenes of gore and sacrilege, describing how the battlefields were strewn with rotting corpses that had burst open and blown apart to paint the landscape red and black. As a soldier you had to squat shitting while bombs were detonating all around you, squinting up at the sky above and begging a God you don’t believe in to help you survive.

“I’m lucky, because I was a sniper,” said Tom.

“What’s that?”

“Well, you use what’s called a sniper rifle. It can kill your enemy from a distance, sometimes like a mile away. One moment they’re standing there, the next they’re writhing around on the ground trying to stop the blood from squirting out of their neck.”

Joe took a big breath. “What’s that like, to watch a man die?”

Tom sighed. “You put a gun in a man’s hands, and you make him a God. Thing is, man isn’t supposed to be God. God is supposed to be God.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Taking another man’s life changes you. We’re not supposed to have that power, because you can’t hurt somebody else without hurting yourself at the same time. That’s how it works,” Tom said.

“I wish someone had told me that when I was younger, kid. You’re going to see violence, especially in this business, and you have to decide ahead of time whether you’re going to keep your soul intact. Because this smuggling business here? It’s war too. Just a different type of war.”

*

The mountains were watching with utter indifference.

During all the years that Shuswap Joe lived feral in the woods, he’d always felt that the natural world was on his side. The trees whispered to him the secrets of the forest, the animals were his siblings, and the river reliably took him wherever he needed to go. But ever since joining the world of people, he’d been feeling disconnected — exiled almost. And as he was marched down the dock in Squilax with his arms tied behind his back, he got the sense that the stoic cliff faces looming far above were frowning with disapproval.

The bandits had arrived just before dinner time, barricading the store entrance and herding them together with menacing shotguns. They all wore masks across their mouths, with hat brims pulled low. They initially locked Joe in the cellar along with Blair, Tom, and the kids. They were also joined by an increasingly distraught employee, who blubbered to himself in the corner while his bloody nose dripped on the ground. They listened as the robbers ransacked the place, tearing up the floorboards looking for hooch, until eventually they came storming downstairs demanding answers. A cat-like bandit pulled Tom from his wheelchair and pistol-whipped him viciously, until he was panting from the exertion.

They were getting desperate.

“Joe, you have to listen to me,” Tom said, through broken teeth, once the men had retreated to the next room. “Listen, the next thing they’re going to do is kill me, okay?”

“I’m not going to let them kill you.”

“Don’t do nothing stupid, Joe. You hear me? They’re going to kill me just to make a point, just to break you. What you need to do is save Blair, okay? When they’re distracted with me, you make a break for it. You think you can do that?”

Joe nodded, still conflicted, while the men returned to the room. Two of them marched around behind Blair and Joe and lifted them to their feet roughly, shoving them in the direction of the exit. The other men were repositioning Tom in his wheelchair, and guiding the crying employee out to follow.

“Please, I don’t know anything about the liquor. I just run the store, please. This really has nothing to do with me,” the man blubbered, stumbling through the grass towards the river.

“You could just let me go and it wouldn’t make any difference to anybody. Please!”

“Shut up!” yelled the cat bandit, who was clearly the leader. “You shut your mouth or I’ll break your jaw, you hear me?”

Their entourage made its way down to the pier, which swished and swayed as they tromped single-file down down to the dock. At the end there was a raft tied to one of the pilings, as well as a bundle of logs they used to disguise their smuggling activities and an old canoe. It was a breezy afternoon, the sun high above them, as the four captives lined up with their backs to the water.

“Someone must have given you false information,” Tom said. “We’re just a normal family business. We sell groceries, nothing else. There’s no bootlegging going on here, I swear it.”

The bandit laughed. “You still think you can protect it, don’t you? Think maybe somebody’s coming to save you? Look around. You see? It’s only us out here, and the only thing you need to worry about now is convincing me not to kill you.”

With that, he reared back and stomped his cowboy boot into the clerk’s sternum. Astonished, the panicked employee was barely able to burp out a syllable of surprise before he hit the water with a tremendous splash. Blair, Tom, and Joe watched the man gasp for air, his arms still tied behind his back, as the current swept him away. Within ten seconds he had submerged, leaving only a string of bubbles as evidence that he had ever existed. Rage tears trembled in Joe’s eyes, and he sucked back deep lungfuls of air in preparation for what was coming next.

“Sad,” the bandit said. “To think all we needed to save his life was a little cooperation. That man died for a measly load of booze. Does that seem right to you? Does that seem fair?”

Joe growled. “That’s enough. Why are you doing this?”

He laughed again. “Why, it’s you Joe. You were the one that tipped us off. We got word that Garcia’s righthand man was spending an unusual amount of time in Squilax. Very curious. So we sent some men to check it out, and wouldn’t you know it? They spotted men rolling barrels down the hill to this very dock, in the middle of the night.”

Joe took in that information. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been interested in attending schooling with Blair, if he hadn’t recklessly returned over and over, these men never would’ve realized there was a secret storeroom here. A deep guilt blossomed in his chest. This was the first family he’d ever had, and now he was going to be responsible for their deaths.

“Let them go,” Joe said. “Take me. I’ll show you where the hooch is hidden.”

Before the men could respond to this development, a loud war cry echoed across the water. Several shots rang out, and suddenly the air was full of white smoke and wood chips. As Joe squinted, he saw Tom twirling around on one of the bandit’s backs like he was getting a piggyback ride. With one arm he was strangling the man beneath him, and with the other he was levelling a stolen pistol at his compatriots. There was a bright flash, then one of the robbers tumbled off the dock with crimson squirts of blood spouting theatrically from his neck.

This was Joe’s chance.

While the bandit leader swung his gun crazily, trying to figure out who to shoot first, Joe barrelled across the dock like a rampaging moose and tackled Blair on to the raft moored to the end piling. The force of their impact made it float away a couple feet, giving them some distance while the struggle continued. Blair quickly disentangled Joe’s restraints, then he crawled back to the dock ropes to untie them from heir mooring. Two of the four robbers were now dead, but bullets were still winging through the air as he got them untangled. He looked up to see that Tom was now laying on the dock, dragging himself along weakly by his one good arm. There was a snail trail of watery blood soaking into the wooden planks.

“This all could’ve gone so different,” the bandit said, pressing the barrel to Tom’s temple. “Now it’s time to say good night.”

The current beneath them was picking up as the shot rang out. Joe and Blair screamed from thirty feet away as Tom slumped to the dock dead. The bandit gave his body an unceremonious kick and it plopped into the water and disappeared just like the clerk’s. Only then did the two remaining criminals turn their attention to those had gotten away. Joe felt his stomach tighten as their captors jumped into a canoe and started heading their way.

“Blair,” Joe said. “We’re gonna need to paddle.”

*

It was a shame he didn’t have a better audience. As Shuswap Joe navigated down the Little River on the rickety raft he’d escaped Squilax with, ducking each time a new gunshot rang out, his powerful motions took on a primal rhythm. He looked like a charging bear, his paws swiping the surface with each new stroke. His pursuers were half a kilometre back still, maneuvering their small canoe into the quick current and flying up behind them at an alarming pace, but Joe was born on the river — he wouldn’t let them catch up.

Joe could feel his pulse in his throat, and his breaths were coming in panicked bursts. The evening mist dampened his forehead and ghostly tendrils of mist began to waft across the surface as they passed under a newly constructed bridge to Scotch Creek. He blinked away the moisture as images of Tom flashed across his headspace, the way his noble old veteran friend had crumpled slack to the dock like a sack of wet laundry. Was one man’s life really worth a few barrels of hooch?

Had Joe done the wrong thing, trying to protect the stash?

These were questions he didn’t have time for. He swivelled around to check on Blair, who was paddling furiously on the other side of the raft. She looked like she was punishing the water, beating it with her blade, as her eyes trembled with rage tears. First they had to escape, but then it was clear she had revenge on her mind. These men had killed her husband, and she was ready to start burning down houses until she found out who was responsible. He had only a moment to marvel at the naked love at the root of her grief before they were tossed headlong into a whitewater rapid.

“Hold on, Blair!” he yelled, as they hit the first curling wave. “You’re going to have to hold on tight here!”

Watery chaos consumed them, then, and it was a different type of chaos than Joe had grown accustomed to on the Adams River. The banks of the Little River were further apart, the bottom further down, and the placid surface cleverly disguised all the underwater obstacles waiting to tangle up boats and suck down bodies.

This was not a friendly river, Joe realized — this river was an enemy, just as much as the masked villains in desperate pursuit.

The raft pointed its nose to the sky, then shook itself like an angry dog. Water came sloshing through the slats, crashing inwards from all sides. Blair was knocked down and nearly bucked off the back, but she was able to claw her fingers for purchase just in time to get rocked again. Joe rose to his feet, trying to get a better idea of what lay further downriver, and was greeted by a slavering wall of water nearly twice his size. It loomed above him like a river deity with its arms outstretched in judgement, then speared into his chest with a mighty crash. The force would have knocked him out of the raft, but Blair grabbed ahold of his belt and tugged him back to safety.

Joe turned to his dripping friend, and thanked her with an exhausted sigh. The rapid wasn’t over yet, and the pursuing canoe was cleaving through the waves towards them with no problem. He shook his head in disbelief as another bullet sang its ugly song, thumping into the wood of the raft between them.

“I can’t lose you,” Blair said, straightening out her sundress and preparing to paddle.

“I’m going to need your help killing those fellas.”

*

Shuswap Joe couldn’t feel his arms.

Blair was steering their raft from the back, standing proudly against the driving wind as she expertly slalomed along with the fastest moving currents. After their tussle with the rapid, which had drenched them both completely, the water had settled into a lazy burble before opening wide to become the Thompson River. This was the smuggling route the Scotch Creek distillery’s hooch took to the coast, so Joe was familiar with how it looked on a map. Being at surface level was another situation entirely.

The canoe behind them had gone silent hours earlier, though it still lurked in the distance like a sea monster breaking the surface with its serpentine snout. Maybe they’d run out of bullets. As he continued to paddle, Joe wondered what these men were even trying to accomplish. His boss Clif had warned him that some day they might face this sort of trouble, other criminals trying to shoulder into their territory, but the River Eel Saloon’s owner was confident that he’d bought off or employed nearly every working age man in Salmon Creek. Who would be stupid enough to mess with somebody like that?

“What do these men aim to gain from all this?” Joe asked, pausing for a moment as the river came to a glassy calm. “They had no reason to kill Tom.”

Blair frowned. “Not until he gave them a reason to. Not until he went and played the hero, throwing away his life like it was pocket lint. That goddamn war, Joe. It’s not right, what violence like that does to a man. He was just looking for a reason to die.”

“He still loved you, though. And the kids.”

Blair scoffed at that, rubbing the back of her hand across her dripping face. There were wisps of grey in her hair, which was messily pulled back into a ponytail, and the wrinkles around her eyes told her life whole story. It had been a life of pain and disappointment, a life of never quite getting what she wanted. The universe hadn’t been kind to Blair, and her very existence was a kind of stubborn defiance. She had callused worker’s hands and bleeding knuckles, her bare feet braced her against the rough bark of the raft.

“Watch out!” Blair yelled.

Joe turned with barely enough time to duck a tree branch shaped like an open hand, its skeletal fingers reaching for him through the mist. Their raft had become completely engulfed in a creeping white fog that swirled around them like spirits. It seemed like he could hear voices in the wind, chittering and giggling and whispering just beyond the reach of his comprehension. He swung his head from one side to the next, trying to locate the sources, but all he could see was pillowy oblivion on all sides.

“Where are we?” Joe asked, watching more dark branches drift through the mist and disappear. “What is this place? It feels haunted.”

Blair exhaled ominously. “I’ve never seen them in person before.”

“Them?”

“The Ghost Trees.”

And sure enough, as soon as she said that, an island of bone-white trees loomed out of the blank void before them like a ceremonial grave. To Joe it looked like a grove of pale albino humans, stooped and reaching and intertangling with one another. Their trunks were mottled grey but their branches were the colour of pure snow, like all colour had been leached from them by some vampiric force. They were dead, all of them, but they had a sort of sinister presence to them that made it seem like they were watching hungrily as they floated past.

“Those trees were once strong and tall. Proud. But over the years the river began to eat away at the soil they’re rooted in, washing away all the nutrients that they depend on to survive. The river took away their foundation, then it starved them until there was nothing left to do but die,” she said.

“But they’ve stayed here, stubborn, drying into hardened husks. A ghoulish reminder of what they once were. It happens to us all, you know. We start out flush with life, and end up as dried up skeletons that crumble to dust.”

Joe didn’t want to say anything to that.

Blair began slowly paddling again, staring past him as the fog continued to swirl. They’d almost forgotten about their pursuers, who they hadn’t seen in a long stretch now, but Joe had no doubt that they were still back there, relentless. What would happen if they caught up? Would he be able to kill another man to save himself? To save Blair? Or would he become nothing but another skeleton, like the ghost trees looming far overhead? He craned his neck and gazed up past the shivering branches overhead.

“What happens after we die?”

Blair smiled. “Well, Joe. It depends on who you ask about that.”

“What do you think?”

She thought about that for a long time as a light rain pebbled the surface of the Thompson. The raft was moving quickly now, picking up momentum without the aid of their paddles. The tree corpses continued to swipe at them, reaching out with knobby fingers, trying to sweep Blair and Joe down to watery oblivion. Blair chopped at one with her paddle, severing its fingers.

“Here’s what I think, Joe. You look at nature, and it’ll give you the answer. Some day you’ll die, and then something else will eat you. Maybe it will be a worm. Maybe it will be a bird. But they’ll eat up little part of you until you become a part of them,” she said.

“Maybe a part of you will become moss. Some pieces of you will end up in the belly of a salmon. You’ll be part of the earth, but you’ll also be part of the sky. Your mind might be gone, or your spirit if you want to call it that, but your body will still be alive all over. That’s the real afterlife.” Joe considered this, picturing a hypothetical bear ripping apart a writhing salmon, its essence dripping into the water below as it desperately tries to escape. That fish would become part of the river and part of the bear simultaneously, it’s evisceration a sort of duplication. Blair’s explanation made sense to him, but still he was afraid.

Without his mind, without his body, would he really still exist?

“Watch out,” Blair said, pointing to a long half-submerged tree that lay in their path. She quickly began to steer them away. Its branches looked like sharpened spears. “We’ve got to paddle now, Joe.”

The mist was so thick for a moment he thought he might choke, but Joe began furiously paddling as the tree got closer. The current was strong here, and they were flying towards it at an alarming speed. More trees were appearing out of the whiteness like spectators, leering expectantly. A branch stabbed Joe in the arm, like a thief jumping out of the darkness, and then disappeared again just as quickly.

“Paddle, Joe!” Blair yelled, as the waves started to thrash around the raft. There was blood running down the side of her forehead, but Joe didn’t have time to figure out how that had happened. “Paddle!”

They hit the tree with a smash, and for one terrible moment it seemed like they were going to capsize. Joe’s eyes widened in horror as he gazed down at the frothing madness sluicing through the tree’s branches. His feet struggled to find purchase as the raft rose from the water, Blair throwing her weight against it with an outstretched elbow. As it shuddered and shook in the balance, Joe understood then that death was close enough to kiss him, no matter what he thought of the afterlife.

“Hold on, Joe! Don’t let go!” she yelled, and with a giant crack the raft was free again, twirling in the current. The sky opened up above them, smiling down down with a heartbreaking cluelessness, and the fog lifted almost immediately. On both sides of them were the crumbling walls of the Fraser Canyon, rust-coloured and crowded with jagged boulders. The colour of the water had transformed from a blue-black lifeblood to a creamy chocolate, and the temperature of the water had noticeably dropped.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “We made it, Blair. We made it!”

Blair sat slumped at the back, her whole body trembling like she was freezing cold. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the blood from her head wound was running down her neck and creating a crimson stain amidst the floral design of her dress. Her breathing was strained, like a bull who has exhausted itself in the ring, but her jaw was set. She blinked determined at the churning water behind them and the thundering waterfall far in the distance. They would be there within a few hours.

“We haven’t made it anywhere. They’re still coming. And this problem isn’t going to solve itself, unless we do something.”

“Okay. What should we do?”

She smiled then, like she had just remembered a raunchy joke. “We’re going to lead them down to the gates of Hell, Joe, and then we’re going to make sure they pass through.”

*

Joe had never seen anything like it.

As Blair continued to commandeer their raft towards the slavering chaos of Hell’s Gate, the waters of the Thompson thrashing around their raft, Joe stood gaping in terror at what lay before them. Underneath his feet the lashed-together logs were beginning to buck and tremble, individual strands of twine snapping like guitar strings. It wasn’t going to hold together much longer, but that didn’t matter — the river was going to eat them either way.

“I think you’re going to have to swim to shore,” Blair said. “I’ll distract them while you get away, but you have to jump off now.”

Joe turned to face her, hearing what she wasn’t saying just as loudly as what she was saying. The look on her face was almost demonic, and suddenly he understood what was happening. This had been a suicide mission all along, and she didn’t want him along for the ride. He opened his mouth to reply over the screaming current, but right then a bullet sliced through his hat and sent it tumbling into the water. The bullet had grazed his scalp, and hot blood burbled down his forehead to mix with the river water.

“I can’t let you do this,” he yelled, holding one hand to the wound. “What about the kids?”

“A mother who isn’t willing to die for her children isn’t a mother at all. These men need to be stopped, Joe. Men like these can’t be allowed to go around killing people over hooch. You swim to shore now, and you tell my babies that I died to make their world a better place.”

Against his own volition, tears flooded into Joe’s eyes. He looked past Blair at the pursuing canoe, then back at Blair’s weather-beaten face. They only had a few minutes before they’d reach the rapid and he had to make his decision fast. Why was the world so full of pain? Why was everyone he loved doomed to die before his very eyes? He thought of what Tom told him, about how this was a different type of war than the one Canadians had just finished fighting in Europe. And every war requires a particular kind of hero. He locked eyes with Blair, fear banging away in his chest, and they nodded in understanding.

When he first hit the water with a clumsy dive, the freezing temperature struck him like a fist to the throat. He gasped and cried out as waves tumbled and surged over his head, struggling to breath. This wasn’t like swimming on the Adams River. This was more like a bar fight with a supernatural entity, like God was knocking him around a boxing ring for fun. Blair’s raft was already a stretch away, and for a flash he watched as the canoe swept past him. He was free and safe, as long as he could make it to the shore.

Looking back on what happened years later, he would wonder how exactly he found the suicidal courage to do what he did next — quickly grabbing ahold of a slimy boulder, he hurled himself on to the beach and began sprinting after the pair of water crafts even as gunshots continued to ring through the afternoon calm. He felt a blast of sunshine on his shoulders as he danced through the jagged rocks along the shoreline, trying desperately to catch up to Blair and the murderous henchmen. Could he make it in time?

Railway workers were gaping at the scene from far overhead, shouting down warnings at the boats. He had less than one minute to reach Hell’s Gate before he lost his new mother forever, and he couldn’t let that happen. Summoning up a bear-like savagery he bounded along in his sopping boots, ripping off his plaid shirt and pawing along on all fours. He was no longer capable of conscious thought — his entire attention was focused on the life and death mission at hand. And then, as if placed there by some benevolent deity, he spotted a knobby tree trunk jutting out over the water like a helping hand. It was wedged between two rocks in the current and hung about ten feet over the waves.

“Blair!” Joe yelled. “Blair, I’m coming!”

His Squilax matriarch swivelled her head towards him, and for a moment he thought she was going to ignore him. But then he motioned at the incoming log and she understood without saying anything what would happen next. While she maneuvered the raft in his direction, he clambered out on to the log and laid on his stomach, reaching down to save her.

As she approached, Blair threw down her paddle and kneeled on the raft. Joe didn’t understand what she was doing until she came up with a fist of twine, effectively detaching the logs from one another. The four logs broke apart in all directions, until she was balancing on a single log. She was as graceful as a cat, stepping back and forth as it rolled beneath her feet. Another gunshot rang out, but came nowhere near her.

It came down to a matter of seconds. She had to leap at precisely the right moment or she would be sucked down to her death. Blair was a small woman, scarcely five feet tall, but she jumped with the ferocity of a fleeing doe. Her fingers intertwined with Joe’s and he reached his other hand to grab her wrist, the trunk groaning underneath him. She dangled there kicking as the canoe swept past, the men realizing too late their fatal error. Blair and Joe watched as it disappeared into the waves, the men splashing into the rapid and never resurfacing.

It was over.

“Don’t worry, Blair,” he said. “I’ve got you now.”

[theshatteredrose]

Nugatory: The Secret War (Chapter 3) - Disgaea 5 Fanfiction

AN: Ahh, managed to get this chapter done in time! Hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

-

Chapter 3:

Dark Testament…was quite the Netherworld.

Though, it had to be said that Samuel was more worried about the dangers of falling off of the thing than anything posed by the Lost Soldiers that were found crawling around every inch and corner of the massive battleship.

Still, they were numerous, and annoying. And something they couldn’t keep dealing with if they wanted both Killia and Zeroken in top shape to attempt Operation: Free Goldion once more.

Wrapping the chain of his axe around his arm, Samuel turned as Zeroken dispatched a final orc soldier, one that looked much like the one that had tried to attack him all that time ago. He swiftly defeated their enemy, but Samuel noticed that his movements were starting to become sluggish and strained.

He was obviously starting to grow weary with the constant battling.

“You doing all right there, Wolf Pup?” Samuel called out to him. “These battles not wearing you down?”

“I’m fine,” Zeroken replied, through his panting and wheezing. “I need to keep going. I need to keep getting stronger for Master’s sake.”

Well, Killia was certainly right about Zeroken being dedicated to Goldion. His theory had to be right, also. If anyone could remove the malice that was keeping Goldion brainwashed, it had to be Zeroken.

They just had to get pass that self-loathing of his.

Killia seemed to have everything under control. Hoped he didn’t mind Samuel meddling too much. Besides, the others had been rather hard on him as of late. Not as much as Zeroken had been on himself. Still, he couldn’t help but twitch with protectiveness.

“Sure thing, Wolf Pup,” Samuel said good-naturedly as he gave Zeroken a hearty pat on the back. “I believe in you.”

Zeroken staggered forward from the tap before he righted himself and stared up at Samuel in shock. “Y-you do?”

“Yeah, of course,” Samuel replied without hesitation and with a smile. “So, if you’re finding it hard to believe in your heart, then why don’t you believe in my belief in your heart.”

That brought a deep furrow to Zeroken’s brow. “Believe in your belief in my heart?”

“And believe in Killia’s trust in you.”

Zeroken perked up. “Bro trusts me?”

Samuel rapped his knuckles against Zeroken’s forehead. “Wolf Pup, he’s asking you to help him with a powerful technique to free his old master. Why?”

A wrinkle in the brow returned as Zeroken fell silent, taking a moment to think of a response. “Because I’m the only one who can?”

“And why is that?”

“Because Goldion is my master.”

“Right.” Good. At least he was becoming more confident. “And Goldion trusted you enough to take you under his wing, to teach you what he knew, to talk to you, to open his heart to you. And his heart is his netherworld, yes? That’s worth something, right? I guess that means you’re worth something, too, right?”

Zeroken’s eyes widen slightly, clearly taken aback by his words. “Ah, y-yeah, I guess I am.”

Samuel pressed his fist against Zeroken’s chest, over his heart. “Then show it. To Killia, to Goldion, to everyone. But more importantly; to your own heart.”

“Right, I will,” Zeroken said, his shoulders squared, and head held high. “I’ll prove it to everyone. And I’ll definitely save Master.”

Samuel smiled to himself. Alright. Now, it was up to Killia to teach him the Final Skill. Zeroken appeared confident enough in himself now to learn it.

“Glad to hear it. Now, come on,” Samuel said as he slipped an arm around Zeroken’s neck and tugged him playfully to his side, much like a big brother would. “We’re almost there. Let’s meet up with the others and get off of this forsaken warship.”

… … … … …

Final Skill Adviya Holy Water.

It worked.

It was quite an attack; powerful but précised and yet subtle. It had to be to remove all malice from a demon without actually killing them.

Sprawled out, in a prone position within the centre of a floating platform of Dark Testament, Bloodis laid completely still. Only the twitching of his fingers could be seen, indicating that he was still alive.

But what was to happen next? How were they to know the malice had been destroyed?

A violent, bitter chill suddenly engulf the platform as a shadow, pitch back in colour, seeped from the links and seams of Bloodis’ armour, coiled into the air like smoke. And then disappeared, floating away as if nothing more than ash.

Was that the maliciousness that had kept Goldion brainwashed and under Void Dark’s control?

It had to be. That maliciousness…it was nauseating. And cold. It was so powerful.

Void Dark was capable of such maliciousness?

But that attack brought it out.

…Could it also work on Seedlings?

No, Seedlings were-

A new brutal kind of crushing cold suddenly erupted around the small platform, almost bringing Samuel and everyone to their knees. The air crackled as a deep, gut-wrenching, truly vile malevolence descended.

A laugh, no a low conceited chuckle prompted Samuel to tilt his head back, to look up.

Toward a demon with white hair, sharp eyes, and a presence that was so difficult to describe. Words didn’t seem to be enough.

Evil.

That was Void Dark?

No…it was too soon.

Not the Demon Emperor himself. The light and power of the Final Skill must have brought in him. Damn it. They didn’t foresee that possibility. After all the fighting, and power needed to perform such a skill, they weren’t really to face him in battle. Not yet. No matter what anyone said.

“Voooooooooooid!”

Not good. Killia was losing his mind with rage.

“Killia…you always were an eyesore.”

“Void…! You…! I’ll kill you!!!”

Killia couldn’t even talk properly. So, he just lunged at him. Tried to attack him, something that Void took with great, sadistic amusement in.

There was so much rage in Killia’s voice. And in his actions.

That man, that demon had caused Killia nothing but pain and suffering. That demon was the one that caused him, and so many others, so much unspeakable pain and suffering.

That insufferable, arrogant bastard.

Samuel found his eyes shifting over to Bloodis. He hadn’t moved an inch. Had the Final Skill knocked him completely unconscious? How were they going to ensure that he was free was his brainwashing with Killia and Void Dark duking it out in front of everyone. With the way they were fighting, they could take out Dark Testament with them.

“Christo, what should we do?” Samuel asked the man next to him.

“I’m n-not entirely sure,” Christo answered honestly, the short quiver in his voice sparing only a hint to his unease. “I can’t get a reading on Void Dark’s powers with my Occhi Clairvoyance. And Killia is too far in his own rage to be reasoned with.”

Not good. A forced evacuation might be their only chance. Even then, it might not work.

Both Samuel and Christo winced when Killia suddenly launched into a fiery attack, placing all his hatred and rage into the flames. Only…the flames froze in suspended animation after Void Dark snapped his fingers. His sadistic grin growing in sheer malice as Killia staggered back a step in pure bewilderment.

And horrified realisation.

“That power is…”

There was no question that Void Dark took great delight in Killia’s reaction. “Yes, the Overload skill that I took from you, Alma Ice Sculpture…”

Took from him…?

Wait, Void Dark was able to steal another’s Overlord skill?!

Before anyone could react, Bloodis suddenly appeared directly in front of Killia, his back toward Void Dark. Guarding him while he towered over Killia. Over a surprised Killia.

That meant the…Final Skill didn’t work?

But how? There was no mistaking that dark shadow of malice that had appeared from Bloodis’ prone body.

A feeling of dread immediately settled in the pit of Samuel’s stomach. Instinctively, he slammed his axe into the steel platform and twisted the chain around his wrist, clenching his hand tightly around the metal links. As Bloodis pulled back his arm, Samuel took a step to the right.

“Know where you stand!”

A mere micro-second later, Bloodis delivered a punch to Killia’s chest.

The force of the Demon General’s attack sent Killia back several feet.

In the direction that Samuel had set himself up in.

He gritted his teeth as Killia’s back slammed into his chest, the attack of Bloodis’ attack strong enough to send the both of them to back several feet, even as Samuel dug his heels in. He wrapped his arms around Killia, and took on his full weight, which was easy enough despite the other demon being taller. With his axe acting as an anchor, it preventing the both of them from slipping off the edge of the platform from the brutal attack.

An attack, Samuel felt, was somehow being restrained by Bloodis.

Samuel ignored the way the chain clenched painfully tight around his forearm and wrist and crouched down to his knees, his concern growing substantially when Killia slumped lifelessly in his arms. He vaguely recognised the worried voices of their allies as he carefully guided Killia’s head back to rest in the crook of his neck.

As Killia’s head lolled back listlessly, a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, causing a knot of panic to twist in Samuel’s stomach.

Damn it, he took that attack straight to the chest!

Samuel carefully readjusted his hold around Killia as Christo knelt down next to him to us his Occhi Clairvoyance. “Broken ribs. Shallow breathing. Possibly internal injuries.”

Killia needed emergency healing.

Healing. Mega healing?

Wait…Samuel could heal!

Pushing aside the fact he just remembered that he indeed had the knowledge and ability to heal, Samuel kept Killia’s head cradled against the crook of his neck as he pressed a hand against his chest. A large, ugly bruise had already begun to form; black and purple in colour.

The innate knowledge to heal came flooding back swiftly as warmth passed through his hand and into Killia’s body. The broken ribs had to wait as the internal bleeding took top priority. He couldn’t heal too quickly, however, as it could do more damage to him.

Samuel ignored everything around him, relying on their allies to keep a somewhat firm grasp on the situation as he concentrated on healing Killia. On virtually keeping him alive.

After what felt like an eternity, Killia coughed and spluttered, some of his blood splattering against the collar of Samuel’s white vest, but that was perfectly ok; he was breathing. That was all that mattered.

That also meant he could be moved.

“Christo, we need to get out of here,” Samuel said, firmly. “We’ve lost control of the situation; survival is all that matters now.”

While Samuel hadn’t a clue what was transpiring between them and Void Dark and Bloodis, the frown and barely restrained fear Christo’s eyes indicated that he did.

“Agreed,” he said simply. And made the motion to transport the seven of them back to the safety of the pocket Netherverse. Much like he had done during their previous encounter with Bloodis.

But as the familiar teleportation light washed over them, something felt…different.

… … … … …

Instead of the usual chatter of the Pocket Netherworld, an unfamiliar silence greeted Samuel as the light of the location transfer died down. He blinked open his eyes, his vision clearing at the sight of Killia’s face, head resting upon his shoulder. His eyes softly closed; lips parted slightly. Yet, a dried line of blood was still visible against the corner of his mouth.

Ensuring that his arms remained tight, but not firm around the still precariously injured Killia, Samuel lifted his gaze to look at his surroundings, and to search for the others. What he saw surprised him and alarmed him in equal measures.

They weren’t in the Pocket Netherworld.

And he wasn’t able to see any of their allies.

What happened? They had teleported back to the Pocket Netherworld in the presence of a powerful enemy before, all without a hitch. What happened this time? Was it…Void Dark?

Samuel shook his head. It didn’t matter the hows and whys. Killia was still injured and was unconscious. Not a good combination, though not entirely a surprise. Not after the attack he had endured.

Pressing a hand against Killia’s chest once more to offer another gentle bout of healing, Samuel idly began to assess their situation.

They appeared to be on an unknown Netherworld. One of foggy forests of purple ferns and red willows. The air was moist, the atmosphere heavy. Not quite like the swamps of Demunshroom. But heavy with moisture. Like rain.

He was only familiar with the Netherworlds he had already encountered. Killia was far more knowledgeable than he. He would know how to make their way back to the Pocket Netherworld. He, however, was unavailable at the moment.

The best thing, only thing really, Samuel could do was to find a safe place for them to crash. A place where Samuel could take care of Killia’s injuries. A place they could hold up long enough to hide from the Lost Army until either Killia awoke from his injuries, or Christo used that Occhi Clairvoyance of his and tracked them down.

If the others had been transported somewhere safe, that was.

Damn it, something else to worry about.

What about his axe?

Lifting up his left arm, Samuel heard the familiar sound of clinking chains. And he breathed a small sigh of relief. He still had his axe. Good. He could still defend the two of them if the need arose.

Ok, first thing first; shelter.

Taking a moment to twist the chain attached to his axe securely around his wrist once more, Samuel carefully arranged for Killia to lean against the twisting root of a willow tree. It was still unnerving how still and unresponsive he was, even though it was equally understandable.

Crouching low in front him, he shifting Killia’s arms over his shoulders and slowly stood up, carefully bringing Killia with him. He winced when Killia gave out a low hiss of pain. He knew that carrying him on his back was sure to agitate his ribs; unfortunately, it was the best method to carry him while allowing him to use his axe to defend and attack.

With his axe clenched tightly in his right hand, Samuel took a moment to look cautiously at the ground at his feet. The ground appeared smooth, as if it was a path. A road even. So, he chose a random direct and started walking.

The mist and fog were quite dense, and the smell of ozone grew more intense. It was a sent he found vaguely familiar. It was the sent before rain, he was sure of it. So, he had better find some shelter, and quickly.

A crunch of gravel stopped him dead in his tracks, however.

Someone was coming. And from the sound of those footsteps; there were a group of them.

Better hide.

A faded shade of red to his right indicated to Samuel that there was a willow tree nearby. Without hesitation, he dropped off the road and into the thick fog once more. He ducked into the curtains of red leaves and foliage of the red willow tree, and for extra cover, ducked behind the above ground root.

With one hand holding onto Killia, the other tightening on his axe, Samuel slowed his breathing and waited.

Waiting as the footsteps drew closer. And the voices grew louder.

He couldn’t see them through the fog. But he could hear clearly. And from what they were saying, he knew exactly who they were.

Lost Soldiers.

They were just strolling past, seemingly having just patrolled a recently ‘acquired’ village. Best to wait for them to simply pass by. With Killia in the shape he was, he couldn’t risk getting into unnecessary battles.

Killia remained quiet, which was both a blessing and a concern, and Samuel remained perfectly still, waiting until the footsteps and voices faded away. While it was tempting to stay in his safe hiding spot for one more second, he had to move.

Slowly, Samuel stood. He spent a cautious moment readjusting his hold on his precious cargo before he made his way on the path and moved in the direction opposite of where the Lost Army moved. They spoke of a village. Hopefully, it hadn’t been burnt to the ground and there was at least one useable building left.

Seconds seemed to drag on for hours as Samuel walked through that mist and fog, with Killia’s laboured breathing in his ear, and tensing at every little twig snap and insect sound. Until, finally, the road widened. And he found himself standing in a village centre.

It appeared more of a little hamlet with only a few tiny cottages and huts. Likely a family community.

It hadn’t been burnt to the ground. But it was obvious that the Lost Soldiers had laid claims to it, the bastards.

A large droplet of water hitting him on the cheek pulled Samuel out of his observations and he looked up toward the sky, though it was pointless with the fog. Just as he had feared; it was starting to rain.

He needed to find shelter. He couldn’t afford to have Killia catching a cold or other illness atop of his injuries.

Turning to his left, Samuel ventured to the nearest residence that looked to be in relative in one piece. The door was at least shut, unlike the others. And a door that could shut was what he needed the most in these times.

Even though, at the moment, it was a bit of a nuance.

“Hello? Anyone here? We just need shelter.”

Probably a stupid thing to say; if there was anyone home they’d be hiding. If they weren’t before, they certainly were after he kicked open the door. But he had to at least announce their arrival. And the house seemed small enough that there didn’t appear to be many places to hide.

Samuel decided it was best to keep Killia with him as he did a quick sweep of the place before he was satisfied. The house appeared to be unoccupied. Recently emptied at that. No doubt the Lost Soldiers were responsible. He hoped the owners were alive somewhere else and were simply hiding from the war.

Until they returned, Samuel was just going to borrow their house and their belongings.

A lone bed was situated by the woodstove that acted as the heater for the simple little cottage. The covers had been thrown back in haste, as if the previous owner had a truly rude awakening.

He walked over to bed, turned and carefully crouched down to lower Killia down onto the mattress. He finally released the hold on his axe as he shifted to slip one arm around Killia’s shoulders, the other to cradle the back of his neck. He lowered him down onto the bed, being mindful not to jar his injuries any more than he already had. With Killia lying prone on the bed, Samuel knelt on the edge, taking a moment to properly assess his injuries.

Bruising on his chest and torso had spread and deepened in colour, but at least he had stopped any internal bleeding. He could focus on fixing his cracked ribs next, which should help with his laboured breathing.

He was pale, cold. But also burning with a fever.

At least…at least Samuel knew what to do now.

Samuel lifted the blankets and draped them over him. He uttered a sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked down at Killia. He reached up with his hand, to gently brush aside a strand of his hair from his forehead.

Killia…

He hoped he had the skills to keep him alive.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Fathers and Sons

Chapter 17: What Came Next

What now?

What were they supposed to do now?!

He'd give his son credit for getting this far; if he was honest, he hadn't expected that he would! This plan that he'd had, it truly hadn't been half bad. The problem was that it wasn't half good either.

Neal's plan had accomplished their goals, but only in the short term. As far as the long-term went, they still had a problem. They had Henry in tow, Pan was immobile as the magic within him fought to neutralize the poison of the squid ink, and the boys were asleep from the poppy dust; even if Pan managed to wake them with just his voice alone, they'd be groggy and useless for some time. But that was only for some time. Eventually, the boys would wake up and wipe the last dust from their eyes. Eventually, Pan's magic would beat the poison, and he'd be on the move again, searching for them. And he was certain that it would be full force. Meanwhile, they'd still have Henry, trapped on an island, with no plan of escape or way to get back home even if they could escape.

They needed to think. They needed to get out of here. With Henry alone, he'd simply return him to Emma and keep Pan busy, but with Bae here as well…he had something to live for, a reason to return to Storybrooke. They had to find the others. They had to get back together because if he left Emma here, Bae would never trust him again! They needed a plan.

He was trying to remain calm, but by the time they returned to the clearing where he'd started his day, he was barely managing not to panic. But he used that near panic to think and drive his steps the second they stepped into the safety of the clearing. He reignited the fire, first and foremost. He re-set the protective borders as Bae laid Henry down.

"What the hell was he talking about?" Bae demanded a second later.

There was no doubt in his mind what he was talking about, but he wasn't going to tell him any more than he was going to tell him about who Pan really was to him. He didn't need that in his head, especially because it didn't matter. Yes, something had shifted, and if he could get out of here alive with Bae and Henry, then he would, and he'd still accept whatever fate was coming to him while living each day to the fullest with Bae and Belle. Hell, if he got out of here, he might even call him "Neal" if that's what he wanted! But nothing had shifted so much that his mind had changed. If it was still his fate to die here over Henry, if giving his life was required to get them back safely, he'd do it. Ergo, Bae didn't need to know what Pan had been trying to tell him. They just needed to think and act fast.

"Oh, don't mind him."

"He said you were gonna murder, Henry!"

"He plays games! Mind games! The important thing is we got the boy, and we got away."

"Where are we?" Neal asked.

"The other side of the island. We're safe here for the time being." Until they could find the others and go.

"Hey. Hey, Henry. It's me. Hey, it's your dad."

He turned to see Neal kneeling over Henry, shaking him a bit as if that would wake him. But as someone who had been under a sleeping curse before, he knew that with the poppy dust, it wasn't a smart idea.

"No, he-he can't hear you!" he insisted.

Neal glanced up at him with scared desperate eyes. "Then wake him up."

Considering what happened to Henry the last time he'd dragged him from a deep sleep in the Netherworld, no doubt where he'd go under the influence of the poppy…

"Pulling him out of the spell could be dangerous. He'll wake naturally in a few hours. He'll be fine," he explained. They, on the other hand…

"All right," Bae conceded, moving around Henry to stalk closer to him. "Then you can explain to me what the hell Pan meant. This prophecy that he's talking about, why would he say that you'd kill Henry?"

"Oh, I don't know to create a wedge between us!"

"That's not a denial," Bae pointed out.

Fuck. Years later and he still knew him too well. And they didn't have time for unimportant issues like this.

"No, this has to do with what happened when I found you. You thought I was a hallucination. You said that you had to do the right thing and save Henry. What did that really mean?"

"Baelfire…"

"It's Neal!" he screamed, advancing on him, making him suddenly aware that he'd been backing away, cowering from him. "Now stop dodging and tell me what's going on!"

Cowering. Cowering from a truth that no longer mattered and why? Because deep down, he feared that Bae wouldn't believe him. Today had been…a miracle. It had been one of the best days of his life. Not only was his son alive, but they'd worked well together, they'd gotten to talk and spend time together, and he knew that if they could get past this, it would continue, but…how were they to get past it? Not by cowering. Not by dodging. He was certain that the only thing that would save this moment was if Pan or Emma burst into the clearing and with no other heartbeats for over a mile away…what choice did he have? Cower and hide and chase his son away for his lack of truth? Or tell him and hope that he'd believe him. Belle had been getting him to believe that the latter was always better. And he could remember a time in his son's life, a time just after he'd taken him back from Pan when he'd told him that he would have stayed if he'd asked. Perhaps the truth wouldn't hurt as much as he feared. What choice did he have?

"There was a seer," he began, his hands trembling. "And she told me of a prophecy…that a boy would help reunite me with you. And that boy…would be my undoing."

Bae stood still for a moment, staring at him, then let one of his steps fall back, closer to his grandson. "Henry…" he figured. He was going to run. So he took a step closer, back into his circle, only wanting him to understand.

"I didn't know it was gonna be my own grandson until I found you in New York and discovered you were his father."

"You were planning on getting rid of him," Bea accused. "Whoever he was, weren't you? To try and cheat fate? To get around the prophecy? You cold-blooded son of a bitch. You were gonna kill him."

Truth over lies, that was what Belle preached, what she wanted of him. That was what she believed made him a man, not a monster; that was what Bae liked! He would have loved to say "no," to deny it, to run from it, but his son knew him too well, even after all these years. What was the point? He already knew the truth.

"Yes," he admitted, the word tearing painfully from his lungs. There could be grace in truth. He was going to kill him originally, yes, but things had changed; he'd changed! Bae had to see that!

"Get back!" his son roared, taking a few steps away from him. "You stay away from him!"

No. Their best chance at surviving this was to stay together! His best chance at explaining was to be closer!

"That was then! Things have changed. I-I didn't come here to Neverland to hurt Henry. I came here to save him."

"After what you just told me, I'm supposed to believe you?"

"I won't lie to you, Bae!" He hadn't. And all Bae needed to do was look at their first encounter when he was certain it had been a vision! He had to remember what he'd said! "Self-preservation has been a nasty habit I've had my whole life, but I came here to break it, to do the right thing, and to save your son. Even if that meant sacrificing my own life!" He watched carefully as Bae looked him over, hoping that he would soften and see. "You have to trust me," he begged with a whisper.

Bae shook his head. "How can I?" he questioned before turning and sitting by the fire.

He noted that he sat with his body before Henry's protectively guarding him, keeping him from him. Fuck. This was not the way he wanted this to go. This was not the way he needed this to go! What they needed was the get out of here as quickly as possible. They needed to work together just as they had been since he'd found him. They would never get Henry out of here if they didn't. This rift Pan had created, they needed to solve it now.

"Tell me what I have to do to gain your trust, and I will," he muttered as Bae through bits of something into the fire.

He looked up at him at that, a dark, shadowy look in his eyes that sent chills through him. Oh, his son had rarely ever reminded him of Milah, but a stare like that…

"Give me the Dark One Dagger," he demanded.

The blood in his veins iced over at thought for more than one reason. First, because he had the benefit of remembering how the last time that he'd given the dagger to Bae had worked out. Second, because it was something he absolutely couldn't do. Not only did he not know where it was, but even if he summoned his shadow to get it for him, giving it to Bae was too risky. He knew Neverland well and could hold his own, but heaven forbid something happened to him, and Pan or one of the Lost Boys get their hands on it…

"I know you," Bae continued on in his silence. "I know you wouldn't come all the way to Neverland without it. It's the only thing that can control you. It's the only thing that could stop you. You wouldn't take any chances with it."

"I don't have it," he answered honestly.

"Why are you lying?" Bae bit back angrily.

"I'm not lying to you, Bae. I hid it so Pan couldn't get it, so he couldn't stop me."

"So unhide it!"

"My shadow took it!"

Bae broke out into laughter then. He chuckled to himself as he tossed the last of what he was playing with aside and muttered "your shadow" to himself as if it was a joke. "Man, you got an answer for everything, don't you?" he snapped, rising to his full height again.

"I'm telling you the truth, I swear."

"You know, maybe you did hide it. Maybe you do want to do the right thing. But that's today. What about tomorrow?"

"I've changed."

"Have you?"

"Yes!"

"The prophecy still stands. You save him; he's still your undoing."

This. This was what he was trying to get to. This changed nothing. Bae needed to hear that! "I'm still willing to die for him."

"What happens if we get back and you're reunited with Belle, and you realize that the only thing standing between you and your happy ending is my son? And suddenly 'undoing' doesn't sound so great."

That was what he'd been trying to explain to him. He wanted as much time with Belle as possible, but he'd always known that his true happy ending…it wasn't her. It was his son.

"You're my happy ending," he explained. "This is, because it's my redemption. I can be strong, son, if you have faith in me." And Belle knew that. At the end of the day, she'd understand. If only he could.

Bae cast his eyes down and let out a sigh that gave him hope. Then, without warning, he reached out and slapped his hand into his own, just as he had when he'd been dying. "You know, when I was living here and sleeping in a cave, I used to dream of you coming to rescue me." He held his breath, hoping this story was going to end with him telling him that he'd been late, but he'd finally fulfilled his dream. Oh, how he hoped that would be enough. Oh, how he hoped that would-

"But then I'd wake up and remember how you left me behind," he growled. "You left your own son behind for the power of that dagger. How can I think that things would ever be any different?"

Bae pulled away from him, pulled his hand from his own, and he noticed a familiar stiffness growing in his limbs as his heart sank. No. He couldn't have…

As he examined his palm, he noted a leaf, similar to what he'd been playing with on the ground, sticking to his hand. Once he finally managed to peel it away, black liquid was left behind, seeping into his pores and skin before…

Blue shimmered over him.

"Neal…" he breathed, looking him over, begging, going so far as to use his false name to gain his trust. "What are you doing?"

He watched as Bae hauled Henry off the ground and over his shoulder once more. "I'm gonna find Emma and the others and get the hell off this island. Then I'm gonna get my family back home."

"You can't go into the jungle alone!" he warned, praying he could change his mind before he stepped out of his protective spells. "Without my power to protect you, Pan will capture you both!"

There was silence for a long time, and Bae's heart…it was racing. Oh, he hoped he was getting to him. He had to. Even if it would be an hour before he could move again, he was safest here!

"I'm sorry," Bae answered. "I got no choice. We're safer without you. Good-bye, Papa."

He was helpless to stand there and let the tears slip from his eyes as he felt Bae and Henry move out of the circle.

[obsessive-ego]

Trust me baby♡

Part 2

Part 1

Nsft musical Beetlejuice x reader

They/them pronouns are used, reader has a vigina

You weren't mad at him exactly, just embarrassed and more then a little annoyed.

Recently you had spent the night at the deetzlands after an evening of babysitting, in all honesty you were there to watch Beetlejuice rather then Lydia, mostly to make sure the house stays in one peice.

But that night Beetlejuice, lack there of a better word, tricked you, into proving you and him are in fact an item and have been "knocking hips" for a while.

Beetlejuice had begged you into sleeping in his 'room' where he convinced you to fuck since no one can hear the two of you in the basement, he lied, through the vents of the house Delia and Charles herd everything, you've never felt so embarrassed in your entire life, you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. But Beetlejuice? He was proud of what he did, gloating about how he's not a liar this time, and how the house owes him an apology.

...

Returning home after that awful morning you wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed and dissappear, never wanting to think about this again. Before you could even get your shoes off your phone buzzes, pulling it from your pocket you seem what's up

A text from Beetlejuice

"Summon me" was all it read, right to the point, you honestly didn't want to, you were still upset with him, it's not like he's in the netherworld he can stay with the deetz alittle longer, kind of like a punishment

Your phone buzzes again

"Say my name!" It read

You frown, the ghost had no patience.

Finally removing your shoes and coat and flop down on the couch, laying on your back, your phone continues to buzz, you groan knowing full well beej was not going to stop.

Not bothering to check his latest text you simply say his name, 3 times, and quickly.

In a puff of green smoke he was there, floating in front of you

"Honey I'm home♡" he coos making his way over to you "making a fella wait, aren't you a cheeky thing♡ but I'll let it slide babes, since you're just waiting for me to jump ya on the couch" her purs loosening his tie, his hair shifting from green to magenta

"No" you say flatly

"Daddy needs a- wait, no?" He stops in his tracks and you sit up

"You lied to me"

"Come on sweets, it was for a good reason" Beetlejuice joins you on the couch, slinging an arm around your shoulder

"I know you're a proud guy, but what we do in the bedroom-"

"Or on the floor, on the table, against the wall-oof"

You elbow him in the gut "Lawrence I'm not joking, what we do, is our business, can you promise me that at least?" You pleaded

Beetlejuice stares at you first a moment before snorting out a laugh "alright babes, ya twisted my arm, no more bragging" he pulls you into a tight side hug, and you sigh in relief, you didn't think he'd agree so quickly, you thought he'd whine or beg or something, but maybe he's finally growing as a person or demon

...

The evening was spent the regular way, bad horror movies and jokes, when it was finally time to turn in Beetlejuice vanished from the living room, you didn't really question it, making it to your room you see where he went.

Beetlejuice was laying on your bed, completely naked, his hair, moss and mold glowing a mix of soft pink and magenta

"Come to daddy sweet stuff♡" he motioned for you to come closer, your body went ridged for a second before moving on its own towards the ghoul.

"Beej-"

"Mmm?" He hums eyeing you up and down

"I don't want to have sex tonight" you say flatly, you were still a little sore about yesterday

"I-" he bites his lip, beetlejuice was hoping you'd be over his little 'mistake' and be ready to fool around again "well- if ya change your mind in the middle of the night you know it doesn't take much to get me up, or wake me" he snorts, and with a snap of his fingers a pair a black and white stripped boxers appear to cover his junk.

You crawl in bed next to him, beetlejuice was hesitant to pull you close until you nuzzled into his chest, with that he wraps his arms around you and tangles his legs with yours.

"Night sweet stuff"

"Goodnight bee" you yawn

...

The following morning you head to work, giving beej, to his disappointment, a rather quick goodbye kiss.

In all honesty the demon would rather you be furious with him than this toned down level of affection, it took months to get you in his pocket and now, it's like he's back to square one. Green fades from the demon's hair only to be replaced by purple, he grumbles to himself about how this whole thing was his fault as he lays on the floor. Normally during this time Beetlejuice would be off scaring your neighbors or digging around you stuff for a quick lust filled fix, but not today, he felt too bad, the ghoul wasn't used to feeling things for others, let alone feeling bad for his own actions, he didn't know what to do with himself other then just lay there and mope.

Hours pass with your demon doing nothing but laying on the floor, at this point his tie, and suit now matched the deep purple of his hair, but his moping was finally cut when his phone started buzzing. In a flash the ghoul sits up and eagerly begins digging through his jacket, pulling out the phone and seeing your name, it was a text

"Hey, Charles called me asking to watch Lydia again tonight, I'll be heading there after work, I'll summon you when I get there" it read

This was perfect, the purple quickly left Beetlejuice's form in favour of an electric green, practically glowing with excitement.

There's no way you'll continue holding back from him after the two of you have a good time together, he and Lydia can scare the piss out of some stupid breathers, that'll make you laugh, and you'll forget all about his little 'mistake', you'll be swapping spit and knocking hips with him in no time.

"Cant wait <3" he types back, beetlejuice only had this gadget for a few days and he's already getting the hang of it, after hours of Lydia teaching him how to text, and the kid nearly losing her temper with him, the ghoul now considered himself a pro.

...

The evening at the deetz went as well as Beetlejuice planned, Lydia played right into his hand, not that it took much convincing for the opportunity to scare some breathers. Better take put drivers and mailman, beetlejuice had you laughing so hard no sound was coming out, it was perfect, he was practically glowing, you'll be back in his pants in no time.

As the night goes on Lydia bids the two of you goodnight and heads up stairs to her room, with the kid gone beej takes the opportunity to 'seduce' you.

The two of you are sitting on the couch watching nothing really notable, beetlejuice slides in close to you slinging an arm around your shoulder

"So now that the kid is in bed, how's bout the babysitter sits on my baby maker?" He purrs leaning into your face

You snort out a laugh and give his a playful shove

"Don't be gross bee"

"Come on sweet stuff, you love my baby batter♡" he jokes pulling you into an embrace and pushing you down on the couch

"Knock it off Beej" you laugh as the ghoul continues with the gross names for his dick and cum

"Come on sweets, I just want to bury my meat in your penis fly trap♡" he coos as he lifts your legs around his waist

You were pinned beneath him on the couch, his hands on your thighs and your legs around his waist

"I missed this babes♡" he whispers

"Beej it's been 2 days"

"Time works different when you're dead" he shrugs

"Well I'm sorry, but after last time, we're not-"

"I know, I know, a line was crossed, ect ect" he waves off

"Yeah..." you yawn

"Aw babes, am i boring you?" Beetlejuice snickers

"I've been up since 6am, Mr I don't have a job"

"That's not a no" he chuckles grinding his hips against yours

You suppress a moan, and shove him off

"I think I'm gonna head to bed" you yawn again

The ghouls eyes light up and in a flash he's pulling you off the couch and leading you to his 'room' in the basement

"After you baby cakes" the ghoul opens the basement door and gestures you to enter, you give him an odd look before heading door stairs.

"I hate to see you go, but man, do I love to watch you leave" he whispers to himself, his eyes fixated on your bum as you walk down into the basement. Beetlejuice waited for you to be out of sight before he removed his tie and hung it on the outside of the basement door, closing it behind him as he followed you.

...

His room was just as the two of you left it, the same mattress on the floor, the same blankets and pillows haphazardly tossed about, the same Christmas lights hung around the bed for 'mood lighting' its only been 2 days, why would anything be different?

"Make yourself comfortable" Beetlejuice's gravely voice blows through you ears and a shiver runs up your spine

Said demon had already made himself 'at home' as he lays on the bed infront of you in nothing but a pair of boxers motioning you to come hither.

You chuckle "I forgot my pajamas upstairs-"

"You don't need em♡"

You pause for a second, thrown off by his response, normally Beetlejuice would magic them on you

"Not tonight" you say simply as you begin to head back up the stairs

"NO! I mean, noooo, I got ya covered" and with a snap of his fingers your clothes were replaced with an over sized tee shirt and a pair of loose fitting boxers

You make your way to the bed and lay down next to beej.

The both of you getting under the covers and getting cozy, beetlejuice spared no time pulling you into him, your legs tagged with his, your head resting on his soft chest, and his hands resting on your back.

This was nice, as sore as you were for beej broadcasting your sex life to others, you didn't like being mad at him, and pulling back on the physical affection as punishment was becoming a tad depressing for you, you've grown too accustomed to his touch.

This softness was short lived

"Knock it off bee" you grumble as you feel the ghoul cup and squeeze your bum

"Come on sweets♡" he purrs pulling you close "I promise to be quite, Chuck and Delia aren't even home-"

"Fool me once"

"We can just do hand stuff?" He pushes

"Not tonight"

"Come on babes, how bout some tonsil hockey at least?" He whines, beetlejuice was desperate for your physical touch, it's been too long since the two of you been intimate in bed together and he was at his wits end, the ghoul had become so used to your warm affection it was like a drug to him.

"Okay, just kissing" you sigh pulling yourself up to the ghoul's face

Beetlejuice wasted no time cupping the back of your head and slamming his lips into yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

His tongue was long and cold and very eager to push around your mouth, you muffle out soft sound as his hands find a home on your bum.

You pull away gasping for air, you push off beej, now straddling him, you flinch at the familiar bump grinding against your ass

"Lawrence, I said just kissing tonight"

"I know♡" he purrs, hus hands  now moving to your arms, gently rubbing up and down

You knew that tone, in a flash Beetlejuice had  switch places with you, him now pinning you to the mattress

"Bee-" you sputter surprised

Beetlejuice doesn't respond, instead his gives your lips a quick peck before slipping beneath the covers and heading south

"No" you groan, if the two of you were home this would have been welcomed, but you weren't, and you were too self conscious to play this game again

You reach in after him and grab a fist full of his hair, giving it a light tug

He moans in response

You tug again, alittle harder this time

He moans again

A third time you pull and the noise that follows wasn't something you could describe, pulling the contents of your hand into view you see you have pulled off the demon's scalp, magneta hair, skin, his equivalent to blood,  you flinch at the sight, for a moment forgetting he's dead,

"Beetlejuice I know you think you're being funny but- ah♡" your words were cut in your throat as Beetlejuice had reach his goal, you quickly slap a hand over your mouth to muffled the sounds as the demon shoved his tongue in your most sensitive area

I guess this still counts as kissing

"Bee" you whine through your fingers

"You need to be quiet, remember♡?" His voice rings clearly through your ears

Beetlejuice eagerly lapped at your pussy, his long cold tongue explored your vagina, while his nose clumsily bumped against your clituris.

"You taste so good babes" he growls, his voice was clear as a bell even though his mouth was busy

"Lawrence♡" You sigh through your hands

Beetlejuice slowly removes his tongue from your opening, you whine in protest, but in a split second you nearly shriek out, his mouth had moved to your vaginal entrance and was now licking and sucking on your clituris, the man could play you like a fiddle.

As you lay there, toes curling, one hand grabbing at the sheets, the other over your mouth muffling your moans, Beej's hand emerges from the covers to grab his scalp you took from him moments earlier, grabbing said scalp, it retracting back beneath the blankets, out of sight.

Beetlejuice's tongue swirled around the clit, while two fingers inger probes your entrance, the demon could tell you were almost at your limit by the way your hips bucked and how your legs twitched. Please with his doings he decided to push his luck

"You close?" He teased, removing his mouth from you and stopping his touch

"Yes" you whisper

"Are you still upset?♡"

"No" you whine desperate to finish

"When we get home can we-"

"Yes, whatever you want, please just-" you cry, you had a rough day, and honestly this was too good to leave undone

"Whoa babes♡ I'll hold ya to it" Beetlejuice chuckles before diving back in and sucking your clit and teasing your entrance

A muffled whine and a rough bucking from your hips, not to mention a mouth full of your juices, was enough to signal, you finished.

Beetlejuice crawled back up out of the covers, his hair slowly fading from magenta back to a mix of pink and green, he gives you a smug grin.

You take a second to come back from your sexual high, after a few deep breaths you Address him

"What about you?" You breath out

Such a simple question nearly got the demon's heart pumping

"Don't ya be fretting bout little ol me, you can thank me later♡" he winks giving you a little nudge before pulling you in his arms, you rest your head on his chest

"Night babes"

"Good night Lawrence... if tomorrow I go upstairs and anyone in the house herd us, I'm banishing you for a week" you mumble before dozing off

Beetlejuice chuckles "trust me babes, not this time"

[ira-hydrangea]

Dark Valentine Ignihyde

If you are familiar with the story of Persephone and Hades. How Hades lets Persephone stay in Netherworld despite Persephone's mother, Demitri permission. I like to say that my situation is almost the same. That day is not only the Overblot boys that got captured but they also take me because of the higher-up order.

I didn’t even manage to see others and was directly put inside the cell with no windows and only a dim blue light surrounding me. I feel like a monster that got trapped. The door to my room starts to open and the person walks in. The person that I am familiar with.

“Y/n-shi... Oh no! I never thought they will treat you this bad! I-I’m sorry. I will try to make everything better. I swear!”

“IDIA SHROUD! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” You shout at him.

“U-um that- I’m a leader here and one of the scientists but I promise not to do you any harm. You just need to trust me.”

“TRUST YOU?! YOU ARE THE ONE THAT KIDNAPPED ME AND MY FRIENDS! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, IDIA?!” You snap at him. He flinched a little before glaring at me.

“That is not the way you should talk to me. I’m the boss in this place. In just one word, I can put you in the cruelest experiment ever. So you should do better and hold your tongue.” You fiercely glare at him before uttering one sentence.

“Do your worst, Idia Shroud.”

“... As you wish.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t know how long you stayed in this wretched room. Idia is not kidding when he said to put you in the cruelest experiment ever. You still do not understand his objective but you are determined to survive this hell hole. As usual, Idia walks in to check on you and do some pointless little talk. You always answer sarcastically or do not answer at all.

“You know, Y/n-shi. You can’t keep that attitude forever.” He said while you glare at him.

“I can and I will.” Idia stares at you before typing something against the walls. A projector starts to show up and you can see how your friends are trapped in each cell. One of them has even been put in some experiment.

“HOW COULD YOU-”

“This is what happens if you dare defy me, Y/n-shi,” Idia answered make you shut your mouth.

“W-What?”

“If only you decide to be a good girl for me. Maybe I will not force the others to go under such cruel torture but... You need a good lesson and reminder on who is the boss. So enjoy this little entertainment I provide. I will return if you become corporate.

If enduring all of this torture is nothing then force to hear and see the pain the boys need to face broke your heart. Your physical torture stop but your mental torture is just started. You cry and cry when you saw how they have been forced inside this room to do some simulator. In the end, you can’t take it anymore.

With a slow step, you approach the door and said in a shaking voice to the guard, “Call Idia. I have something that he would like.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Idia comes with a monotone look. He saw how your usual bright eyes are dull by now and how your usual warm aura is surrounded by a cruel biting cold. As much as his heart can’t take it, this lesson is necessary for you. You look at him with dull eyes.

“My guard said you wish to say something to me. What is it?”

“...Let’s make a deal, Idia Shroud.” The room is silent but you still take your time to continue.

“I will do anything you want in exchange for their safety and comfort.”

“You know that I’m not Azul, Y/n-shi. I can’t have bid in contract or-”

“THEN PUT A COLLAR ON ME OR ANYTHING AS COLLATERAL! JUST STOP MAKING THEM SUFFER!” You shout in one breathe. The room becomes silent again. Idia starts to get closer to you.

“I take the offer. If you do your part well, I promise to give them safety and comfort until they can return to the outside.”

With that, you sold your souls to the Kings of Underworld.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[hoodoo12]

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 28/28

@turtlepated @mel-time @werwulfy @bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @infptarius @rainingpaint @strange-n-unbluusual @sweetcat-666 @monsterlovinghours @go-whovian-universe @rainingpaint @genderless-cryptid @heresathreebee

SFW. The surprises never cease.

I would like to thank everyone who has read this beast of an rp. Knowing that people have enjoyed it has been so incredibly nice!

Extra love and hugs go to @turtlepated, my writing partner, for being such a creative wizard and all around awesome person. You've made 2021 a better year for me. From talking pretty much every day to getting to travel with you to see shows on Broadway, I can't believe how I got blessed to become your friend--if it's because of The King In Yellow I'll be its loyal cultist.

Time, as it tended to do, passed. Beetlejuice healed, physically before emotionally. There were still occasions deep rooted shame, watered by his brother’s disembodied voice whispering about it in his ear on random occasions. A trip to the Netherworld and a scene at the office--that included a lot of throwing office furniture and some dramatic foreboding gloaming of an “unspeakable horror” sort, courtesy of dear ol’ Dad’s inadvertent transfer of some power--and a threatening word to Rigel made at least that part of it stop. He continued to work on trusting Pate’s promise that he was forgiven.

She still left for work. He was still left behind in her apartment. He didn’t attempt to leave again, still shaken by the fact he was so easily trapped twice, plus who would he visit? It might be boring without Pate around, but at least it was home. She found him sitting on the counter one night when she returned. Usually he met her at the door; so that was unusual. He had an expression that mixed guilt and excitement, which made her immediately even more suspicious. “Hey Bug. What’s up?” she asked, with a casual look around the small kitchen. “Nothing.” “Uh-huh,” Pate replied, and opened the oven. It wouldn’t be the first time her spectral roommate had hidden something decidedly non-edible in there. It was empty. Beetlejuice swung his legs. Pate looked him over again, not sure if she could handle some random surprise after the long days she’d spent at work. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What do you have behind your back?” “Something. It came for you. Right at the door. The guy knocked and everything!” “Beej, we talked about you answering the door, and you’re not supposed to do it--” “It looked important!” he interrupted, and pulled the large envelope out from behind him. “Look! It says certified letter. It needed a signature! I didn’t want the guy to leave--who knows when he would be back? Somebody really wanted you to have this. It’s pretty light though, so it’s probably not food or a new toy--” He wagged his eyebrows wolfishly to emphasize what kind of toy he meant. “--or anything but a dumb piece of paper--” Pate interrupted him in return. “Wait. Wait. A signature? You signed for this?”

“Well . . . yes? In a way . . .” Pate sighed and had a feeling the mail carrier was going realize they experienced missing time, because Beej never hesitated to possess delivery people when it suited him, or when he thought it was funny. The signature on the receipt was scrawled and completely illegible. “This doesn’t look anything like my signature!” “So what? Nobody cares. Just open it, baby, and see what’s inside!” She guessed she should be happy he hadn’t ripped into whatever this was already, or that he hadn't forgotten about it and handed it over promptly. Despite his excitement, certified letters weren’t fun; they meant something important and or pressing, for a lot of different reasons-- She glanced at the unfolded letter inside, then read it again. And again. And again, this time leaning heavily against the countertop. Beetlejuice raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Pate? Baby? What is it?” “It’s . . .” Pate flipped it over, to see if there was any additional information. “It’s . . .” In a blink, he was off the counter and behind her, peering over her shoulder. “From the office of blah blah blah . . . attorney? What’re lawyers sending you a letter for?” Staring at the paper in her hand, Pate croaked out, “It’s Lillian. Lillian . . . she . . . she left me her store. And the building? She owned the building, and she left it all--the store, her apartment, everything that’s in it--to . . . me?” Pate turned to him and leaned against him at the same time. Beetlejuice’s hands went to her waist to steady her. She seemed to need it. While she was processing the information, his mind went to the random energy and obvious beings in the shop, from that guitar in the window that strummed ethereal music, to the little kid ghost rocking the doll’s cradle, to the deer head that had turned to look at him, and all the others. “Baby,” he grinned, “this is going to be fun.”

fin!

[t0kidal]

Return from Origins Part 8

Momma’s heard her son got into a fight, let’s hope she calms down by the time you find him.

~~~

A FIGHT!? You were expecting a bit of chaos, maybe an awkward encounter but not a fight!

You only shake your head as you stare at the scene.

And He won too! Not that you ever doubted your son but where did he learn to do that?! Who taught your precious baby to- Oh right.. that was you...

"U-um, Does anyone know how to get to the infirmary?!"

Aww, your son was still such a sweetheart.

You follow after him once he set out, Asmodeous Alice on his shoulders, eager to hear about what happened.

"Iruma-kun~!" Once in his office, Sullivan couldn't help but fawn over his grandson, he was doing so well already! Your face mirrored your adoptive fathers, though on the more subtle side, not unlike Opera's.

"Iruma, I'm so proud of you! I didn't expect you to take my advice on 'asserting dominance' so well! You always said that there wasn't much need for it..." You trail off with a pouty sigh at the end.

He nervously laughs, "I'm never gonna live this down... am I mom?"

"Nope!"

At that moment, the door to the office bursts open, and in walks Asmodeus Alice. Was he angry? Who knows. A prideful demon like him... how would he handle this crushing blow to his head and his character.

"Iruma-sama! I, Asmodeus Alice, pledge myself to you!"

You only smile alongside Sullivan as Iruma's confused cries panned out across the distance.

Now, you spent the rest of that afternoon trying to convince Iruma that, "No, Asmodeus-kun is not forced to serve you, he just admires you and wants to be 'friends'." or whatever it was humans called their right and left hands, their closest people.

"B-but!"

"Iruma," you give him a look, "trust me, he's not gonna hurt you, he's never gonna be upset with or disappointed with whatever it is you two will do together. Let's give this a try, yeah? I know it's hard to find like minded people, but now that he's here..."

You hug him, his once little form now that of a normal boy, and his height that only met your hips was now up to your ears. Your son, strong resilient, rarely had to rely on anyone, even you....

"Irumamamama..." you chuckle at the little baby name you called him so frequently, "Give him a chance. I'm sure that, though you might not fully understand, Asmodeus sees something in you that your grandfather and I do. Ok? You, human though you are in a world of devils, you are worthy of so much."

You finish your spiel, holding your dear son close to you, you press your face into the top of his head, blue hair tickling you. He only sighs, relenting... After all... you weren't wrong... it was getting a little lonely down here...

~~~

"Good Morning! Iruma-sama! It is I, your humble servant, Asmodeus! But you may call me, Az!"

"O-oh! Okay! Uh... A-Az... were you waiting for me?"

Hearing his new... underling... friend's answer of SIX HOURS... he really couldn't help but be touched... and really concerned...

And as they walked through the halls, he listened to his new friend's rambling and considered everything that led up to this moment... this new moment with a new friend.

It wasn't just being human, but with his character, and new background in the netherworld, it was really difficult to make friends... even though he was the "grandson" of Sullivan, people often disregarded him because his mother... his mother was abandoned by her clan when she was young... He'd never hold anything against anyone but it still... felt a little lonely. It'd have been unbearable if he didn't have his family.

He was really happy to have met Az... and wondered, as he grew more and more excited listening to him, just what kind of people he'll meet here at Babyls.

~~~

You on the other hand could only smile at your son's bright expression from the teacher's window, though he might've been a little confused and apprehensive you hope that this friendship is one that will last a long... long time.

[snippychicke]

For the Sake of a Smile-- Short Five

Title: For the Sake of a Smile-- Short Five: Bedtime Cuddles

Fandom: Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything.

And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Chapter Five | AO3 | mairimashitai! Simps Discord *NEW*

"... which only proves that next semester they need to be pressed harder. If these first years are capable…" Kalego trailed off, though Balam had stopped paying attention a few seconds earlier, distracted by the fact you had crawled into his lap and was in the middle of making yourself comfortable. "Is she… going to sleep?" 

"I think so?" Balam murmured, feeling his heart thump in his chest as you nuzzled against him before falling still. 

Oh. He… he was not used to this. Animals, yes, once he carefully gained their trust. But he never had someone else be so… cuddly with him. Of their own accord. Granted, you were usually more accepting of his skinship habit, but this… this was new.

"Well, perhaps I should retire for the night as well," Kalego said as he stood. Balam gave him a lost look  making the dark haired demon wink with an impish smile. "Have fun getting her to bed." 

Balam looked down at where you were curled up in his lap, your head resting against his chest as you slept. 

 He would happily just sit in the same place all night while you slept, if it meant holding you.bBut he could only imagine what kind of rumors would spread from that. And the last thing he needed was Lord Sullivan after his head. 

He grabbed his mask, fixing it in place before he held you close and carefully stood. You whined slightly and curled closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. He paused, taking a deep breath to try and calm his heart. "Just taking you to bed, little one."

"Oh, okay," you sleepily answered before asking. "Hey Balam?"

"Hmm?" 

"I don't smell do I?" 

"Huh?" Balam paused, looking down at you. Your eyes were cracked as you rested your head on his shoulder.  

"Opera said they followed the 'strong pungent' odor of the masking cologne to find Iruma and me. Does that mean I stink? I mean, I haven't noticed anything, but is it just something demons sense? Do I really smell to everyone around me? Like-like stinky blue cheese?" 

You… you were crying. Or about to. He felt himself panic as he hurried to reassure your fears. "N-no! You don't smell! Well, you don't smell bad! You do have a very unique scent, both you and Iruma, but it's nothing bad!" 

You sniffed as you glanced up at him. "So… I smell nice?" 

"Y-yes. Very, um, nice." Yes, the cologne was very… unique. Not in a bad way, but he didn't know how to explain that it marked you as Lord Sullivan’s  kin. You and Iruma wouldn't have to say anything, and anyone with a nose would know you were a part of Sullivan’s  family. 

(You had explained once humans had no use for pheromones, which he still had a hard time comprehending. Pheromones were a basic part of communication in the Netherworld. So much of society was built on the inherentness of it. It marked families, large and small. Territories. When an evil cycle was approaching, or when one was interested in a mate…)

But, besides Sullivan's cologne was your own scent. It wasn't nearly as strong, but it still there and utterly unique to you. He found himself enjoying it more often than not. Warm, inviting, invoking feelings of being welcomed and loved. Like returning to his nest after a long, stressful day and just relaxing. 

It was as alluring, just like everything else about you. 

After little help from one of the hotel's attendant, he managed to find your room. It was just as richly decorated as the others, the bed large enough for even a giant of a demon, let alone a human such as yourself.

He set you down on the plush mattress, fussing to make sure the pillows and blankets were just right. Did humans nest? Burrow in their blankets like some demons? Curl protectively? Did you lay on your back in order to be able to see as soon as your eyes opened? Or did you sleep on your stomach to protect yourself better?

He watched, both to take notes on how humans slept, and because you were rather cute as you tossed and turned before you opened a bleary eye and held out a hand towards him, making a grabby motion. "Can you hold me a little while longer? Maybe until I fall asleep?? I-I really liked when you did that." 

You were going to be the death of him between your request and the blush if your face looking absolutely adorable. Yet he obliged without protest, sitting against the headrest of the bed, your head resting against his crossed legs as he combed through your hair. 

You fell back asleep within minutes. Yet he didn't move, enraptured by how you had snuggled into him, the soft noises you made with every breath, how peaceful you looked.

 He fell asleep shortly afterward, hand still resting on your head.

Chapter Six

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here