#but nobody offered a different solution so what the hell is supposed to be the solution?

[kawaiianimeredhead]

Ya know I stressed so much about the damn call that it almost feels like I made it already considering how I rehearsed and wrote some things down and I feel exhausted and even more dumb because like panic attack over so now the realization of like how dumb that was don't look sets it but also I still have to make a call and still feel stupid that I can't bring myself to do it so ya know super fun times all around I am just having a fucking time over here yall

[sly-merlin]

Killing Me - 3 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings : curse words, mention of murder, guns, knives. smut and drinking.

new entries : yugyeom, jungkook , wonwoo

words : 4.2k 

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

                                              or

                  curiosity got the cat hitched!

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{ 11:15 }

Look before you leap. Had you remembered the saying, you’d not be sitting in front of a mafia boss, regretting your former imprudent actions. Taeyong was sitting on a high back executive chair, aura screaming authority, his high and mighty self, making you feel inferior. His eyes bore into yours as if he could read your soul with his intense gaze.

Your stare equally harmonized with his fierce one.

A loud fake cough from someone interrupted you from ogling at the boss. He indeed looked like a feast, anyone would falter! Getting your much needed attention at this point, taeyong dismissed others from his office with a flick of his hand. The only ones to stay behind in the vicinity of the four walls were you, taeyong and a blue haired man. Out of all, he looked most annoyed with your presence.

“Jaehyun, sit down, it’s going to take a while.” taeyong directed him and the man occupied the empty seat beside you. You could already feel him eyeing you down.

“Miss y/n. I’m not going to beat around the bush. So, listen sensibly.”

Your blood ran cold at his cold and blank declaration. The fierceness of his eyes was seeping through his words making you cower in your position. Your firm resolve to fight for your life was already breaking down and this was just a start.

“I know this is too sudden and It’s normal being apprehensive of this situation but you are not on a very strong front here. Marry yuta or - you know the consequences. And I don’t want you to choose on impulse. This is going to be your last opportunity, so be wise! Nobody wants to die y/n and you certainly don’t! I have a proposal for you. It’s for your own good but if you still decides against me, I promise I’ll grant your last wish without any hesitance and believe me, I always keep my word” he finished, placing his gun on the table to prove his point. You nodded briefly after taking in everything. He continued-

“You will marry yuta, say by the end of this week. But as you sign the registration papers, I’ll provide you the ownership of 3 exclusive properties in gangnam with only one small, harmless condition. You’ll hold title not as miss y/l/n but as Mrs Nakamoto. Moreover, you won’t have to do any job. Your living expenses, all will be managed from our side. Yuta alone is capable of providing you a black card. You can live hassle free. A house, security, what else could anyone want! You won’t have to change a thing in your life. Think of it as an up-gradation.”

You felt like being kicked in the teeth. This man was trying to bargain your whole future with his riches.

“Sounds promising?” He enquired. You pondered over what he said to find any single error to turn the tables but that was out of question until you knew his demands fully. And it wasn’t very promising. when did choosing between life and death became so difficult!

“You can’t assure me my freedom! connecting me with neos is more like booking a room for me to rotten in jail. The security you are talking about is for you I guess. And yuta is more like a noose for me. I’ll be dead one way or another” you uttered, releasing the air you were holding while speaking.

You heard jaehyun snort beside you.

“Your safety will be my top priority and yes, you will be associating with neos, but that is something you don’t need to be worry about. For the outer world, you will be the wife of yuta”.

“What difference would it make?” his explanations going beyond your head.

“Let me explain like this. Have you ever seen a neo member’s face prior to this or heard anyone getting caught?”

“I guess no.”you answered without hesitation.

“Neos doesn’t have faces .…but these faces do have names for commoners like you.”

“You mean double-life?”

“Have you ever heard of moon industries?”

“Who doesn’t have? Moon industries are the 3rd biggest sponsors and investers for almost everything in Korea.”

“Yeah, yuta works there. Anything clicks for you?

You refuse with motion of your head.

“You’ll not be marrying yuta from neos but nakamoto yuta who works in moon industries. Like that, you won’t be getting in any trouble . A legitimate life. You can do anything you want except open your pretty mouth”. 

you didn’t like being called that!

“I don’t understand, you said nobody knows you people then what am I even doing here. How that officer did even recognise yuta. I shouldn’t even be here, if your identities are so hidden.”

“See jaehyun, I told you she’s more than just book smart. Listen y/n, mafia doesn’t work like the way you might be thinking. We can’t spill everything to you even if you decide to die the very next moment.

It was hard to believe that he planned all of this while you were held captive, within 9 hours. Taeyong was extremely meticulous and expeditious as well. But there was one more question left and you knew he couldn’t answer it. Nothing came without flaws afterall!

“Why are you being so ‘generous’ to me? My bio data of few pages can’t make you trust me so definitely. You are practically giving me an offer to rant you all to police. I’m sure you don’t grease the palms of all officers and if I-

“Me and you both know that you won’t do it unless you are fed up with your life and that would leave to start de novo!” his words indicated conclusiveness, his raised brows challenging you to refuse him. For now his surety signalled safety, but you still had one defence left or as everyone called it – a plea. It was better to beg than to be between Scylla and Charybdis.

“Is there no other way. I promise you with my life I won’t ever say anything. You can put spies over me or do whatever you want to keep a check on me.” your desperation to fight for your life was evident in your appeal.

“Yes! There is one more solution!” jaehyun chimed, facing you from his seat. He was grinning eye to eye. “We can sell you to an underground escort ring where you’ll happily live until you die and there’d be no neo or yuta or police or career. I’m sure you are shrewd enough to survive there”. nobody mentioned this before!

“If you can’t shut your mouth, then leave jaehyun.” taeyong scolded and he went back to his original position. Jaehyun seemed to be enjoying your state. He hit you with harsh reality you were still unaware of. Maybe,you were really on their mercy now,

“He is joking right?”

“No, he is telling the truth but I want you to make a choice. That hell-hole is not for someone like you. You can do better. Take this as a shortcut to a nice life.”

“How can I believe that you won’t be putting me in the some escort ring as he said to shut my mouth?”

“If I wanted, you won’t be sitting here anymore.”he deadpanned

You were silent. Your mind went blank. No words came to grace your lips. You were trapped and though there were plenty of options, there was none for you. Either you live and marry yuta or die. There was no other way to live.

“And what if my life doesn’t turn out all good?” you asked timidly.

“Then I’ll let you leave. And without any condition”

Finally some hope. You could leave. You would definitely leave.

“Is yuta okay with it?”

“His position is not better than yours.”

“I’m not going to leave university then.”

“Suit yourself! Just don’t convert yourself into a nuisance for us.”

You nodded with head hanging low. You had been beating the air till now, which resulted in nothing but defeat. Taeyong got what he wanted in the end.

“Call jaemin and haechan. Before she goes home, we need to give her a gift. And you made a good choice, you won’t regret it, take my word for it.”

[1 p.m]

Twelve hours has passed. As you were walking towards your dorm, you pinched yourself several times but your reality was now a nightmare from which you’d never wake up. Defeated, you entered your dorm only to lie down in the bed, to regret your life decisions. Graciously, chelin was out till midnight with her boyfriend, so you had all the time in the world. The last 12 hours kept playing in your head like a broken record. You were happy in the club drinking yesterday. if maybe you’d not left them behind, you’d still be incharge of your life game. then that police officer, living off of some mafia group, doyoung , johnny,jaehyun , taeyong and him, the source of your plight. You were suddenly feeling like a kite which till now was flying freely in the air but its thread was now in the grasp of someone who wanted to tie you down by the same, if you think of it, the scales were never balanced! You were always at the losing end. Beggars are never the choosers after all. Sleep unknowingly took over your tired limb while you were wallowing in self-pity.

A ping.

The notification of a text woke you up from your peaceful sleep. You were out for about 4 hours but it felt good as your head was no more pounding. The text was from Jungkook about a party his friend group was organising to celebrate the upcoming finals. they were just partying yesterday with you and now this.

Another ping.

Same text from yugyeom. You sighed in frustration.

Both of your best friends lived in the same place and were always joined by the hip and you were sure they were together at the moment as well but where there’s a question to annoy you, they won’t let the opportunity pass.

You deliberated about telling them everything but you refrained as taeyong’s threat was not a gun without bullet. He warned you before coming and you were supposed to keep your mouth shut. It was better to keep them away from trouble. You were extremely alone.

Another ping.

They were asking about your whereabouts. You never informed them you reached home yesterday. Their worry was visible through their multiple scolding motherly texts. You would have laughed at their antics but your own humorous state rendered you incompetent to feel any joy.

It was not difficult to make them believe that you overslept as everyone knew your shitty professors treated you more like a slave and less like their researcher. But refusing to meet them and declining free alcohol was making them sceptical. You had no option other than going but you’d be anywhere than at a party right now. But maybe some commotion of drunk university students and blasting music could take your thoughts away for some time.

However, first there was another task to be taken care of! You searched ‘Moon Industries’ on naver. There were numerous articles praising their new successful new ventures. You opened their official website, the list of board of directors and associates was not too long. The photo of head director looked too familiar. Maybe it was that short man. And then him. There was no photo but his name was written just few places below moon tail.  Taeyong was not bluffing. Nakamoto was an important name and maybe everyone there was, however, it was beyond your intellect as how they managed to do it. There was no way out now. One thing that wasn’t adding up was the properties .your brainwaves couldn’t find a conclusion to those. There was no reason for him to do that when you weren’t left with any choice ultimately. Maybe you’ll find out tomorrow.

You got out of clothes that adorned your body since yesterday. Their smell was enough to make you gag. How could someone fell asleep in these! The cold water of the shower eased your mind fairly. Your eyes were drooping again but sleeping would do you no good. You could run away from your problem like everybody else. Just this once. After showering, you took a brief look at your wardrobe. It was just a college party, with same people so dressing up to impress them was out of tone for you. Not that you were dolling up anyways. You could just wear your pyjama and still outshine any flashy titties out there. At least that’s what kookie and gyeom had been feeding you till now. You took out a black full sleeve v- neck blouse with white shorts. It hugged your upper body tightly leaving just enough space for some air. You looked good and felt good too. Being in no mood to do makeup, you opted for a nude lip to complete your look. You wore the bracelet that you were not supposed to part with but out of habit, you had removed it earlier to shower. Now it adorned your wrist again. It was a band. A gift by taeyong. The bracelet was a tracking device, not that jaemin wasn’t hacking your phone already but they needed to be double sure, just in case. Not like you were going to rant them out. you felt like Taeyong’s threatening voice would never leave your ears.

Yugyeom’s call replaced the voice. They were already waiting for you. You decided to drown yourself in alcohol for one day and enjoy with your friends. The party was at nearby club situated at 10 min distance. Your dorm was nearer to the gates so it was always easy to go out. Slipping into your shoes, you made your way out.

“You will regret this, taeyong” though yuta didn’t show in front of you in basement, he was furious at taeyong for making his life decisions. “First her and now this! the mistake I made was not that big. Slip ups happen with everyone here, including you. So why it’s only me, who’s getting –

“Not a slip up but a blunder yuta” taeyong fumed at him. “Last time, mark almost died because of you. It was my mistake I let it slide. You aren’t getting any more chances. My decision is final” his voice went deeper as he spoke.

“I regret it tae, you know it” his voice filled with guilt. “But don’t feed me the lies. This is not the only reason you’re doing this for. There is something you aren’t telling us”

“There might be. But you already know what you need to! So celebrate your month long vacation. Go to work with taeil hyung. She’s coming tomorrow again and we’ll discuss other matters with her. Be present here. Don’t disappear like you did in the morning.”

Yuta huffed and decided to leave instead of wasting his time on his leader.

“And leave your gun here”

“WHAT NOW?”

“Don’t shout and leave your gun. Corporates don’t carry guns in this country.” taeyong replied calmly, almost in a mocking tone. Yuta removed the gun from holster and handed it to taeyong before turning towards the door.

“Other one as well” taeyong demanded with a smirk.

“Huh, now you’ll ask for my dagger as well!” yuta sneered at him while removing the other pistol from back of the pants.

“I’m not that cruel, yu. Keep your sweetheart with you. It’ll remind you of the absence of your other toys.”. “And don’t forget. Tomorrow at 4. sharp.”

Instead of responding, yuta showed him a middle finger before actually going out.

Mark was standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for yuta already.

“What happened hyung?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing. You are going to be the best man in my wedding” yuta replied nonchalantly. But mark knew there was more to it. Yuta won’t settle down just because he was told to!

“To her?”

“Yeah, who else. Taeyong is getting short on his brain. We might need to replace him soon” he joked but mark could see right past him.

“Hyung. What are you thinking?” he asked cautiously in a scared tone.

“Ruin her life. I’ll make her regret being alive.”

And yuta walked away, leaving worried mark behind him. He didn’t go after him. He knew better not to.

The party was at full blast when you reached. It was always a nice change watching studious snu students washing away their worries. Your soulmates were nowhere to be found but you spotted chelin sitting with her friends on the stairs. It seemed like everyone who knew was there. Your classmates, juniors. Club was filled with students of all ages. Being multi-storey with a parking lot and near the uni., these factors were enough for making it a perfect party spot. After talking to a few fellow classmates, you went upstairs, brushing past chain’s group, who seemed to be too drunk to notice you. There were Jungkook and yugyeom with few others sports physiotherapy students. Being master’s students, you all just went to parties for alcohol and hook-ups and nothing else. And that’s what you were planning to do from the start.

“y/l/n” as yugyeom noticed you, he and Jungkook ran to give you a bear hug.

“I don’t want to smell your armpits, losers. Get away” you huffed while struggling in their tight grip.

“sowwyyyy, we forgot you are under average” jungkook teased you, gyeom giving him a hifi in return.

“You both are so damn irritating.”

“We adore you too, darling” Jungkook knew how much you hated being called that. But alcohol in his system was making him daring. After giving a fist hit to his gut, which did nothing to his sculptured abs, you made your way to the drinks. One, two, three, and within 5 minutes you had enough alcohol in your system to provide much needed numbness to your brain.

“Whoa shortie, what’s with you today? At least wait for us to join you.” kook chimed in with another nickname you hated with your guts.

“You both are already drunk, meaning kook your boyfriend is here and gyeom, your girlfriend. You both are going to forget me in few minutes anyway.”

As if on cue, yugyeom’s girl yeong came into view, giving you a proper hug.

“I’m so sorry y/n, but we have to go. Our department has to work for the fundraiser tomorrow and I’m a designated driver here.” she explained sheepishly. Not like you were dying to talk to them today. The loner, the better.

“Plz take them away. I’ll send you a thank you card tomorrow for your act of kindness.” you said sarcastically, resulting in both of them making faces at you.

“Bye y/n we’ll mwisss uuu” Jungkook lunged at you with a back breaking hug. Then came gyeom and in a minute they were both out of your sight.

Those being out of your way meant no one was there to stop you. Once your body was flooding in alcohol, You made your way to the dance floor. You loved music and dancing came mechanically with that. You were swaying your body, mingling with the music when you felt a pair of hands controlling your movements. You accepted his well-known touch. You both moved side to side for a few minutes before he impatiently lead you towards the back of the club. He was always an eager one, not that you ever denied him. Noticing few people already in each others faces, he moved to the other side, heading towards the car parking. Sprinting towards his car, he hurriedly opened the back car door to lead you in.

“Not here, wonwoo.” he viewed you with his raised brow. “Back!”

“Who am I to refuse you, baby” he said, directing you towards the trunk. He opened it with one swift motion. His legs were swinging outside as he sat on the edge. Pulling you towards him, he kissed you hungrily like hadn’t feasted on you a few days ago. Wonwoo loved your touch, and same was the case with you. That was it, nothing more to description.

“Looks like someone missed me” you whispered in between the kisses.

“You are at a perfect height for me here. God, why didn’t I think of this earlier” and kept attacking your lips until they were plump enough to satisfy him. His tongue asked for entrance, which your lips provided without any hesitation. Your hands were mingled in his hair tugging at the hair roots, earning few groans from him. Somewhere while kissing, you ended up on his right thigh which you were roughly grinding by now.

“As much as I would love you to cum on my thigh, I want to take you raw. So please be patient” he requested while stopping your movements with one hand. His other hand was caressing your back and waist, making you bite him on his lips.

“Shit, you can’t wait huh” he jested at you. he dropped you on your feet, one hand resting against your wet core from behind, other angling your neck to place wet kisses on your collarbones. You whimpered and squirmed against his touch. He had that effect on you. You weren’t sure what drew you both back towards each other after each week but the pull was compelling to you.

After gratified with his artwork he stood up to replace your positions. You were now sitting on edge while he towered over you. Hastily your hand went to remove his belt but seeing you struggling, he took up the task for himself. You removed your own shorts in meantime and placed them where his pants were now. Fortunately for others, the party inside was still lively to engage them and there was no fear of getting caught, not that wonwoo cared. He could take you anytime, anywhere.

He had to lower himself to hold you but he was so used to it by now. Without a warning, he slided you towards his standing body to kiss you ravenously. Your hands did their work on his boxers and started pumping his already hard length. No words were spoken as your silky underwear was removed from your hips. He backed you against the surface to the point you were lying down, his hand on back of your head to support you. His length slipped into you making you whimper loudly. He was big, from everywhere. Skin slapping was the only sound that could be heard in the quite parking lot at this hour of night. His hand on your hip was holding you tight, your legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked and kissed you in his brute mode. If it was not for his arms, you’d have collapsed then and there.

“Fuck y/n. how can you be so tight” he hissed against your lips.

“Shut u-up.” your voice got stuck in your throat. The only thing in your control were your hands on wonwoo’s nape, holding him towards you. The muscles in your abdomen, which could be felt by him, went stiff, your back arching at familiar sensation. His own kisses went sloppier indicating he was also closer. You both released at the same time, warm liquid spilling out of your conjoined bodies. He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead before removing himself from you.

Before you could touch your panties stuck between your legs, he stopped you.

“Wait lemme find something to clean you up” he quickly got dressed, while you sat there with your intertwined legs. He came back from front with a handkerchief. He cleaned you before helping you with your shorts. You were glad for wearing loose shorts as they were easy to transfer with your shoes. With his arm on upper side of trunk, his hunched figure stared you down suspiciously.

“What’s up with you today?”

Not him as well.

“Nothing, I overslept and I’m still tired. So I’ll be going now.” you declared implying that you won’t tell him.

“Okay, as you say. Are you free next Friday though” he asked taking his chances. Again.

“Don’t start again woo? At least you can leave me in peace. I’m going .bye bye. See you after finals. maybe.” you slipped away from under his arm towards the gate of parking lot, only looking behind to wave him goodbye. His followed suit.

You were gone but he’d never stopped trying.

You mentally thanked your friends for giving you an invite as many things were clear in your head now. It was definitely the alcohol and wonwoo but you were much calmer now.

A ping.

Jaemin: don’t forget about tomorrow, noona. Taeyong hyung told me to remind you.

You scoffed at his text. Noona. Some overhyped kid he was!

But his message made you understand that all this was permanent. Sober you or drunken,Your life was changing forever. The tomorrow you were waiting till now was altered.

You went home with same dejection. Taeyong’s last words echoing in your head.

“Life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

feedback is appreciated. it serves as motivation for writers! so please leave some honest feedback to help me improve! thanks for reading!!

[secretpajamas]

a different kind of rush;

an Ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 2.7k

part 1 of 2

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

---

Ever since the rush ended, mining work was somewhat scarce. Most aurelac miners—the ones who didn’t strike it rich, had already squandered away their profits, or ones that worked under flat-rate contract and not profit-share—had been swept up by the large-scale mining companies at the Ephrate.

You, unfortunately, had a falling-out with the head of your crew shortly before the end of the rush, and you were left out in the cold with little more than the clothes on your back and the helmet on your head. 

Now you operated alone, picking up what seasonal jobs you could. The ones that payed more tended to be more dangerous—you had a good sense as to which jobs would require you to stash extra knives on your person and demand your own private tent. That demand would often eat into your wages, but it was worth the peace of mind.

You were coming up on the last of your income from last season, which is how you found yourself scouting shuttle stations for work. Most of the bulletins at the larger stations were already picked clean. Now, at one of the smallest stations in the Reach, you hoped against hope you’d find a decent job posting.

Mostly scrap haul jobs—one odd request for a live-in massage therapist, and you knew what that was code for—but when you were about to give up and move on, one last blip on the readout screen caught your eye.

seeking experienced miner for short-term contract work (one season). small-scale operation, compensation negotiable. food and board included. helmet must be supplied by employee, O2 freely available. radio callsign alpha-echo-six, will be monitoring channel 07:00 – 23:00 universal time.

It was contract work, not profit-share, but what the hell. It was the best you had come across in your search so far and you doubted you’d find anything better. Checking the screen, you noted it was nearly 23:00—but you pulled out your radio, entered the posted callsign, and gave it a shot.

“This is radio callsign alpha-sierra-two, inquiring about job posting on shuttle station R-Twelve,” you said into your device. “Is the position still open?”

You waited for a minute in dead silence before you heard the line crackle to life. “Hello, alpha-sierra-two,” a thick drawl replied. “Long as you can hold a pickaxe steady, the job’s as good as yours.”

---

When you met him, the first thing you noticed was the shock of blonde hair. Nobody out in the Reaches had much use for cosmetic hair products, so it must have been a natural occurrence of some sort. It struck you as profoundly odd—but also incredibly attractive. You took a deep breath and swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

The second thing you noticed—well. It was a little hard to miss.

“Name’s Ezra,” he said with a sly smile, extending his left—and only—hand.

You weren’t sure which hand you were supposed to shake his with. You decided on your left, to match his. It took some fumbling, but you managed a firm shake in the end. You introduced yourself and then let your hands drop.

“Sorry if that was weird,” you said, “I’m not used to shaking hands with my left.”

Ezra chuckled darkly. “Me neither, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Normally, you’d hate hearing that come from a man you’d just met. It would’ve felt like a belittlement. But not with this man—it just seemed to roll off his tongue without a second thought.

Then, you realized the implication of his statement. If he wasn’t used to shaking with his left, the loss of his right arm must not have been too long ago. In this line of work, any number of horrors could have caused it. You decided it was best not to dwell on the subject.

“Allow me to escort you to your quarters,” Ezra said, gesturing for you to follow.

He brought you to the only man-made structure within sight. He must have built it himself. He zipped the entryway door shut and clumsily removed his helmet with one hand. You swiftly removed yours, glad to get the sweaty thing off of you for the first time in hours.

The tent was sturdy and spacious enough to feel a little less like a hovel and a little more like a home. It was certainly nicer than most accommodations you’d been given on mining contract work before. There were two beds—well, just cushioned mats on the floor, but definitely an upgrade from a cot—separated by makeshift room divider in the form of a bedsheet tied between two of the tent supports.

“I can fashion a proper partition if you’d prefer,” he said, “the kid was prone to nightmares is all. Didn’t like feelin’ shut off. Took that tent wall down the next day, put the sheet up instead.”

“Kid?” You prompted.

“She’s livin’ in the Ephrate this season,” he said. “Got a scholarship to that fancy Academy an’ everything. Awful proud of her.” You could hear the fondness in his voice.

“That’s nice,” you said,  “she must have a good father.”

Ezra chuckled, the sound tinged with something bitter. “Unfortunately, I do not hold such a grand title,” he said. “Her parents are deceased. I am but her guardian.”

Oh.

“Well, get yourself settled and join me outside when you’re ready,” he said as he went to retrieve his helmet. “It’s not as complicated as aurelac, but it’s still a bitch to mine.”

---

After just a few days of harvesting starstone, you were inclined to agree with Ezra’s statement. It was an absolute bitch. If you so much as tapped it at the wrong angle it would completely lose its integrity. Then, as soon at was harvested, it had to be soaked in a complicated solution of enzymes so it would retain its color—if you waited too long to get it in the enzyme bath, it would turn pale and lose its shimmer. How the hell anyone managed to transport it without massive damages, you had no idea.

You voiced this to him. He simply shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said. “The buyer is arrangin’ her own transport. We just have to hand it off.”

“What is this stuff good for, anyway?” You asked.

“It’s pretty,” he said, “and if there’s one thing I’ve become privy to in all my years of prospectin’, it’s that all sorts of folk will pay a pretty penny for pretty things. ’Specially if those things are rare.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, I guess,” you mumbled, looking at the bright green and orange whorls of glittery stone around the two of you. Ezra snickered at your comment, and the sound of the raspy, almost boyish laughter made your stomach do somersaults.

“I can assume you have no such affinity for pretty things, then,” he said with a grin.

“Well,” you started, looking into those pretty brown eyes of his, “now and I again I might.”

Ezra just arched an eyebrow before returning to sifting through rock.

---

You and Ezra fell into an easy rhythm. He would wake up early to prepare the enzyme solutions for the day’s mining. You both mined as long as it stayed light out, going back into the tent as needed for a ration bar or a toilet break or just to rest your weary head for a minute. After dark, it was your responsibility to prep the filters and O2 tanks. As days turned into weeks, you found yourself finally adjusting to the man’s odd manner of speech, and even found yourself laughing at his dry wit.

And if you were honest with yourself, you were harboring quite the crush.

But this was job, damnit, and even if it wasn’t profit-share, Ezra payed far more than any other boss you’d had for contract work. You weren’t going to compromise that. A sexual relationship with someone who was technically your superior was never a good idea—you didn’t want to get yourself kicked off this planet without a full season’s pay.

This dwarf planet’s climate wasn’t as harsh and unforgiving as the Green. The air wasn’t breathable, which is why oxygen tanks and helmets were necessary, but there was nothing like the deadly moon’s dust you remember from the rush days. The one complaint you had: the weather was always hot, some days painfully so, and today was one of those days. You had both decided to cut the workday short and stumbled back to the tent, sweaty and exhausted.

You wrenched your helmet off of your head and immediately planted yourself in front of one of the air circulators. You heard Ezra’s helmet fall to the floor with a clank and several frustrated grunts as he began to unzip his suit. You knew by now not to offer help—even though it took him a long time to dress and undress, it seemed to be a point of pride to him that he do it himself.

You shucked off your own suit, leaving yourself standing in a sleeveless top and shorts. Cooler now, but still utterly worn-out, you all but flung yourself on your cot. You rucked up your shirt so you left as much of your skin exposed to the air as possible without stripping down to your underwear.  “Too fucking hot,” you grumbled.

“Preachin’ to the choir, birdie,” Ezra replied, finally kicking his suit off and out of the way. “Pardon my selfishness, but I’m inclined to take the first shower.”

You groaned, but you had taken the first shower yesterday, so you didn’t protest. Ezra took long showers—you guessed it was because of his arm situation—so you’d have to wait to get all the sweat and grime off. But hey—at least you had a shower. In some of your past gigs you had to wipe yourself down from head to toe with a wet rag.

The shower was attached to the main tent on the east-facing wall: your side of the sheet. Ezra walked by you to access it—he was shirtless, clad only in the pair of black compression pants he wore under his suit. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at him from where you lay—you had come to appreciate the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, his skin kissed all over with fading white scars, the little paunch of his stomach, and the dusting of dark hair that began below his bellybutton and traveled down beneath his waistband. He sighed and stretched before unzipping the partition and shuffling tiredly to the shower.

Seeing him half-naked had lit a spark in your belly. You swallowed thickly, your mind trailing into territory you usually reserved for late at night when Ezra was asleep. Yes, you were attracted to him—but it was more than just a baser instinct. Whenever you got yourself off in the past—or gotten someone else off—it had been quick and quiet and easily forgotten, something to take the edge off, to scratch an itch. You never really fantasized about romance or, Kevva forbid, love, but the longer you spent with Ezra, the more you caught yourself wondering what he would be like as a lover—if he’d hold you gently against his chest after, if he’d press a soft kiss to your forehead, if he’d tell you that you were beautiful.

You scoffed at yourself. Fantasies like that were for naive girls, not for a grown woman, especially not a world-weary miner who knew that men in the Reaches weren’t like that.

But maybe Ezra was different. He was already far different than any man you had ever met.

And maybe you could allow yourself the fantasy.

As you listened to the hum of the shower running, confident in your assertion that Ezra wouldn’t be out for some time—you snaked one hand down under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, rubbing at yourself in the way you usually did—in the way that would make you orgasm quickly. If you drew things out, that just gave your brain time to strike up ridiculous fantasies of Ezra making love to you.

Making love. There you go again. Why can’t you just call it fucking? But what you were thinking of wasn’t fucking—would he gaze into your eyes as he filled you? Would he whisper to you how good you felt, call you sweetheart like he did the first day you met—and nearly every day since?

Damn it, you said you wouldn’t think about it, but here you were. You rubbed yourself faster, just hoping to get this over with and move the fuck on—

“Shower’s all yours,” you heard Ezra’s voice ring out, and you froze. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. How had you not heard the water turn off? How long were you daydreaming?

There was no way Ezra didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t even have the plausible deniability of having a blanket over you. You were so fucked.

You moved your head a tiny fraction to look at Ezra. He had a threadbare towel around his waist, precariously held by a twist-and-tuck at his hip. He was staring at you, wide-eyed and stock-still, as droplets dripped down his forehead from his still-wet hair. You weren’t sure he was even breathing.

Neither of you moved.

Then, Ezra licked his lips, flicking his eyes from your face down to where your hand was still stuck in your shorts, then back to your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You hitched your hips up a little under his gaze, almost involuntarily. He watched the movement with intensity.

Fuck. Was this really happening?

Ezra brought his hand up to his mouth, rubbing at his lower lip with his thumb. He looked to where your hand was trapped between your legs, and gestured with a nod.

With your heartbeat hammering against your chest, you began to move your hand again, eyes locked on Ezra. His breath hitched as he watched you touch yourself, his eyes intent on your body, pupils blown wide and dark.

You rubbed at your clit, your legs tensing as you brought your hips up to press into your hand. Unable to help it, a moan escaped your throat, and Ezra answered back with a low hum of his own.

Hearing him respond to you made your body light up like lightning. You closed your eyes and sucked in frantic bursts of air. The oppressive heat around you was unbearable, the pressure building in your core even more so. Your pulse roared against your eardrums as you frantically worked at your clit, almost sore now, needing to come now more than ever, needing that release—

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ezra said, and the sound of his voice had you coming hard, thighs shaking. You chased your high as long as you could, clit nearly rubbed raw, until you winced at the overstimulation, dropping your hips back to the bed and letting out a heaving sigh. Almost in a daze, you opened your eyes, chancing a glance at Ezra. He was staring down at you as if he’d seen Kevva’s gates open up before him. He was also visibly tenting his towel, holding onto where it was tied at his hip in a vise-like grip.

“I’m,” you started, catching your breath, “I could use a shower now.”

“As very well could I,” Ezra replied as he shifted his weight back and forth, voice strained, “an’ a cold one at that. But I’d be remiss to waste the water.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. About the shower or the impromptu peepshow, you weren’t sure.

“Quite alright. But don’t be alarmed if you emerge to find me in a similar position when you’re done in there,” he remarked, gesturing to the shower with a jerk of his head.

You planted your face in your pillow, mortified beyond belief, hot shame washing over you. Ezra simply chuckled.

“No reason to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he said. “Close quarters make for... sticky situations such as these.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you stood up, walking past Ezra to make your way to the shower.

What the fuck just happened?

---

a/n: this was supposed to be a quick smutty oneshot (oops) but it was getting long so I’ve split it into two parts! Part two should be out by the end of this week.

content: masturbation, voyeurism (but is it voyeurism if both parties are aware of the voyeur-ing?)

READ PART 2 HERE

[delimeful]

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

-

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain. 

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them. 

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share. 

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently. 

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it. 

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill. 

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these. 

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice. 

His version of normal, anyhow. 

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use. 

—- 

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything. 

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment. 

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere. 

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him. 

“Remus! Good morning!” 

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool. 

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy. 

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling. 

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.” 

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules. 

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them. 

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.” 

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything— 

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him. 

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking. 

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him. 

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you. 

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled. 

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?” 

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you. 

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.” 

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle. 

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.” 

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously. 

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away. 

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows. 

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.” 

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up. 

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone. 

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?” 

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight. 

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room. 

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily. 

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.   

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.” 

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them. 

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose. 

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.” 

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution. 

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?” 

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.” 

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.” 

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?” 

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.” 

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding. 

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him. 

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.” 

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!” 

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly. 

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.” 

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity. 

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied. 

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.” 

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?” 

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint. 

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

[trash-but-respectable-trash]

The aftermath of No Time To Die (Diavolo POV)

Trigger warnings: Character(s) death(s), violence, depression, suicide, angst obviously

Summary: Diavolo disappointed his father and cannot live with this pain. He has to do something to make this right or else he won’t ever forgive himself. This is for the greater good of the demon race, he tells himself.

This is a continuation to my story No time to die, I suggest you go read the first part before this one, or this won’t make any sense. If you want to read this one first anyway is up to you.

Part one: No Time To Die

~

This is taking place right after MC’s performance of the song "no time to die".

How was he supposed to explained himself to his father, to the brothers, to Lucifer particularly and to all the demons. They all had grown to love you, you showed them a different view on humans and it’s when he saw all the demons present, crying over you that he came to that realization.

The brothers, Solomon, Simeon and Luke followed you off the stage. Diavolo told Barbatos to go with them, he would returned to the castle alone. He knew his plan had failed and that he couldn’t just go with all of them to say goodbye to Solomon, Luke and Simeon and then ask you to stay in the Devildom after what had just happened. He had to find another plan and quick.

-

Diavolo’s head was spinning as he flew back towards his castle. What was he supposed to do now? With one last hope, he anxiously waited for Barbatos to come back, maybe you would change your mind? Maybe Lucifer took his side and tried to convinced you to stay?

Of course, all hopes were crushed when Barbatos came back alone, simply telling the demon Lord that every exchange students had gone back home, including you.

Diavolo knees gave up on him as he fell to the floor. What was he going to say to his father? How dare you leave him like that. He had offer you everything you needed, showed you the most beautiful places in the Devildom and that’s how you repaid him?

-

Barbatos made him some tea that night, while Diavolo started to think of another plan. Alas, every time he thought of something, it was ruined by you somehow.

The whole point of this exchange program was to gained the trust of the Celestial Realm as well as the Human World. What if you’d told the angels of his true intentions? He knew for sure that you’d told Lucifer since he refused to came to the castle and Lucifer never refused anything from him since the day he fell from the Celestial Realm.

-

The next hours turned into days and days turned into weeks as he tried to found a solution so his plan could get back into action.

He could not start over again with another human, the brothers didn’t trust him anymore and the new human he would bring would learn of his plan sooner or later.

He still didn’t know if you said anything to the angels weeks after your departure and it was hunting him every passing moment. Diavolo knew full well he could be severely judged for his plan to rule the three worlds by the Celestial Realm and he knew they wouldn’t be kind to him. How disappointed would his father be if he lost the human that was supposed to help him reach his goal AND if he got judge for his actions by the Celestial Realm. His father would dishonored him on the spot.

Diavolo also knew that taking over the Human World and the Celestial Realm by force wouldn’t be a choice either, the demons of the Devildom would never follow him after he had lied to every single one of them by acting like he truly loved you. Demons cannot be trusted, but the future ruler of the Devildom should be trusted by his people.

Diavolo also knew that the brothers were going to the Human World quite often to see you and it pissed him off so much. Were you all trying to make a plan against him to dethroned him? Not only did he have to fear the punishment of the Celestial Realm, the failure he was to his own father, but also you and the brothers potentially wanting to take his place on the throne.

-

As the weeks passed, Diavolo became more and more depressed and paranoid. He reached the breaking point about three months after you left the Devildom. He hadn’t slept in what felt like weeks. He would sometimes drift in and out of sleep, before Barbatos would wake him up. But he refused to leave his office, he would find a way to make this right to his father one way or another.

By the middle of the fourth month, Diavolo started hallucinating that you were in his office mocking him for not being good enough to reach his goal. He screwed everything and his father was going to be so mad, that’s what you kept telling him over and over again while you laughed at him. He would scream for you to stop only for Barbatos to run into the room and witness his Master crying into his hands.

Barbatos wanted to do something, but he couldn’t go against his Master’s orders. So instead, he watched the prince fell more and more into madness. Barbatos had tried to talk to Lucifer, he had thought that Lucifer could potentially ask you to come back, not for long, just enough to show Diavolo his hallucinations weren’t real.

Barbatos cannot say he expected Lucifer to say yes, but he also didn’t expect Lucifer to tell him to fuck off before slamming the door to the House of Lamentation in his face.

Barbatos really tried everything he could to save Diavolo, but when he looked into every future possible, he couldn’t found any that ended well for the prince of hell. At this point, all Barbatos could do was prevent his Lord from hurting himself more than he had already done.

One day, after about four months and three weeks, Diavolo finally stopped seeing you in his office. The hallucinations completely stopped. Actually, he stopped feeling anything at all, he felt numb. He thought at first that he had died, but Barbatos assured him that he was still alive, much to Diavolo’s disappointment.

He took this opportunity to wrote one final letter to his father. His head was finally clear and he knew exactly what his new plan was going to be. He felt like himself for the first time in months and he knew he had to act quick if he wanted to go through with his new plan.

He explained everything in his letter to his father and he knew there was no going back now. He would make this right somehow. Diavolo asked Barbatos to send the letter ASAP and to not read it or let anyone read it under any circumstances. Barbatos was worried of course, this was the first time since he started working for the prince that he hid something from him, but he was a Butler and he had to respect the orders he received.

Diavolo knew he only had a few minutes before Barbatos came back, so he quickly opened a portal leading to the front of your house and immediately walked into it.

It was the middle of the day in the Human World. Diavolo knew he would need to be careful so nobody would notice him while he was breaking into your house.

Lucky for him, one of the windows on the first floor was wide open. Diavolo carefully squeezed himself through the window. It was a tight fit, but he still managed to get inside without making too much sound.

Diavolo could hear some noise coming from one of the rooms on the first floor. He quietly made his way towards it and there you were, sitting at your desk that was back to the door, making it easy for Diavolo to not be seen as he approached you from behind.

As he walked towards you, Diavolo noticed that you were wearing headphones. You really should be more careful, you never know when someone will sneak up on you.

He was now standing right behind you as you still had no idea that you weren’t alone in your house. Diavolo didn’t waste any time as he spun you around to face him, ripping your headphones off in the same motion. He didn’t let you time to react as he grabbed your throat with inhuman force and slammed you against the nearest wall.

You looked at him with so much fear in your eyes that Diavolo almost felt bad for doing this, almost. He continued to squeeze your throat until you passed out. He truly wanted to kill you in this moment, but he had to remind himself of his plan and killing you would ruin it, so he chose to lay you on your bed instead. He let out a deep breath and even a small chuckle as he looked at your unconscious form. Humans were so weak it was laughable.

Diavolo stood there, right next to your bed as he waited for the next part of his plan to go into action. It only took about two minutes before he felt a pair of hands grab him from behind. Finally, he told himself.

Diavolo knew exactly who it was and where he was being taken to, so it came as no surprise for him when he got dragged into what he could only assumed as a portal, as his vision went black for a couple of seconds. The next thing he saw was the opposite of the pitch blackness he just witnessed, it was the purest white anyone could see. A white so bright it blinded Diavolo for a while until his eyes adjusted to the brightness of what he easily recognized as the Celestial Realm.

Ah. The Celestial Realm where everything is the complete opposite of the darkness and the sorrow of the Devildom. It disgusted Diavolo. This was the opposite of everything that he was and standing in front of him was someone who was the opposite of who he was. Michael the Archangel, the fatal enemy of his once right hand, Lucifer Morningstar.

This came as no surprise as Diavolo was very aware of the fact that the Celestial Realm was watching demons from above every time they went to the Human World, to make sure they weren’t corrupting souls or whatever angels thought demons were doing back in the Devildom. Every time Diavolo went to the Human World, he always felt like someone was watching him, judging him.

Diavolo was less than thrilled to be on this holy land, especially since he knew what was awaiting him, but he still spoke up.

“Hello Michael, we haven’t met in a while. How have you been?” Diavolo asked mockingly.

“Hello Diavolo. I suppose you already know why you are here right now, but just in case I will tell you. You injured an human and you know we cannot let demons do such a thing.” Michael replied.

“Insightful as always Michael. Let me cut this short if you will, the sun of the Celestial Realm is already burning my skin. I’m here to confess something that you already knew off, I’m sure. To put it simply, the human I injured was no random human and this was no random act, she was one of the exchange student from my program. My plan was to marry her so she could take my side when I would finally take over the Human World and then the Celestial Realm.” Diavolo knew at this point, that he shouldn’t say more if he didn’t want to die, but he couldn’t back down at this point. This was all part of his plan after all. “Well, actually the whole student exchange program was just a stratagem. I created it to make it seemed like I wanted the three realms to live in peace again, but that was never my real intention. It was all a selfish act.” Diavolo added.

Michael couldn’t understand why Diavolo was so blunt with him, he knew that this information was enough for him to be sentenced to death for treason.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Is all Michael managed to asked.

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m doing this. Simeon and Luke must have already told you all of this already. Why didn’t you come for me sooner? Where you trying to torture me by making me paranoid and then attack me when I least expected it? Is that it?” Diavolo was getting frustrated as the angel in front of him acted like he didn’t know anything about this.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Simeon and Luke never mentioned anything of the sort to me and I know they would have if they knew about it. They would never hide anything from me.” Michael answered.

Diavolo was taken aback, he couldn’t believe you hadn’t told the angels of his plan knowing that they could protect you from him, at least as long as you stayed in the Human World. But it didn’t matter, he had come this far and it was already too late for him to turn back. Diavolo couldn’t live with the thought of his father being disappointed in him and his constant selfishness wasn’t suitable for the next ruler of the Devildom. His plan had to work this time, no matter the cost.

“I have no choice but to formally accuse you of treason upon the Human World and the Celestial Realm. I think you already know what the sentence is.” Michael told Diavolo.

Of course Diavolo knew of the punishment awaiting him, but he simply nodded. He knew this was just a formal accusation and the one who would officially accused him would have to be no other than God.

Diavolo almost laughed, how ironic was it, that the next ruler of the Devildom, the son of the King of hell, was now going to be judge for his actions by God himself. How pathetic was it and all of this because of a simple human that turned out to be less stupid than he made them to be.

Judgements like this usually took place in the Devildom and Diavolo would be the one doing the judging. With no place to take Diavolo while he was waiting for his judgement, Michael had to chained him to one of the pillar of God’s residing place to make sure he wouldn’t escape or do more damage while he was up in the Celestial Realm. Every angel passing by could see Diavolo chained to the pillar like the beast he truly was. It was a hit to Diavolo’s pride, being displayed like this, but he reminded himself that this was less painful than the constant reminder that he was a failure to his father.

It took what felt like eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, for someone to come take Diavolo inside God’s castle.

The one who took him inside was no other than Simeon. No words were spoken as they walked towards the Golden Gates behind which God was residing.

Diavolo’s judgement was short, on accounts of conspiracy against both the Celestial Realm and the Human World and for injuring an innocent human, Diavolo was sentenced to death, taking place immediately.

Diavolo knew when he hurt you and then admitted everything to Michael, that he wouldn’t leave the Celestial Realm alive.

He was so focused on his new plan that he didn’t think about anyone but himself in that moment. He didn’t think that it would hurt his Butler, his dearest friend, to not being able to prevent him from dying or even to say goodbye to him.

Even as Diavolo thought of Barbatos, he knew it was better this way. Barbatos couldn’t go back in time to prevent this from happening, he couldn’t reasoned with Diavolo to make him change his mind. Not telling Barbatos anything was the best thing to do.

He already wrote his final letter to his father, there was nothing left to do for Diavolo. This was how it was supposed to end. His father would find a more suitable ruler, someone who wasn’t a coward like him and eventually everyone would forget about him. Diavolo was at peace with his decision. When he would take his last breath, it would mean one of his plan had finally worked and that he had finally made it right to his father.

Since Diavolo was a true demon and such a powerful one at that, the only way to kill him was to use the Night Dagger.

It didn’t take long before Michael handed Diavolo the Night Dagger. They were still in God’s castle as there were no where suitable for this to happen in the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo knew he would have to basically commit suicide since angels could not kill. He turned to Simeon and asked him to make sure his final letter would reach his dad.

Diavolo then looked at the Night Dagger sitting in his hands. There was no turning back now, this was it. The final act, his redemption to his father. Diavolo took in one last breath, he pointed the dagger towards his demon heart and before landing the final strike he whispered to himself: “I made it father... everything is perfect... my plan finally worked.” Right after he finished his sentence, Diavolo stabbed himself straight into his heart in a perfect motion. It looked like he had rehearsed it a thousand times.

Simeon and Michael watched as Diavolo’s body turned to dust. Michael immediately opened a portal to the Devildom, sending Simeon there to make sure Diavolo’s last wish was granted.

-

Back in the Devildom, minutes before Diavolo took his own life, Barbatos could feel like something wasn’t right. All the doors to any future or any other timelines were locked. For as long as Barbatos has lived, this had never happened before. Barbatos ran back to Diavolo’s office with the letter still in his hands. When he entered the office, Diavolo was nowhere to be found. Barbatos quickly opened the letter in his hands despite the order his Master gave him, this was an emergency.

“Dear father,

This is your son again, I know I wrote to you about five months ago, but I have to tell you about what happened after the last letter I sent you.

My plan did not work. The human, she found the letter I sent you on my desk and she only told me about it on the last day of the student exchange program. When she told me, I did not try to manipulate her or to keep her here by force. I foolishly thought she would change her mind about leaving me and the Devildom so I let her go.

This was my second mistake, as you see, she told the seven avatars of hell of my plan and I am sure she told the angels as well. I know that the Celestial Realm will come to get me soon. I lost the trust of all the demons in the Devidom, including my right arm, Lucifer. The only one who is still by my side is my Butler, Barbatos.

I did not realized how much the demons appreciated the human and they all know now of what I did to her. Least to say, the higher ranking demons were not pleased that I lied to them about the human and I being in love and they are probably already looking for a more proper future king to present to you.

You must wonder why I am telling you all of this when I know how disappointed you are going to be with me. It is simple father, I am a coward. I am scared everyday of the repercussions of my actions and the humiliation that will come when the Celestial Realm will finally come to punish me. This is why I am making a new plan and I will not rest until it is completed. I was a disappointment to you, father and I promise that the next ruler won’t be a coward like me.

First, I will go to the Human World, to her place in particular. I will break into her house and injure her just enough so she will be unconscious, but not dead. After all I did to her, it would make me even more of a coward if I was to kill her, especially when she least expects it. She does not deserve to die, at least not yet. I know the Celestial Realm is watching her from above and they will be quick to take me there to receive proper punishment.

This won’t do, I need to take responsability for all of my sins. I will tell them of my previous plan whether they already knew about it or not. I know the only proper punishment for this is death and I am ready to accept it. With me dead, you will be able to choose a king who can rule the Devildom better than I could and who will truly think about what is best for us demons. I was selfish and I placed my hunger for power above everything else. Please choose wisely the next demon king. I will make it right to you and your legacy, father, I promise.

Your son,

Diavolo.”

Barbatos felt a rage coming from within him as he read the final words of the letter.

-

In the House of Lamentation, Lucifer could feel that something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he knew he had to go to the castle even if he hadn’t talked to Diavolo in months.

As Lucifer reached for the door and entered the castle, he could feel like a huge weight was taking of his shoulders and off his soul. He felt free from any bounds for the first time since he fell. In shocked, he locked eyes with Barbatos who’s aura radiated pure wrath that could only rivaled with Satan’s.

They both knew what this feeling meant. Diavolo was dead. Barbatos was now free from his Butler duties and Lucifer was free from his oath.

Barbatos was the first one to react. He saw red as he started thinking about how all of this was your fault. If you weren’t so dumb you wouldn’t have fell for Diavolo in the first place! And if you valued your life you wouldn’t have left him the way you did and turned everyone against Diavolo, his Master, his friend.

Barbatos wanted to kill you, to make you feel the same pain Diavolo must have felt. In this instance, he didn’t care about the consequences, he had to make it right to his friend. What was a Butler without his Master and who was Barbatos without Diavolo?

As he started making a portal to the Human World, he felt a hand pulled him backwards. He thought this was Lucifer and he was ready to latched at him until he saw that it was Simeon that was standing behind him.

“What are you doing here? You wanted to rub in our face that your Lord won over ours?” Barbatos spat at Simeon.

Simeon calm as usual, told him: “I’m simply here to make sure Diavolo’s last wish is granted. For your information, this was his decision and I’m guessing you probably already read the letter, so you should already be aware of that fact.”

Lucifer still had no clue what was going on. Simeon resumed to him what had just happened back in the Celestial Realm.

Simeon then told Barbatos that he wouldn’t leave until he was sure the letter was sent to the king. Barbatos not wanting to see the face of an angel any longer, delivered the letter himself to the king. He had to go to the deepest pits of hell to reach the King. There was a moment where Barbatos wanted to jump into the lava, where the statue of the king was in.

But at the last minute, he could see in his mind the face of Diavolo telling him to live his life as a free demon and to not worry about him. He had made peace with himself. Wether that was an hallucination or truly Diavolo speaking to him, Barbatos had to listen to his Master and went back up to the castle where Simeon and Lucifer were waiting.

Lucifer spoke first: “Barbatos we understand you are mad, but we cannot let you hurt MC and we will do everything in our power to protect her no matter what.”

Barbatos sighed, this would be hard as hell to get through the death of his best friend, but he had to respect Diavolo’s wishes and since he was a pretty grounded demon, it didn’t take him much time at all to think about the consequences that would come if he was to hurt you. Instead, he decided to let you live your life as far away from his as possible.

-

With Diavolo’s death and the king incapacity to rule the Devildom because of his old age, the seven Avatars of hell had to take over and rule the Devildom. Naturally, the main ruler was Lucifer as he was the oldest and the one who was in the best position to take this role and make sure his brothers weren’t causing even more trouble than usual.

Barbatos decided to stepped back and as soon as everything was settled at the castle and that Diavolo had a proper funeral, he left the Devildom completely. It was too much of a reminder of the lost of his best friend. Instead, he decided to explore the Human World, sometimes accompanied by his long time friend, Solomon.

The only good thing for Barbatos was that he wasn’t afraid of running into you by accident since he learned from Solomon that you had officially moved back in the Devildom. In the castle with the brothers, to be exact. The brothers had to renovated the castle entirely since you did not feel comfortable living where Diavolo once lived, especially if it looked the same as before.

You did attend Diavolo’s funerals as well as Simeon, who was mostly there to make sure you were safe. This gave you the opportunity to forgive Diavolo for everything he had done to you and move on for good.

There was nothing left for you to do now in the Human World and no one preventing you from living with you true family, the brothers.

From the day of Diavolo’s death to the day you finally moved in with the brothers, you kept having nightmares that kept you up at night. You would always see Diavolo in your nightmares and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was actually him and not just your brain imagining things.

Thankfully, during your transition from the Human World to the Devildom, at least one of the brothers would stay at your place with you to make sure you were safe. They always felt guilty for not protecting you twice, once when you where in the Devildom and the second time when Diavolo attacked you at your house. They had to constantly wake you up because you were always screaming at the top of your lunges for Diavolo to stop hurting you.

As soon as you officially moved into the castle with the brothers, the nightmares stopped. It was probably because they all decided to sleep in the same bed as you, in the hopes that the nightmares would finally stop. Oh well, it didn’t matter what the reason was, all you knew was that with them being the new rulers of hell, you knew you were safe, even in your dreams.

-

I hope you guys liked part 2! If you enjoyed, please leave a like or reblog, it’s very much appreciated. Love you ❤️.

[babuis]

Countdouwn [BokuAka]

Genre: Hurt no Comfort, Angst, Soulmate AU

Word count: 2k words

Parings: Bokuto x Akaashi (For x reader, use interactive fics and sub out Bokuto)       

Authors note: Have bad 3 years ago angst writing hehe... I wrote this for one of my classes ad used different names. Bokuto is probably OOC... whoops. I didn’t edit this, please don’t roast my immature writing.

Synopsis: Akaashi knew what Bokuto had done in order for him to be where he was now. He let his tears fall silently as he let the harsh reality hit him like a stack of bricks. Bokuto had given him his life, but to live it without him… He wished he hadn’t.

It was a cold December day. The sky was a dull grey-blue with wisps of clouds blocking out the little warmth the sun had to offer. People on the streets of the city had rosy blushes on their cheeks and noses so red, Rudolph would be jealous. 

Among the red nosed crowds, a couple was walking down the riverbank while holding hands. Their free hands held warm drinks from the cafe a block away. As they talked, their breaths formed white, fluffy puffs in the air. Looking quite in love, they made the people without their soulmates green with envy.

Noticing the jealous stares directed at him and his boyfriend Akaashi, Bokuto frowned. Why would they be jealous?  

They still had time while he didn’t.

 When someone found their soulmate, the timer on their wrist would reset itself to counting down the time they had left together instead of counting down the time until they met. As time ticked away, the soulmates would have to decide which one of them would die. When the decision and time was done, the person who would die would laser their timer off. 

If they chose not to decide, they would both be separated and die excruciatingly slow and painful deaths the moment time was up. Having only one pass was the solution made when the human population was close to extinction. Then, there would at least one soulmate left to produce an offspring. Some soulmates were lucky, having many, many years left with each other. Some even grew old enough to have kids together, but Bokuto and Akaashi were not as lucky. 

Although happy with Akaashi, Bokuto thought living life without being pressured was a blessing. 

Sitting down on a bench, Bokuto unconsciously glanced down at his wrist.

0 years/ 8 days / 12 hours / 53 seconds

He winced, his mood dampened. Noticing the change in behavior, Akaashi looked at the silver haired man’s face with a worry on his delicate features.

“Are you okay?” he inquired, taking his hand away from Bokuto’s to touch his forehead, “You're not sick are you? We can go home if you want.”

The Ace’s heart swelled at the male’s offer. Although Akaashi had to practically beg him to go on a date, he was perfectly okay with canceling. Bokuto almost felt bad. He was never was very flexible in making plans with Akaashi due to his job as a Pro Volleyball player while the latter had done quite the opposite; always bending to what he wanted. But Akaashi wouldn't be his soulmate if he didn't understand right?

Bokuto shook his head, his unstyled falling over his yellow eyes, “No, I'm alright.”

Akaashi didn't believe him, his eyes filled with uncertainty, “Are you sure? We can go home and I can make some soup.”

Bokuto flashed a large smile at Akaashi, he had such a kind soulmate, “I’m sure! Now, where were we?”

Akaashi hesitantly returned the smile as he took Bokuto’s hand again to continue the date, “Well, you remember how we met right?”

The owl like man chuckled to himself, recalling the memory fondly. And if he remembered correctly, it was in the exact spot they were standing at.

They were in their first year of college back then. Akaashi spilled his coffee on Bokuto while they both rushed class. The apologetic look on Akaashi’s face made him look like a kicked puppy and Bokuto’s anger had dissolved as he further studied the tall, good-looking male. 

Akaashi, on the other hand, was so embarrassed that he spilled coffee on a devilishly handsome stranger, that he was about to cry. His desire for the ground to swallow him up heightened as he realized that wow- Bokuto’s face was sculpted by the gods. After standing awkwardly for a moment, Bokuto realized that he was still running late. Glancing down at his wrist to see how much time had past, Bokuto almost started choking on the air… his clock had restarted!

Akaashi had still not stopped being embarrassed and in habit, he stared at his timer. He dropped his jaw as he noticed the same exact thing had happened with him. What an awkward way to meet his soulmate!

“I remember,” mused Bokuto, “you apologized so much, I had to kiss you.”

Akaashi laughed, “Yea, I remember that too. We were so young back then.”

And we had time, Bokuto thought, biting his lips, How will I live without him now?

A week later, Bokuto found himself staring at their shared bedroom. He had noticed something was missing in the room but he couldn’t put a finger on what. As he eyeballed the room, realization finally hit him like a slap in the face- Akaashi had been packing his stuff.

HIs heart swelled; even after death, Akaashi was thinking of how Bokuto would feel if he saw his stuff. He was too pure and kind for the world. Maybe the only up side of dying was that Akaashi would finally be the angel he already was. 

Now sad, he scrolled through his camera roll to cheer himself up. A quick blast to the past would bring his mood up for sure.

He smiled seeing a picture with them and their friends in jerseys, profusely sweating. In the picture, Akaashi was giving Bokuto his water bottle although sweating the most. 

Bokuto swiped to see a picture of them eating popsicles. Although he had a perfectly good one, he was taking a bite out of Akaashi’s as he just laughed.

The next picture was of Akaashi holding out food towards the camera. Although not shown in the picture, Bokuto knew he was offering it to him who was off screen.

Continuing to swipe, Bokuto realized that in most of the photos, Akaashi was giving something to him. There was one where Akaashi was holding the umbrella over Bokuto’s head to prevent his gelled hair from deflating. There was one where Akaashi was hugging Bokuto to give him warmth from the cold. There was one where Akaashi was helping Bokuto up aft her had fallen while receiving a ball. There was one where Alaashi wrapped up Bokuto’s injury. There even was one where Akaashi was taking a picture of Bokuto for his Instagram.

Bokuto felt his stomach drop when he saw a picture where Akaashi was pouting as he ate the last chip teasingly in front of him. He knew he was joking but, he never realized how much Akaashi had given him. And it was never just physical things that Bokuto took from Akaashi either, Bokuto always seemed to be on the receiving end for everything.

Why was Akaashi even with him? He pondered. He had done nothing for him. And now that he really thought about it, he was a failure of a soulmate. 

The pictures were supposed to lift his mood, but it just worsened it in the end.

Click

“Hey, Kotaro,” Akaashi walked into the room and hugged him, “I’m home.”

Bokuto tried to rid his sadness in order to not worry Akaashi, “Hey ‘Kaashi! How was work?”

“Oh, it was great!” the male said, untangling his limbs from his soulmate, “I got a new patient, His name is Kenma and his soulmate Kuroo died not too long ago. Anyway, he wasn’t coping well. He was a wreck when he came into my office; it looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. I was able to help him feel better though. I’m really glad that this is my profession; it’s really helped me realize that the people who live are the strong ones because they have to deal with the pain and the aftermath.”

Akaashi hesitated as if he was going to say something else but said nothing. 

In the silence, Bokuto’s thoughts ran wild. As a soulmate therapist, Akaashi had such a big impact on people. He did so much to help everyone and what did Bokuto do? What would he have left to do in the world after Akaashi was gone? When Akaashi died, there would be so many people to mourn his death. Who would miss him if he was the one who died other than Akaashi? He was so kind and selfless… so why was he, on the other hand, being selfish when there was nothing to be selfish for? 

“I-” Bokuto choked on his words, “I don’t say it often but I love you. I don’t know how I’m going to live without you. I need you. When you’re gone, I don’t know what to do. I’m not strong, I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to be alone.”

Akaashi stared in shock as his normally strong soulmate burst into tears. As the tears fell, tremors shook Bokuto’s body like an earthquake. He finally let the reality of their situation settle in as he cried. Hearing Akaashi sniffle and hug him, made his heart ache. Akaashi was always strong, but Bokuto never stopped to consider how he really felt. 

Later, when Akaashi let out his steady breaths of peaceful sleep, Bokuto finally pushed his selfishness aside and made a decision.

Akaashi was not going to die tomorrow.

Coming home the next day, Akaashi found it odd when Bokuto didn’t greet him. He had been uncharacteristically touchy that morning so it was strange when Bokuto hadn’t been there like promised. Although many things, Akaashi’s soulmate wasn’t a promise breaker.

“Bokuto?”

Akaashi started to get nervous after a moment of silence. Where was Bokuto? They agreed to spend their last moments together. And the clock was getting dangerously close to 0. He didn’t want Bokuto to have a painful death. Hell, Akaashi didn’t want to go through that pain either.

“Bokuto!?” he called out his name a few more times. But still, nobody answered.

Now panicking, he ran through their house in search of the silver haired male. He wasn’t in the bedroom. He wasn’t in the kitchen. He wasn’t in the dining room. He wasn’t in the living room. Not in the attic, or the backyard, or the study either. 

Where could he be? 

Akaashi trembled as his call was sent to voicemail.

“I’m not going to see you again before it happens… please remember that I love you. Please remember all the happy times. Please don’t be sad, I love you so so much. Please stay strong. Please don’t make this all for nothing. Bokuto, I love you.”

Akaashi;s voice cracked at the end of recording his message in despair. The world was too cruel. Why did such a fairytale story have such an unhappy ending?

1 minute

Akaashi cried as he ran to the bookshelf to get the laser gun. It wasn’t there.

45 seconds

He threw the books off the shelf desperately searching for it. But he still found nothing.

30 seconds

Where the hell was it? Oh my god, they were both going to die.

15 seconds

He wasn’t going to make it. He sank to his knees in despair, covering his face with his hands.

10 seconds

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

5 seconds

I’m sorry Bokuto.

4 seconds

 I should have done it earlier.

3 seconds

I love you.

2 seconds

I hope we’re soulmates in our next lives.

1 second

Akaashi screwed his eyes shut.

0Why was he still breathing? 

0Why was he still alive?

0Where was the pain?

Akaashi opened his eyes and looked down at his wrist, maybe they had more time. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a nightmare.

Nothing was there.

His deep blue eyes widened. Bokuto... He didn’t. He couldn’t have. 

Please, tell me he didn’t, Akaashi pleaded to the gods, Please tell me it’s fake. I don’t want this to be real.

But he knew.

He knew what Bokuto had done in order for him to be where he was now. He let his tears fall silently as he let the harsh reality hit him like a stack of bricks. Akaashi had chosen to die because he wanted to be selfish- he didn’t want to live in a world without Bokuto.

Bokuto had given him his life, but to live it without him… He wished he hadn’t.

[wallwriterstuff]

Only For A Night

Characters: Mammon and Asmodeus (Obey Me) because I'm a sucker for Mammon being a good big brother

Warnings: None, maybe a little angsty in places, a bit of self-doubt but nothing major. 

Words: 2609

Summary: Asmodeus is consumed by lust, but it doesn’t always mean what people think it does. While preparing for work, Asmo reflects on what it really means to be the Avatar of Lust, and just how tired of it he is. 

Avatar.

Noun.

Meaning – an incarnation, embodiment, or manifestation of a person or an idea.

 Lust.

Noun.

Meaning – strong desire.

Verb.

Meaning – to have a strong desire for a person or thing.

 So many people misunderstood that word. Lust had been linked to sex since time immemorial and Asmodeus had been one of many in a long line of souls to fall prey to the misconceptions that word carried with it. He heaved a sigh, cupping his hand to bring some of the warm water up and over his bicep. Red eyes glowed as they watched the suds fall from his skin, nose twitching to inhale the scent of jasmine that was left behind - he’d have to pander to yet more of those ill-informed buffoons in just a few hours and he wasn’t honestly ready to play the part today. The moment he finished the shoot he’d be expected to attend The Fall with his entourage, to endure succubi crawling all over him and demons flocking from every corner of the club just to attach their name to his, if only for the night.

He was so tired of it.

Everybody thought the Avatar of Lust was all about sex, driven by pleasure and obsessed with appearance. To the outside world Asmo was as shallow as a kiddie pool, and nobody ever took him seriously enough to see otherwise. Well, everyone except his brothers. They were always the ones to see past the front he put up, remembered there was more underneath that mattered. He was sure there was going to be dozens of demons vying for his attention tonight, their fingers trailing his skin and their lips by his ear whispering things that made his skin crawl and his desire flare. The thought was enough to make him nauseous. He didn’t want that tonight. He wanted to sit with Satan perhaps, read a good book and exchange views on it. Maybe Mammon needed him to do his accounts again with him? Figure out how far in the red he was?

Asmo took a deep breath and sank under the water, relishing in the silence and stillness the water offered. Demons were always tempted by one sin or another, but the pull was strongest when it was a sin they specialised in. How was Asmo supposed to convince anyone he was as three dimensional as any of his brothers when the very sin he embodied set him up to fail every time? You could lust for more than just somebody’s body. You could lust for the finest wines and the best clothes, or maybe you strongly desired to travel and feel the sense of wonder that came with it. Some people lusted for attention and craved to be at the centre of it all, while others lusted for the quite seclusion of a life lived far from people, surrounded by nature and all it’s beauty. The problem was, people only ever seemed to associate lust with sex, so Asmo was bombarded with demons who wanted to seduce him and taste the pleasure he could offer.

How the hell was he supposed to say no when they appealed to the very sin he embodied? Lust was his greatest temptation in whatever form it came in and it had taken him centuries to temper his desires to the point where it was possible for him to go out and about without having a meltdown. Lust wasn’t like pride or greed. Arguably, himself, Belphie and Levi had suffered the most when it came to adapting to their sins, struggling to fight something internal that wasn’t a physical habit. Asmo felt his lungs start to burn and he surfaced with a gasp, blindly reaching for the face cloth he’d left on the side to wipe the water from his eyes.

He could remember the day they’d first come back to the House of Lamentation, the utter disgust he’d felt at seeing his room and knowing it was not good enough for him while simultaneously disgusted with himself for turning his nose up at someone’s charity towards him. He had been a good angel once, one that was admired and adored for his beauty and his generosity. Nothing was ever too much for Asmodeus to help with and when he became a demon he was supposed to just…take? It felt backward, abnormal, and that was without the constant strong desire pulling him in every which direction the minute he stepped out of their front door.

The feeling was so strong it had moved his body of its own accord. Trying to ignore his desire to go into certain shops, to smell specific flowers, to chase certain figures that were pleasing to the eye…that had felt like a giant magnet had been trying to tear his skin off whenever he tried to turn his back on the temptations. It was physically painful to avoid what he wanted, because he wanted it more badly than anything else in the Devildom, felt he might actually die if he didn’t have it. He leaned his head back, huffing slightly. All of this worry wasn’t going to do his skin any good. He’d get wrinkles, or worse, acne. The very thought made him shiver and he pushed himself out of the water to begin drying off. The sound of the water rushing down the plughole only served to heighten his anxiety, every little drop rushing away feeling like sand dripping through the hourglass, counting down to the inevitable photoshoot that would become a night on the town.

The photoshoot wasn’t something he honestly minded. He had always been adored and admired, he had never had any problem with grabbing attention and that hadn’t changed after the fall, but the Celestial Realm had admired him for the things he did for them. What could he do for the Devildom? His talents had been diminished when his Celestial powers were lost, leaving him with virtually nothing to offer the Devildom, nothing except his body. It was Mammon who had come up with the idea first to go into modelling, calling it a sure shot to make money. It filled his pockets nicely enough to suit his purpose but it gave Asmo the solution he needed to. It filled his need to give into his lust for attention, he wanted eyes on him and this was the perfect way to achieve that, but it also gave him a way to give back. He knew he was good looking, and people liked looking at beautiful things. He was a treat for the eyes, and the attention he got made him thrive, spurred him to do it more. His beauty routine and the career it spawned had quite frankly saved him.

There was always a theme to work with as seasons faded in and out and fashion designers rose to fame and fell again, so it curbed his spending habits just a little by forcing him to desire only what was fashionable in the moment to his fans. His desire to be beautiful had left him the face of many different beauty products, simultaneously satisfying his desire to have his face everywhere and to be raking in the kind of money you could only make as an influencer at the top of their game. All that money meant he could satisfy his urge to be surrounded by luxury, hence the opulent rooms he’d designed for himself. No, his beauty routine, his photoshoots, his design career even, they all satisfied his urges and kept him sane, but the social side of his life in the spotlight was draining to say the least. Sitting in his robe, Asmo stared at his reflection, dull red eyes staring back at him through damp, limp hair. He looked nothing like the Asmodeus people expected to see but the thought of the long night ahead was truly harrowing today.

It was the anniversary of their fall from grace after all.

A knock on his door made him perk in his seat but his eyes didn’t stray from the mirrors surrounding him.

“Come in?” he called out. Mammon was the last person he’d expected to see at his door today of all days, yet still there he stood, tall and lean with his shades on. He sauntered over with such confidence, a bright smile on his face as he slapped a stack of money on the tabletop beside Asmo’s makeup bag.

“Here ya go Asmo, everything I owe ya!” he was absolutely radiating pride, so much so Asmo blinked a few times to see if his eyes were mistaking him and it was actually Lucifer who had walked in instead. He didn’t bother to check the stack of notes, knowing his brother always came up good when he finally got around to paying him back.

Mostly.

Sometimes.

Honestly, today he was just too tired to check.

“Thanks, Mammon.” He murmured, reaching for his spray. He’d already used his favourite hair mask, now it was time to whip out the old heat-protector spray and his blow dryer. Mammon raised an eyebrow at him as the roar of the little motor echoed around the room, Asmo taking his time to carefully brush out each strand to get it dry and just the right kind of bouncy. He didn’t need his hair falling flat before his big shoot. Mammon didn’t leave, watching him go through the motions robotically as he put on his headband to start applying his make-up.

“Say, Asmo? You er, you feelin’ okay?” Mammon asked him. He’d taken off his shades now, blue and yellow eyes shining with concern. Asmo spared him the briefest glance in the mirror, scowling as he applied his foundation.

“Mammon! I know I’m not looking my best right now but I am still glowing thank you!” he scolded. Mammon sighed, head shaking.

“I didn’t mean that! You’re…well you look like you usually do I guess?” he floundered for a moment, making Asmo beam at him amusedly.

“And what might that look like?” he purred, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at his brother through the mirror. Mammon jumped, the weight of his stare proving too much. Asmo just couldn’t help himself, not when Mammon was so easy to fluster. Only Levi could outrank Mammon when it came to who blushed the quickest. Mammon folded his arms, weight rolling from hip to hip as he fidgeted.

“Ah forget it will ya? I was tryna be nice but if you’re gonna be like that…I just thought you might wanna talk about something.” He grumbled, turning on his heel to leave. Asmo’s smile fell slowly, watching Mammon get further and further away from him. His brother, the Avatar of Greed of all people, was concerned enough for his welfare to ask about him? How many people could he say that for?

“Mammon.” His name had escaped his lips before he could really think about, his hands falling into his lap as he ducked his gaze. “Maybe I do want to talk about it.” He said quietly. Mammon paused at the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly before he trundled back over and took a seat on the raised edge of his bath.

“Sure! Sure ya can talk to me! I’m the GREAT Mammon after all, great at listening. I can do that.” Mammon rambled, almost as if he was trying to give himself a pep talk. Asmo briefly questioned the sanity of his choice before turning fully on his stool and leaning back against the counter behind him with a sigh.

“I’m just so tired.” He complained. Mammon squinted, looking awfully constipated as he nodded for him to continue. Asmo realised it was a look he’d never seen before on Mammon’s face. Concentration.

“Tired of what?” Mammon prompted.

“Of people.” Asmo huffed, “I’m tired of people, Mammon. I’m tired of them throwing themselves at me and whispering all that filthy nonsense like they do. I want to just do my photoshoot and let that be that.” Mammon blinked at him, slowly processing what he had said. Not for the first time, Asmo started to second guess his choice.

“So…you don’t want to go to the after party and have a bunch of succubi throwing themselves at you?” he asked slowly, looking at him like he didn’t quite believe him. Sighing in annoyance he turned back to his mirror and reached for his beauty blender.

“I know I am incredible company Mammon but that doesn’t mean I always want to be somebody’s arm candy for the night. I’m capable of more, you know? I designed an entire fall collection once but does anybody talk about that? No! It’s all about the length of my-“

Asmo paused, searching his dull red eyes for an honest answer.

“Yeah yeah we get it!” Mammon was quick to cut him off, hands fluttering as his wide eyes looked anywhere but Asmo for a second. The Avatar of Lust was carefully starting to apply the contour lines to his face now, his eyes rolling to his older brother briefly before focusing back on his reflection. Mammon was very quiet for a while before he quietly asked,

“Is it that bad?”

“Yes.” He said softly, “If someone waved a stack of money in your face, would you refuse it?”

“Of course not!” Mammon’s answer was immediate, and then he flinched a bit. “It’d be impossible not to.” He admitted quietly, brows furrowing. Asmo knew he understood then, a deep sigh escaping him as he nodded.

“Exactly, I feel the same way when people throw themselves at me. Sometimes I really don’t want to but…it’s impossible to refuse the temptation.” He heard the flat note in his voice and tried to smile, but there was no warmth or mirth there at all. He didn’t feel glamorous at all and that was preventing him from looking the part, but he couldn’t let his fans down on this shoot! His routine and his sanity depended on it!

“Perhaps-“Mammon pushed to his feet and pushed his hands down deep into his pockets, looking bashful, “-I mean maybe I could come with ya and, well we could go get dinner or something after? Give you an excuse not to go yanno?” Asmo blinked, staring at his older brother in surprise. Had Mammon actually had a smart idea for once? It could work, if they thought he had plans with his brother. Mammon was another big name, someone who regularly had cameras on him, they’d get lots of attention to fulfil Asmo’s need for it without any of the interruptions – nobody was stupid enough to approach Two of the Seven Demon Lords while they were clearly on a private outing. Mammon however was already backtracking, clearly panicking he’d said the wrong thing, but Asmo was grinning at him now, his smile dazzling as it always had to be, should be.

“That’s a perfect idea!” he laughed, “Oh Mammon thank you! However can I repay you?”

“Pay for dinner.” Mammon said instantly, already batting away the hands reaching for him. Asmo giggled, feeling lighter somehow now.

“Of course!” Asmo wiggled the stack of cash Mammon had just paid him back with, “Ristorante Six it is!” Mammon’s smile slowly grew, head nodding enthusiastically. Asmo settled back into his makeup routine with renewed vigour. He’d need to look his best after all, for his big dinner date with Mammon. His big brother had unknowingly saved him from a fate worse than death tonight, and he was more than grateful, even if his fate had been changed only for one night.

[amazingflyingdick]

midnight sun.

WHO: Bruce Wayne @justicealwaysprevails, Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick, Slade Wilson @terminator-deathstroke, & Josh Foley @goldenelixxir WHERE: The hospital WHEN: Backdated to July 4th, 2020 WHAT: Josh is contacted and arrives at the hospital to heal Dick’s injuries

Josh: When he’d been contacted by Bruce Wayne asking him to come to the hospital, he’d assumed that it was urgent, that there’d been some accident, an emergency that needed his attention immediately. It was dangerous for him to leave District X and cross town. He was a known offender, had already been arrested, and NOVA grew bolder by the day with their methods. He went anyway. Of course he did. Dick was one of his oldest friends in the city and one of the few that Josh offered any kind of real honesty to. So much of his existence was focused on other people that there were few opportunities to just be Josh Foley. Dick offered him that. Of course he was going to help.

He had a hoodie on and a beanie beneath it when he arrived. In an effort to attract as little attention as possible, he kept his head down until he got to the room number Bruce had given him. It was a normal room. Not emergency. Not ICU. That already had him frowning as he opened the door and pulled his hood back. Bruce: The last few days were spent on very little sleep. Bruce was no metahuman, but he had an indomitable will and he had trouble acknowledging his own limitations. And regardless of everything he knew to be true, what he'd known for years, he wasn't leaving Dick alone with Slade Wilson. Not for long, anyway. Once they stretched into day 3 in their silent standoff, without Slade showing any signs of leaving, Bruce began to consider more realistic options. He did leave here and there to speak with doctors. A few times he fell asleep in his chair, unaware that he'd done so at all until he checked the time and realized hours had passed in what felt like minutes.

Jason's text completely sent him off balance. Panic and subsequent lack of sleep were the only excuses he had for not recalling an obvious solution. He wasted no time getting in contact with him, without offering too many details, because he didn't want Dick to suffer any longer than he had to, when it was completely unnecessary.

His expression was somber when Josh entered the room. The guilt and exhaustion were more than evident in his heavy tone as he offered a succinct explanation. "He was shot in the head four days ago and in a coma nearly as long. They brought him out of it this morning, but he's only been fully cognizant for a few hours." Slade: Slade had to be forced out of the hospital room. He hadn’t moved for four days, hadn’t eaten or slept, barely drunk anything, and really just refused to leave Dick’s side until he was sure he was waking up. Now that he was up, Dick had pushed him to go and grab a nap, a shower, and dinner. He hadn’t thought much of any of it until he realized how much he had been exerting himself.

Now, in a fresh outfit, clean and newly shaved, Slade returned to the hospital bed and there was some... fucking gold guy standing there. What the hell was going on? He had had his whole home set up to care for Dick, to bring him back to rehabilitate him.

He looked between Wayne and King Midas over there before moving to his spot at Dick’s side. “Hey, little bird,” he greeted, face softening only for Dick. Dick: Dick was sleeping less, but that didn't mean he was fully awake. Sometimes he just drifted in a strange state in between, aware of the people around him even though he didn't actively participate in conversations. He didn't realize Josh was in the room until he heard Bruce speaking to someone. Cracking his eyes open, he exhaled softly. "It's weird when you talk about me like I'm not here, B." The sentence was coherent even though the words were slightly slurred. He blinked when he saw Josh in a beanie, as if he weren't sure if he were actually there. "Josh...? You look like you're about to rob a 711..."

Slade's reappearance distracted him and Dick watched him sleepily, too out of it to be burdened by the fact that Bruce was present. He didn't have the focus to guard his feelings or the tender familiarity. "Hey... you showered." Josh: Four days. Had he really just said four days? Dick had been shot over half a week earlier and nobody had thought to tell him until right then? Josh knew from first hand experience what that was like. He knew exactly what it felt like to take a bullet to the skull. The fact that Dick had survived it at all was a damned miracle, but then he’d just been left to...what? Human medicine? “I could have helped him,” he said in a low voice, not even trying to hide his irritation. “You pay for my clinic. I treated your other son.” There was no go back in time button. It was done. Dick was alive and he could fix the rest. It just made his skin crawl that he’d been left to just suffer through it when there was an alternative.

Josh glanced away from Bruce only when Dick spoke. “You caught me. I figured I’d steal a Slurpee on my way back home.”

The train of thought was interrupted yet again by the appearance of...whoever the hell that was. Obviously someone very familiar with Dick. He caught that name, Little Bird, and the easy way Dick responded to him. It was Josh’s turn to be confused, maybe irritated a little further. Was this the mystery ex in town? If so, it was so far from the image that Josh had conjured up that it would have been funny if the whole situation was something else.

“I need space if I’m finally going to get to help.” What he had to do wasn’t as simple as knitting skin back together or curing infection. Bruce: "I know." There was nothing else to say. Bruce wasn't going to make excuses when there weren't any that would justify his lack of action. The truth was the truth, but it didn't do any of them a bit of good now. What mattered was that Dick was alive and Josh was here to cut his long recovery time short. It was something Bruce dreaded hearing the doctors talk about. He already expected that Dick wouldn't be returning to the manor; the thought of Slade having complete control over his well being would have made it difficult to sleep at night.

Motioning for Slade to move back, he was wise enough to provide an explanation for Josh's sake. He didn't want a tense back and forth if he could help it. After so many hours of sitting in that hospital room with Slade, Bruce had seen how tense he got even when the nurses were doing something as routine as checking vitals. They might appear to have made an uneasy truce, but the reality was that Bruce had been left with few options. "He can heal him." Slade: Slade stared at the golden fairy man in his hat, somehow incensed that he hadn’t been called. Who the fuck even was he? “Am I missing something?” He growled to Wayne. Why should they have called him? And if Bruce had this kid on retainer, why hadn’t they?

He didn’t move. He’d need a little more than ‘he can heal him’. “How?”

Slade looked to Dick. Wayne barely spoke half the time, as if monosyllabic answers and grunts were all he needed for conversation. Dick: Even though his eyes felt heavy, Dick kept them open. He could feel the tension between the three of them and he didn't like it. "It's okay..." he murmured softly, his hand moving from its position on the railing and brushing the back of Slade's arm. "He runs the clinic. Mutant clinic. I trust him." Those words might not say a lot considering the type of people Dick willingly put his trust in, but he knew Josh was here to help. The thought filled him with relief. "He's helped me before." Not with an injury like this, but he didn't imagine it would be much different this time around. Josh: “I’m a mutant. In case you thought the gold skin was an elaborate costume I didn’t finish.” He had about a dozen different questions right then, and high on the list was why Dick needed to reassure a man that Josh had never laid eyes on that it was okay to let him heal the hole in his head. “I’m biokinetic, and nobody here can help Dick like I can. I’d really like for you to move, whoever you are.” Bruce: There was a stiffness in Bruce's jaw as he watched the interaction between Josh and Slade, but he was on edge and ready to step in, if necessary, although he'd rather avoid an altercation. "His clinic is partially funded by Wayne Enterprises. He has assisted us in the past. He’s been friends with Dick for several years." It put the situation in some perspective, at least. Slade: Slade narrowed his eyes. “Forgive me for not assuming you were a mutant. In case you haven’t noticed, there are several different types of people here that could look like you.” He moved only because Dick said he trusted him, even if Slade didn’t. Instead, he rounded on Bruce. “So you mean to tell me that there’s been someone the whole time that could what? Wave a magic wand and fix Dick? And I’m only just now hearing about him? Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?”

Dick: Dick sighed softly, his hand falling back against the railing. This time he couldn't keep his eyes from slipping closed, and his heart rate went up even though he kept his tone light, trying to ease the agitation in the room. "I didn't think of it either." He'd also been in and out of consciousness for the past few hours, but still. It was difficult to be angry at Bruce - or at anyone, especially knowing how stressed they'd been. "It's okay now." Josh: His eyes moved immediately to the monitor, watching the numbers change. “Get away from the bed,” he said with no further preamble. In his actual clinic with his actual patients, he had a good bedside manner. Dick had been put through unnecessary surgery, been kept unconscious for days, and was still barely coherent even as he was talking to them. It was not the time to try to navigate personal relationships. “Neither of you can help him right now.”

Josh took a step closer and laid his hand against Dick’s forehead. “Dick...I won’t lie. This is going to hurt.” He normally warned about discomfort, but typically it was minor. In this particular case, Josh knew exactly what it was going to feel like. He’d lived through it himself. Dick had painkillers on his side, at least, and that might dull the worst of it. “I’ll take care of you.” Bruce: Bruce was outwardly calm, not showing any emotion as Slade rounded on him, but he knew there was very little he could say in his own defense. The truth was that they had all been too shell-shocked to do anything but go through the motions. Dick's survival hadn't been a certainty and even now he wasn't at ease. It still wasn't excusable. Slade's anger wasn't even close to how angry Bruce was at himself. "The oversight is reprehensible, even if unintentional." Slade: Slade ought to kill the other man right then and there. He wasn't sure who the mutant was talking to when he said to get away, as Slade had already moved, but he ignored him for a moment to fix Wayne with a look of death. Perhaps Slade was being unfair if only because Bruce was only human. His distraction was to be expected. Regardless, he was still considering homicide right here in the hospital room. The only reason he didn't was because of what was going on next to them.

His attention shifted to Dick and he stood, tense. I'll take care of you. That... didn't sit right with Slade. Perhaps it was because of how often he had said the very same to Dick. Or perhaps it was because of how badly he wanted to do it. His jaw visibly clenched, but he kept quiet.

Dick: The touch made his brow furrow, but the bullet had gone in near Dick's eye and was nowhere near his forehead. It was just that no one had dared touch his head since the entire thing happened. Slade had gone as far to touch his hair and even then he'd been careful about it. "Can't hurt more than this, right?" He wasn't afraid of pain.

"He's the one I told you about." Granted, when he'd told Josh about Slade it was before everything started back up again and the break up with Tanya had been fresh. Painful. Dick hadn't been in the best mood that night and when he talked about everything it'd been with resentment. "Sorry for being such a jerk." Josh: “Maybe,” Josh ventured. It had to be done either way. Dick had been a vigilante for most of his life, it wasn’t like he was a stranger to something hurting. Josh had faith he’d grit his teeth and deal with it. Still, he hadn’t wanted to catch him completely off guard. He was forcing something to happen in minutes that would have taken months, or never even happened fully at all.

Josh glanced back over his shoulder toward...Slade, apparently, was the name. Dick had mentioned him, though with very little detail, and there was no way Josh would have turned that conversation into a picture of the giant man in an eyepatch. He didn’t really care, though. Dick’s tastes were apparently all over the place, and right then none of it was his concern. “It happens. You can apologize to me when you don’t have a hole in your head anymore.”

He kept one hand lightly against his forehead and laid the other one against Dick’s hand on the bed. He went quiet, focusing all his energy on what he had to do. It was complex, regrowing and repairing bone and brain matter. Complex and exhausting. He kept his eyes closed as he worked, dealing with the bone first. That was the more painful part, and it was the most consuming for him, too. When he’d had to deal with it himself, it had felt like a hammer to his skull, the worst headache It was possible to have. Then again, he’d not “lived” through the gunshot wound.

It was not a fast process. Tissue damage could be quick, but that wasn’t what they were dealing with. It dragged on for several minutes as Josh moved his attention from the bone regrowth to repairing the more internal damage. Golden, warm light grew brighter in the spaces beneath his hands. Bruce: There was no getting around the massive mistake made in not bringing Josh in sooner. Bruce knew he might be able to reverse the damage, but it still meant Dick had been suffering unnecessarily for days. The fact that Josh said it would hurt was also reason for concern. It made him wonder if it would have been less painful had he intervened before now.

Silent, he went to stand at the foot of Dick's bed so he was far enough out of the way, but still able to see what was happening. He didn't know if the machines might alert the nurses, but he was watching the door in his peripheral vision just in case he would have to intercept them. It was risky for Josh to have come here. He didn't want NOVA to be tipped off and be waiting outside the hospital doors. Slade: Slade wordlessly watched the three men, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms to keep from reflexively breaking this guy's arms for touching Dick. Who knew he had jealousy issues. Perhaps Dick just brought it out of him, or perhaps it was just because of the tension of the situation. He hadn't missed the little exchange between Dick and the other. The one he had told him about? So this was a friend of Dick's?

Uninterested in the mysticism of it, Slade pulled his phone from his pocket to send a brief series of texts to Wintergreen telling him to remove every single precaution he had had set up in his home to rehabilitate and care for Dick. The medical devices, any equipment, and certainly the ice cream and other sweets were to be taken out. He wasn't to know that Slade had gone to any lengths. He could just imagine that Dick would feel guilty about it. Like an idiot. The silly films were also to be sent out. If Dick still came home with him--though why he would when he had his own place and wouldn't need any help from Slade had Slade thinking he'd head home alone--it would be like it was the last time he was there.

Dick: The blinding pain hit him before Dick could even respond. It wasn't what he expected at all. Josh had healed smaller wounds on him before. The process never took longer than a few seconds, and it always felt strange, but there was never any pain involved. It doubled the headache he'd consistently had upon waking and he sucked air through his teeth sharply. The effort not to make any noise while Josh worked was substantial. Instead he focused on his breathing, resisting the urge to hold it, but as the seconds passed and the pain continued it became more and more difficult.

He didn't let himself speak. There was no way he'd be able to get the words out right now without giving away how much pain he was in, as if the way he white-knuckled the railing of the bed wasn't indicative enough, or that his eyes were closed so tightly that the tears were partly from strain. Josh: Josh couldn’t let himself focus on the pain. He could ease it when they were through with the rest. Once it was over then it was over, at least in that respect. He remembered being disoriented for awhile and thought it would probably be the same for Dick, but he could help with the hurt. It took a few more minutes. By the time he was finished, the only thing left was for Dick’s body to reorient to being whole again. Josh used a few more seconds to urge the release of various neurotransmitters and chemicals to diminish any lingering pain. He couldn’t do anything for the fogginess or disorientation, but he knew it would pass.

He dropped his hand away from Dick’s forehead but kept the other one where it was. “I can help you sleep for a few hours,” he offered. “It’ll feel better when you wake back up .” Bruce: Bruce watched the entire process closely, his eyes narrowing, but he stayed where he was, his arms tightly folded over his chest. Although he was well aware of Josh's capabilities, he'd never seen him work until now. He didn't know what it was like to heal complex injuries. Situational examples weren't always readily available. If there were any lingering effects or abnormalities, then he wanted to know about them. Now wasn't the time to ask, however. He didn't say a word, although he did manage to relax somewhat when Josh spoke again and he realized it was over, finally, although there was a dull ache left in his jaw. Slade: Slade knew the moment that Dick was in pain, almost like that pain was his own. He knew the tense of Dick's jaw, the tears in his eyes, the white of his knuckles. And he certainly knew that the other was putting on a show of strength for Bruce and probably for him, trying to ensure, as always, that they didn't worry. Slade always did worry, however, even if he wouldn't let it be known. He had believed for years that Dick was competent, however, even if he could sometimes be an idiot.

When it faded, Slade also noted how the healer kept Dick's hand. There was a niggling at the back of his mind as he remembered what Dick had said about previous partners. Was he simply being paranoid? He felt that flash of jealousy again and he suddenly wanted Golden Fairy Boy away from his little bird. Not that he spoke. Slade kept his face completely impassive. If he was right, then Slade couldn't help how he felt about it. If he was wrong, Dick would tell him. For now, though, he forced his arms to uncross. "I'll be here when you wake up, kid," he said to Dick, reaching out to flick the dark hair off his forehead where it had plastered there from the perspiration that came from hiding his pain. "Promise I won't change appearance again." Dick: The pain faded away so quickly that Dick was left dizzy, disoriented, and he kept his eyes closed for another second as he struggled to concentrate on the world around him. While he'd been in a coma he'd been aware, on some level, of what was going on in the room. Sounds and voices worked their way into his subconscious and in the strange, saga-like dreams he'd had. It was easy for him to focus on those things now, even through the incessant beeping of the machines.

His eyes opened when Josh offered to put him to sleep and he shook his head quickly. "No, I don't want to sleep." There was a slightly panicked edge to his voice. He'd slept for days the last time he felt like this, like he couldn't see or hear anything with complete clarity, and his fingers dug into the side of Josh's hand.

Slade's voice made his gaze lift and he struggled to find him in the room. He didn't have his metagene or enhanced senses, so when he felt his hand touch his hair he quickly released the railing and reached to catch it. "I don't want to sleep," he said again, more desperately. Josh: “Alright, alright. No sleep. That’s stupid,” he said, not sugar-coating it, but he wasn’t going to do it against his will. If he wanted to be awake, he could be awake. “But you can be stupid, I guess. It’ll go away soon.” He returned that squeeze when he felt it.

He glanced over to Bruce. “Someone is going to have to move him out of here AMA or they’re going to be asking a bunch of questions about what happened. I don’t want NOVA to have a reason to come looking for me again.” Especially not in District X, which so far had seemed untouchable but Josh knew better than to actually believe that was true.

He was silent for a few seconds, feeling his own personal brand of exhaustion, but decided to make a second offer. “How long has it been since either of you slept?” He looked from Bruce to Slade and back. “My guess is four days. I can help.” Bruce: Dick's refusal made Bruce frown, but he didn't try to reason with him. He knew better than to think it would make any difference. "I will have him released into my custody." It wasn't just his wealth and influence that would make it possible, but he had personal physicians that tended to Dick and the others from the second they stepped foot in the manor. The hospital could at least rest easy knowing medical professionals still had access to him, even though it would hardly be necessary. "You will have to keep a low profile, Dick," he said reasonably, but his gaze was on Slade as he spoke. "No patrol. Minimal public appearances." It wasn't just to keep his recovery under wraps. If NOVA had him in their sights, it was a reasonable belief that a second attempt might be made.

Bruce looked at Josh, hesitating, but he'd read enough about his abilities to know healing extensive damage took its toll. "Thank you, but I know this demanded a great deal from you. It isn't necessary." Slade: Slade narrowed his eyes. "I can take care of him," he said, just a little bit pointed. Had Slade known this guy was an option, he would have called him in. More than once, he had considered reaching out to the people who had healed him when Possum had popped a cap in his own head. However, he wasn't sure the deaging process would go too well for Dick, and an 18 year old Grayson meant that it would look even more suspect with him and Dick together. Not that Slade gave a shit. He just didn't think it was a viable option and he also didn't know where they were even headquartered anymore.

He looked at the other man before shaking his head. "Trust me when I say I can go weeks without it." He had before. "Barely affects my body." Because Goldfinger wasn't the only one with powers in this room, even if Slade's healing factor couldn't help Dick this way. "I'll sleep when he's safe and stable at my house." Dick: Bruce's instructions had Dick sighing, but he nodded, unwilling to argue even though he wasn't about to sit on the sidelines at a time like this. They were all needed in the fight against NOVA. He wasn't going to hide when he was perfectly capable of helping. This had been a fluke. He hadn't been on guard. That wasn't a mistake he'd make twice. "I got it, B." His eyes were closed again, or he wouldn't have mixed the pointed looks. Even if Bruce were the one to orchestrate his release from the hospital, Dick wasn't going to the manor.

Even though he'd turned down Josh's offer to put him to sleep, he was out of it enough to nearly drift there on his own. He kept pulling himself back, directing his question to Slade. "When can I get out of here? Want you to sleep." Josh: Josh felt a prickle of heat and irritation run through him for a whole collection of different reasons. Everyone in that room was being purposefully dense, posturing at each other for no reason. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he immediately cut in on Slade, “but nobody took care of him. And he is safe and stable. Now.” Once somebody, and he wasn’t even sure who, finally remembered that he existed and Bruce made the call.

He let go of Dick’s hand and stood up straight. “Someone take him out of the hospital. He needs to rest for a day and everything should go back to normal.” He turned to Dick, who should’ve just listened to him and let him speed that along. “Do you understand? You have to rest. I just regrew part of your brain and it has to recognize that it’s all there again. Don’t make it harder on yourself.”

“Are we clear?” That was for both Bruce and Slade, who he rounded on to face one at a time. “Don’t make it harder on him.” Bruce: Bruce still hadn't moved from the foot of the bed. As Josh spoke he was silent, but it wasn't a point he could argue with any success and, what's more, he had little desire to. The long days and nights in the hospital had taken a toll on him. He'd caught a few stray hours of sleep here and there, but he knew it was wearing on him in other ways.

Nodding, he approached Josh with a frown, his tone quiet and sincere despite his own lingering doubts. "Understood. Thank you." Slade: Slade wasn’t intimidated by this little whelp. And he was telling Slade that he hadn’t cared for him. How, was he supposed to have ‘taken care’ of him, then? This fucker knew nothing about him and, for one moment, Slade had half a mind to knock his teeth down his throat. He didn’t, for Dick’s sake, but he ignored him entirely to move back to his spot beside the other.

“Looks like you’re better much sooner than we thought,” he murmured as he catch the other’s hand. “How about Alaska? We can tell them you’re recovering.” Dick: Josh's anger was clear, which surprised Dick even through the distant haze that clouded his mind and perception. He'd seen Josh angry before, although it had been just once, and it took him a second to understood what he'd said to him.

"I understand," he finally managed, cracking his eyes open so he the words might come off a little more convincing. "Thanks, Josh..." Dick didn't want to make it harder than it had to be, not when both Slade and Bruce had lost days of sleep watching over him.

His fingers quickly closed around Slade's hand. Any tension he'd been carrying from the minutes of pain faded and he was shocked by how easy it was to turn his head and press his cheek into the pillow. That small movement no longer sent a wave of excruciating agony through his head and neck. "Yeah," he breathed, not caring that Bruce heard. Dick wasn't sure just how serious Slade was being, anyway, but it was a pleasant thought. "Sounds nice." Josh: He considered offering to stay, and he still had questions he wanted answered, but every minute he stayed there increased the chance of one of the hospital staff coming in to check vitals or take readings. Besides, his job was done. Dick would be fine, once the brain fog dissipated.

“Maybe I’ll see you when you get back from Alaska then.” And he might have to seriously question his taste in people at that point, but until then he kept that thought to himself.

With a small shake of his head, he turned away from the bed to walk past Bruce toward the door. “Call me if anything else happens.” Bruce: Dick laying low was one thing, but leaving the state was another. Bruce tensed, but he didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say right now, nothing that would make a difference, and he wasn't going to upset Dick immediately after agreeing to make things easier for him.

Instead, he nodded, agreeing to Josh's request, but waited some seconds after Josh left the room before following. He still had to contact everyone and let them know of Dick's recovery. And as it stood, Bruce would much rather do that outside of Dick's hospital room. Slade: Slade didn’t much care what either of them thought of him taking Dick to Alaska. He had been shot in the head. He deserved to take a week off. If he wanted to. They would go before the plan with the NOVA went off. It was what needed to be done, but Dick had been raised by Bruce Wayne. It was possible he wouldn’t want it even if it needed to be. And that meant that maybe Dick would see the reality of what it meant to be loved by Slade Wilson. And perhaps he wouldn’t want it.

“Whenever you want, little bird. Just give the word.”

[reylorabbittrail]

Long, Barely Coherent Thoughts about The Rise of Skywalker

Since some of you wanted to hear my thoughts about “The Rise of Skywalker”, I’ve taken some time to write them up and provide context for why I responded the way I did.

A small preamble: I didn’t hate it. Hate is a strong word. And there were moments that I liked. Some that I even loved. However, the aggregate feeling for the movie overall was disappointment. For certain elements, it went beyond that into something genuinely painful and I don’t think that will make sense unless I also go into why I loved the previous two installments of this trilogy.

Also, if you loved this movie, I’m very happy for you. This is about my personal response to a piece of media and I make no judgements on those who enjoyed what you saw. I wish I could join you.

Finally, I will be talking about some sensitive subjects, including child loss and abuse. Please be aware of that before reading further.

Okay, so what was my overall impression of The Rise of Skywalker?

Soulless. Cowardly. Incoherent. Badly paced.

I spent large portions of the movie unable to get into the action because the pacing was so breakneck. There was no time to breathe. Consequently, there was never enough time to recover from one rush before another started. If everything is exciting, nothing is.

I think that this was a deliberate choice to cover up the lack of sense behind the exposition. Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron looks dead inside as he temporarily takes up the mantle of Basil Exposition to explain that somehow or other, Emperor Palpatine has returned and there’s a hard time limit on destroying his fleet.

This is a fine example of a running problem throughout the movie. Whereas both The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi used visual storytelling to move the story forward, things in TROS were explained through dialogue time and again. And the dialogue was incredibly clunky.

But back to the story. We are given a paper thin explanation of the Emperor’s return, and immediately are thrown into a fetch quest to find the Big Bad. I’m sure it will make an exciting video game adaptation.

The thing though is that the fetch quest makes no sense. One of the wayfinders is found in the first two minutes of the movie. Yes, it’s in the hands of the bad guys. But does the audience not remember that our heroine is bound to the villain? Why couldn’t she try to use that bond to get at the directions? Why does the Resistance not try to use that bond? Has she hidden from them her connection to Kylo Ren? Either she’s built up a wall of mistrust between her found family and herself by keeping the bond a secret, or she’s revealed all and no one thinks to try to use that bond to their advantage. It’s just conveniently overlooked.

Oh, a sidenote. Wayfinder. Why? There is an in-universe word for such objects already. It’s a holocron. Why not use holocron? We throw Star Wars-isms at the audience all the time. It would be an Easter Egg to the diehards while not bothering the general audience one iota.

Back to our fetch quest. We head to the desert planet of Pasaana. There’s a festival going on. A festival about family. Rey looks longingly at children and infants. A child gives her a fertility necklace. And then suddenly she’s connected by her bondmate through the force.

Now it’s no secret that the Rey and Kylo dynamic is one of the reasons I loved the first two movies in the trilogy. The actors have great chemistry. More importantly, the characters have interesting conflict. And yet that conflict seems off in this movie. TLJ left them complicated enemies. But they feel out of character. I don’t understand what each is trying to get out of their encounters. I have to do massive amounts of work to understand their actions and the dialogue doesn’t help. Because it doesn’t ring true.

Setting such details aside, Kylo rips off the necklace in a moment worthy of the Phantom of the Opera and for once it’s an action that makes sense, having both the subtext of obsessive love and jealousy, and the text of offering a clue for analysis to Rey’s location. Bravo. The writers did something right.

Meanwhile, we get a clunky reintroduction of Lando Calrissian. Has he been stuck on this desert for over 7 years? Longer? We just don’t know and he doesn’t tell us. Our heroes hitch a ride and then we get a fun speeder chase.

Okay, a couple more questions. There’s some good stuff here. The omnipresence of the First Order helps convey how thorough their control is. But why doesn’t Rey hotwire the speeder? It was established two movies ago that she’s a good mechanic. And on Jakku that kind of skill makes sense. Why hand that off to Poe? And why this Trio stuff. It’s fanon. We have just been assuming that Finn’s best friends would form the new Han, Luke, and Leia. Because reasons. None of them textual. It was a failure of TFA to not establish this dynamic if this was an essential element of Star Wars that had to be there from the start.

Which gets to the heart the problem in fandom which is that Star Wars is different  for every fan. What is essential to the series is subjective. For me, Star Wars is light sabers, hyperspace, the Force, epic battles, strange world with one biome only per world. So I’ve never felt like something was missing. But if an essential element was a very particular character dynamic (like a good guy Trio), then I can see why some fans felt let down. As if all the pieces were there but never got put together.

Back to Pasaana. We have a brief descent into the underworld in which Rey has a moment of true Jedi compassion and is rewarded when her compassion for the monster leads to an exit from said underworld. Nice. Mythically coherent. And hey, we also get one of the MacGuffins we’ve been searching for, so, bonus.

 Now we get the arrival of Kylo and his backup band. What was the point of these dudes? I mean, they look cool and I can’t wait to edit videos of them to classic NKOTB. But narratively, why are they there? Why did Kylo reforge the mask? Why all these questions in the third act when we should be in the process of tying up loose ends.

Rey, in a moment reminiscent of bull leaping from Crete, goes out to stall them? I guess? And then ends up in a battle of wills with Kylo that leads to her inadvertent use of Force Lightning.

Okay, another side trip. Are they trying to make out that Dark Side Powers are genetic? Because that’s all I can figure. Really, it’s kind of gross because it suggests that darkness isn’t a human trait that we all carry and must confront, but rather that Rey’s specific problem is a dark legacy. Which, that’s Kylo’s story. He’s the one grappling with the legacy of Vader and how that led his family to fear his darkness rather than aid him in confronting it.

Anyway, we have Rey briefly thinking she’s killed Chewie and that sets our heroes off to our next quest location and another set of problems: Why did we make the Latino man a drug runner and car thief? No, this isn’t just putting an unneeded real world spin on the universe. This is about narrative consistency. Because in a bid to make Poe Dameron an ersatz Han Solo, they broke his actual in-universe back story that had been established in comics and novels. That Poe Dameron was a pilot in the New Republic Navy, the child of war heroes Kes Dameron and Shara Bey. He grew up on Yavin IV. When did he have time to be a smuggler? He’s only a few years older that Ben Solo.

See Lucasfilm has a Story Group that is supposed to help keep narrative consistency between the various media released. And I can’t help shake the feeling that the Story Group was ignored or stonewalled. To please who? The fans? Which fans? Because I would be under the impression that the fans who read the novels and the comics, who dig the trivia aspects of the universe, would be the first to desire the universe to remain coherent.

The Kijimi stuff is fun. Babu Frik is adorable. C3PO is touching. There’s good moments. There really are.

We now go to the infiltration of the Star Destroyer (Does it have a name? Nerds, help me out here. Usually I know this sort of thing.) Again, good moments. I like the implication that Rey’s Force Powers disturb Poe, but it’s never brought up again. One of dozens of Chekhov’s guns left unfired. This is incredibly sloppy in the plotting. Hux is the mole!?! Fun. Yet, again, wasted. And out of character, but I’m sure that’s not going to bother the general audience. Rey gets caught sneaking around in Kylo’s bedroom? Priceless, and some good imagery (smashing the altar to Vader) combined with incredibly clunky dialogue and some more serious questions that never get answered.

The whole time Kylo thought Vader was talking to him it was Palpatine? Why the hell does he still have that mask on a pedestal? He just couldn’t bear to get rid of a collectible? He hadn’t had time to konmari yet? And just what does smashing the pedestal symbolize? Is this the start of Kylo breaking free? We’ll probably never know.

Rey escapes on the Falcon. After getting the worst character reveal in the Saga. I’m sorry. Rey Palapatine is just dumb. I liked that she was a nobody. It allowed her to be the Forces solution to the manipulation and abuse heaped upon the Skywalkers. She was brought into the story and bound to the last scion of House Skywalker as a corrective. She wasn’t overpowered. (No really. She executed a few very basic Jedi skills in the first two movies, none of them exceptional.) And her skill level makes sense the moment you understand that she is bound to Ben Solo. She is literally downloading his training. She can do what he can do. Even her fighting style mirrors his. Fun fact: if you watch the scene in The Last Jedi where she’s practicing sword forms on Ach-to, and compare them to Kylo in his duel with Luke, they’re identical. To a move. Rey is powerful because the Force chooses its vessels. No one was asking who Mace Windu’s parents were. Or Ki-Adi Mundi’s. But Rey is skilled because a very clear in universe device means she has access to Ben Solo’s mind and that included every skill he ever learned.

Alrighty, so now our team is on to the next step in the quest, the ocean moon of Kef Bir, one of the many moons in the Endor system. (No, it’s not the Forest or Sanctuary Moon with the Ewoks.) We meet Jannah, another wasted character. She is pretty and could have been cool. But she exists for us to realize that Finn is probably Force Sensitive and that he broke conditioning not due to innate morality but because he’s not a Muggle.

Which brings me to my gripe with how Finn’s character was treated. He spent the whole movie running around shouting Rey. That’s it. That’s his arc. I don’t mind that he can feel the Force. But I feel like his development was regressed. He had a clear character arc in the first two movies. From a man running away from responsibility to one willing to fight for a friend, to a man willing to commit to cause. This movie should have had him building on that, and perhaps like Moses returning to free the rest of the Stormtroopers who are canonically child soldiers brainwashed into fighting for the bad guys.

Back to the plot. Rey takes off for the Death Star, searches the haunted house and yet again has her moment in the cave, this time confronting a dark vision of herself. Dang that was cool. Would have liked to see more of that. Anyway, she confronts Kylo and he smashes the holocron. Emphasizing for us how pointless this fetch quest has been. Girl could have hopped a ride in his TIE at any point and dealt with the fallout after they dealt with the emperor.

They fight. It wasn’t a bad fight. Just not my favorite. It did emphasize though that Kylo is never ever fighting on the offensive with her. Never in three movies has he ever taken an advantage of an opening for a killing blow, and never was it more obvious than in this fight. Kylo gets distracted, Rey stabs him mortally, and this act seems to wake her up from whatever possessed her in the throne room. She heals him and runs away.

This brings up another thing that bothers me. I know the filmmakers were working with some severe challenges with their footage of Carrie. I don’t think it was badly used for the most part. But I was left baffled at what exactly was going on here.

I was not baffled at Kylo/Ben’s confrontation with Han. This was the high point of the movie for me. It was pitch perfect in tone, and touched on the one an only sin Ben ever committed that wasn’t connected to a war objective, the murder of his father. And it made clear that the prodigal was loved and wanted and it wasn’t too late to come home. The heart of Ben’s problem has been the conviction that he has done too much wrong to come home, and while it is only a memory, it is a true memory of the man who loved Ben enough to walk straight into Hell though he knew it would probably be the death of him. I can forgive this scene for throwing the lightsaber  into the ocean. I realize that most of the audience doesn’t know that you can heal kyber crystals. Yes, the saber was a metaphor for Ben’s damaged and unstable soul, and yes, it would have been poetic (and badass) for him to show up later with a healed lightsaber, stable and blue and looking like something an angel would fight with. But I’ll forgive that for the poetry of what happens on Exegol.

And then we go to my low point. I’ll set my costumer’s beef with Luke Skywalker’s wig aside. It looked cheap and that’s all I’ll say. It was more the deliberate middle finger to TLJ in the lines while ignoring that Luke’s most iconic and Jedi-like moment in the original trilogy was casting aside his lightsaber in an act of compassion. Yes, Rey was burning her ship and throwing away her weapon for the wrong reason.  And it was a deliberate echo of Luke who also was appalled when his fear was twisted by the Dark into an attack on his nephew. She is overcome with the same shame and fear of self. Luke can speak to this in a real way. With better dialogue, it might have worked for me. Alas, it didn’t. Instead we got more exposition to provide us with an extra lightsaber. And more questions about why everyone in this family gave up on Ben Solo.

Here’s the thing. If Leia remains untrained, lots of things make sense: her instinctive but infrequent use of the Force; her fear for her son and sense of inadequacy in dealing with he struggles with darkness, her unresolved issues with her father which lead her to hide her parentage not only from the galaxy but also from her own son. All of this is undone by the training reveal and makes us wonder why everyone was willing to help a descendent of Palpatine but not their own flesh and blood. And in a movie that used dialogue to explain nearly everything, these lacunae stand out more than they would in a film that trusted the audience more. See you could have had Luke say “We messed up. We gave in to fear. And we didn’t want to make the same mistake with you. Rey. I’m the son of Darth Vader. I know more than any man that we are more than our bloodline. And forgetting that with Ben was the worst mistake of my life.” But  he didn’t. Which in a movie which tells as much as or more than it shows seems like a deliberate choice.

Have you noticed that I’m ignoring the space battles? That’s because they’re forgettable. I just didn’t care about them. Especially since the galactic conflict remained essentially unresolved. Back to the Force Plot, the only plot that matters.

Rey confronts Palpatine. Yawn. At this point I just don’t care. For most of the movie, she hasn’t seemed like my Rey. I couldn’t relate and by this point I’ve lost interest so I’m more wondering where did all these people come from. Are there concessions? How much does a hot dog and Coke cost on Exegol? Does this stadium have bathrooms? Nice to see that it’s built like the AT&T one down the street with the sliding roof panels. And then my boy Ben Solo arrives and the film is good again. Without a word of dialogue (besides “ow”) Adam Driver delivers the best performance of the movie, showing that the Han Solo of the trilogy was there the whole time in his son. Was there ever a more Han Solo thing than running into a Dark Side temple in your pajamas, armed only with a blaster? And then Rey passes him Anakin’s saber. OMG. Brilliance. The best part of the movie. For a moment I thought that they would at least wrap it up well. And for a moment they’re side by side and all is right in the world. And then Palpatine throws Ben in a pit.

I hate this. I don’t hate this movie but I hate this moment. For three movies we’ve set up that Rey and Ben (He’s Ben now; don’t’ @ me.) are equals in the Force. They have a Yin/Yang dynamic that made this work. The natural conclusion here should have been that they take out Palpatine together. Because both have a beef with him. This is the man responsible for ruining the lives of four generations of Skywalkers. And while Ben is at the bottom of a pit, Rey stands alone, calling on the Jedi to help her.

The Jedi that are ignoring the Skywalker at the bottom of the pit.

Including Ben’s grandfather that he’s been begging for years to help him.

Including his uncle who promised to always be with him. (We were robbed of Ghost Luke trolling Kylo. Robbed I tell you. Mark Hamill would have nailed that.)

Ben is at the bottom of a pit being ignored while the Jedi transform Rey into their sacrificial lamb for Girl Power points.

So, yeah, I hated how Rey defeated Palpatine. It was wrong. It wasn’t in union with her bondmate. It wasn’t through the power of love and compassion. It was Space Wonder Woman meets Harry Potter. And then she dies. Because the Jedi only ever viewed people as tools in their grand battle with the Sith.

But Ben. Oh, Ben loves Rey for who she is. And he climbs out of the pit without a lick of help from anyone and cradles her lifeless form in the most heartbreaking Pieta, and you can see on his face the moment he make his decision and gives everything of himself to bring her back. It was beautiful, and they share the most pure, the most perfect kiss.

And then he dies.

And that’s where the movie breaks me. Because he didn’t have to die. It doesn’t make sense. Why does Leia hold on until this moment? Why does Maz seem satisfied? Where did Ben go? Why does he go unmourned? Where is his Force ghost? This movie just leaves us with more questions.

And the very end kills me. Rey is on Tatooine. A dead world that holds no importance to her (or Leia, I might add). She buries the Skywalker sabers. A funeral. She sees the ghosts of Luke and Leia bless her as she takes on the Skywalker name. A name that she could have taken in a life-affirming way through marriage, but that appears as scavenged from the dead that she has surrounded herself with as she ends the movie an eternal child, side by side with a stolen droid.

It makes no sense.

But whence my nerd rage? Why do I care? Why have I devoted over 3K words to this?

Because the first two movies in this trilogy made me care about these characters.

When I first saw The Force Awakens, I connected immediately with her loneliness. Loneliness is something I get viscerally. I have always been socially awkward and had difficulty making friends. I rarely felt known or understood and I understood that deep longing to belong. When Rey was being interrogated by Kylo Ren, that was what struck me. He notices her loneliness.

And you realize that Kylo is projecting. That he is seeing in her a kindred spirit. He too is lonely, and trapped by fear into being stuck in a place that he knows in his heart of hearts is a dead world. He too is trapped by relics of the past.

So, you see, Rey and Kylo were both me. I had lived that loneliness. I had experienced profound isolation and the sense that no one truly understood me. I desperately wanted them to find their belonging and heal their wounds. And that’s certainly the story that TLJ picked up on and continued.

But there was more. I became fascinated with the question of how the son of Han and Leia fell, and I could see the possibilities in the pattern of their characters: Leia, the woman driven by duty, trying to build the New Republic to make a better galaxy for her son, and leaving her son vulnerable to predation in the process; Han, a man who had only just stopped running from responsibility, and who’s own lack of father figures left him feeling inadequate as a father. Throw in a villain who can groom and psychically abuse their son and you have the ingredients for a tragedy.

And because I identified with Leia, Ben became, in a way, an additional child. A parent’s greatest fear is that in trying to do the right thing for your child you inadvertently make things worse. Poor Leia. She needed a mother to tell her child mattered more than a bill in the Senate. That the galaxy could wait. But Palpatine killed her mother. Both her mothers, because he was as complicit in the death of Breha Organa as he was in the death of Padme Amidala Naberrie.

So when Ben Solo died, it was like losing a child. And anyone who knows me personally knows that I do not choose that phrasing lightly. And being a mother, there is always a sense of survivor’s guilt. The sense that if you had done the right thing, it wouldn’t have happened. It doesn’t matter if that isn’t the truth. It’s how it feels.

I have met so many people online who identify with Ben Solo because they were abused as children. Who like him processed their trauma in unhealthy ways. It’s not where I come from, but I have the capacity to empathize and hear the message they’re inadvertently being told: that if you do bad things because you’ve been groomed and manipulated and brainwashed, you can’t come back. Even if you turn your life around, it won’t matter. You’ll only find peace in death and you will die unremembered as punishment for your sins. And your family will replace you with someone nicer and easier to live with.

But I can hear you saying: It’s not that deep. It’s fake and in space. It’s just a story.

Well, here’s the problem:

1)    The brain does not distinguish real people from fictional characters. The part of the brain that produces serotonin and dopamine can’t distinguish fact from fiction. This is actually why art has the power to heal. The catharsis experienced in a work of art can help us process trauma because we relate to the characters in the story. But the flip side is that stories can cause genuine trauma. If we related to characters in a story and they are treated unjustly, we feel that injustice and it hurts as badly as if it were real.

2)    Ben Solo was written to be sympathetic. He is the child of beloved characters. His backstory is one filled with pain. He was failed by every family member who should have protected him. He was abused physically and mentally for years. Recently published materials exonerate him from the destruction of the Jedi temple. It was all part of a plot to push him to the Dark. All Ben ever wanted was to be loved for who he was. And that was snatched away from him.

3)    I can’t turn off my brain. I can’t stop asking questions and trying to make sense of things. I can help but see the Chekhov’s guns and the symbols and the messages, however inadvertent.

4)    It is a grand failure of a movie if it only works on a surface level and not when you start digging deeper. Every other Star Wars movie, including The Phantom Menace, rewards the person who can’t turn off their brain. This was the first one that falls apart so completely the second you start asking questions.

I wish I could like this movie. I was prepared to like it if not love it. And while I got Ben’s redemption and the Rey and Kylo romance that I wanted, I feel like I got nothing. Like they don’t matter at all.

I am planning to start new hobbies in the new year. I got some war gaming miniatures painting sets for Christmas and I’m glad I have a new special interest to pour myself into. I have enjoyed sharing my love of Star Wars trivia with my kids but it just hurts too much at the moment to spend time thinking about a franchise that has been so  badly mangled. I’m probably in the bargaining stage of grief at the moment. I wholly buy the theory that there was happy ending filmed and someone blinked in the game of chicken, leaving us the mess that we were handed.

I’m also planning to get back to writing. If even Disney can’t tell a fairy tale properly anymore, it’s time for a new batch of writers to get out there and tell the stories I want to hear. I am sick of grimdark fantasies and cynicism masquerading as sophistication. I may write a fanfic or two to fix the story in my mind, but I think that ultimately I need to be creating original works. I know that there are children eager to believe in happy endings, plenty of women who believe that Byronic heroes can be redeemed, and not a few men who will buy both if the story is well told.

[blookmallow]

hey i played rusty lake hotel and it was really good, i got the bundle so ill be doing the rest soon

i LOVE this guy 

understandable 

so we have a lovely hotel full of unnerving animal people, i was informed i was supposed to help prepare dinner,

,,,,oh

thats. all my recipes are. the animals who are currently guests. i. i see,

i went to explore upstairs and came across mr. deer’s room. i. assumed what i was going to have to do there, but did not realize: 

ok you’re trapping me in here, alright 

i found a knife but instead of just killing him with it the interaction caused me to stab him in the antler, which produces blood, which i could then use as part of the bloody mary he ordered (which i now have to figure out how to make without leaving this room. somehow) 

he absolutely gave no reaction whatsoever to being stabbed or me harvesting blood from his fucking head for the bloody mary. i dont know if deer have nerves in their antlers or what but this strikes me as a very strange interaction

i also still don’t know why i can’t just stab him but apparently im solving a series of puzzles to create a poisoned bloody mary instead. right in front of him. after i just stabbed him a minute ago. seems like poisoning someone isn’t the best way to kill them if you have a knife on hand and you intend on harvesting that person’s meat for someone else’s consumption but what do i know 

i am very much enjoying these puzzles though i got stuck a few times but it’s generally a pretty good balance of like “difficult enough that i feel like ive Accomplished Something when i figure it out”/”not so convoluted i just get frustrated” they’re mostly pretty standard logic puzzles or like. clever “look at it from a different perspective”/”Really Pay Attention, the solution is right there hiding in plain sight” kinda solutions i like it a lot 

“solve a series of puzzles to figure out how to murder a group of people one by one” is a fantastic premise for a game

however, why the FUCK was there tabasco in this skull

and also why is mr. deer not concerned about the deer skull on the wall. i mean he wasnt concerned about me stabbing him and openly mixing poison two feet away from him but 

could be that they’re not Really animals and it’s just a stylistic/symbolic thing maybe 

this man watched me mix a bloody mary with his own blood and accepted it without batting an eye. alarming 

i was also going to question whether bloody marys ACTUALLY have blood in them in the first place ( like. cow blood or whatever i know blood sausages are a thing so i figured I Guess It’s Possible) but then i actually wanted to know the answer to that question, which google tells me they’re actually mostly like, tomato juice and vodka among other not-blood things, which is what i thought, 

anyway. theres all kinds of things wrong with this but somehow it worked. also the fact that the first thing this guy said to me was “hm, sorry I’m more of a meat person” when i offered him a shrimp cocktail suRE IS SOMETHING 

nobody here takes issue with the fact that they’re being served meat from a fellow sentient species in this world, or that mr. deer mysteriously vanished in the night just before the deer meat was served. sure 

again I’m thinking this might be a “they’re not Really animals it’s just a style/symbolic thing” situation bc it’d be way less likely for them to make the connection with the meat and the dude who disappeared if they weren’t really animals (also could’ve been told he checked out early or something) 

nobody seems to get suspicious as this repeatedly happens, either. are they in on this. are they expecting it. do they Know. is this a whodunnit murder mystery from the perspective of the killer bc that’s excellent if so 

oH GOD hello can i help you

fuckin rabbit grim reaper out there, ok

this was one of those things that immediately turns itself off when you flip the switch and i could tell i was supposed to do something with it and impulsively tried the knife on it and tHAT HAPPENED :’) SORRY. APPARENTLY I NEED THIS RING FOR SOMETHING 

spooky

i like this rabbit dude hes the only one i actually feel bad about :’) (hes a normal rabbit man most of the time he just did a spooky skull trick for me bc he is a magician rabbit, which is adorable) 

also i had a hell of a time trying to find the second optional ingredients for all of these i think i only found One and i have no idea where the rest of them were 

The Hand came back and i fuckign killed it again with the window i am so sorry :’) 

this is going to be such a lovely portrait backdrop 

ms pheasant takes no issue with me killing a disembodied hand in the window and using its blood to paint the backdrop for her either

hm. yes. very nice 

oh. well. that’s. pretty straight forward, i guess, 

for some reason interacting with her with the gun makes her take it and she shoots herself during the camera flash????

i like the “shooting her” double meaning there but What Happened Here   

sighs

i really, really did not want this to be the solution here but guess what 

why did this happen. why was i put through this. is this my punishment for all these murders. having to witness this. why is this here. why didn’t he fucking NOTICE 

also i dont know how the fuck mr boar died??? you give him the sandwich, he gets up to use the bathroom (which is an endless cycle of hell, by the way, it repeats if you don’t figure it out) and i just was clicking on stuff around the chair where he was sitting before bc i assumed him getting up meant something else was accessible now and i found like. a spot on the wall that looked slightly different and suddenly i had the boar meat????? what the fuck killed him 

anyway what a bizarre experience this was i enjoyed it immensely except for that last part and am looking forward to the rest of them soon. i dont remember who recommended this but thank u very much 

[the-walnut]

Night Vale + Scientists

Alrighty, I’m relatively new to this fandom and all, so I’m not entirely sure how well this actually coincides with canon and whatnot, but I’m going to feel free to vocalize this anyway.

We all know from relatively early on in this particularly lovely podcast that Carlos the “Perfectly Imperfect” Scientist has an unrivalled passion for the unexplained. The idea of mystery drives him crazy, and he chases blindly after anything that doesn’t have a feasible answer, that can’t be understood, that seems far too beyond human comprehension to decode- a trait that, I will argue to my last dying breath, is part of why he fell head-over-kettle in love with Cecil Palmer, perhaps the most mysterious and unexplainable character in the show, and the first impossible riddle he wasn’t hell-bent on solving

Cecil, though, is the exact opposite of his counterpart. See, Cecil’s job is announcing the happenings of Night Vale, not analyzing them. When something occurs out of the ordinary, he doesn’t always need a ‘why’- in fact, in most regards, Cecil’s pretty content to just have a general grasp of what’s going on or what to expect from something and roll with the punches. Animal carcasses raining from the sky? Don’t panic, just get a stronger umbrella. The sun didn’t rise today? You know, that happens sometimes. It’ll pass!

It makes sense, in this fashion, for the fandom to naturally come to the conclusion that Cecil is terrible when it comes to science. I’ve seen a lot of posts and fanart about the worst accidents in the lab being Cecil’s doing, and while they’re amusing, I have another perspective to bring to the metaphorical table.

What we often seem to forget is that, while Carlos always seems to come to the right conclusions at the right times, and make sense of an insensible world, he’s still an Outsider. Night Vale is a curious thing to most of its occupants, let alone an individual who wasn’t born and raised there. There’s a lot of stuff about this one unique speck in the desert that even Carlos doesn’t know anything about, and I have no doubt in my mind that it would hinder him sometimes.

So instead, in the early stages of their relationship, I can imagine Cecil waking up to a call from a frustrated Carlos, going off on an absolute venting tangent from the lab at 4:37 A.M. And at first, it’s a bit of a shock to both of them because, well, from Cecil’s end it is 4:37 A.M. on a Wednesday, and he’s talking particle theory with a man who probably should’ve tried getting some sleep three days ago at the rate he’s going, but all the other members of Carlos’ team have long since gone home, and he usually finds it helpful to go step-by-step through his experiments vocally to catch any mistakes or hash out new ideas.

After at least a full forty-five minutes of Carlos rambling into the phone about how the molecular bonding of this solution shouldn’t be even remotely close to what it is, and that he can’t understand why it keeps giving off such staggeringly different temperatures with each batch he makes, Cecil (getting over his initial surprise that Carlos is calling him of all people) gently reminds him that maybe he’d best rest and think about it again with a clear head.

“Try some of that raspberry oolong Intern Stephen dropped off earlier this week,” He suggests brightly, explaining that it’s supposed to help with clarity and that the crushed beetle wings in the mixture hardly throw off the taste at all. “And remember to whisper a compliment to the water before you try to boil it- it can get fussy otherwise, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten and wound up with a solid block of ice in my kettle or, worse, the kettle itself melting all over the countertop. Terrible to get out of the carpet later in that case, but as long as you’re cordial, it should boil nicely for you.”

And at first, there’s dead silence on the other end of the line, before Cecil can hear Carlos scrambling to make a note on this development, because of course he wasn’t whispering anything to the water he’d used in his experiment, and that’s probably the reason for 74% of the problems he’s come across so far.

It doesn’t take long for this to become a normal occurrence, Carlos calling in regularly with all kinds of questions and, as before, just needing to talk through something, Cecil offering advice on how to handle certain stuff, or even just talking a while about the things Carlos is working with. More often than not, this leads to some kind of revelation, because while Cecil might not understand the science behind why glass stirring rods need to be used only in a clockwise direction, he at least knows that they just do, and that’s what Carlos needs.

Eventually, this extends to the rest of the lab crew as well, because, yes, they might be Night Vale residents, but there’s a pretty large chunk of information about their town that even they are missing. With how quickly things can come up or change in their spooky little town, it can be impossible to keep track of everything on one’s own. Tentatively at first, but with growing speed, the other scientists begin asking for advice and extra help with info as well. 

Catching on to the trend, a new addition makes its way into Cecil’s radio show, where, every day, scientists can send in questions for the citizens of Night Vale, and they can respond accordingly, offering insight. If nothing else, it serves as a reminder to those listening in on the broadcast that their scientists don’t miraculously have the answers to everything, and that the downside to having the entire population of your city looking to you for those answers is sometimes not having any.

Even those who don’t have knowledge to offer find ways to help. Scientists return home, weary beyond measure from saving their friends and family from yet another disaster, only to find the lights already dimmed and welcoming, old takeout containers thrown away, and bed made. There’s a note on the table that would be eery and concerning, were it not for the sensation that there had always been a presence in their home, and, if nothing else, this only confirms one of their many hypothesises, setting another theory down to rest. Creatures (that definitely are not angels) appear in the lab every now and then, bringing with them a smiling old woman, and several Big Rico’s pizza boxes, cases of bottled water, and bundles of grapes. Nobody knows why grapes in particular. Maybe the not-angels have an affinity for them. Either way, the mandatory snack break is welcomed by many. Secret police mutter helpful tips from bushes under open windows, and, despite books being banned, once in a blue moon a torn-out page from some volume makes it’s way onto a given scientist’s lab table, curating many more questions, and causing many to reevaluate their perceptions of the harrowing librarians, the hooded figures who show no fear of them, and the public library itself.

Night Vale is a place of mystery and intrigue and danger- but it is also a place of people bonded by experience and survival. It’s a place called “home” by many, even if they do not necessarily understand it, and these are the people who save this city by supporting discovery in their own little ways. Night Vale loves its scientists, and it will do what it can to help them understand it even a little bit more.

[folie-lex]

The Problems of a James-less QotS

This is a show about Teresa Mendoza. Nobody, not one person in this fandom will argue against that point. This is simply a fact.

More importantly: Teresa Mendoza is not a character that needs to have a man by her side. AGAIN it is largely undisputed within the fandom, that she is genuinely strong and independent, and is better off for it.

But a Queen Of The South without James Valdez is... I don’t want to say problematic because that’s not the right word (though there are problems that come with it) but it certainly is lacking.

And for the record, no. This is not a shipper induced rant. In fact the “The show needs James” is a conclusion I came to last season when suddenly after two years if thirsting after Camila scenes and storylines, I found myself seeing this amazing character be completely underserved. And it didn’t take much for me to figure out that the only REAL difference between Camila storylines in S3 in contrast to storylines in S1 and S2 was mainly the lack of James.

A good show/story even if it has a amazing protagonist needs equally amazing supporting players for them to bounce off of. And while I won’t disagree that the show has had a great array of those, and most of them are still here and some great ones have been added so far this year as well, there’s just somerthing about James... And that has a lot to do with who James is a character and what function he has in these people’s lives... especially Teresa’s.

And I’m talking well beyond the romantic function here. Because in the grand scheme of the story and the show’s premise, who he is for Teresa fullfills the same function he had in when he was in Camila’s court, and it’s exactly why her storylines suffered for it when he left.

The thing about James is that while he acknowledges he is a supporting player and is more than happy to stay in background he is also someone who is never not taken seriously. Who even though is, for all intents and purposes, “a lackey” is also viewed by “the boss” as almost an equal. For a subordinate to be in a position within the story to call out the boss and call a spade a spade, especially the way James does this, is such a strong balancing factor in the power dynamic.

James basically constantly kept Camila in check, and when she lost him she went off the rails.

Teresa, is not nearly as unhinged as Camila was, and yes she still has her crew who love and respect and would lay their lives for her. However she doesn’t have the rapport with any of them that she had with James. Not even Pote.

Much like he was for Camila, James was Teresa’s counter balance as well. And now she’s off on her own and she has nobody to truly use as a sounding board. As I said: Not even Pote.

Because, while we are talking about Pote, that relationship is not about counterbalance, it’s about cozy reliance. She can rely on Pote to do exaclty as he’s told. And he doesn’t aspire to challenge her the same way James did. In the end of the day he’s only there to serve. And as a result that can be stunting for her growth.

And that’s what’s great about James as a character. He contributes to the other characters growth. Let me be clear: he’s not ther reason they grow. He’s there to help them figure out how to grow on their own. And that’s invaluable both for character arcs and overall narrative.

Maybe that’s the point here.... Maybe not having James be there to keep a level head when things are going to hell, clean up people’s messes, see twelve steps ahead from a seven different angles, offer solutions, have a backup plan at the drop of a hat and give Teresa a more clear headed perspective when a problem arises, and have her learrn how to do all that on her own is the goal.

But we’re 3 episodes in now, and the Lack Of James is being felt more and more... and not in a good way...

I know Daylin asked for “trust and patience” (though after the timeline debacle in 4.02 and their lame ass excuses for it she’s lost a lot of good faith with this here I’ve-Been-With-The-Show-Since-Day-One fan) and maybe the long term reward will be worth it. But the short term so far is rough... And for a show that’s so reliant on its relatively small but loyal and passionate fanbase this is a big gamble and three weeks in they don’t have that much to show for it and it doesn’t seem to be paying off... I think the traction on trumblr alone proves that.

Anyway.... wait and see I suppose.

[aclassiguy]

nobody’s gonna read this but i’m gonna rant a little as an ex-fundie kid with a perspective on unconscious bias re: thedas’ religions. (i’ll grant you i do not have encyclopedic knowledge of dragon age, so i’m commenting based off what 90% of people know - the games)

If we’re assuming that every interaction concerning the religions in Thedas is intentional, it’s genius. It represents real world religious dynamics so well. But that’s also assuming we’re going to be allowed to confront those religions; otherwise, it’s just a carbon copy with no purpose but to reflect reality. You’re duplicating problems, without offering avenues for solutions or even criticism.

I want to leave this uncut in case a piece of it actually caught someone’s eye for some reason, but I’d feel bad if I did that.

I’m actively agnostic. I have no problem with other people being religious. I react quite negatively to both active and passive attempts at conversion. I know a LOT about Christianity. I know some, though not as much, about other world religions.

We can pretend all we like that Thedas is a world completely separated from reality. “Lighten up, it’s just a game.” I can, however, point to direct parallels between game concepts and real world concepts that I find quite troubling (Blackwall’s plot, certain wartable missions, Descent DLC), I can expound on those at length as well. And of course it’s just a game, and you can stab people with no consequences and all that - that’s fine. Stabbing people in a game isn’t likely to make you think it’s OK to stab people IRL. But a game has the power to subtly reinforce existing biases which can cause real harm.

Christianity is a dominant world religion. In fundamentalist circles, one of the tenets is to spread it to as many people as possible, to save them from themselves. Even casual Christians adopt this attitude when they tell you how sad they are that you’re not Christian, because they think you’ll be happier as one and can’t fathom how you’d be happy without god. I can get REAL deep into Christian psychology, but I’ll spare you. The thing is, this is an insidious train of thought that has been beaten into the world by its victors. Monotheistic religions are treated more seriously than pantheons. The Bible is held as separate and more holy than “myths,” which are treated as little better than Harry Potter novels. Religions that encourage non-Western behaviors are treated as scary, deviant, and oppressive - to be obliterated before they dare to try converting precious Christians - DESPITE Christians actively trying to lure those believers away from their “scary” faith and into Christianity. They think their own religion is more normal, or their own culture is more normal. All of this leads to many, many Christians (as well as your average Westerner) holding really racist, xenophobic views they don’t perceive as racist or xenophobic.

SO LIKE - I’ll just make a bulletpoint list:

Andrastianism = Christianity (esp. Western brand)

Evanuris = Pantheistic religions

Qun = Eastern philosophies

The familiarity and diversity is fine. There’s pros and cons to each religion, just like real life. Thedas is fun because it takes aspects of discrimination like racism and sexuality and pretzels it to be same-but-different. No matter your background, you have the chance to get really involved in the ethical dilemmas provided, the visceral experience of being insulted and responding to insults with pride, and it’s fun to read something new and feel some kind of vindication if you had a suspicion before.

What irritates me currently about the religions is that every time I get a little taste of “Okay, finally, we’re acknowledging the damage a religion like this can do,” I get kicked right the fuck back. I spent so long hating the Chantry more and more because it started to become clear to me the intentional abuse being directed at literally anyone who wasn’t a non-mage human, and even then they abused their own followers to exert further control over mages for personal gain. (Seriously, FUCK the Chantry.) FINALLY, Exalted Plains acknowledged that the Chantry steamrolled over the elves in a brutal slaughter, where Sister Whatserface tried to blame the elves for being “too far from the Maker” but she was a good person for “showing them more mercy than they deserved.” Clear signals that Bioware intended it to be taken as it was - an unjust crusade. Then what do they throw in my face? Some documents intending to show that the elves were “also at fault.” Excuse me? I’m sorry, excuse me?!

Elves had already been the subject of extensive oppression at that point, and given the racist goddamn teachings of Sister Whatserface and ALL THE DIVINES, I can hardly blame the elves for being just a little testy with the humans sticking their noses into their lands trying to force them to convert to Andrastianism. “Equally to blame” my ass. This is a pebble against a boulder. And yet I’m supposed to treat it like some kind of shocking revelation. Ooo - should I turn these documents in to the Chantry to exploit the elves some more, or should I give them to the Dalish, who then react with shame? There’s no just option: have the Dalish explain why maybe elves would be just a little angry, and have my Inquisitor go “oh yeah, that makes sense. kbye”

Finishing up with the Dalish, we get told by some pride demon ass lying fucker that all the Dalish gods that these poor widdle uneducated primitive elves worship were essentially slavers. Hahah. WHAT. Sorry. WHAT. You’re going to make me play through a game with my character’s religion shat on or flat out ignored at literally every turn, and my vindication is to be told it’s all fake and my ancestors were idiots for ever believing? Canonically? Really? When do we get told that we checked the Fade and the Maker wasn’t there and don’t these humans look pretty dumb now?! Or is that too risque because Andrastianism is a little too close to Christianity?

Then there’s the reaction to the Qun. I have loved Qunari since Sten. I honestly think it’s a really cool concept and I would love to explore it more deeply. I also LOVE Sten. Sten seemed so calm and generally fairly accepting, although he had his own flaws. He also had hidden depths - push aside the fronting and you get his cookies and chocolate loving sweetness. (If people hate him, again, come see me after class so we can have a chat on why you stan Blackwall but not Sten?)

But it seems like the Qun is falling victim to the world needing a reliable villain. What was once a mysterious system of beliefs existing outside the concept of the Maker or Dalish gods is increasingly this Scary religion that oppresses women and mages in barbaric ways, and is treated as horrible for trying to spread their religion to other lands (allow me to remind you of Exalted Plains and why every person in the game seems to be Andrastian by default, or at least Andrastian-sympathetic). It’s essentially playing up the fears that makes people uncomfortable with Eastern religions, relying on xenophobia to make them hateable enough that you don’t accidentally end up with too many Qun sympathizers in the playerbase. Even though you can play as a Qunari in Inquisition (hell yeah), you aren’t allowed any kind of Qun background. It’s understandable in some ways, plot-wise, but baffling in others. How much cooler would it be to have access to Qun beliefs like the Dalish has access to the Evanuris?

And now they have the Qunari poised to be the result of doing horrible dragon-blood experiments on elves by MORE slavers, and their religion’s entire purpose is to limit their horrible dragony desires to murder people, but now they want to subjugate others to live under their rule of law to make a horrifying monotone culture. Aren’t these scary-looking Qunari even more scary? There’s a reason to hate them now, they’re canonically more violent, just like the dragons! (Do not get me started on how dragons are treated. Actually, do, I have a lot of thoughts on that too. lmao) REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Then you have the Tal-Vashoth, not only defectors who found fault with the philosophy who are then hunted relentlessly by the believers, but also twisting back on themselves to be crazy violent, therefore simultaneously a condemnation of the Qun and an affirmation of its necessity to keep Qunari from being violent. Where are the defectors from Andrastianism? Literally every ex-fundie Christian kid I know has had a sex and/or drug-fueled meltdown period after having their core beliefs and foundation obliterated. Why do we have all these pure innocent Chantry Virgins, but no defectors? The only atheist you get to meet is your own Inquisitor, and you have a HELL of a time through the whole game as a result of it. (Though I will say the payoff at the very end of the game is so very worth it.) Almost ALL of your companions nag you about why you don’t believe you’re Chosen. I have yet to play as a believer, but I haven’t seen any indications I would be criticized for it.

And so what of Andrastianism? Is it fakery? Lies? Canonically brought into existence to oppress people? The product of slavers?

NOT YET.

Any criticism brought against Andrastianism is neatly and shortly thereafter countered, not by an untrustworthy member of the Chantry but by some word-of-god canon itself. The Maker stands, silent, valid, unchallenged.

There’s nothing wrong with presenting these complex scenarios, but if you don’t have the time, resources, or courage to REALLY plumb these depths, give everyone fair criticism (and it is not fair to ding the predominant world religion with the same criticisms as you level against a dying minority religion), don’t bother. You make the real world problems worse.

[icyharrington]

Sinful Thoughts (Michael Langdon X Reader) Part 2

click here for part 1 // tag list: (sorry if I forgot anyone!) @fuckthatfeeling @shado-cat @hxdesworld @the-captain-kidd @mrs-langdxn @natalielivesformusic 

plot: you’re the epitome of a good christian girl. michael langdon intends to ruin that. 

warnings: fem!Reader, high school au, fingering, michael is kind of a dick in this but in a hot way, u get finger fucked in a janitor’s closet oopsy😋

word count: 3.6k 

i. 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice sounded foreign, like you were listening to yourself talk from another room. You swallowed a sudden wave of nausea as you waited for the priest to reply from behind the screen. “And how is it that you have sinned, my child?” The man’s voice was patient and calm. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You let out a shuddery sigh before responding. “I’ve been having bad thoughts. Sinful thoughts, father. Desires of the flesh...”

“I see. And have you succumbed to any of these thoughts?”

“No,” you said. Not yet, anyway. You considered this answer to only be a half-truth, as recently you’d been finding yourself grinding against your chair absentmindedly in class, watching that awful blond boy from across the room. You hadn’t touched yourself to any thoughts, at least not voluntarily, but you had a sneaking feeling that you were very, very close to breaking. 

The last straw had been this morning. You’d been preoccupied in class, as usual, eyes glazed over as images of Michael Langdon’s hands danced in your mind, when suddenly there was a hollow pit in your stomach. You’d jumped to your feet and hurried to the girl’s bathroom, immediately holing yourself up in a stall to squeeze your thighs together and will away the thoughts that were bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

Once you’d managed to coax the feeling away, you bowed your head and recited a few prayers. God had to be testing your will— that was the only explanation you could think of that made any sort of sense. You’d always had such remarkable self-control, but you could feel it dwindling with every lude thought that crossed your mind. You had to admit, though: divine test or not, you were beginning to frighten yourself.

“Good, my child. Now recite three Hail Marys and you shall be forgiven.”

Your face fell. “Seriously? What am I supposed to do about this? I mean, I can’t think about anything but this one boy!”

The priest’s voice suddenly assumed a tone that was far more casual than wise and all-knowing. “Honestly, kid, there’s a lot worse things than having a couple dirty thoughts every now and then.”

You went slack-jawed, staring at the shadowy figure of the priest with disbelief. Was he really being serious? Did he really not have any kind of solution to offer for your problem? You huffed, discouraged, and without another word you left the confessional booth, letting the door slam shut behind you. Maybe he’s right, came a hopeful whisper in your mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you just touched a little...

You shook your head as if to erase the thought like an etch-a-sketch. No way. You couldn’t. You’d gone your whole life without giving in to your desires, so why start now? It’s a test, you told yourself firmly. God is testing me.

You pushed open the double doors of the church and walked into the parking lot, the sky navy blue and sprinkled with stars. You sighed, walking briskly as you started the fifteen minute journey home.

You’d hoped that going to the confessional would make you feel better, or enlighten you somehow. Instead, it had only heightened your confusion and distress. You pulled your jacket tighter to you as a soft breeze blew your hair back, footsteps erratic on the sidewalk as you hoped to shorten your walk through the cold. 

Crunch. You stopped so suddenly you nearly lost your balance, whipping around as your heart jumped in your throat. It sounded as if somebody had stepped on a dead leaf on the ground behind you, but you’d been certain you were alone.

The sidewalk was empty. Not even a car was in sight. You scanned the premises anxiously before turning back around, quickening your pace. It was all in your head, you told yourself. You only made it a few more yards before you were interrupted again, this time by the sound of scurrying behind you, so clear there was no way you could’ve imagined it. You stopped, mumbling a desperate prayer and stroking your necklace, before gingerly turning around.

Nothing. The streets and sidewalk were empty. The streetlights cast eerie shadows down the uneven cement, overgrown with weeds and grass, but there was nobody there. What the hell? You thought, before scolding yourself for swearing.

You let out a panicked whimper, your body numbing from a mixture of fear and cold, and reluctantly you turned back around. You took in an indulgent breath, counting to three in your head before exhaling. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. It’s all-

You let out a strangled scream as a gloved hand found its way over your mouth, your body being pulled into a makeshift alley between two parallel fences. Immediately you were pressed hard against the old, splintering wood behind you, your flailing limbs tamed effortlessly by your assailant.

Then you heard a laugh. A very familiar laugh, at that. Your attacker removed his hand from your mouth, taking a step back, and even though it was dark you could recognize those angular features.

“Michael, what the- what the hell is wrong with you?” You managed, and you watched him grin at your natural reluctance to swear. A tear dropped from the corner of your eye and slid down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away with the back of your sleeve.

“I was going for a walk when I saw you, and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to make me think I was about to be raped? Or murdered?” Your words came out at much more of a shrill pitch than you’d intended, and your body continued to shake from the leftover terror.

“Shhh,” he cooed, reaching a leather-clad hand to your jaw and tenderly wiping away the tears that continued to spill, forming dark spots on the front of your sweater. Even though you glared at Michael with contempt, that dreaded sinking feeling returned in your stomach upon having his hand against your skin.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of you protectively.

“You say that,” he began, that stupid smirk giving way across his perfect lips, “but your thoughts are sending me a very different message.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Hm,” he laughed dryly, thumb still working away the glassy stains on your skin. Then he brought his face close to yours, so close that his words caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. “Tell me about your dream.”

You gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be talking about...? “What dream?”

He shook his head, appearing somewhat annoyed with you. “When will you accept that I know everything about you, (y/n)? Your thoughts, desires, dreams.” You faltered under the weight of his stare, unsure if your lack of motion was due to some sort of supernatural hold, or your own free will. “So, (y/n),” he said, lips brushing your ear and making you shiver. “Tell me about the dream you had.”

“You’re crazy,” you said, pressing yourself as far back against the fence as you could in a feeble attempt to escape his presence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t remember? Waking up with your panties soaked through? Using every last shred of strength to stop yourself from touching that one part of you that’s off-limits.” You blinked at him, and again came that ache beneath your undergarments, demanding your attention.

“You remember.” He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted it upwards. “Don’t you?” 

You nodded, an act of betrayal against yourself. “How did- how could you know?” you stammered, shallow breaths escaping you as you fought to keep your composure.

“I’m more powerful than any god you could ever dream of,” he told you, lifting one hand to your hair and petting it. 

“That’s a lie.”

He tilted his head to one side, lips twitching upwards at the corners. He was loving this, the way you studied his every move with fear and lust behind your eyes. He darted his tongue out and ran it along his bottom lip, and you nearly whined at the way the moisture glinted in the dark. “But it isn’t, (y/n), and you know it isn’t.”

You glared at him, all at once frustrated with yourself for playing into his games, and without a second thought your palm was hot against his cheek, his skin icy from the nighttime chill. Your eyes wide, you brought your quivering hand back to your side, immediately regretting what you’d done. In the low light, you could almost swear his eyes were entirely black, glossy like a raven’s wings.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, our lord is with thee,” you choked, afraid. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, J-J-“ You gasped for air, realizing that your throat was being constricted as your body inched upwards against the fence. Michael’s hands, however, weren’t touching you; your feet left the ground and you continued upwards as if by magic, dragged by an invisible force that also managed to prevent you from breathing.

“M-Mi-Michael,” you begged, your hands grasping senselessly at your throat. “P-pl-“ your mouth opened and closed frantically as your legs dangled uselessly below you.

He chuckled to himself before casually flicking his wrist, and suddenly you dropped back onto the ground, chest heaving as you took in a gulp of much needed air. Waves of blond hair falling over his face as he bent over to reach your level, he spoke with a twinge of sadistic amusement. “Are you ready to submit?”

All you could do was look at him, entirely speechless, and his lips curved up into a triumphant grin. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, (y/n).”

Without another word, he strode out of the alley and into the night, leaving you alone to deal with your thoughts.

ii. 

All morning at school that next day, you compulsively checked the clock with a lump in your throat. Your stomach was unable to stop its incessant churning as you anticipated your inevitable crossing of paths with Michael later that day. You couldn’t shake the feelings of fear- fear for what he was, as it was blatantly apparent to you now that he wasn’t fully human- and arousal, and the combination of the two emotions was intoxicating.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before you unraveled in the palms of his ring-clad hands. There was just something about him that you couldn’t shake, and you thought maybe it’d be better for everyone if you just gave in to your desires.

You hated that you’d been brought to the point of nearly giving up- you’d been so strong until you met him. What was it about him that was powerful enough to change you?

When the time came to go to biology, you were forced to evaluate your options: the first was showing up and pretending like nothing was wrong, even though you knew Michael would be reading your thoughts all the same. The other was the more cowardly option- hiding out in a secluded part of the school while skipping the class altogether.

Michael would know that he’d won if you didn’t show up for class, something so out of character for someone as studious as you. You knew this. But wouldn’t he know either way that he’d gotten under your skin? He already seemed to be in tune with your every thought. Was there even any use pretending that you hadn’t been affected by him?

In the end, you wound up finding yourself hidden out in the janitor’s closet, knees drawn to your chest as you scrolled through your phone. Sure, it was the easy way out. But you were beginning to suspect that there would be no escaping Michael whether or not you went to class.

Sitting awkwardly amongst the mops and cleaning supplies, your heart jumped as the doorknob began jiggling gently.

You bit your bottom lip. You knew who was behind that door. It’d already been on the back of your mind that Michael might know where to find you, but your teeth began chattering in apprehensive excitement all the same. You watched the lock turn by itself- again, you’d known there was the chance that he could bypass whatever obstacles you put between the two of you. Every time he proved his supernatural powers to be more than a figment of your imagination, though, it managed to surprise you.

The lock clicked, and then the door was opening, a thin stream of light from the fluorescent-lit hallways cutting through the dimness of the closet. And then there was Michael with his beautiful hair and black jacket and expensive pants, towering over you as you became engulfed in his shadow.

He looked at you wryly, taking a step inside and shutting the door sensibly behind himself. “Is there a reason you’re in a dusty closet instead of biology class?”

Your fingers thoughtlessly traced your cross necklace for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, even though you knew it wouldn’t help you now. “You know why I’m here, Michael,” you said grudgingly.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he said, and you rolled your eyes. This was all a part of his plan to ruin you, having you swallow your last ounce of pride to admit that you were afflicted by him.

“I thought you knew everything,” you said sarcastically as he leaned forward and offered you his hand.

“Oh, believe me, (y/n), I do,” he said, helping you to your feet after you placed your hand in his. “I just want to hear you say it.”

He came closer to you, hips swinging slightly as he took his usual long, leisurely strides. Your back hit the dusty shelves, shaking something loose- there was a soft crash as something scattered across the floor, but you hardly noticed, too busy fixating on Michael as he closed in on his prey. Rolling his neck slightly, he licked his lips; his eyes were dark and glinted with a carnivorous sort of hunger.

“Fine,” you said loudly, resenting the way he regarded you so smugly. “I’m here because I couldn’t bring myself to face you. Because you make me want to do bad things. Un-Christian things. Happy?”

 “Now, how hard was that?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, blinking innocently. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his tone gentle but authoritative, fingers trailing down your cheeks and ghosting your jaw.

“You know what I want,” you murmured, looking down as your face flushed with shame. Was he really going to make you say it? 

Of course he was going to. You shouldn’t have expected any sort of mercy from someone like Michael Langdon. He was eating this up, thriving on your weakness. And for some reason, as ashamed as you were to admit it, that raw, domineering power only made your center throb harder with want.

“Look at me,” he commanded calmly, so low you almost thought you’d imagined it. You obeyed, shuddering as his eyes seared invasively into yours. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

“I want-“ you began, pausing to gather your bearings. “I want you to touch me.” You hardly registered the words as your own; it felt like you were outside of your body, watching helplessly from afar as you eagerly allowed Michael Langdon to strip you of your remaining dignity.

“That’s it,” he said, lowering his hand to toy with the hem of your skirt. “Let go of everything. Give yourself to me.” He hiked up your skirt to your waist, and you could only imagine how crude this scene would look to an observer as he rolled your nude colored pantyhose down to your knees. You whimpered, barely noticing the way the shelf behind you dug painfully into your back.

“Where do you want to be touched?” he asked, making you groan in exasperation. Wasn’t the fact that you were submitting to him enough? Why did he need to further humiliate you?

“Please,” you breathed, but he only shook his head at you, no sign of sympathy in his stoic gaze. “Michael.”

Your hand shot forward and gripped his wrist, tugging it desperately towards your dripping core. He seemed pleasantly surprised at this, and seemed to be rewarding your boldness when he starred to rub circles over the thin fabric of your underwear. You moved your hand to grip his forearm, hissing as he applied hard pressure to your aching clit.

“Your underwear is completely soaked through,” he remarked, sliding his hand up to the waistband and snapping it hard against your lower stomach. “Have I always made you this wet?”

You knew he expected an answer from you, freezing in place as he waited for your reply. He could probably continue this for hours if he wanted to, just destroying you bit by bit. You gulped and nodded quickly, hoping that would suffice as an answer to his question.

He worked your underwear down to your knees, bunching it alongside your pantyhose. Next you felt his dress shoes nudging between your flats, urging you to spread your legs apart. You complied, his fingers stroking your upper leg and dipping into the juices that had begun to dribble down your inner thighs.

When he’d coated a sufficient amount on his fingers, he lifted them to your lips; you parted them obediently and he slipped them into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, moaning wantonly at the taste of your wetness combined with the salty flavor of his skin.

“Who would’ve known that the sweet little Christian girl would turn out to be such a needy slut?” he mused, removing his fingers from your mouth to trace them lightly over your swollen clit. “Good girl,” he praised, dragging his moist fingers over your entrance before easing them inside your tight walls. You whined, grinding your hips down as you felt yourself being stretched out for the first time in your life. It was exquisite, the way he felt inside you, and you couldn’t believe you’d been denying yourself this for so long.

He started out torturously slow, allowing you to get used to the feeling of his fingers inside you before increasing the intensity. When you’d been properly stretched out, he thrusted harshly upwards, forcing a gasp from your lips as your vision blurred. Your eyes fluttered shut and his pace quickened, his fingers expertly reaching and working at your deepest points with each vigorous thrust of his wrist. Your arms braced his neck, holding him close to you in case he might change his mind, decide to leave you high and dry. The thought of that alone made you want to sob.

“That’s it,” he said, aligning his thumb with your clit and tracing shapes over it firmly. “Allow yourself to forget everything but the pleasure.” You were one step ahead of him, your mind already blanking out as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, thumb pushing against your sensitive bundle of nerves without mercy. You cried out, muscles tensing as you realized you were about to have your very first orgasm, and for the first time you understood, really understood, the reason people touched themselves, had sex before marriage. What was so goddamned sinful about wanting release?

You rocked your hips forward, your walls clenching around him, and he stopped, fingers remaining inside you and thumb hovering just over your clit. You whined, rolling your hips against his hand, but he moved his hand with your body, not allowing you to take more than he was willing to give. “Tell me,” he ordered, knowing very well you knew what he meant.

“Michael, please,” you pleaded, wiping away a bead of sweat that was traveling down your forehead. “Don’t do this, I- I need this-”

He hummed softly, just barely sweeping his thumb over your clit, pulling it away before you could buck your hips towards him. “You need what, (y/n)? I need to hear you say it before I can give it to you.”

“Make me come, Michael, I need to come,” you blurted, blinking back tears which wobbled precariously over the rim of your eyes. You saw him grin, and then your vision blurred as he resumed massaging circles roughly against your bud, fingers stretching apart inside you before pounding hard against your spongey walls. 

“Oh my- oh my god,” you sighed, too wrapped up in your ecstasy to care about using the lord’s name in vain. All you cared about in this moment was Michael and his beautiful hand turning you inside out, giving you what you’d been yearning for so desperately. He curled his fingers inside you and that was it- you orgasmed, a tsunami of pure, sinful bliss washing over you, and you made sure your face was buried in his shoulder to muffle the shrieks that you simply could not stifle. 

You laid your head there while he slipped his fingers out of you, wiping the excess moisture over your protruding outer lips. Mindlessly brushing away a strand of his perfect hair from his neck, you opened your eyes with a contented hum, still too flustered from your orgasm to think clearly. 

And then you almost screamed. 

Suddenly you had all the answers you’d been looking for. You knew for certain now who he was, why he had such seemingly supernatural powers that both frightened and compelled you. It was remarkable, you thought, that you hadn’t realized it sooner. 

Below his ear, etched in reddened, raised flesh, was a number.

6-6-6. 

[voidedfae]

↘[ jd pardo, cismale, he/him, 247 ] Whenever I hear WASTED BY MKTO it always makes me think of ISAAC REYES. They have been so GRACIOUS & RELIABLE , but occasionally they have gotten a little bit IRRITABLE & POSSESSIVE during their ONE WEEK on The Salvation. Back before everything went to shit, they were an SOLDIER, a strangely fitting job for a WITCH. A SWITCH, they never tried to hide that they were BISEXUAL, and they have always been really into SPANKING & BITING. MUD COVERED BOOTS, BLOOD STAINED FINGERTIPS, UNFINISHED BOOKS & STARS IN HIS EYES are pretty much their calling card, and that fits perfectly with their role as a RESCUE on the ship.

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. isaac reyes. AGE. two hundred and forty-seven. SPECIES. witch. GENDER. cis male. PRONOUNS. he/him. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic. PLACE OF BIRTH. newcastle, ca. DATE OF BIRTH. april 16.

ZODIAC. aries. POSITIVE TRAITS. gracious, reliable, level headed. NEGATIVE TRAITS. irritable, possessive, cold. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, french, spanish.

ABILITIES. astral projection, spell casting, clairvoyance, accelerated healing, telekinesis, glamours, pain infliction, invocation.

WEAKNESSES. being silenced (unable to perform spells),  magic addiction, breaking or removing talisman, inflicting intense physical damage, disrupting a spell. 

HEIGHT. 6′3 EYE COLOR. brown. HAIR COLOR. brunet. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board !

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES. scars along his back that closely resemble a wolf’s claws, a birthmark on the inside of his left thigh, a thin scar on each wrist.

QUICK INFO.

triggers ; self harm, murder, self deprecation.

isaac was born to the most powerful coven in california in the 20th century. his mother, one liliana reyes, had fallen in love with the coven leader, which would ultimately turn out to be a horrible mistake many years later. but love trumped all. or so she had disillusioned herself into believing. it was only when isaac was growing up and into his abilities that she realised just how many children he had sired. she was sick to her stomach and, had she not had a child to take care of, she would have left the coven and not looked back. but, she had the light of her life to keep her company and grounded, so how could she ever leave him?

isaac grew well, big and strong and following in his father’s footsteps as he was taught new things each passing day. his abilities grew stronger and developed well as he aged. spell casting was certainly his strong point and, before long, he had many of the other children watching in awe as he cast spell after spell to capture their attention. it would not be for years after the fact that isaac would discover that they were less enthused with his ability to cast the perfect spell than they were about the scandal he had caused just by being born. sure, most of those other children were born from the coven leader, but their mothers had never been so damn vocal about it. isaac was an outcast in his own coven, but he wouldn’t realise until it was too late. 

the day his mother died, isaac was just shy of eight. a normal day, it had started out, practising how to perform a glamour and laughing and joking with his friends. he had not realised anything was different until he had headed home and his mother had not been there to take him. the coven leader, his father, would tell a story about how liliana reyes had found herself hunted and lead them away from her family, dying to save the witches she loved and trusted. he had found her not one hour before telling this story and gifted her talisman to isaac, his eyes filling with tears as he held it tightly in a shaky grip. with his mother gone, there was nobody to love isaac the way he truly deserved. nobody to care for him and keep him safe and warm. 

his father had had no choice but to take him in after some of the other witches had begun to talk about him in hushed tones, wondering why he had taken so long to allow the small child to take refuge in his home, with his family. isaac, personally, had no desire to be there, but once he was of an age to take care of himself, he could leave and do as he pleased. he just had to wait it out. 

oh, and wait he did. he grew stronger and smarter and spent much of his time alone, practising spells and astral projection and glamours in the peaceful silence only he could provide. he was eighteen and ready to leave the nest, making a home for himself outside of his father’s watchful gaze, though he imagined that would never be the case when he was still in the coven. his father made sure that would not last for long, however. the day after his eighteenth birthday, he had overheard his father talking about his mother, whispering the words isaac had never wished to hear from anybody. that he had killed liliana reyes after discovering she was pregnant with his child once more and would not allow him to disown his offspring any longer. to find out that he had lived with the man who had been responsible for his mother’s death all these years.. it filled him with such intense rage. he was strong at such a young age and that meant that he was dangerous. proven in the cold way he murdered his father. all without laying so much as a finger on him. it did not take long for the witches to form against him, steeling themselves in case he tried to argue and fight against them. he was still angry, but he was sad, so broken up over discovering the true reason behind his mother’s death. if anything, being rejected from the coven was exactly what he needed in that moment.

he had never felt like he belonged once his mother had died and he now had a reason to find somewhere else to lay roots and call home. and to lay low whilst he found a way to control his explosive emotions. the army offered a perfect solution and he signed up the same day, the only possessions he owned on his back, so he was eager to get started and away from the godforsaken place he had called home since his birth. 

he hid in plain sight, easily blending in with the humans and he had them all fooled. it was exactly what he wanted, to be part of something, to feel like he had a family, that he was somebody to someone. perhaps there were times where he felt lower than most and he had tried to take his own life once. but all that did was show him how quickly he could heal. the lines had almost entirely disappeared, but he supposed he truly wanted them there. he wanted to see and remember that he was a lot stronger than he thought he was. he could handle anything. except, perhaps, the awakening. 

when the humans had taken their anger out on the supernatural, isaac had wondered if he should come out of hiding, show his true self and fight against them. or he could fight with them. hell, he did not want to fight with them, but he wasn’t feeling like he was left with much of a choice. leaving would draw a lot of unwanted attention and fighting would make him feel sick to his stomach. one self inflicted injury and a glamour later and isaac was discharged, no longer any help in the war. it was easy, after that, to disappear once again. he had nothing left to live or fight for, but he knew that he would be around for a time to come. 

he spent years living off the barren land, using his magic only when absolutely necessary. he had spent so long pretending to be a human and now he lived off what they had done. it was a hard pill to swallow, but something that he could not deny as he saw the world around him. he had gone straight back to california after being discharged and had happily found that his coven was broken, witches here, there and everywhere. he had been lucky to leave when he had, it seemed. the salvation had stopped to port and he had gone aboard, still living each day as they came, now ready for something new. fifty years alone was a long time and he was, perhaps, ready to be around his own kind once more. he needed to see life, however broken it may be.

[bisexiest-bioexorcist]

A scene from a Good Omens fic I’m never going to write:

CONCEPT: something happens to Aziraphale, (curse/spell? some eird angel thing?) causing him to revert to his true form and freak out. Crowley and the humans must work their way through the distorted reality of the bookshop, complete with memories of eden, twisted and impossible structures from the books inside the shop but Different and Scary. Possibly everythings made of paper or has text printed on it (think Inkheart) They have only one solution to a rabid(?) angel: The sword of Michael, the only thing that can Kill an Angel. This scene would be the final moments:

vvvvvvvv

“Stay here,” Crowley’s voice was low, his eyes, not that Adam nor any of the Them could see them beneath the demon’s glasses, were filled with something close to dread. “Try not to get killed.”

“But Crowley, you can’t—”

But he’d already begun the walk.

Books continued to swarm around him. To any observer, to the Them below, their paths were random. But Crowley knew. Crowley saw, with a certainty he’d never comprehend, how the world—how Aziraphale’s world—worked, and he advanced without fear as book after book found their way under his feet just when he needed them to be there. He didn’t doubt that, while he was by no means safe in this divine horror, he was permitted.

Twenty steps. That’s all it was. Twenty steps upwards into the centre of the beast. It took years—it could have literally taken years, the way time itself bent and broke around the creature. It could have taken mere moments, mere breaths. It didn’t matter: he’d spent 6000 years with the angel, he wasn’t about to stop because a couple of seconds suddenly weren’t sure if they should be months instead.

The creature, the trueform, was made of light, and wings, and eyes. An incomprehensible mishmash of impossible twirling shapes and wavelengths. Crowley understood this, because once, he had been this. His form, like all demons, had changed when he fell. He was ugly now, by all standards: a twisted and jagged maw, full of sin and anger and hatred. Except, he’d never really been cut out for that. Maybe he was made of something else. He was a broken demon.

“Crowley, don’t talk like that!” He could hear it, clear as day; what Aziraphale would say, before launching into some awkward, stilted argument about how nice and kind he was and how the angel quite liked him the way he was, thank you very much—not that Crowley would let him get that far, of course. He had a reputation, after all.  

The light burned. It tore at his body, at his essence, as he pushed closer to the creature’s core. He thought he might be screaming, because the beast caught the sound and reduplicated it, distorting it and sending it through time on a thousand dust particles. He fell forward, gripped and thrown into the very core of the being, the burning exacerbating with each passing inch. His flesh melted, his hair singed, his glasses cracked and behind them his eyes began to boil. He roared again as suddenly he stopped moving—or at least the feeling of moving stopped instantly.

There. There, right in the middle of all this pain and light and divinity, was the core of Aziraphale’s being, his essence. It took Crowley’s breath away, not that he needed it. This—not the blond curls, not the bowties, or the anxious fidgeting that seemed to be ingrained in the body’s muscle memory. But that body was what Crowley had grown used to. That body was of his friend. The Michael Sword was heavy at his side.

“Aziraphale!” The demon raised his hand high, his grip on the blade absolute. It shook, chomping at the bit to carve it’s target, with the fury of all of Hell at its deadly tip, and held himself there, for a few moments, gathering his resolve before delivering the final blow…

His hand dropped to his side, the anger and danger melting away like a footfall in an empty forest. The knife fell harmlessly into the emptiness around them, though which direction he couldn’t say. Gravity had taken the day off.

“Crowley, what are you waiting for?!” He heard the kids, one of the kids, scream. He didn’t know which one; he could never tell human voices apart, not like he could. He raised his hand again, trying and failing to stop the twitch of his fingers. Only this time he reached slowly outward, until only the finest layer of dust could fit between his fingerprints and the fine hairs on the skin of the Holy beast in front of him, its flesh tearing and melting and unleashing beams of blessed light, like sunlight through clouds.

“I-It’s OK, Azzy, it’s all OK, I’m here, it’s only me, it’s all alright now. It’s all going to be alright.” He kept his voice as soft as he could, softer than one of Aziraphale’s feathers or the look in his eyes on lazy Sunday mornings. The piercing screams of the beast echoed all around him, all inside his mind, and even he couldn’t stop his flinch, or the momentary pinching between his brows and downturn of his lips. The creature of course sensed his discomfort, and reeled away from his touch. Away from him, for the first time in six thousand years. For the first time ever.

Crowley didn’t even think about reaching towards the creature again, he just did it. “Shh, shh, it’s OK, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Az.”

The creature’s scream turned into an anguished whine.

“I-I know, I know, you’re scared, and that’s OK, that’s alright Angel, I’ve got you. Listen to me, Aziraphale, hear me. You remember me, don’t you? You know me. We know each other more than anything can know anything in the entire world—the entire universe, Above, Below, anywhere. It’s me, Azzy. Please, tell me you remember me…”

He was distantly aware of the kids screaming at him, or maybe at—or because of—the chaos that once could have been a quaint little bookshop in London. He ignored them. The creature in front of him cried, sobbed in agony, but something in its light hummed joyfully. Crowley smiled sadly.

“Oh, Angel, what have you gotten into? It’s OK, we can fix it, we can fix it together, just like always, right? C’mon, Aziraphale, we’ve done it before, we can do it…”

The creature reacted, roaring in anger and flinching in fear at the same time, and Crowley instinctively brought up his other hand.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, it’s going to be tough, but we promised, didn’t we? We said we’d stick around for each other. A-and you have to keep that promise, Aziraphale, ‘cause—well, you’re an angel, you can’t break a promise, I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, but more than that…oh, you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? …Fine. I-I need you, Aziraphale. I-I love you. Please, please don’t leave me, I-I don’t think I could live a day without you, Az, and I certainly don’t want to. Please, don’t make me, Angel, p-p…”

Crowley closed his eyes, his head falling with the weight of his confession.

Everything went still.

“Crowley?”

His head snapped up so fast he might have given himself whiplash, if demons were prone to such things. “…Aziraphale?”

The angel, his human form restored, knelt in front of him, cupping the demon’s still outstretched hand with his own and pushing it gently against his own face. “Hello, Crowley.”

“A-Angel, what…where are we?”

“I…I’m not entirely sure, but…safe, love. We’re safe,” Aziraphale clicked his tongue as his eyes fell slightly, the corners of his mouth following suit before tipping up in a shadow of his usual wry smile. He trailed his fingers across Crowley’s face, and they came away wet. The demon was crying. “Now now, dear, there’s no need to get hysterical.”

Crowley’s tearful bark of laughter was probably ugly as, well, sin, but the Angel kept him pinned with a gaze of such utter melancholy softness that made him forget all that. “Y-You were…You were dying, Angel, what was I supposed to do?”

“Well. I daresay this will…ping the RADAR of the above, if you will. A demon, praying, I mean. I’m surprised you didn’t spontaneously combust.”

The demon huffed. “Yeah, well, there’s still time.”

“Demons, always so dramatic.”

The new voice startled them both, Aziraphale standing protectively in front of Crowley’s still hunched form.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” the woman peered around the angel, “Crowley.”

“Mother?” The angels voice was soft with shock.

“Your, uh, holiness.” The demon’s voice was soft with the sudden and unexpected awkwardness of someone meeting a relative they had a blowout with at the last family gathering but now has been told explicitly to ‘play nice’.

The woman waved them off dismissively, a mischievous smile pulling at her mouth. “Please, drop the formalities. Call me God. It’s my name, right?” Her accent was strong, but unplaceable.

The two nodded somewhat awkwardly.

“Well, you two have been busy, huh? Congrats, kids, you pulled the Almighty out of retirement. Aziraphale, come with me. It’s time you rested.”

Crowley’s stomach fell through the floor—not that there was a floor in the miles and miles of white emptiness around them. There was no way Aziraphale would decline. The omniscient creator, offering him peace and rest after six thousand years of wading through time on Earth? Crowley knew, better than any demon or angel or human or ant, that Aziraphale was tired. He hid it, because he still enjoyed Earth and all it offered. He still enjoyed Crowley’s company, for some reason known only to himself. But that time, those changes, the loss that came with them, that was exhausting. Crowley knew, because he felt it too. There was no way Aziraphale would decline.

“…No.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Apologies, Your holiness—mother—but I-I can’t.”

One perfect dark eyebrow raised and somewhere on Earth a flap of a butterfly’s wings led to three people dying, except they were all terrible people so nobody really cared. “…I see.”

“Az, Angel, what’re you doing? You-You can’t, you have to go!”

“I don’t have to do anything, Crowley. Free will, remember?”

“B-But Angel, y…you could be happy…”

“Oh, you’re quite clueless, aren’t you? I couldn’t be happy, Crowley. Not without you.”

“Aziraphale—”

“And this may be somewhat presumptive of me, but…I don’t think you could be happy without me, either.”

“Not for a moment, but that doesn’t matter if you can be—”

“Then it’s settled. I thought as much, but I just had to check.”

They turned to Her. “What…What’s settled?” Crowley asked, minutely aware that any questioning of the Ineffable Plan could get him smote.

“Well, I was pretty sure y’all were gone on each other, but it only works if you’re both doin’ it right, so…”

“What? What ‘works’?”

“Aziraphale. You performed a miracle: you made a demon love selflessly. You made one pray. Crowley, you…well, you fucked up a perfectly good angel, is what you did. Though, not in a way I can punish him for. You’ve fallen enough in love, no need to fall from Grace, too.

“See, I reckon, something in you both was…defective from the start. Different. Broken. The other angels would probably call you mistakes. But I don’t make mistakes. I made you. An angel who couldn’t fall, but for love, and a demon who would pray, and commit acts of Heaven, selflessly. Don’t think I didn’t notice your little Arrangement. What happened to ‘It’s not possible for you to do the wrong thing?’

“Anyway, you’ve let me ramble. My point is, neither of you is pure Heaven or Hell, Divine or Infernal. Therefore, neither of you belong Above or Below. Which, I suppose, leaves me with just one option:

“Aziraphale, Principality of Heaven, and Anthony J. Crowley, serpent of Hell: by the power vested in me by, well, me, I hereby sentence you to exile, on Earth, for all eternity. I hope to me that I never have to see you both again.”

Crowley met Aziraphale’s wide-eyed stare. His lips quirked in the precursor to a smile. “Uh, is…is Alpha Centauri still OK? For visits, I mean.”

She giggled, rolling her eyes. “Oh, go on then, I suppose.” She gave a heavenly wink, and Angel and Demon found themselves on the floor of a perfectly pristine bookshop. Well--almost perfect (but we'll get to that later).

Disoriented, they heaved themselves up into ragdoll-like positions, legs splayed in front of them and hands leaning heavily on the ground behind their backs.

It took a while before they could gather their bearings, both too dizzy and…sober to deal with their scattered consciousnesses. Eventually, Crowley spoke. “Did...did God just give us Her blessing?”

“While banishing us from our respective responsibilities? Yes, I…I think She did.”

“Well...” Crowley paused, trying to comprehend what just happened, “that was nice of Her. What...What happens now?”

“I’m…not sure.”

“Any ideas?”

Aziraphale met his eyes, a wry smile not quite forming in his voice. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I quite fancy some ice cream. I know a really nice place for it, just on the other side of the equator...”

Crowley grinned unabashedly. “Lead the way, Angel.”

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~

Five hours later, outside the frosted glass windows, night had fallen. Inside the museum--for that was really the most appropriate term considering how many of its artefacts crossed beyond the threshold each day--not a particle of dust stirred. No page turned, and no words were spoken, but the tomes whispered their tales to each other in impatient tones as two bright lights broke the darkness, illuminating their uniform spines for a handful of moments. The ancient pages trembled in anticipation: Their keeper had returned.

The doors, heavy not with their substance but with their age, their memories, flew open. A slightly squiffy Serpent and a slightly squiffier Dove flew into the room on a breeze of giggles and SoHo dust.

The Dove stopped suddenly. "W-Wait--Something’s...w-weird. Off."

"Whu-what isss it, love? Angelsss? Duh-demonss?"

Aziraphale banished the alcohol from his system quickly and without much fanfare, running his finger across the unbroken spines of a row of books. Crowley waited, not bothering to fully sober himself, while the angel tasted the air around them, obviously searching for whatever enemy was concealing itself. He sighed, a hushed aborted comment that sounded like a shout, "I cannot believe..." and pulled from their ranks one copy of Richard Crompton’s ‘William and the Witch’ and a signed first edition of Kramer’s ‘The Malleus Maleficarum’, turning to face the demon. Behind his shoulder, a preowned copy of Guinness World Records 1994 fell to its blurb in despair for its lost comrades.

"--That God doesn’t know the duodecimal system!"

The fact that the cackling demon got hit solidly on the head by the evidently suicidal copy of William and the Witch is what some may call an act of divine retribution or heavenly justice. Crowley called it rude.

"I’ll sort them for you, Angel--"

"--You dare terrify my poor books; I’ll bless the Bentley."

Crowley gasped melodramatically, slaying his hand on his chest. "You wouldn’t?!"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Care to find out?"

Throwing his head back in an exasperated sigh, Crowley groaned, "Fi-ine, I’ll help you sort them the boring human way." He grabbed two books, reading the names on each and looking around for their appropriate place. Aziraphale was unsure if he actually understood the process, or had paid more attention to the shop than he originally thought—enough to know at least roughly where each book had been before.

Taking a stab at the probably less likely scenario, he asked, "You know the duodecimal?"

"My dear angel," the Serpent grinned, "I invented it."*

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 *Any interested readers may be satisfied to learn that three days later, when Aziraphale remembered this comment and the shop was properly in order, he asked Crowley why an agent of Hell would invent something that had made life so much easier. Crowley just snorted. "For you, maybe, but librarians everywhere close up for the night and spend hours reorganising, all while cursing every lazy or clueless customer, their boss and co-workers who ‘really should have fixed it first’, and whoever enabled them to pursue a BA in English."

"Ah," the Angel nodded sagely, "I see: Wrath."