clean ground

tag 💫

i was tagged by @shakeitoff, thanks lovely 💞

if you could create an album using taylor’s entire discography, what 13 songs would you put on it to make your perfect album?

1. red
2. fearless
3. cold as you
4. dear john
5. all too well
6. the other side of the door
7. mean
8. new romantics
9. treacherous
10. come back… be here
11. if this was a movie
12. holy ground
13. clean

bonus tracks (because i’m extra™)
14. we are never ever getting back together (rock version - 1989 world tour)
15. wildest dreams/enchanted mash-up (1989 world tour)
16. drops of jupiter (cover - speak now world tour)

i tag: @aitanalovestaylor, @emoswifts, @enchntted, @fallingleaveswift@kayloraesthetic, @lulalulalullaby, @melvdrama, @rosecoloredswift, @selena-taylor, @silencesquitethisloud, @thiislove, @wearingmybestapology and anyone who wants to do this!

if the same amount of effort and money that goes into the shoe industry went into keeping the ground clean we wouldn’t even need them…. Really makes u think

2

even after pearl got her a glass of milk AND sprayed out her mouth with the sink sprayer theres STILL peanut butter stuck between her fangs!!! unbelievable! 

cleaning tip!

before vacuuming your carpet, mix some baking soda and essential oil together and sprinkle it onto your carpet. press it in to the carpet by walking over it and let it sit for a few minutes. then, when you vacuum, your carpet will be extra clean and smell extra nice! 

Did i mention how obsessed i am with the Portal Musical.
*Cough*It’samazingyoureallyshouldwatchitifyouhaven’t*cough*

Not Going Anywhere

Woo, my first fanfic for this fandom! You get some Galra!Keith, the Power of Friendship™ and Lance actually acting like a Mature Adult, who’d ever have guessed it?

(Also, just for the record: my Pidge is genderfluid and uses mostly they/them/their pronouns! It’s not important, but I felt like I should say it.)

Edit: NOW WITH AMAZING FANART FROM @catnippackets!!!! 


It’s Pidge that first mentions it, piping up about something none of them have had the courage to voice yet.

“He’s not coming out, is he?”

Keep reading

I got tired of the submissions from people who are on good terms with the Crows, and appear to think that this is an easy thing to be. The Crows are just as frightening as the Gentry, in many ways. If you start to think of them as safe, or trivialise their regard by assuming you can buy it with minor things - scraps of food and respectful nods that cost you little to nothing - then you are going to have a very bad time.

Thus, as a public service; a trilogy of anecdotes:

The first thing they tell you about the Crows is this: Some say that if they love you they will lead you home, no matter how far you have wandered. But the crows do not love many.

Once, there was a student who paid faithful tribute to the Court of Crows. She offered food and trinkets at noon each day, and sang to them when the moon was full. She presumed herself safe, that she had bought the shade of their sheltering wings.

Then she watched as her roommate, her dearest friend, was Taken out from under one of the Crows trees. In her furious grief she swore revenge, but with summer break just around the corner, her friends thought she’d get over it. That she’d cool her head.

She came back with a shotgun, and a box full of neatly-stacked shells, and her friends and fellow students paid the price for it. Those were a bad few days. People lost friends.

No-one ever saw her again, or a body. But Jim from down the hall swears up and down the janitor came away with a bucket full of red water.

Do not anger the Crows. Do not presume their favour. It is theirs alone to grant, and they owe you nothing.

Once there was a student who took heed of the stories of the Crows. He left them offerings and read them poems, and this they tolerated, though they never showed him special favour.

He grew resentful of this lack, and stepped up his efforts. He bought them lavish gifts; outcompeting those who left them food or trinkets. He praised them during his breaks, striving to outdo those who simply nodded with respect. Every time they fluttered and shifted on their branches without gracing him with affection, his ugly fury grew.

Iron and salt stop only the Gentry. He found a feather on his pillow one morning, jet black and ragged-edged and stained with blood. Rather than taking this as a warning and a caution, he showed it to all who would look; let words boil out of his mouth that put form to what he felt he deserved. The next night, he dreamed of harsh croaks and cold air, and sharp beaks pecking out his eyes and tongue.

He woke up blind and mute, never to covet them again.

Do not insult the Crows. Do not try to buy their favour. It is not a thing to be sold, and you are entitled to nothing.

Once there was a student who was Taken by the Gentry. He laboured under Their affections until they released him into Elsewhere; uncaring as to his fate. Knowing what would befall him if he lingered, he searched desperately for a route that would lead him home.

A black shape took wing from the trees above him, and thinking himself safe, he sobbed in relief. He had always paid his respects to the Crows, and now he wept with joy and promised them much if they would lead him back to safer lands. More came, and he followed the ever-growing flock deeper and deeper down forest paths.

Eventually, he reached a clearing where the bare earth was dyed crimson. Human bones lay scattered on the ground, pecked clean of flesh. The flock settled all about him, and at last he remembered.

Not for nothing is a group of crows named a murder.

Do not rely on the Crows. Do not ask for their favour. They are neither safe nor tame, and they are bound by nothing.

[x]

Request: Loved

Request: May I request Mary (season 12 reference) coming to the bunker with dean and meeting the reader (she is a relationship with dean and told his mother about her)? :)

Word count: 1,130

<3

“Dean?” Your voice is barely a breath as you answer the phone, escaping as a transparent cloud on the cool spring air. It can’t be him – Amara and the bomb and Chuck and Rowena and… all of the jumbled, clouded images flit through your head at once and then disappear completely as he speaks again.

“Yeah, it’s me. Y/N, where the hell are you? Were you with Sam?” He cuts to the chase, and you quickly pick up on the panic in his voice – you’d know it anywhere on Earth.

“No.” There’s more shame in the word than you’d like him to hear – it wasn’t that you’d abandoned them. It wasn’t at all. It was more that the goodbye with Dean had been too much for you to bear, and you needed a few hours to be alone with your thoughts. The world may have been saved, but yours had been irreparably shattered, “And I’m about a mile away from the bunker. Probably less.”

“Good. Sam’s gone, there’s blood, and- and-“ His voice sputters and dies, “I can explain when you get here. Can you just…?”

You don’t have to pause, “Give me a minute. Maybe five.” You tell him, and then he’s ended the call – and that’s how you know it’s him, not some sick perversion like it was last time or a cheap imitation: there’s no goodbye, no ‘see you soon’. That’s it, it’s a given that you’ll be there.

***

“Dean?” The door creaks and clanks as you haul it open, gun in one hand. You creep down the stairs, not quite knowing what threat to expect, if any. However, by the time he’s taken three steps out of the war room, you’re on him, throwing your arms around his neck as the gun clatters to the floor and his arms wrap you up, strong and safe, lifting your feet clean off the ground. Dean buries his face into your shoulder, vaguely reminiscent of the hug you’d last shared – except this one is joy and relief, where the other had been sorrow and fear.

“God, Y/N.” His breath is warm and face scratchy and he’s alive. The last thing in the universe that you want to do is pull away, but when you finally open your eyes and look over his shoulder, you’re startled into pulling back.

A blonde woman stands behind him, watching you both with a mixture of intense confusion and affectionate amusement. You look from her, to Dean, and then back to her – for one, she’s wearing your shirt, and for another, she looks familiar in a way you can’t place.

“Y/N,” His arm remains tight around your waist, although he does let you back down onto the floor, “Meet my mom, Mary. Mom, this is Y/N.”

She quirks an eyebrow, and for a split second you realise that the mannerism belongs to Dean – many of her features do, in fact. It’s only then do you recognise her as the woman from the photographs Dean never has out of arm’s reach.

“This is Y/N?” She asks, and Dean nods in confirmation, smiling proudly – like this is a moment he’d always wished for; to introduce his girlfriend to his mother. Mary takes a slow step forward, looking you up and down – not scrutinising, but examining. Wanting to familiarise herself with you.

“You mentioned me?” You glance up at Dean, but his mother cuts in before he can even think of an answer.

“Oh, you’re all he mentioned. I was starting to think I’d had another child I didn’t remember until he specified that you were his girlfriend,” She smiles, and you can’t help but laugh a little at that, “Oh, Y/N, you’ll love Y/N. She’s so beautiful and smart and funny and…”

“Mom!” Dean interrupts indignantly, his face flushed red. Both you and Mary manage a laugh at that, despite the situation at hand – but the confusion and anxiety soon cloud her features again, and you look between the two of them for a few moments.

“Dean, babe, have you tried calling Cas? He came back here with Sam, and if that’s an angel-banishing sigil I see over there, he definitely was here.” You offer, lifting up to kiss his cheek before withdrawing, “Mary, I feel like you could use a cup of tea… milk and extra honey?”

For just a moment, she hesitates, looking between the two of you – and then she nods, relief flooding her features – an excuse to avoid the stressful situation for a little while, and to get her out of Dean’s high expectations so she can take a few breaths. You couldn’t be happier for him, but you know as well as anyone that he can be a bit of an overexcited puppy every now and again.

***

“So… you’ve done this before?” She asks, heaping more honey into the tea. You nod, giving a small smile and sipping your drink slowly.

“Once or twice. Sam and Dean have too, but we all lost count a few times ago.” At the look of horror on her face, you reach over and rest your hand over hers – the idea of her sons dying and coming back must be awful to her. Especially when her own experience of it seems to be going less than smoothly for her, “They always seem to come back. Dean always used to say it’s because angels were watching over them.”

Mary’s eyes widen slightly at her own words being echoed back from the mouth of an outsider, but she doesn’t seem to have the words of her own.

“There isn’t a day goes by when he doesn’t think about you.” You tell her softly, giving a small smile, “Don’t take that as pressure. But take it to know that you’re loved here, and always have been. I get it, fitting back in can be awkward. But I’m here, and so are Sam and Dean. And if you need to be stupid and quiet and go and get our nails done or do something menial, I’m always up for a girls’ day out.”

Again, she only seems to stare at you, and you fear that you’ve overstepped the mark – after all, you’re practically a stranger to her. But, instead, after a few moments, a wide, warm smile spreads over her face and her eyes wrinkle in exactly the same way that Dean’s do.

“I get it.” She says softly, her eyes twinkling, “I understand completely… what he sees in you. Why he loves you so much. Why you love him.”

All of those thoughts you’d had, growing up, about meeting your boyfriend’s parents and trying to impress them… this couldn’t be further from that if it tried. But you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Season's Beatings

Words: 2477
Warnings: Bullying, Blood, Self-Hate, Being Beaten, Transphobia, Misgendering,
Inspired by: @bunny-yams Hamilton Highschool AU

Alex waited for Lafayette to be done changing from his cheer uniform. He had to say goodbye before running off to his quick after school choir practice. That and the fact that John and Thomas should be coming by soon to get ready for their football practice.

“Alex!” Lafayette called, walking out of the change room. Alex came over, giving him a quick hug.

“Good job today, but you stink,” Alex scrunched his nose, playfully hitting Lafayette’s arm. “Go home and shower,” he added.

“I’m hurt,” Lafayette joked, his accent thick (thicc). “Do you want me to walk you to choir?” He asked, tightening his ponytail a bit.

“I think I know the way,” Alex laughed, turning away from the much taller man. “See you tomorrow!” He waved, leaving the changing room area. He would have waited for his boyfriends but he didn’t want to be late for the meeting. They were planning what songs to do at the up coming competition and Alexander wanted to be there.

He took a left from the gym, walking down a beige tiled hall with orange and blue lockers lining the walls. He always hated the horrible, inconsistent pattern of the colours, and just how bad they were. He took a right at the end of the hall, stopping when he heard a voice.

“Well well well, if it isn’t our favourite little girl,” A voice rang out in the quiet hall. Alex turned to see James Reynolds along with some other most likely sophomores. He took a step back, almost tripping, but trying to hide it.

“What the fuck do you want Reynolds?” He spoke, trying to hide his fear. He’s been beat up many times, and while he didn’t like to back down, the beatings hurt.

“Oh, that’s no way to talk, don’t I spend so much time with you? And I haven’t gotten to much recently because of some people, ” James answered, poison seeping into his words.

“Just leave me alone, I have somewhere to be,” Alex spoke, quickly turning in hopes of getting away. He was near the gym, so if he could get past them he could go back to see if Lafayette was still there. But there were four of them, and only one him.

“Not so fast, I haven’t had fun yet,” James hissed, grabbing Alex’s shoulder and pushing him into the lockers. He punched Alex roughly in his stomach, making Alexander hunch over in pain.

One of the other guys pushed Alex over while another stepped on his arm, making Alex let out a sound of pain. He’s learned to hide it over the many beatings, cries it only encouraged them more.

“I’d kick you in the nuts, but you don’t have any because you’re just a girl, and that’s all you’ll ever be,” James spat. He leaned down, picking Alex up by the top of his shirt and glaring as his jacket.

“To think someone would ever actually love you? They’re just using you, because why not. You’re just a whore’s son, and a whore yourself,” He said in Alex’s face. Alex tried to hold back the tears but it hurt, both physically and emotionally.

“Aw look, the little girl is crying,” James mocked, making the others laugh as he threw Alex to the ground. Alex gasped for air, having the wind knocked out of him. He attempted to get away, kicking towards the guys while holding his injured arm to his chest.

One of the guys grabbed Alex’s hair, pulling him back as he cried out in pain. Tears were falling down his face as he threw his limbs around in an attempt to escape.

“So pathetic,” One of the guys said as they took turns kicking him.

“J-j-John, Th-o-mas!” Alex cried, curling himself up into a ball as the continued to beat him.

“You really think that’ll scare us, it’s after school,” James laughed as he pulled Alex by his hair once more so he was looking at him. Alexander had tears down his face as James stared at him with a smirk. “No one is here for you, you’ll always be alone,” He spat out, pushing Alex’s head back into the lockers. Alex let out a cry, biting his tongue harshly as his mouth bled. Upon impact with the corner of the metal locker Alex’s head gashed open, some blood seeping through and trickling down his forehead.

James stopped while the other guys kept beating on Alex, hearing heavy footsteps from down the hall. He didn’t want to beat the scene if someone was coming, so they couldn’t link him to the attack, so he turned and quickly left. He disappeared down the hall, most likely leaving the school.

John was the first to turn the corner, rage filling him as he saw Alex curled up into himself being beaten on by three men in his and Thomas’ year.

He didn’t even wait for anything, jumping on one of the and punching him in the face as hard as he could. Thomas ran around the corner, grabbing another one of the guys and beating on him. He quickly let go of him though as he saw the third guy trying to run away. He ran after him down the halls as John pushed the other guy to the ground.

He carefully walked over to Alex, not touching him yet because he didn’t know how hurt he was or if Alex even knew he was there.

“Alex, open your eyes, please. It’s me, John,” He spoke softly. Alex slowly opened his eyes, tears falling out of them. He rarely got beaten even close to how bad this one was, often it was a couple or small to medium beatings in a few days.

“Hey, you’re safe now, okay,” John whispered, gently wiping away Alex’s tears. He expected Thomas would get some adult to deal with this, it’s the only way to truly stop the beatings. “Can you stand?” He asked Alex, kneeling beside him.

Alex shook his head, wincing as he moved slightly. “Let’s clean you up okay?” John said. He carefully went to pick Alex up, stopping even time Alex’s breath jumped or he made any noise. Alex was always trying to play down any beating and stay quiet and he never really spoke about how much pain he was in.

John carried Alex to the nearest bathroom, bringing him into the boys even though the school doesn’t really want Alex in there. Thomas and John never cared though, always telling him to go in. He’s a boy, so he should be in the boy’s bathroom.

John placed Alex on the sink counter, turning on the tap beside him. Alex had yet to talk, looking at the ground as more tears fell. John wanted to hug him but didn’t want to hurt him more.

He got some paper towel from the dispenser and placed it under the now warm water. He first went to the cut on Alex’s forehead, dabbing it gently as Alex let out a slight hiss. John wiped up the slowly drying blood and went on to the cut on Alexander’s lip which wasn’t as bad.

He noticed that Alex was holding his right arm close to his chest. “Can you take your jacket off?” He asked quietly. He new Alex didn’t even like to take it off when he wasn’t hurt and he hated showing his marks from the beatings. Alex didn’t want to a first but gave in because he didn’t have the energy to fight. He painfully slipped it off, revealing the old bruises on his arms. His wrist was already quite swelled and red. John, having taken first aid, looked at it carefully.

“I think it’s sprained, we should probably get some ice soon,” He spoke. He looked at Alex’s other arm, seeing some more red marks where bruises will probably form with a pain in his heart. He wanted to do so much more to those guys then what he had done.

John put his hand at the bottom of Alex’s shirt to ask for permission to look at his stomach. From all of Alex’s wincing from every movement of his stomach, it was obvious it was harmed. He lifted up Alex’s shirt slightly to see the marks left behind from the punches and kicks. John wanted to cry when he saw that, and he knew they were going to look worse and they formed into bruises.

John placed a loving kiss on Alex’s lips, holding in the tears. He pulled back, staring at Alex with sadness and love. He loved him so much. John gently ran his fingers through Alex’s soft hair, pulling back when Alex winced again.

“How about we go find Thomas and get some ice?” He spoke, handing Alex back his jacket. Alex didn’t move from his spot, staring blankly at the wall.

“H-he’s going t-t-to know,” Alex stuttered out.

“Who is going to know what?” John asked, confused if what Alex was attempting to say.

“I tr-tried hard-d to h-h-hide it, b-but now G-G-G-George will know-w,” He mumbled, balling his left hand into a fist.

“Hey, if he knows he can help, right?” John said, placing his hands on Alex’s legs softly. “He can help stop it,”

“He’ll-ll s-s-see me as weak-k,” Alex mumbled, not looking at John.

“Hey,” John lifted Alex’s head up slightly, “You’re anything but weak, from everything that has been thrown at you and you can still manage to smile,” John smiled sadly, kissing Alex softly once again. “Now do you want you jacket?” He said in a more up beat tone, helping Alex put his jacket on once again.

John piggy backed Alexander back to where he first found him, where Thomas was with a teacher and a janitor who was cleaning the ground of the blood that was dripped on it.

Thomas walked over, kissing both John and Alex quickly on the cheek. The teacher came walking over behind him, “I can see from the cut that something happened, but can you confirm that you were beat by the three sophomores Thomas has said?” She asked Alex who was slightly hiding into John'a neck.

He stayed silent for a moment before talking, “There was four,” He mumbled.

“Four?” Thomas and John asked, both looking confused.

Alex nodded a bit before speaking again, “James, James Reynolds was there, he’s the one that pushed me into the locker to cut my head,” He stated, looking up from John’s neck.

“But Thomas didn’t say he saw him,” The teacher spoke.

“He ran when he heard John and Thomas running down the halls,” Alex answered, not liking all the attention he was getting. It was the wrong kind of attention, not the good kind.

“We’ll question James and the other boys, but since there is no witness here for James he might not get in trouble,” The teacher admitted.

Alex bit his already injured lip, not caring about the pain. He just sadly nodded and leaned his head against John, making sure to not hit his cut. “Let’s get you some ice,” John spoke before starting to walk down the halls with Thomas behind him, leaving the teacher with the janitor.

“I’ll call Mr. Washington for a ride,” Thomas spoke, and John could feel Alex tense but said nothing. The trio walked to the office and go a bag of ice from the secretary. Alex held it on his wrist as they waited for George to arrive to drive the three of them home. Thomas texted home to say the he and John didn’t need a ride home from football before turning his full attention to Alex.

He sat between the two guys, leaning on Thomas because he was in the side that didn’t have a giant gash on his forehead. He was sleepy but the constant pain and the freezing ice kept him awake.

When George pulled up, Thomas picked Alex up bridal style and carried him to the car. They could see the confusion and worry in George’s eyes but didn’t say anything at first. Thomas got in the back with Alex as John sat up front. Alex was placed in the middle so he could lean on Thomas for the ride home.

George gave John a concerned look a John let out a sigh, “He got beaten up badly by some dicks, excuse my language, but nothing is broken on needing stitches,” He got the main questions out of the way. George was still vary worried and lost but he just drove the trio to his house.

When they arrived Thomas went to carry Alex into the house but George took him from him. Alex didn’t do anything because he just hurt and somewhat wanted to die at that moment.

George took Alex up to his room, telling John to grab the first aid kit and for Thomas to grab some more ice. They did as they were told, bring the items to George in Alex’s room. They sat on the end of the bed as George took care of Alex, bandaging up his forehead cut and wrapping ace bandages around his wrist. He gave Alex some pain medicine and the younger boy slowly drifted off to sleep.

“How long has this been happening?” He asked the two boys who were still him the room.

“We’ve know for a little bit, but he said they were never that bad and we were protecting him during school. We didn’t think they’d come after school. We’re so sorry,” Thomas mumbled and John agreed. They were both nervous of what George would do but also guilty, knowing that they should have spoken up sooner and that they should have protected Alex better.

George sighed, placing his hand gently on Alex’s shoulder, “He probably told you not to tell didn’t he,” He said sadly, “Thank you for protecting him though.” He added, which only confused John and Thomas. They thought he was going to snap. George stood up, grabbing the first aid kit and walking towards the door, “if anything else like this happens though, let me know.” He ended strongly, leaving the room without another word.

Alex partially woke up from the sound of the door closing, “Tommy? John?” He mumbled, looking around with semi opened eyes.

“Yes, love?” Thomas asked as the two boys turned their attention to Alex.

“Cuddle me,” The younger boy mumbled, reaching out towards his boyfriends. They both laughed softly, knowing he was out of it because of the pain killers. They both crawled over to him on either side, holding him close.

The three of them fell asleep in each other’s arms, finally feeling safe and at home.

Twisted Up

A/N: Alright, I’m terribly sorry to my dear Twister Anon who has waited so long for this! I’m so glad you requested this, because I had a lot of fun writing this particular smut of mine :3 I hope you’ll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Lots of love to you, Twister Anon and all my PCY stans out there! x

Pairing(s): Chanyeol x Reader

Warnings: Vanilla sex

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Requested: Yes, by my darling Twister Anon <3

Summary: A game of Twister with Chanyeol ends up being taken into the bedroom.

Word Count: 2839

Soundtrack: Toothbrush // DNCE

Originally posted by parkchanyeolieoppa

“God damn it, Chanyeol! It’s right foot on red, not blue”, you burst out laughing, already twisted in an awkward position of your own. With your left hand resting on the yellow circle and your right hand on purple, you’re not exactly in a comfortable predicament.

To your left, Jongdae is twisted up in a human pretzel, trying hard to keep himself from losing his balance as his giggles rumble throughout his form. To your right, Chanyeol seems to be having a bit of a struggle in keeping up with the instructions Junmyeon is diligently reading out from his perch on the nearby barstool.

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The Signs As Seasons 🌷

ig//horoscopezone

Summer - Fiery, Popular, Adventurous, Strong:
Leo
Saggitarius
Aries

Winter - Calm, Sexy, Compassionate, Aristic:
Pisces
Cancer
Scorpio

Fall - Creative, Jolly, Kind, Generous:
Gemini
Libra
Aquarius

Spring - Wise, Grounded, Clean, Healthy:
Taurus
Virgo
Capricorn

:)

Not Like the Movies (Jughead x Reader)

“My first request ever! Would you write a JugheadxReader where the reader worked at the drive-in with him and they got really close, she knew about his family and living situation, she falls in love with him and when she’s gonna tell him she sees him with Betty at Pop’s? If so, thank you very much, you are awesome and I love your writing!” –Anonymous

Imagine: You met Jughead Jones while working a summer job at the drive-in. He becomes enamored with your love of the movies, and you become enamored with him. When you find out about Betty Cooper, you are heartbroken.


It all started with a summer job.

Your grandfather had special ties with the mayor, and just gushed over how you would be the perfect fit for the Twilight Drive-In summer team. You traded in your summer arsenal of journals and tire swings for popcorn and Red Vines, becoming the sweet face who served the snacks during every showing. Customer service was always a drag and serving theater food made you feel sticky in a way you’ve never felt before, but it made you feel less lonely. It kept you busy.

And you had to admit, you loved the movies.

You were serving during a showing of Casablanca when you saw him.

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On the Brink - Chapter 2

Pairings: Lucifer x You

Warnings: Torture. Tiny bit of wing kink.

@teamfreewilllovesyou

Originally posted by natedrkes

They came for Lucifer in the early morning hours and you could hear his screams echoing through your cell. You wondered if he had been able to hear you yesterday and you supposed he probably had. It was some time before they brought him back and the demons were carrying him between them. His legs dragged on the floor and he was groaning. You sat up, your back sending little tendrils of pain throughout your body, and watched as they dumped him in the middle of the cell. He collapsed in a heap, moaning, and you could see blood soaking through his shirt on his back.

The demons left, but Lucifer didn’t move. He just laid there, much like you had the day before. You realized you felt bad for him, shockingly enough. You scooted over towards him.

“Lucifer,” You said softly. He didn’t respond and you touched his shoulder gently. It was then that you realized he had passed out. Wonderful, you thought. This is going to be so much harder now.

Luckily you still had some strength in you and you were able to lift the heavy archangel off the floor and get him onto the cot. Your back was on fire when you were done, but Lucifer was at least off the dirty floor now. His shirt was ripped to shreds and through it you could see the deep, oozing wounds. Crowley started with the nine tails then, you thought bitterly. You had scars yourself from the bite of that whip.

Gently, you pulled the shirt off the archangel and ripped it into strips. You were filling the sink with warm water when he groaned.

“Don’t move,” You ordered.

A crazy laughter bubbled out of him, which promptly turned into more gasps of pain. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He said in a stuttering voice.

You laid the strips down on a clean shirt so they wouldn’t get dirty, then looked around and pulled a brick out of the wall. Behind it was a small jar of a waxy substance.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.” You said, putting the stone back and carrying the jar over. “This might hurt a bit,” You warned him, dipping your fingers into it.

“What is it?”

“Just a healing lotion. It works great. But I’m going to have to touch your back with it and its going to hurt like hell.”

“I’ve had worse,” He said. He grunted when you first touched his bare back, but was silent as you spread the lotion over his shredded skin. You tried to be gentle, but you knew it was hurting him badly because you could feel the tenseness in his body. Once you were finished, you carefully laid the wet strips of shirt across his back until it was almost covered. His breathing had evened out as you worked and you found him studying your face every time you looked down at him. It was unnerving, but you figured he didn’t understand normal human socialization rules. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

“All done.” You said after laying the last strip down on the small of his back. You returned the jar of lotion to its hiding spot and then sat in front of Lucifer. “We’ll have to leave it on for a while, but it should feel much better once it comes off. I’ll check it when I get back.”

“Get back from where?” He asked hoarsely. You looked away from him and he said, “Oh.”

You took a deep breath. “Just get some rest.”

That day you were waterboarded, stuck with large needles, and had all the fingernails on your left hand pulled off.

Lucifer was still laying on the cot when you were shoved back into the cell. You stumbled, but didn’t fall. You quickly grabbed a shirt from the clean pile and wrapped your bloody left hand up. Then you went over to Lucifer and knelt beside the bed.

“Ready?” You rasped, your voice eroded from a long day of screaming.

He nodded, an unreadable expression on his face. You lifted a shaking hand and unpeeled the cloth from his back. The skin was raw, puckered, and swollen, but it looked a bit better. You hoped.

“Looks okay. Now it has to air.” You said, peeling off all the strips. Once you had bundled everything into a ball and set it aside, you set to work on your own wounds. Your left hand was by far the worst. Once you were finished, you turned away from him and sat, leaning your back on the metal bed frame, the burns on your back throbbing, the knife wounds on your stomach aching. And you thought wistfully of your brothers. They were probably so worried. You had been gone without a trace for almost a year now and they still hadn’t found you. You could only hope that they were close to solving the mystery of your disappearance.

“Why did you do it?” Lucifer’s voice cut into your thoughts.

“Do what?”

A pause. Then: “Help me. Why did you help me?”

Now it was your turn to pause. “A multitude of reasons.”

“Like what”

“Like I don’t like seeing someone in pain. Like I know that those wounds are worse if not treated correctly. Like it was the right thing to do.” There was a long pause, so you turned towards him and asked the question that had been burning you up. “Why can’t you heal yourself?”

“Crowley won’t let me.” He answered immediately. The quickness of his response took you off-guard. You hadn’t really expected him to answer that question, at least not so readily.

“Did he take your Grace?” You asked.

“No. He trapped me in this vessel, which he remade with runes. He can have total control over me whenever he wants.”

“Whoa.” You breathed. “That’s not good.”

He grinned weakly. “No, it’s not.”

You propped your elbow up on the bed and rested your chin on your wrapped up hand.

“What happened to that?” Lucifer asked, nodding at the hand.

“Let’s just say I won’t be having any manicures for a while.”

He grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” You said. “Yeah.”

“Where did you get that stuff you put on me? From the jar?”

“I have my ways.” You said, not wanting to give up your secrets. You didn’t want the one helping you to be outed accidentally.

That was the last word between the two of you for a few hours. Lucifer was snoring loudly when you decided to check his back again. It was scabbing over and looked incredibly painful. You endured five whippings since your capture but your back had never looked as bad as the archangel’s. He really must have pissed Crowley off. You didn’t think he was going to be able to get off the cot for at least a day, maybe longer. And you knew that Crowley would most likely come again for him in the morning.

Crowley did come again for Lucifer in the morning. And the morning after that, and the one after that, until they all started to blend together. And you were taken every afternoon, as usual. It was strange though. Your own torments were cruel, but the ones Lucifer endured were on a whole other level. Every morning they tossed his bloodied, battered body back into the cell and every morning you picked him up off the ground, cleaned his wounds, and bandaged him up. And it was either the nineteenth or the twentieth day after Lucifer first arrived that he began to return the favor in the afternoons, if he was able.

You remembered the first time he had done it well because it had shocked you. Crowley had been particularly cruel that day. You had cuts all along your face, your nose was broken, and he had taken to branding your back again. It seemed to be a favorite of his. They tossed you back in the cell, where Lucifer lay recovering from that morning where they had just beat him senseless, and you crawled over to the sink, intending to start cleaning up. The next thing you knew, Lucifer had you in his cool arms and was placing you gently on the cot. You were so shocked that you couldn’t speak. You could only watch as Lucifer carefully cleaned your wounds. His cool hands felt heavenly though the cloth was rough and you moaned slightly at the relief they gave you.

“Don’t make it weird, Winchester.” Lucifer said gruffly.

“Sorry,” You said with a smile.

Once he had finished, you sat up and faced him. “Let me see yours,” You demanded.

Lucifer painfully pulled up his shirt and you examined the word that had been carved into the soft flesh of his stomach. ‘Dog’, the word read. You touched it to see if it was warm and heard him inhale sharply.

“Sorry,” You said. “Just checking for infection.”

“I’m fine,” He muttered, dropping his shirt.

“Okay. Thank you.”

He looked down querulously at you. “Thank you for what?”

“For cleaning me up.”

He shrugged. “You do it for me.”

“Yeah, well…thank you.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it.” He said. “I can’t have people thinking I’m losing my touch.”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone.” You said, grinning. He grinned back and you suddenly realized that you were making friends with the Devil. And it honestly didn’t feel so bad. You didn’t know that the friendship would hold up outside of the cell (you figured it probably wouldn’t), but after almost a year of being alone, it was kind of…nice…to have someone to talk to.

And things went on the way for a while, until they took Lucifer and he didn’t come back for two weeks. It was the roughest two weeks of your life. You were tormented every day and had to go back to cleaning yourself up again. It was hard, grueling, and you didn’t know if you were ever going to see the Devil again. You didn’t know what had happened to him. You figured Crowley wouldn’t kill him, but you were worried about him. And worried about yourself because you were worried about him.

He was back quite suddenly. When you went to sleep that night he wasn’t there and when you woke up, he was. You had been badly tormented the day before and so didn’t have the energy to sit up, much less stand. He was sitting across the cell from you, staring.

“Hey,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. You tried again. “Where you been?”

He had a strange look in his eyes and you realized how vulnerable he looked. With enormous effort, you got to your feet and went to kneel in front of him. He stared right through you and you wondered for a moment if the once proud archangel had finally broken.

“What happened?” You asked softly.

He inhaled, then roughly shoved you away from him. You landed on your back a few feet away from him, your body screaming in pain.

“Stay away from me.” He said coldly.

You were gasping for air on the floor, but you heard him. What the hell? You thought fiercely. You were angry, that was for sure. You had helped this dick pretty much the whole time he had been imprisoned with you and this was how he was going to act?

You crawled back over to the bed and hoisted yourself back up. The pain was intense and the anger even more so, but underneath it all you were surprised to find that you had been hurt not only physically but emotionally. You had grown close-ish to Lucifer and his rejection of you hurt. You rolled away from him and faced the wall all night.

The next morning you were surprised when the demons came for not only Lucifer, but you as well. They marched you down the long hallway side by side. The torture chamber was much the same and they strapped you the table as they usually did. Crowley appeared, as usual. But what was odd was that they didn’t strap Lucifer down on the other table. He stood sullenly off to the side, his eyes dull. Crowley stepped up next to you.

“Hello darling.” He said. “We’re going to have so much fun today.”

He whirled away before you could spit at him and strode over towards the table full of torture instruments next to the archangel. You watched as the King selected a blowtorch off the stand and turned back towards you. Smiling, he handed the torch to Lucifer.

“Burn her.” He commanded.

Lucifer looked as though he had been slapped. “What?”

“Burn her,” Crowley repeated. “Go on, I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Lucifer looked down at the blowtorch in his hand and then over to you. You could see the pain in his eyes. He looked back towards Crowley.

“No.”

Crowley’s head jerked around. “No?” He snapped his fingers and Lucifer cried out, dropping the torch and falling to his knees. “Listen, dog! When I tell you to do something, you better do it!”

He snapped again and Lucifer screamed in agony. “Now, you will burn her!”

“No,” Lucifer grunted. Crowley snapped and Lucifer dropped to the floor completely in the fetal position. His bellows echoed through the room. Crowley punched him and his head bounced off the concrete floor.

“Are you going to do as I say?”

Lucifer spat out a wad of blood. “No.”

Crowley growled and his fists flew. Lucifer was fading in and out of consciousness when he was finished. The King picked the torch up off the ground, straightened his tie, clicked it on, then stepped towards you.

When the bottoms of your feet were blackened and blistered, he had Lucifer strapped face down on the other table. Lucifer’s head was turned towards you and you could see that his eyes were horribly swollen. You were in so much pain that you didn’t even realize what Crowley was doing at first. He seemed to be picking at something in the air, stretching it out, like the wing of a bird or something. Oh my God, his wings, you had time to think before Crowley went to work on those with the blowtorch.

Lucifer shrieked and struggled against the restraints but there was no escape. You had never heard those sounds come out of him before. They were animalistic and horrible. He thrashed, but Crowley only had his demons hold the invisible wing down. You wanted to look away, to run away, to do anything besides lay there, but there was no escape for you either.

When they threw the two of you back in the cell, you both laid on the floor for several long moments. Finally you sat up and looked over to the archangel. You were surprised to see tears streaming out of his eyes. You crawled over to him, knowing you wouldn’t be walking for quite a while.

“You gotta let me see them,” You said.

“No,” He said, his voice steady.

“Lucifer, you gotta let me take a look at your wings. I know you angels have a thing about letting humans see them, but from the sounds you were making, they really need some help healing.”

“Touching an angel’s wings is incredibly intimate.” He said. “No one besides me has ever touched mine.”

“I’ll be gentle.” You promised.

He clenched his jaw, but didn’t resist as you pulled him up into a seated position. You walked around behind him and touched him gently on the shoulder.

“Spread ‘em, Feathers.” You said. They were joking words, but your tone was soft rather than jovial.

Lucifer sighed, bowed his head, tugged off his shirt, and did as you bade. 

They were even more magnificent than you could have ever imagined. So white they almost glowed and fluffier than the fluffiest pillow. You ran your hand through the beautiful feathers that were closest to his neck. It was like running your hand through a cloud and for a moment you forgot about where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. There was only you and the gorgeous sight before you.

Lucifer made a low sound that could have been a moan, then cleared his throat. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You asked, snapping out of your trance.

“Intimate. Remember?”

“Oh.” Then you understood what he meant by that. “Oh. Oh my God. I’m sorry!”

He gave you a weak smile. “Just try to be fast.”

You nodded and looked to your left. The mangled, bloodied, blacked spots on his wings stuck out like a sore thumb. You brushed your hands over the spot closest to you and felt him shudder. Quickly, silently, you plucked the mangled feathers away from the spot and marveled at how soft the skin was underneath. 

You did the same with the other spots you could see, then had Lucifer wet some shirts since you couldn’t walk. He sat back in front of you and spread his wings again. You cleaned his wounds as best you could and you couldn’t refrain yourself from running your hands again through his healthy feathers, loving the way they felt.

Lucifer inhaled sharply and you felt him tense. “Y/N.” He breathed.

“Sorry.” You said. “Couldn’t help it. They’re…amazing. And I’ll probably never get to touch them again.”

“What makes you say that?” He asked in a low voice.

You sighed and sat back. “I’m not getting out of here alive. I’ve known that for a while now. But hey, at least I can now say that I’ve touched an angel’s wings.”

He was silent for a moment. “What makes you think you aren’t getting out of this alive?”

You gave a dry laugh. “I’ve been enduring this torment day in and day out for a year now. It’s coming. My breaking point. It’ll be soon and then Crowley will kill me and it’ll all be over. Finally. You know, there are days where I wish for the end to come, and know that I could help it along. But then I think about my brothers, and everyone else I’d be letting down, and it helps me hold out a little longer. I mean Dean held out for over 40 years right? And I can’t even last a year? Pathetic.”

“You are not pathetic.” Lucifer said quietly.

“Yeah, anyways,” You said, looking away. “Let’s change the subject.”

His wings fluttered lazily and you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them again. “What information does Crowley want from you?” He asked.

You hesitated, the memory of Lucifer shoving you away from him surfacing suddenly. He looked back over his shoulder at you and saw the expression on your face. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“I don’t want the information getting to Crowley,” You explained. “How do I know you won’t sell me out to save your own skin?”

The wings disappeared instantly. “Typical Winchester.” He muttered, pulling his shirt back on.

“Hey, I’m not the one who disappeared for two weeks then physically attacked my cellmate. That was you.”

He stood up and crossed the room to go sit on the cot. “I have my reasons for that.”

“Yeah well, the point is that I can’t trust you.”

“Right. I forgot how trustworthy you were. Obviously you must be a  master at spotting it in others.”

You crawled over to the bed, still unable to stand, and laid down on the floor looking up at him. “I’m not trying to be mean here, Lucifer. I’m trying to preserve my life. I would think that you would understand this.”

He stared down at you with an unreadable expression. “Yeah. I understand perfectly.”

Breaking Down

Request: I love your stories so much! If it is no trouble I was wondering if you could write a newtxreader where the reader feels like she has been a burden to Newt and it gets to the point when she leaves when he isn’t noticing? And then he comes to find her? Really angsty please? Thanks! 

Word Count: 2,106

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in


The pot clatters to the ground, breaking open and sending black dirt rolling across the floor. Newt cranes his head around from where he’s working. He watches the shrivelfig bounce across the ground and ricochet off his boot.

Wiping his hands on a towel, he leans down and lifts it. “Efficient.”

You return his grin with your own half-hearted smile as you turn to grab a broom.

Newt notices your insincerity. “You okay, love?”

Your back to Newt, you nod. “Fine.”

He focuses back on the potion in front of him. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you murmur. Guilt tugs at you. You don’t like lying to Newt, but this isn’t his problem.

You go to sweep up the spilled dirt, but before you can even touch a grain of it with the broom, it starts spinning around. The pieces of the pot reassemble themselves, and the dirt shoots back into the mended pot. Newt doesn’t need to look at you for you to know he’s smiling.

“No need for the broom, love, I’ve got it.”

You stare at the clean ground, unmoving. Of course you’d mess up and break something Newt needed. Of course he’d need to clean up after you.

“Everything okay?” The nonchalant question comes from over his shoulder as he stirs the mixture.

Keep reading

Sara Lance Decks Man-Hell, ft. Sanvers and SuperCanary feels

She takes risks every day.

She throws herself in front of bullets – with or without the kevlar-lining in her suit – and she’s long since learned how to stitch her own body back together.

It’s a lesson one tends to learn on that island. On that boat. In the League.

She’s long since learned how to channel fear into a cocky strut and rage into spinning kicks and blood lust into herself.

She’s long since forgotten what safety feels like.

Because when your entire life is a risk – risk of death, risk of torture, risk of rapidly-building panic, constant drowning in self-loathing, that (you hope) no one but you can detect – when your entire life is a risk, you tend to forget what it feels like not to take one.

But then there’s Kara.

Supergirl.

She can’t quite remember, she can’t quite keep it straight in her head.

Well that’s a pun.

Can’t quite parse out how the girl with the glasses and awkward laugh and brilliant smile is also the bulletproof woman with the lowered voice and laser eyes and undefeatable stance.

Well, no.

No, that part, she can understand.

She can understand that part because when people look at Sara? When people look at Sara, they also see a helpless blonde with stars instead of the seven levels of hell in her eyes; until she starts to fight.

So she understands that part, actually: Kara and Supergirl. The contradictions, the agony of stitching them together, of keeping them apart.

Sara understands that because she lives it herself every day.

Except the flying. The flying part would be cool.

Maybe one day Kara will take her flying…

But no. No, she won’t, because she’s busy, now.

And not the kind of busy that they all are: busy saving lives, busy pretending they don’t need saving of their own, busy pretending their stitches will hold.

No.

No, now Kara is busy with some man who’s gotten in her head and won’t leave. Some man who tells her her loves her in the same breath that he that he tells her his mistakes are her fault.

Some man who’s worn her down and shattered the light in her eyes by replacing it with his own.

And that? That, Sara understands all too well, too.

But she wishes she didn’t.

“You approve of this guy for your sister?” she leans into Alex, elbows on the table, both their eyes fixed on Kara, laughing in the guy’s arms one second, scolding him harshly for something or other the next.

“Hell no.” Alex leans over quick as anything to grab Sara’s drink and chugs deeply, and Sara knows that type of swig, the desperation behind it. The need behind it. Knows it too well from her father, from her sister.

Her sister. Her stomach lurches.

She glances at Maggie, who nods grimly, confirming Sara’s fears about Alex, about alcohol, about need. Sara gently pries the glass out of Alex’s distracted fingers.

“Why don’t you stick to your club soda there, Danvers?” she suggests gently, and Maggie smiles gratefully, softly, sadly, at her.

Alex grunts and grumbles, but clearly she and Maggie have had this talk before, because she returns to her own, non-addictive, drink sullenly.

“No, I don’t approve of him. How could I? She’s screaming at him every day, do you know she told him explicitly not to tell anyone they’d slept together and he literally made a public announcement about it at her job not five minutes later?”

“And let’s not even go there with the guilt trips,” Maggie chimes, and Sara’s blood boils.

Because Sara’s life is one risk after another.

But visiting Earth 38 because Iris and Barry told her that Kara seems to be in trouble, that Kara seems to need an extra arsenal of help disentangling herself from this web he’s created around her?

It’s one of the scariest risks she’s taken.

Because she has to watch sisters who love each other. Has to watch one watch the other suffer with a smile, and she remembers that feeling, but god, at least Kara is alive for Alex to watch.

Laurel would’ve liked Kara. Laurel would’ve killed this guy. Laurel…

“You okay, Sara?” Alex interrupts her train of thought, and she shoots back the rest of her whiskey.

“You know it’s harder for Kara to listen to you and your girl because you’re her family, right? That happens sometimes.”

She thinks of Laurel. Of her father. Hell, of Ollie, Dig, Felicity. Snart.

She shudders slightly before rising steadily.

“Lucky for her, I’m not family.”

Alex and Maggie watch with excited trepidation as Sara stands, straightens her shoulders – even at full height she’ll come up to something like his chin, and Maggie grins because she knows that or his super strength won’t matter – and struts over to the pool table, where James is rubbing his forehead and Winn is trying his best to look anywhere but his best friend as she tells her off-again-he-insists-that-it’s-on-again boyfriend that, for the hundredth time, she hates when he touches her like that in public.

“You know what I love about this earth?” Sara cuts off Kara’s needed rant, and Kara whips around with a sliver of hope in her pained, furious eyes. “That it’s got men who will let a woman defend herself, but stick around in case she asks for backup, because you know what? She can. I know a few guys like that myself.”

She thinks of Mick and Snart and their first bar brawl together, the way that Leonard grinned at her when she asked him to hold her beer, the cocky confidence they’d had in her as they watched her fight off an entire bar’s worth of men more than twice her size.

She claps Winn and James on the shoulders and gives them both a soft, genuine smile before her eyes blaze again.

“But you know the thing I can’t understand? Why other guys just can’t seem to get the meaning of the word no.”

Kara licks her lips and starts to speak, but one look into Sara’s flashing eyes keeps her quiet. Because he won’t listen to her.

He won’t listen to her, and he won’t listen to Alex, and he won’t listen to Maggie.

He listened to Winn, but only for about a minute.

But maybe he’ll listen to a former member of the League of Assassins?

Kara dares to hope, and Sara dares to breathe, because it was lust at first sight with Supergirl, and it was I-wanna-get-to-know-you-because-god-I-could-probably-fall-in-love-with-the-light-in-your-darkness with Kara.

Her boyfriend straightens up and starts to speak, starts to rage, starts to twist words into weapons that will keep Kara his.

Sara winds up, rotates her hips, and decks him clean onto the ground before he gets the chance.

James oofs and Winn puts his hand over his mouth and Kara gapes and Sara stares down at him with fists on her hips and death in her voice.

“The lady told you she doesn’t like when you touch her like that in public. So you know what you’re gonna do, since you can’t seem to stop yourself? You’re gonna leave. Now. Because you think the DEO teaches you a lot of different ways to kill people? I can do it a lot slower than Alex Danvers can.”

“That… sounded dirty,” Winn mutters, and Sara tries her best not to smirk when  James backhands him lightly on the arm as Maggie – coming over to stand behind Kara with Alex – snorts.

Kara’s boyfriend – ex, soon, Sara’s hoping, they’re all hoping, hell, Kara’s hoping – tries to object again, but Alex, Maggie, James, and Winn all turn to him with crossed arms and stony expressions. Kara’s lips part and she takes a step toward Sara, like she wants to collapse into her arms and just might if she lets herself.

“I’ve said it before, and I’m saying it again for the last time – it’s over. We’re over. We never should have even started. Sara’s right, just… just leave.”

Sara’s pulse quickens in her neck at the way Kara’s tongue wraps around her name, but she keeps her hands – and her thoughts, and her wants – to herself as she watches, as they all watch, the prince of Daxam stomp his disbelieving way out of the bar.

Brian applauds from a side-table, and Alex, Maggie, and Kara all call out at the same time.

“No one asked you, Brian.”

“Hush, Brian.”

“Don’t you have your own life to be living, Brian?”

Sara puts a tentative arm out toward Kara, and Kara leans into the touch. Maggie nudges Alex and Alex’s eyes fly wide, and Sara imagines a potential shovel talk in her near future.

She gulps, clears her throat imperceptibly, and forces words out of her throat.

“You okay?”

Kara takes a long, long moment of leaning back into Sara and reaching out for Alex’s hand to answer. “No. But I’ve got my family. So I will be.”

Sara swallows quietly and Maggie catches her eye with a smile. She knows exactly what the detective is thinking.

See? You’re family, after all. I didn’t expect it either. But isn’t it amazing?

And yes. Yes, it is.

Starco Week 3 - Day 1

“Damn, it’s hard to get to that pathetic princess.” A large brute said.

“Yeah, she’s long due for an initiation, but with her bodyguard agent Diaz around we can’t touch her.”

“Why don’t we shake them up a little then? Scare them a bit.” One of them suggested.

Another smiled. “I like that idea. They won’t know what’s coming.”


“C'mon, Marco! We have math now!” Star urged him as the bell rung, signaling the next period.

Marco winced. “Do we have to go to math? I’m already in a bad mood and I’m not looking forward to making it worse,” he replied.

“Geez, are we sure you’re the one who’s supposed to look after me? We have to go! If you miss class you’ll get detention!” Star exclaimed.

Marco feigned a gasp and shook his head. “No not detention!”

“Diaz, that is extremely rude.” Star seriously replied.

Marco sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Look, you can go without me princess. I don’t want you missing class and getting in trouble, which will inevitably lead to both of us getting into trouble. I’ll show up…later, okay?”

Star frowned before giving him a nod. “Okay. But don’t get in trouble!” She commanded.

Marco waved her off as she ran off to Ms. Skullnick’s room. He sighed and scratched the bandage on his cheek.

Lying down on the hill just far off the school building, Marco was taking a nap; taking in the feel of the grass below him, the air he breathed, and the warmth that coursed through him.

Suddenly he was jarred awake, being shaken by somebody. He grabbed whoever was shaking him by the scruff of their necks and threw them down to the ground, holding a fist near their face.

Marco’s victim shivered in fear until Marco stared at him for a few seconds and gave him a look of confusion. “Ferguson?”

Marco let go of his fellow classmate, standing straight and crossing his arms. “Okay spit it out. Why’d you wake me up?”

“Um, Skullnick asked me to find you and bring you to class.” Ferguson stammered.

Marco frowned and cracked his neck, which was stiff from sleeping. Damn, Skullnick knew he wouldn’t try and beat up Ferg. Being an old friend and pitiful made him more likely to survive with Marco.

He groaned and rolled up the sleeves of his jacket. “Alright, let’s go.” Marco started walking toward his class, before stopping and turning to Ferguson. “You coming or do you want to lie there all day?”

Ferguson scrambled to his feet, following Marco back to class.

“So a derivative is the - Ah, Mr. Diaz. How nice of you to join us for class. 20 minutes late. ” Ms. Skullnick sneered that last part. Marco lacked a reaction.

“As punishment, you’ll be cleaning the storage out back. I hear it’s been years since it’s seen light.” Skullnick said.

Marco rolled his eyes and took his seat by the window, paying more attention to the two squirrels fighting outside than Skullzers at the front of the class.

The bell signaling the end of school rang through the building, Marco groaning at his recent after school punishment.

He packed his things in his bag, making his way to the back of school grounds to clean the storage facility.

He already told Star to wait for him at home, but he could see her in his peripherals, always hiding behind something. He didn’t pay much attention to it, but soon he couldn’t keep up the obliviousness and called her out on her lousy stealth tactics.

“Princess, why are you following me?” Marco deadpanned.

Star jumped. She hadn’t noticed he noticed her. She stepped out from her hiding place, staring at the floor and looking for the right words. “Um…I just thought…maybe, I would help you clean. Less load on you, but if you want me gone, I totally understand-” Star was interrupted by Marco smirking and patting her head affectionately.

“Thanks, prin…Star” Marco corrected himself.

Star blushed and avoided his gaze. Marco rarely ever used her name when he referred to her, but when he did it made her knees buckle.

“Yeah, well, you owe me after this! I want one, no, two more nachos than I’m allowed! And wipe that dumb smirk off your face!” Star exclaimed.

“Um, you never had a limit to what you can eat, princess,” Marco said, beginning to walk away again.

“O-oh. Then I want you to attend every class ON TIME from now on!” Star commanded.

Marco couldn’t really say no. She was already doing this much for him, and with that cute demanding face, it’s hard to refuse.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”

Marco and Star made their way to the storage facility, walking up to the metal double doors. Using the key he got from the janitor, he unlocked the doors, pushing them open to reveal a large dusty room, with stuff that looked to be thirty-maybe forty-years old.

“Wow. This looks ancient.” Marco tried to switch on the lights, but due to age and the lack of much-needed renovation of the building, the lights refused to switch on.

“Damnit. Guess we’re going in dark,” Marco said.

Star suddenly seemed very nervous. “Do we have some flashlights or something?” She asked.

“Uh, maybe. Do you need them to see?” Marco asked.

“Y-yeah, right. Well?”

“I don’t have any on me now, but- OOF!” Marco grunted as he and Star were shoved into the building. Landing hard on their sides they heard the click of the lock, along with the footsteps of a few people.

Marco started to pat his body for the keys, only to realize he dropped it when he was shoved. “Stupid bastards…” Marco growled. “Princess, are you-”

Marco stopped and his eyes widened when he felt Star abruptly grab his arm. He narrowed his eyes in concern.

“Uh, princess?” He asked, starting to turn to look at her.

“Stop, don’t look at me. Please. Just, let me do this.” Star said.

Marco frowned, looking forward as Star vice gripped his forearm. He could feel her press up against him, shivering in…fear?

He could feel her heartbeat, and it was pounding pretty fast. Marco thought his own was too. Could she feel it as well?

“Star,” Marco began after a few moments of silence, “are you afraid,”

Star tensed up, and Marco could feel it.

“of the dark?”

Star’s grip suddenly intensified, and Marco could feel all circulating blood stop flowing in his left arm. She was surprisingly strong for such a timid girl.

“Ow! What the fu-!”

“Yes! I’m terrified of the dark! Shut up about it and please do something.” Star said, burying her face into his shoulder.

Marco furrowed his eyebrows together. “Don’t you have your wand?”

Star shook her head. “I…left it…in my locker. I…wanted to show you…I’m capable…without it.” Star took short breaths between each pause, and Marco thought she’d start hyperventilating.

Marco turned around and embraced her, kneeling on the floor. He closed his eyes and began to speak, “Deep breaths, princess. I know you’re capable. You fought monsters with me, a person you’ve never met and was a jerk towards you because you were concerned for me. You went through brainwashing and managed to stay your old self a bit. So prove me right. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here with you. So calm down, now.” Marco said firmly.

Star’s breaths slowed down, and her tense form eased up a bit. Still hugging Marco, she spoke into his shoulder. “Thanks, Marco. I think I’ve calmed down. But can you just hold on for a little while?” She asked.

Marco tightened his jaw and nodded. “Sure.”

So they sat there. Marco’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and he could make out a silhouette of a box of props and costumes.

He got an idea of how to distract Star from her fear.

“Okay, Star. Don’t freak out, but I’m gonna let go for a few seconds.”

Star’s eyes widened as she looked up at him. “No, no no no no no no no! Don’t let go! I will throttle you if you do!” She begged,

Marco’s eyebrow lifted at the unexpected threat. “It’s okay, I’m only gonna let go for a few seconds, I’m gonna be back, I promise.” Marco hushed her. “Do you trust me?”

Star wiped her eye and silently nodded. Slowly Marco let go of her. He stood up and began to back away, their arms sliding against one another before it was only their hands connected, then fingers.

Then his warmth left Star, and he blended in with the inky blackness. Damnit! Why must his jacket be black!? Star began to feel alone now, the sense of abandonment creeping up on her for the first time in years. She curled up into a ball and almost began to tear up before Marco’s voice rang out from the darkness.

“I’m still here, princess. I’m still with you.” His assurance gave her courage and she managed to outlast until Marco came back holding a cardboard box. He placed it down in between him and Star before sitting down.

“What’s…what’s that?” Star asked.

“Just something to pass the time.” Marco pulled a couple of sticks from the box and bend them, a cracking noise coming from it.

The sticks suddenly started to glow, and Star stared at them in amazement. “Whoa! Is that more earth magic?” She asked.

Marco smirked at her childlike curiosity. “No, just some old glow sticks to light it up a little.”

He placed down the colorful glowing rods in a circle around the pair, leaving them in a dim, but brighter than before, setting.

Marco reached back into the box. Pulling out a red headband with horns on it, he placed it on his head and put a massive frown on his face.

“I’m Tom. I’m in denial and think l can get Star to like me, but I’m just hopelessly desperate and angry.” Marco mocked.

Star giggled at his impression, his voice not even close to Tom’s.

“Marco, stop, that’s mean.”

He smiled and pushed the box towards her. “Here, you try.”

“Um, I’m not sure…”

“It’s okay princess. Nobody here but us. I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Okay…” Star agreed. She dug into the box and pulled out a wig and a crown. Putting them both on, she then wore a dull, bored expression on her face. “This is of utmost importance! We can’t have this silly nonsense when you’re to be a ruler soon! Blah, blah, rules, rules, boring, discipline.” Star mocked in a mundane, strong accented tone.

Marco laughed and Star smiled.

“Lemme guess, your mom?” Marco asked.

Star nodded, not fully confident in mocking people she knew.

“Okay, my turn,” Marco said, digging through the box.

They went at this for a while, having a good time messing around with each other. They role played Skullnick, their classmates, Ludo, and even each other.

The two rolled around the floor, wheezing after laughing too hard at Star’s impression of Marco’s bad boy attitude. She accidentally cracked her knuckles, and her cute expression of pain made Marco laugh, Star eventually following in suit.

“Oh, man. That was…amazingly horrible.” Marco said.

Star smiled, nodding in agreement.

“So, you still afraid?” Marco asked.

“No, not anymore. Being in the dark isn’t so bad when you have someone to have fun with you here.”

“I don’t think you’re scared of the dark. I think it’s because of your isolation from people and loved ones during your hated experience at St. O’s, it made you feel alone and you were afraid of being lonely. In the dark, you can’t see anything. You feel cold, there’s nobody in sight. It’s like being alone, which may explain why you fear darkness.”

Star tilted her head at Marco’s explanation, a small smile telling him she didn’t understand what the hell he just said.

Marco realized what he was doing and covered his face. “Sorry, that’s Marco PhD talking,” Marco said, angry at himself for showing that part of him again. Why is it around her when his past comes out?

“Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t fully understand what you just said, but-” Star grabbed Marco’s hand, “-I hope you stay with me for now.” Star said.

Marco gulped. He blushed. A very pretty girl just grabbed his hand and pretty much said she wished they could stick together, with him. Marco Flippin Diaz. His blush intensified now that he was analyzing it. Stop thinking about it, Marco mentally scolded himself. Yeah, now he was embarrassed.

“Star, what-”

The sound of jingling keys was heard through the door and was inserted into the lock. Star suddenly stood up. “Help has arrived!” She said.

She eagerly walked forward, forgetting the heavy box between her and Marco. She tripped and fell on top of Marco, making a loud grunt as she did.

The janitor on the other end raised a brow. Since when did storage buildings grunt? He unlocked and opened the door, low and behold Star lying on top of Marco, a bunch of spilled props and costume pieces strewn about the floor.

The janitor gave the two a hard gaze before opening his mouth, “Look, I’m gonna go home and forget this. I’m closing this door and leaving it unlocked. Suggestion, keep your weird lovey-dovey affectionate cosplay sessions at home.” And with that, he slammed the door shut.

Star and Marco scrambled away from each other, faces burning crimson and tension as thick as maple syrup.

They quickly cleaned up in sync and walked out the door.

Awkwardly they turned to each other.

“So, nachos?”

“Yep, lots of nachos.”

“Movie?”

“Movie.”

“…”

“…”

“So you wanted two more nachos than usual?”

“Yes.”

“That janitor thing never happened.”

“Agreed.”

The looked at each other once more and started to burst out laughing. Marco wasn’t in a bad mood anymore.

“Let’s get home, princess.”

“Excellent suggestion, Marco!”


Marco then went on to have a bad mood again the next day, when Skullnick harshly reminded him at the volume of 120 decibels that he forgot to actually clean the storage building yesterday.

He should’ve skipped class.

(submitted by acseargentsmimph12)