#childe's abyssal side adores you even more than most because of what he's been through. saw you as the guiding light

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

[chipper-smol]

*cracks my writing knuckles bc my artistic patience isn’t enough to fill the ambiance and tone properly*

2K WORDS. JUST FOR YOU GUYS

Was their ire and spiteful nature exclusively directed at the Pale King? Some retainers of the palace would say yes. Others would object and say it extended to the Five Great Knights as well since Ogrim had yet to hold onto his charm for longer than a day and Hegemol continued to wield a pole instead of a mighty hammer.

Well if you asked the source, they would simply stare at you silently, but you might get the impression that they had strong opinions (a wild thing for a vessel to have) on a few individuals other than the King.

Which is why the Feral Vessel is currently running for their life with the Great Nailmaster Sly hot on their back.

“Give it back you impetuous brat!” Sly roars behind them as he bounces off the walls at unfathomable speeds. Ghost, now going by Feral, is only surviving thanks to their knowledge of Sly’s moves from the Godseeker’s Pantheons. Sly’s jumps are still wildly unpredictable to them, but their now longer legs help them meet the speed needed to dodge the flea’s grabs.

Why are they doing this in the first place?

Well because when a rule is made that the Feral Vessel isn’t allowed a nail in the palace, or in any location in Hollownest, the only reasonable way to follow that rule, if you are said Feral Vessel, is to obtain nails of increasing ridiculous sizes. They first took their sibling’s old nail after the Pure Vessel grew out of it, and then they continued from there. They thought of borrowing Sheo’s nail for a day, but they quickly realized after finding the three Nailmasters that they were still the three Nailstudents. They were adorable but small and didn’t have their nails.

So Sly was there and Feral had some lingering rage left over from the Pantheons and well, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Two aspids with one stone. Now they were finding out that conceptualizing that plan and executing that plan were completely different things.

How do they get him off their back!? They already tried losing him through the maze that is the White Palace but they could not build any distance between them and Sly to make the endless corners and hallways useful. They need something- anything-

A-HA! One of Hornet’s web traps! (ingenious sticky things that clung ruthlessly to the clothing of the royals that walked this palace.)

Feral musters up their soul to push themself into one last burst of speed. They dash over the top of the trap just as they hear Sly zooming right at their back. With a twist of their leg and a firm grip on the oversized nail they spin at the last moment and swat the flea with his own nail into the poorly hidden nest of sticky silk.

The indignant yell of rage made that whole marathon worth it.

Not wanting to squander their momentary freedom from Sly’s wrath, they quickly turn and hightail it out of there.

Left. Straight. Left. Right. Straight. Straight. Up. Up. Right. Left-

That should be enough, right? Feral slows down and leans against a wall to catch their breath. Great Pale Beings they have not felt that much adrenaline since the first time they danced with Grimm. They were safe, for now. Feral straightens up, adjusts the greatnail onto their back and looks around.

...

They glance back from where they came.

Where... is this? They know the palace like the back of their hand, even without the buzzsaws. This corridor isn’t familiar. There is only one open doorway with a shining pale light gently leaking into the tiled hallway. Curious yet cautious they approach. They had a sharp greatnail after all.

They step into the light and freeze as they see the towering form of the Queen leaning like a drifting tree over a lush bush. Her back was turned to them, maybe they could-

“Vessel,” her voice, even though a whisper is loud enough to seem like she’s speaking at normal volume. Feral had noticed that with all of the higher and pale beings they’ve known. They all whisper.

Still, they had conflicting feelings toward their mother that they hadn’t yet put into words. They were avoiding her. They still want to avoid her.

“Come, garden with me,” she says, not lifting her head an inch from her work. Feral itches to disobey, but the urge feels wrong. It doesn’t carry the same gleeful note that comes with directly ignoring the King’s orders. They don’t have a solid reason to dislike their mother and it doesn’t feel right to force one either.

It’s not often they feel hesitant, but the Queen has a fae-like air about her. She could hide cruel remarks in what seem to be compliments. They had seen her pick apart arguments to the letter until her opponent had nothing else to say. She wields her words like she would a nail, and a battlefield of diction is an area Feral is massively lacking in. Hopefully she doesn’t want much. Hopefully she wants them to retrieve some confusing herb or something.

Carefully, they enter the room— a green house— and slowly make their way over to the White Lady’s side. They peer over at what she’s tending to. It looks like a bundle of dozens of little blue buds. Her hands glow underneath and the flowers respond by drifting up gradually and opening their delicate petals.

Feral watches quietly.

“They are not what they make themself appear to be,” she says after a long pause. Feral tenses. She reaches to her side where a basket of tools hangs from a kingsmould that Feral didn’t realize was there and picks up a humorously small pair of scissors compared to her massive hands. She carefully begins to snip the bases of those small flowers, collecting them in one hand as they fall, “My senses may be fading as things do with time, but I am not yet so blind to see that they know things that they should not.”

Feral never tried to hide their emotions and personality when they emerged from the Abyss, but they found themself smothering their nervousness before it could leak out of them.

“… they are nervous?” The Queen finally turns to look at Feral with her slightly glassy blue eyes, “I did not intend my words to be a threat, but their reaction proves my thoughts correct.”

Feral maintains as much eye contact as they can before turning their gaze to the floor. The full force of a pale being’s attention wasn’t a thing most bugs could endure. She watches them. Silent. Considering.

“It is odd. I have wanted children of my own for so long, yet what I have received from this world is curious,” she turns back to the blue flowers and snips two more into her hand, “one offspring that is meant to be empty, yet wishes to be a child, and one offspring that acts like a child, yet has experienced more than a child should have.”

Feral feels an odd twisting in their gut. They want to leave, yet they now also want to stay. The Queen is perceptive, that was never a doubt and perhaps another reason why they avoided her. The fear of being known. Yet… now they are known and it’s more of a relief than anything. They slowly look back to her as she places the scissors back in the basket.

“I have wondered why, but I cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies me,” she places three flowers in her spare hand and begins to braid the stems, adding flowers as the braids start becoming short.

“Why do they hold their branch as if it were the familiar handle of a nail? Even though they are forbidden from holding their own?” More flowers are added into the craft she is making. It’s beginning to look circular. Feral watches quietly.

“How do they know to get charms and spells on their own?” She glances over at them, but doesn’t meet their eyes. They sense her gaze on their horns. She looks back down at the flowers and makes some sort of adjustment.

"Why do they stare at things that are not there?” Feral’s throat tightens with that question- or observation?

The Queen finally finishes whatever is in her hands and takes a step over to the Feral Vessel and leans down with an alien-like grace. Feral blinks as she threads the circle of flowers over their horns to then rest right at the base of their horns. They do not know why she is doing this, but they would not dare fight it. They have no desire to.

Her hands drift down from their horns to their face to gently cup and hold. Their eyes gently flutter. The warmth from her root palms seep into their mask as if they were sitting in a hot spring. With the warmth comes a feeling of peace. Understanding. Their eyes close and before they can catch themself they lean into her touch. They miss how her eyes soften as she rubs one of her thumbs against their temple.

“I thought I had been mistaken before, but I have noticed that their pranks on my beloved Wyrm have grown half hearted,” Feral’s chest sags in a mock-sigh and, not knowing why, they nod.

“Has the novelty of his frustrated yells gone stale?” They shake their head, shoulders lightly quivering as if laughing. They crack their eyes open to catch the end of a smile from their mother.

“Why is it then? Why have they lost their fire?”

Feral stays silent as that was all they can do, but the tightening of their brow and the way they pull away from the warm comfort of their mother’s hands speaks hundreds of unspoken words. They glance at their hands, clenching and unclenching them.

When they re-awoke at the bottom of the Abyss surrounded by the thousands of masks of their dead siblings they thought they had dream nailed the black egg at the bottom of the Abyss again, though they did not know how. Soon they realized after getting to the top alongside their sibling that it was not a dream, but reality. To their delight, they could act on their spans of anger and spite they had toward the Pale King.

They thought that once they had their fun they would go and defeat the Radiance by finding the Godseeker in the trash pit. They would scale the pantheons and destroy the infection before the Pure Vessel was sentenced to waste away in the Temple of the Black Egg. It was simple so they didn’t think hard about it.

Until they realized they didn’t have the dream nail. They stressed for a bit, but then thought they could go find the seer and ask for it again! When they made their way to the Resting Grounds however, her little burrow was nowhere to be seen. They truly panicked then, scouring Hollownest for any moths they could find, but the few ones they found were not the Seer. When they held up their, admittedly, crude drawings of the dream nail they were met with confused stares.

They felt scared, frustrated, anger, desperation and then numbness.

They had been trying to run away from these thoughts, but now they were back and plainly showing on their face for the Queen to read like a tablet. There is a long silence between them before her melody-like voice whispers once more.

“Do they know how to write?” She asks.

They shake their head. No. They barely knew how to read and that was from noticing patterns in the tablets and signs they stumbled across in Hollownest. The Queen stands up and with her Feral’s eyes follow.

“I will teach you my child. Come, and perhaps while you learn you may give me your name. Feral is such a harsh word to be called by.”

Feral watches the White Lady as she walks deeper into the greenhouse. Did she just… say she was going to teach them how to write? They would never have a voice to speak on their own with, but to have the power of script in their grasp…

Excitement sparks their step as they quickly run back to her side, looking up at her with such strong wonder that she can’t believe she ever doubted her offspring weren’t hollow. The crown of flowers bounce on their head with each eager step.

“Now it will take some time for us to get the right writing utensils, but perhaps the first thing you could tell me when you can write is how you got that massive nail on your back.”

[aerialflight]

Fic Recs (cause it's always nice to give a shout out and get people into things I'm into rn)

[The Magnus Archives] (I recently finished the podcast and I fell into a hole for a while so here you go)

Sing a Song of Sixpence by Kaiel

Ship: Jon/Martin

In which Jonathan Sims is a Siren, and he fails to notice any new abilities granted to him by the position of Archivist. Or really anything about the Entities at all.

Takes place in season 1 featuring Jonah Magnus’s slow decent into madness

(The new mythology interwoven with tma's worldbuilding is so freaking good and I love how all the characters change and develop because of these changes. Also, f you Elias)

Along Came a Spider by Dribbledscribbles

Ship: implied Jon/Martin

Sasha James is the Archivist, as expected. Martin Blackwood is menaced by Jane Prentiss, as expected. Elias Bouchard weaves his web, as expected.

All goes as it should.

At least until something calling itself Jonathan Sims steps in.

(Web!Jon in this makes me want to weep, it's so freaking good. A pretty long, very excellent oneshot on what could've happened if Jon got taken by the web when he was a kid. And Sasha as the Archivist is ALWAYS so cool, we love her in this house.)

A Break in the Clouds by Ash_Rabbit

“I’m eight.” the kid sniffs as if eight was any different from four, maybe not an unspeakable horror then, just a regular horror. “And I heard that the Magnus Institute deals with-” his little nose scrunches, cute. “-spooky things.”

“Do you have a-” he cracks a grin, and then rethinks it as small hands tighten against their burden.”-spooky thing to deliver?” gods he hopes not, it’s bad enough when adults walk in and lay out all of their baggage, but for a child-

“There’s a spider in this book.” the kid says solemnly, raising his textbook sized parcel. “It ate Evan Pritchard.” a bloody fucking Leitner. Of course an eight year old would find a murder spider book. “This seemed like the best place to bring it.”

(I never thought about what the Original Elias could've been like AND NOW I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE OF THIS FIC. I LOVE HIM, HE'S COMPLEX AND HE CARES AND JON CARES AND THEY BOTH CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER. THIS IS THE CONTENT I WANT, OMG. Also, Jon being even smaller than usual is adorable, so cute. No wonder Elias wants to hug him, a LOT.)

See the Line where the Sky meets the Sea by The_Floating_World

Ship: Jon/Martin, Jon/Oliver Banks

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

(One of my all time fave fics in this fandom, no questions asked. I have reread this three times and am open to doing it again, god. Vast!Jon, such a concept. It's written so beautifully and the relationships Jon develops, so good. ugh. My heart. Please please read.)

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Ship: Jon/Martin

“Come in, Martin,” he says, not looking up from his notes.

“Hi, Jon,” he says, and Jon stops writing at the sound of his voice. “We’re out of the green tea, but we’ve got lemon?”

Jon looks at him. Martin smiles at him in his usual tentative way as he sets the mug of tea down on Jon’s desk. Heat spikes so sharply in his gut that he twitches with it.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, mouth dry, and he stands up.

“Oh,” he says, sounding almost surprised. He smiles again. “No-- no problem-- um, what are you--”

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

(You have no idea how much I howled through this fic, my god. *buries face in hands* The number of times I wanted to cry from sheer hilarity and horror reading this good lord.)

Things Could Always Be Worse by theOestofOCs

Ship: Jon/Martin, Georgie/Melanie

Sometimes, the most horrifying thing of all is what might have been.

Somewhere, Jon could swear he heard a crowd laughing.

Or: in which Jonathan Sims is forced to swap places with his alternate self—a tall, chivalrous hero extraordinaire, who knows neither fear nor nuance—and is sent to the aggressively straight alternate universe the Magnus Archives was never meant to be.

“Whatever place this is,” Jon announced, “I just want to be sure it knows I hate it.”

(I will say this once, THIS IS THE MOST CURSED THING IVE EVER READ EVER. Like holy hell. I can't believe this thing exists. please read it oh please please please)

-

[Supernatural]

heard from your mother (she don't recognize you) by Schmuzz

Ship: Dean/Cas, Jessica/Sam

A man named Cas wakes up in 2003 with no memories, but he's able to piece together a few things:

1. Supernatural creatures exist, and most of them will hurt innocent civilians if he doesn't stop them; 2. He has abilities that no human hunter should have, but he knows enough about human hunters to keep that to himself, and finally; 3. He keeps running into another hunter named Dean Winchester, who seems to be about as lonely as he is if he's willing to put up with those former facts long enough to help Cas unravel the mystery of who (or what) he really is.

For his part, Dean's still (not) dealing with Sam's departure to Stanford, and figures distracting himself with a bit of mystery and intrigue is as harmless as it gets, right? Right.

(THE fic I'm most into right now, been following this from the very start and it's AMAZING. Cas has agency and is making friends and S1 Dean is growing out of John's influence and is becoming a Person and the both of them first being friends then more. The slow burn as their relationship develops, SO GOOD. SO SO DAMN GOOD. *screams* Seriously one of the best spn fics I've read in a long, long time.)

anamnesis by cenotaphy

Ships: Castiel/Dean, Sam/Eileen

Chuck is depowered, Jack is the new god, and the world is free. Dean and Sam get into the Impala and chase down the miles on an endless highway, and their story is finally, finally their own to follow. At least, that's what Dean tells himself. But the diners and motels and painted interstate lines are blurring together and the smallest details keep catching at his brain like tiny fishhooks and he can't quite shake the feeling that not everything is exactly as it should be.

* Fix-it/alternate series finale. Canon-compliant through the end of 15.19.

(THIS IS THE FIC THAT GOT ME THROUGH THE FINALE OKAY. WHY COULDN'T THIS HAVE BEEN CANON. It's Disturbing and honestly plot-wise this makes more sense. Why couldn't we have had this. *screams*)

-

[Avatar: The Last Airbender]

where the stars do not take sides by WitchofEndor

Ship: Sokka/Zuko

When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them.

Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.

(The fact one of the tags in this fic is, "Sibling Dynamic: Fucked Up But Wholesome" should give you an idea what this fic is like. Chaotic as HELL and I just love Azula here, she loves Zuko so much in her messed up way and Zuko loves her back in the exact same way lol. It's batshit and I am Here For This.)

-

[Naruto]

Eclipse by AislingRoisin (JayBird345) for HybrisAnaideia

Ship: Nara Shikaku/OFC

"In life, it's easier to remain stagnant and wallow in your troubles. But life isn't merely about continued existence, nor is it meant to be gone through alone."

(This is a fic that's slept on and I NEED people to read this. A self-insert fic that I find really interesting in its approach and the worldbuilding for the post-third war shinobi world is fantastic. I feel like there's a certain pattern with self-insert fics, not that is a detriment in any way to how much I enjoy them, so this fic feels fresh to me in a way I haven't read in a while. I am waiting eagerly for this to get updated! Please read!)

On Freedom and Other Formalities by iaso

Ship: Kakashi/Genma/OFC

When push comes to shove, Hiwa Inuzuka doesn't go down easy. Reborn into a new, dangerous world? She puts her past life as a spy to work. Thrown into a war? Hiwa does her duty, for Konoha. And when she's forced into an arranged marriage? All there is to do is beat them to the punch and get married first. Thankfully, Genma Shiranui is willing to lend a hand. Literally. SI/OC

(Listen, LISTEN, it's about the slow burn, the longing, the communication (it both has and hasn't and isn't THAT great??), the messy way you fit three very different people together, it's so freaking good! Also, Kakashi is so Chaotic here this is my fave characterization of him, you can't change my mind. And Genma is a Good Boi who is Doing His Best, along with the Self-insert character who I LOVE SO MUCH, SHE'S FANTASTIC FNEIWOPAF. Sped past this fic in the speed of light, I could not stop reading!)(Honestly, read all of the author's fics, they're all really REALLY good!)

Building a Castle by WhisperingDarkness

Without needing anyone to tell her, Sakura knew that talking to someone no-one else could see or hear would make her weird. It would draw the bad kind of attention to her, something people could make fun of her for.

She didn’t like being weird, but she did like the voice. Her inner voice was helpful and it was a part of her that had always been there. The idea of it not being there would have been so much weirder than anything else.

It was during her first year at the Academy that Sakura realised the voice was not in her head at all, but that it came from a cloudy shape floating next to her.

(Basically a short-ish retelling of Hikaru no Go. Only with more Shogi and Nara and Ninja's)

(Sakura can see ghosts (I'm noticing this is a popular trope for her) and it's really cute haha! Her relationship with Tobirama is sweet and I just enjoyed reading this so much.)

-

[The Magicians]

So Long (And Thanks For All The Books) by IncompleteSentanc (Erava)

Ships: Quentin/Eliot, James/Julia, Quentin/Margo/Eliot

When Quentin is told Julia wasn't admitted to Brakebills, he realizes he has a drastic decision in front of him. If he tells Julia about magic, he'll have his mind wiped as well as hers. But he can't just leave her behind, either. He can't lose his best friend, and he can't let her life a life with her magical potential stolen away from her.

So he makes a third choice.

(Really, and I mean REALLY well-done canon divergent fic, this is the Quentin & Julia friendship fic I have been looking for forever. It explores so much of what could've happened and I just love Quentin here, I really really do. Characterization done so right. I also recommend the author's other works too. Been a follower of them for a long time, they're great.)

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[Game of Thrones]

The Road to Victory by writing_as_tracey

Too late in preparing for the Night King and the Long Night, the last stand at Winterfell is close to falling. Bran takes desperate measures to ensure victory, and Jon, Sansa, and Arya pay the price for it in a time unfamiliar to them, on the cusp of another war. [GoT, time-travel fix it]

(I swear, this fic made me laugh so many times, all the Stark are BAMF and fantastic, and Rhaegar gets Wrecked lol. It's crack btw, and the plot goes in directions you'll never guess and it's amazing hahaha!)

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[Haikyuu!!] (I am very very late to the fandom but here I am)

Ballare (To Dance) by MidnightSparks

Ship: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, and platonic Kageyama & Kentarou (really love their friendship)

Kageyama’s first love is volleyball. His second, however, is ballet.

In one world, Kageyama Tobio is left behind by his parents. In this world, the existence of soulbonds keeps Kageyama’s parents in Miyagi and leaves Kageyama in the care of his grandma and grandpa.

(In which soulmates exist and that changes everything and nothing at the same time.)

(*buries face in hands* I have fallen for this ship so hard and I can't get out fudge me. I understand now. Their DYNAMICS FIEWONPAF)

Kings of Tomorrow by bokubroya (liarielle)

Ship: Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru

On the eve of Tobio’s 16th birthday, he counts down the seconds to midnight, and emerges with Oikawa Tooru’s name on his wrist.

It’s been two years since then, and Tobio thought they had an understanding. A silent, never spoken about understanding that this thing between them is nothing, and they’re going to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Of course, it’s just like Oikawa to change the game and leave Tobio wondering what comes next.

(I am WEAK for soulmate fics between these two, I don't even really like soulmate fics half the times what is WRONG WITH ME-)(Please suffer with me, I'm begging you. Its a good fic, thumbs up.)

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[Crossover]

Honey and Magic by JustARatherVerySillyWriter, White_Squirrel for Super Carlin Brothers

Fandoms: Matilda (yeah you read that right), Harry Potter

Everyone knew Matilda was a rather extraordinary child, but even she didn't know she was a witch. Matilda Honey receives her Hogwarts letter in the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and soon, she will leave her unique mark on the magical world.

(Do I even need to explain how amazing it is to have Matilda in the wizarding world? And Matilda is a HUFFLEPUFF AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL THIS FIC IS GREAT PLEASE READ!!!)

An Eye for an Eye by DpsMercy

Fandoms: The Magnus Archives, Welcome to Night Vale

In which Jonathan Sims is not from the UK but instead, if you took his origins and turned them sideways twice then flipped them over, he technically would be from the US, the town of Night Vale specifically. Elias can’t do shit about it and gets a headache and slowly creeping madness instead.

(Look, I know probably everyone has read this because if they haven't, what have you been DOING with your lives??? Jon interning at Night Vale is Incredible, nothing phases this man, it's Delightful. I laughed so many times reading this, I'm not even kidding right now. Read or perish.)

The Favour by R_Cookie

Fandoms: Harry Potter, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Ship: Original Percival Graves/Harry Potter

Percival is ten years old when his grandfather tries to tell him that he's ensured the greatness of the Graves legacy for him, that he ought to be eternally grateful - but the explanation is hijacked by a stranger who manages to intimidate Chester Graves with an ease never seen before.

or: Hadrian (Harry) Potter is the Master of Death, who grants Graves a boon. Nobody could have known that the Deathly Hallows didn't turn you so much into the 'Master of Death' as into the anthropomorphic personification of Death. And so, Death becomes Percival's guardian angel, and Percival does not spit out his cereal.

(Look, I don't know how I stumbled back into the FBAWTFT fandom either, it just happened and I'm grateful for that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have found this amazing fic. Their relationship is slow and strange and I just love how Percival is characterized here. Also, one of the tag promises that it deviates from canon so I am really, really excited for that! XD)

baby that's what i do by natanije

Fandoms: Naruto, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!

"Are you telling me," Hidan exclaims, incredulous, "that you collect money all this time to give to orphans?!"

Kakuzu pauses. He blinks a few times.

"Huh. I guess I do."

(Tsuna reincarnates as Kakuzu and it's HILARIOUS. HE'S SUCH A MOM HAHAHA)

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (5/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, depression, trauma, PTSD, some fluff 

Word Count: 2.3k  

Part Summary: After the hospital with Glory, Y/N falls into despair, unsure of whether or not the world around is real or Glory’s doing. Days go by and Spike grows frustrated as the Scooby Gang is lost on how to fix Y/N. So, he takes matters into his hands, doing everything in his power to bring her. 

Masterlist

"Bloody fix her!" I hear Spike yell at the others in the kitchen.  

I lay on the couch in the allusion version of the Summers's living room. All I can do is wait. Wait for the most-evil-big-bad to show up and take me away. I wait for this vision to end. Glory is messing with my head. I just know it. I'm still in her memories or worse, she dragged me down to Hell with her.  

"We can't, not yet at least," the imaginary Willow explains, sounding defeated.  

"We don't know the right spell, but we're not going to stop until we find it!" Tara assures, her tone carries a bit of hope in it. 

"What exactly did Y/N see when she entered Glory's mind?" Giles questions. "Perhaps that will help us figure out a solution."  

"Did she tell you anything, Spike?" The pretend Buffy inquires, her voice optimistic.   

"No!" The vampire shouts again. "You saw her! She won't even look at me, at any of us, and you think she told me everything?!"  

"Spike, we're just trying to help..." Willow mumbles, sounding mousey.   

“Yeah, since when do you care about Y/N or anyone of us for that matter?” Xander insults. 

“I don’t… ” Spike grumbles defensively. Then, he releases a deep sigh of frustration, “okay, look! The sooner Y/N is better, the sooner she can help with destroying Glory. Let’s pick up the pace here!” 

There's a prolonged pause and the allusion of Dawnie appears entering the room from the kitchen. She approaches me cautiously. Starring blankly ahead at the distant wall, the allusion of Dawn kneels beside me on the floor.

 "Hi Y/N," she mumbles, fiddling with the edge of her shirt nervously. "Do... Do you need anything? A glass of water? Some food? I... I can make anything you like!" She tells me with forced enthusiasm. "Oh, here!" She rises from her spot swiftly and reaches over me. 

Startled, I scream and fly up from my laid position. She's going to hurt me! She's a demon! She's going to kill me! She's going to drag me back to that place! All of the fire, the screaming, the pain! The others comes running into the room, the vision of Spike leading them.  

"I didn't mean to!" The fake Dawn urgently tells me, running to safety by Buffy. "I was just going to give her blanket!"  

The allusion of Buffy comforts her, "I know, you're okay! It's not you're fault. Y/N's just really fragile at the moment. We can't touch her or get too close, otherwise we'll scare her."   

Panicked, I shuffle my sight between all of them, waiting for one of them to charge at me. I curl up, bringing my legs close to my chest on the couch. Shaking, I can't find the words to speak. I'm afraid if I do they're retaliate and I'll be send back to the fiery place.   The figure disguised as Spike approaches me steadily, his hands up as a sign of peace. I don't believe it, not for a second. He's trying to trick me!   

He shushes softly, "it's okay Y/N. I'm not going to hurt you." 

I cower away, scooting to the farthest side of the couch from him. 

"You can also see people's energy. You can also see into people's minds, right?” He calmly moves closer until he's sat on the coffee table. “I want you to look into mine,” he instructs boldly, holding out his hand to me. 

I shake my head rapidly in a panic. No, I can’t do it again, not after what happened! Beside, my magic doesn't work in Hell. No, I saw it before. When the roots were attacking me, nothing worked. He's testing me. He wants an excuse to damn me to Hell. 

"I’ll focus only on the good memories! You told me that I can control what you see, right? If I remember that it’s all in my head and try hard enough! Let me prove to you that I’m really me and I’m not a threat to you!" The spirit disguised as Spike reasons. "Come on, use your powers, Love. Show yourself that I won't hurt you," he says in almost a plea. 

I hesitate, afraid of the repercussion if I do as he asks. He could show me more traumatizing images. I want to believe he's the real, do more than anything! If it were really him, it would mean I'm safe and truly out of Glory's nightmare. 

Buffy quietly steps forward to protest the idea. “Spike, I don’t think-”

“Just let her try for Christ’s sake!” He snaps, standing up to face everyone. Clearly, he’s hit his boiling point with all the bickering. “You all bloody act like she’s a goddamn porcelain baby and you’re afraid of dropping her. She’s the most powerful whatever-the-hell she is I’ve seen in my hundred and forty-eight years on this planet! Now, shut up!” He finishes, sitting back down on the table with a dramatic huff. 

Calmly, he looks at me and requests again, “try it, Pet. I know you can do it,” he encourages softly. 

Slowly, I meet him gaze. It’s the first time since the hospital I’ve look at anyone in the eye. I’ve been afraid that if I look, I’ll see the red eyes that frighten me more than I can bare to say. Instead, I’m meet with the familiar emeralds. They’re fake. They must be fake. They’re a part of the allusion. 

“Please…” Spike adds almost inaudibly. He eyes peer at me, filled with what appears to be despair. Reaching out his hand again, he waits for me to take it. 

I don’t feel threatening energy radiating from him, at least not directly. Then again, I don’t know how well the demons mask their intentions. My chest rises and plummets as my nerves and mind warn me not to do it. Yet, my gut is telling me to at least try. My heart is telling me to give him, the allusion, a chance.

Steadily I ease my shaky hand out to interlock with his own. Our hands meet and our fingers glides between each other. Gently, Spike rubs his thumb over my hand, doing his best to ease the shaking by squeezing it. He stares into my eyes and gives me a sharp nod of confidence. His features, however, express uncertainty and worry. I feel a surge of energy, the warning before the storm. I blink rapidly as the sensation of falling consumes me. Then, my vision goes black… 

I’m sat in my mother’s old parlor on the rug as I read her my newest poem. She rests on the loveseat behind me, petting my head gently. I worry for her. Her health hasn’t been ideal in recent weeks.  I read to her, knowing how much it makes her feel better. All I do when I can find a free moment, usually when she’s asleep during the daylight hours, is write more poetry in hopes that it heals her ailments. 

“William, my love,” she groans, moving to sit up. She holds out her hand and swiftly I assist her. She mutters a ‘thank you,’ expressing a weak smile. 

I peer up at my mother admiringly. I feel the fierce duty to protect her. She’s my whole world, I love no one more than her. 

She caress my cheek, “you, my William, are my angel on this Earth. All I want, as my dying wish, is for you to be happy and settled.” 

“I am happy, Mother,” I tell her, truly content. “There’s no other woman I need in my life than you.” 

She grins, releasing a soft giggle. Oh how I long to hear her laugh. It reminds me of when she was healthy and thriving. Gently, she guides me to rest my head in her laps as I did when I was a child. Steadily, she brushes her fingers through my hair comfortingly. “Early one morning…” She starts to sing her lullaby to me. It’s our song. She’s been singing it to me since infancy. It’s brings me unparalleled peace. I adore her voice. I adore her. There’s no one else in the world I need but her. 

With a jolt, like bringing dragged out to see by a strong wave, I’m back in the Summers’s living room. I gasp for air as I settle back into my body, my senses returning to me. The energy surge slowly leaving my bloodstream. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for my words or at least a reaction in someway. 

Spike looks at me eagerly, a faint bit of hope in his eyes.  “Did it work?” 

Silently, I slowly move off the couch, standing to my feet. Spike leaps up from his position, causing me to jump a little. He frowns, disappointment returning to his face. Wrapping my arms around my body safely, I turn and walk out of the room. As I head up the stairs, discussion erupts in the living room. 

“What does this mean?” Xander questions urgently. 

“Well, did it work?” Anya adds. 

“Clearly it fucking didn’t!” Spike barks, followed by a thud and the sound of the coffee table dragging across the hardwood floor with a screech. 

“Spike!” Buffy shouts, “that’s not going to help Y/N!” 

“Screw this,” he curses, storming around downstairs. “I’m out of here! You lot aren’t going to do anything to help her! I’m going to find a way myself!” I hear the front door slam shut moments after. 

_______________________

Days later and I continue to lay in my bed as I have since fake Spike’s attempted to fix me. Alone and silently, I wait for the black smoke-like figures to come haunt me. Sleep is nonexistent because every time I try all I see are those red eyes starring back at me. They wish to drain me cold and consume my soul. The allusions of Buffy, Joyce, and Dawn take turns checking on me. Joyce worries and Buffy tries to get me to eat. Dawnie begs for me to return to normal. What is normal? I can’t remember what I was like before. There’s nothing waiting for me but the Hell I saw. I’m not okay. I’m slipping into an abyss of darkness. 

As night falls, the door to my room creaks open behind me, revealing a strip of light from the hall. Distant voices from downstairs linger in and I see someone cross in front of the light as they enter the room. I remain emotionless on my bed, facing the opposite wall. As a figure appears in my peripheral vision, I focus ahead blankly. 

“Hello there, Love,” Spike whispers, squatting at my bedside. 

I don’t react to his presence physically. Inside, I’m reaching out to him. I’m in a prison made up by my own mind. 

Spike hasn’t seen me since the day after the hospital. When I left the living room and he stormed out, he never came back to be exact. Fake Buffy told me in passing while she was bringing me food that he went away for a few days. I didn’t ask, she just told me. She went by his crypt after he hadn’t come around, he wasn’t there. He left a note saying he’d be back. 

“I won’t touch you, promise! Yo don’t have to worry about that,” he assures with a frown. “They say you haven’t eaten since…” he shakes his head, refusing to speak of that faithful day. “You need to eat Y/N. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

He worries, they all worry. What will worrying get them? Why don’t they just put me out of my misery? When will this vision end?! 

“Y/N!” He whispers my name harshly, not to alert the others downstairs. “Come on, Love, I know you’re in there somewhere! I don’t know exactly what Glory did to you or what you saw, but you have to fight this! It was another vision! It was only in your head! Dawnie, Buffy, Joyce, they need you…. I need you….” He barely says the last part, looking down at his hands. 

I process his words, but everything is delayed. Time has been off since I awoke in the hospital or at least changed visions. In my head, time moves slower and the agony is more intense. I’ve missed Spike more than I care to admit, even if he’s not really here with me and it’s all in my head. I welcome the allusion. 

Spike rises from his position with a sigh upon receiving no sort of reaction from me. “I heard of a guru in India who’s apparently dealt with this sort of things before while I was looking for help amongst the covens in New Orleans. I only came back to see if you’ve improved at all...” He moves to step away toward the door. “I’ll check back in before I leave for India,” he informs over his shoulder. 

No, no he can’t leave me, not again! Please, don’t leave me. On impulse, I break free of my mental prison and grab Spike’s wrist. His head whips around as his attention lands on my hand. His eyes meet mine wide-eyed with amazement. 

“Stay,” I struggle to speak for the first time in nearly over a week. 

Spike places his hand over mine. He lowers to my level, knelling beside my bed. A bright smile of glee spreads across his face as relief relishes in his emerald eyes. He cautiously reaches up, cupping my face and I don’t cower away. I ponder the feeling of his touch, leaning into his palm. It makes me feel more alive than I have in days. When I don’t flinch away, he releases a soft chuckle of joy. Before we have the chance to talk, my vision goes black.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​

@hexmancia

[pines-troz]

Weekend With The Warners Chapter Six - Animaniacs & Pinky and The Brain

Summary: When the CEO assigns Pinky and The Brain with the important task of watching over the Warners for the weekend, Brain is prepared for any antics that the children have in store. What he didn’t take into account was forming a familial bond with the kids.

Word Count: 10,710

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849962/chapters/71433888

Pinky honored Brain’s request by resuming the planned family activities to occupy Yakko and Wakko. The mouse rode upon Wakko’s red cap as they neared the movie theater. His light blue eyes lit up the moment he saw the movie titles on the marquee along with the various movie posters displayed across the side of the building. 

Everyone loved going to the movies! What could be a better way to spend an afternoon than to sit in a dark room with other strangers, munching on expensive snacks, and getting emotionally invested in a movie for two hours? He was especially looking forward to watching a movie about the Furbies! Pinky hoped that this family friendly-animated movie featuring the controversial 90s toys would follow the same beats as other recent animated movies from the past decade: A buddy road-trip journey with a surprise villain twist in the third act (which always shocked him every time!), and all the characters throwing a big dance party at the end to the tune of a contemporary pop song. Pinky would always get up on his feet and dance with the characters on the screen. While Brain would always shield his face at the sight of his enthusiasm, he had a strong feeling that Yakko and Wakko would be more than happy to dance with him before the credits rolled. 

Oh, he and the siblings were going to have such a fun-fun silly-willy time!

Wakko carried Pinky on top of their red hat, zooming around the front of the theater like an airplane. With their tongue lolled out, he blew a raspberry to imitate the sound of a plane soaring through the air. He was eager to go to the movies with Yakko and Dad. Even though it would have been better if Dot and Dadoo accompanied them, Wakko learned from their wisened experiences as a middle child that he couldn’t get what he always wanted and had to accept compromise. But he was willing to make the most out of the afternoon for Dot’s sake. Looking on the bright side of things, the middle child was eager to lounge in the comfy leather reclinable chair while chowing down on the various snacks. Buttered popcorn, cheesy nachos, hot dogs, candies, and a large cup of Abyss Boy soda! But he’ll remember not to consume the entire soda all at once. The last thing he wanted was to have another potty emergency on their hands. Regardless, Wakko couldn’t wait to satisfy their appetite for movie theater food! 

Yakko cautiously trailed behind Wakko and Pinky, masking his worry with a small smile. The normally laid-back smart aleck was glum over Dot’s health. Of course, part of being a responsible older brother was being the main caregiver for his siblings’ needs. And Yakko took pride in tending to Wakko and Dots’ needs, especially if they felt under the weather. The eldest Warner couldn’t shake off the bewildering fact that Dot was being cared for by a good friend, who successfully proved himself to be a competent caretaker, while he and Wakko walked about as if nothing happened. If his sister wasn’t so insistent on going to the movies for her sake, then he would be back at the hotel room tending to her needs like the caring sibling he was. But as a responsible older brother, Yakko kept his word. But going to the movies just wouldn’t be the same without her. He missed having his nacho buddy right by his side. 

The eldest Warner was pulled out of his thoughts the moment he felt his phone vibrate. He fished his phone from his pocket and he noticed the reassuring text message from Brain. 

I commend your concern for your younger sister. Dot is taking a much-needed nap at the moment and she will be okay. : )

Yakko softly smiled at the good news. He was thankful for the mouse’s swift response as well as the contents of the message. “Dot’s fine under Brain’s care…” He reminded himself. He looked over at Wakko and Pinky, who seemed to make the most of their situation as they conversed in their typical eager fashion, almost as if nothing had gone wrong. 

“I’m gonna buy so many snacks!” Wakko exclaimed, flapping their arms excitedly. 

“Troz! And I’ll get to swim in the bucket of popcorn!” Pinky added with an equal amount of enthusiasm. 

Yakko tried to conceal his concern with a small smile and a chuckle. “Yeah, it’s gonna be fun!” He lied with convincing enthusiasm. 

However, Pinky managed to catch a glimpse of sadness behind the Warner Brother’s eyes. His big goofy smile faltered. The idea that Yakko was trying to hide something that was hurting him made Pinky’s tummy feel all tight, but not in a good way. But Pinky was determined to alleviate the teen’s woes. 

“Is something wrong, Yakko?” The tall mouse asked concernedly. 

Yakko gave a surprised expression before shrugging it off. “Oh, it’s nothing,” The teen replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

Pinky pondered for a moment. He took his paw and rubbed the bottom of his chin as he thought, but snapped his fingers as he figured it out. “Well, I don’t know how to get rid of the nothing that’s bothering you, but I’m sure that the movie might take your mind off of it. Narf!” He explained optimistically. 

Yakko looked at the mouse who took his problems quite literally and shook his head. 

“No no no,” The oldest Warner dismissed while waving his arms. He looked back at Pinky, who cocked his head sideways and stared back at him with concern pooling from his blue eyes. There was something in the mouse’s eyes that compelled Yakko to tell the truth. “Well, it’s just that it feels wrong to go to the movies without Dot, ya know?” He confessed. 

Pinky and Wakko gazed concernedly at Yakko, who continued to speak up. “I mean, who else am I gonna share my tray of nachos with?” 

Wakko wordlessly raised their hand, but Yakko stared at them with skeptical eyes and crossed his arms. “Wakko, you’ll just consume the entire tray.” He interjected with a deadpan expression. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right...” Wakko glumly admitted as he lowered their hand. 

“And I don’t feel like I should be watching a movie when I should be back at the hotel taking care of my little sis.” The eldest Warner mentioned. 

Pinky’s eyes widened. “So that's what Yakko was worried about!” He pondered to himself. Even though Dot’s absence was sorely felt by the three of them, it wasn’t the end of the world because Brain was currently tending to her every need. The lanky mouse knew how to comfort Yakko. 

“We all miss Dot, but you don’t have to worry because Brain’s taking great care of her!” Pinky reminded him with a reassuring smile. “And I would know since he always takes great care of me!”

“He does?” Wakko asked curiously, tilting his head like an adorable puppy. 

“Of course! Brain always makes me thimbles of nice hot tea whenever I get sick and patches me up whenever I get the owies after a failed plan to take over the world! Zort!” The mouse confidently explained. “And if Brain can take great care of me, he’ll take great care of Dot!” 

Wakko believed in Pinky’s word. While he felt bad for Dot, he knew that their sister was in good hands. The middle child turned to face their older brother. “See, Dot’s gonna be fine!” He emphasized. “And besides, she commanded you to have fun just before we left the hotel room!” 

“Yeah, I know…” Yakko muttered, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Don’t you trust Brain?” Pinky softly inquired. 

Yakko was surprised by the mouse’s question. “Of course I do! I wasn’t implying that I didn’t. It’s just…” The eldest Warner stared at Pinky, whose blue eyes seemed to pierce his very soul, prompting him to demolish the barriers he built around his emotions. “Well, it’s really hard to ignore my big brother instincts, ya know?” He finally confessed. “Not to mention how weird it is to have someone else do my job.” 

Wakko walked over to their older brother and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. “But Pinky and The Brain have been taking care of us all weekend! They take us out for food, tell us bedtime stories, and give us goodnight kisses,” He reminded their older brother, with Pinky silently nodding. “They’re our dads, remember?” 

“Dads?” Yakko quizzically repeated with a surprised look on his face.

Wakko’s face contorted into a worrisome frown. He thought that Yakko would already be on board with the mice becoming their parents, but apparently, that was not the case. “Well yeah. 

Didn’t you hear me say ‘goodnight mouse dads’ last night?”

“No, he was fast asleep when you said that,” Pinky told the middle child. 

Yakko stared at his sibling with a befuddled expression. In any other circumstance, Wakko would only use the words like ‘dad’ or ‘dadoo’ when he was messing with their special friend of the week. But there was an undeniable sincerity in Wakko’s voice when he referred to the mice as their parents. And considering how well the rodents have been taking care of them, the thought of them being parents was a nice idea. Pinky would always dote on him and his siblings and be incredibly supportive of them. Plus having constant praise and validation from the silly mouse is exactly what Yakko needed to combat his anxiety and self-worth issues. And despite his grumpiness and stern nature, Brain proved to be an excellent caretaker. The big-headed mouse was incredibly protective of him and his siblings and even humored them by indulging in their childish requests. Both mice were a pleasure to be around and they were decent guardians who looked out for them and deeply cared about them. They seemed like the perfect parents to have. 

But Yakko felt his big brother instincts and anxiety nagging at him. He was taking good care of his sibs for decades without any intervention from any adults from the outside world. He was the sole caretaker of his siblings when the human adults at the Warner Bros. Studio thought they were too dangerous to be allowed in society and locked them away in the water tower like dogs at the pound. Even though Yakko admittedly believed that he could have benefitted from positive adult figures during those years in captivity, he managed to pull it off on his own. Taking care of his sibs was one of the things he was great at!

Now that Wakko adopted Pinky and Brain as their dads, Yakko feared that the mice would usurp his role as caretaker and would be rendered useless. What kind of big brother would he be if his role of nurturing provider, the one job he took the most pride in, was taken from him? 

“Come on Wakko, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t just start referring to our friends as our parents.” Yakko scoffed as he circled his right hand in the air. 

But Wakko took offense to their brother’s statement. “What’s his deal?” He thought as he gritted their teeth and flashed their fangs. 

Wakko felt their eyes start to water as he curled their hands into fists and stomped on the ground. “Is that any way to talk to your dad!” Wakko shouted, gesturing towards Pinky.

Yakko was taken aback when he saw the tears forming in the corners of Wakko’s eyes. He didn’t mean to hurt their feelings. “Wakko-” 

But before he could say anything else, Pinky interceded when he hopped down from Wakko’s hat and stood between the siblings. “Stop the fighting, please!” He pleaded with his watery blue eyes. “My heart breaks at the sight of sibling rivalries!” 

Yakko looked at the buck-toothed mouse, overwhelmed with guilt. They were supposed to be having a fun time at the movies on Dot’s behalf, but the only things he accomplished were quarreling with Wakko and making Pinky cry. “Well, this is just great,” 

The eldest Warner released a heavy sigh, shoved his hands in his pocket, and walked away from his sibling and mousey guardian. He slumped onto the bench and placed his head in his hands. Taking deep breaths, he dwelled over the scuffle. Sure he would eventually patch things up with Wakko, but he thought about Pinky. That poor innocent bundle of joy who loved almost everyone and everything in this world. And he made the little guy cry his little heart out. Yakko assumed that it would take a while longer for the mouse to forgive him after what he did. 

“Poit!” Pinky softly spoke up. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Yakko lifted his head to find Pinky sitting on Wakko’s red hat. The two looked at him with worried expressions on their faces. Perhaps now was the time to set things right. 

Yakko thought about what he wanted to say, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, fellas.” He ruefully apologized. He took a moment to gather his courage before confessing one of his biggest fears. “It’s just that...well, I’m used to taking care of my sibs.” 

Wakko wordlessly nodded in understanding. He remembered all the times Yakko took great strides to make sure he and Dot were provided for when they were stuck in the water tower and afterward. Making them meals, entertaining them with his jokes, schooling them with his educational songs, and telling stories before bedtime. Wakko knew that Yakko took a lot of pride in his role as the responsible eldest sibling. 

Yakko looked at his sibling and the tall mouse as he continued to speak. “And while I trust Brain to watch over Dot, I never had anyone else take care of her in my place before. And I can’t help but feel so…” He struggled to get the word out from his throat, but managed to let out a defeated sigh.

“useless…” 

Wakko stared at their brother with somber eyes. He could relate to feeling left out. Especially since his U.S. Capital's Song or The Great Wakkorotti didn’t stack up against Yakko’s Nations of the World or Dot’s Poetry Corner. The last thing he wanted was for their older brother to feel the same way. 

“Now that’s just not true,” He thought determinedly. Yakko was many things: funny, talkative, boisterous, clever, sometimes annoying, charismatic, and musically-inclined. But never in all of his years did Wakko describe their older brother as useless. Far from it! Yakko simply needed to be reminded of how important he was. 

Wakko sprinted over to Yakko and catapulted himself onto the bench. With open arms, he gave their brother the biggest hug possible. Yakko felt his eyes start to water as he was immersed in his sibling’s warm and affectionate embrace. 

“You’re not useless, big brother,” The middle child assured as he gently rubbed their right hand up and down their brother’s back. “You’re one of the best people I know!”

Yakko blinked away the tears as he heard his sibling’s adamant praise. 

“And besides, who else can come up with catchy songs about the universe or multiplication?” Wakko added with a playful smile. 

Yakko let out a hearty chuckle. Touched by Wakko’s sincerity, he wrapped his arms around his sibling, pulling them close. “Aw, thanks baby sib.” 

“Anytime, bro,” Wakko replied, giving him a couple of pats on the back. 

Pinky was still perched on Wakko’s hat, watching the loving moment play out through tearful eyes. Their reconciliation played out just like those Hallmark Movie Channel films where the leads made up after their third-act breakup and gave each other warm hugs. But instead of conventionally attractive white couples, it was two toon siblings who fiercely loved in that strong familial way, which was a hundred times better! Oh, how he loved seeing family members make amends! 

When the siblings slowly released themselves from the hug, Pinky hopped down and went over to Yakko’s knee to let him know just how special he was. “Feeling better, love?” The mouse kindly inquired while gently patting his knee. 

Yakko looked at Pinky, who was comforting him like a parent soothing their child. The eldest Warner focused on the mouse’s soft blue eyes. There was not a single trace of malice or anger to be found. Only pure, unconditional love radiated from those eyes. 

After spending decades locked away in the water tower and ignored by the workers in the studio lot, all Yakko ever wanted was attention. He craved any type of reaction from other people, whether it be good or bad. He could make people laugh or irritate them past their limits. Just as long as he received some sort of response, he was content. But as Yakko continued to stare into Pinky’s gentle eyes, he was reminded that the best type of attention was love. Not the romantic type or the adoration from viewers, but familial love. Yakko forged a strong brotherly affection for Wakko and Dot, who equally loved their big bro. Perhaps, he was willing to allow Pinky, and even Brain, to love him and his siblings like the good parents they set themselves up to be. 

“Yeah, I’m feeling better now,” He assured the mouse. But there was something else nagging at him that he wanted to address. “But there’s something I gotta ask you, Pinky. Do you see yourself as our dad?”

Pinky did not hesitate to answer. “I do, but I could be your mum if that makes you more comfortable!” 

Yakko softly chuckled. “I really appreciate you looking out for us, but I need some time to really think about this.” 

Pinky gave the teen a gentle smile as he patted his knee once more. “Poit! That’s alright, take all the time that you need.” 

With a sigh of relief, Yakko was grateful that Pinky didn’t try to rush things through and respected his feelings. If the rest of the weekend went by this smoothly, maybe he would have no issue with referring to the mice as his new dads. 

Wakko looked at the two and decided to change the subject. “You know what, I don’t feel like going to the movies either.” 

Yakko was surprised by what he just heard. “You don’t?”

“Sure! If you don’t wanna go to the movies, then neither do I.” He affirmed. 

“Are you sure?” Yakko asked. He didn’t want to make Wakko feel like he had to make a sacrifice for his sake. 

Wakko gave a confident nod. “We can always go to the movies some other time.” He insisted. “And as a middle child, I’m used to making compromises.” 

The eldest Warner was relieved by his sibling’s astute answer and playfully ruffled their red cap. But with the movies now crossed off their planned schedule, he was uncertain of what he, Wakko, and Pinky should do to pass the time. “Now the only question left is what ways could we have fun outside of the hotel room?” Yakko pondered aloud. He brought himself into a thinking pose, propping his elbow onto his arm which was draped across his lap, and scratching his chin. Wakko sat down next to their brother and immediately copied his pose. 

Pinky pondered as well. Deep in his thoughts, he looked at Yakko and Wakko, who fused into a rocket ship and opened up the ship’s hatch. Pinky immediately hopped inside to find Yakko and Wakko dressed in Star Trek uniforms. The lanky mouse looked down to find himself wearing a fetching red dress uniform from the original series. Yakko pressed a red button and they blasted off the bench and zoomed through the city skyline. Inside the ship, Pinky noticed a big sack full of toys and goodies. The ship crashed through a window, landing in the hotel room. Dot was dressed in an elegant nightgown and a purple fluffy boa draped over her shoulders while Brain, who now had long blonde hair, was dressed in a buttoned-down white satin shirt and black leather pants. The chubby mouse bit on a red rose as he read his book on world history. Dot and Brain were shocked by the sight of the rocket ship. The hatch opened, and the giant bag was pushed through the door and landed in the middle of the room. Yakko, Wakko, and Pinky emerged from the spacecraft and opened up the sack full of goodies. The Warners played with the various toys and games while Brain seductively winked at Pinky and tossed the rose. Pinky managed to catch it with his tail and blushed at his partner’s romantic gesture. Brain immediately wrapped his arm around Pinky’s waist and pulled him in for a sweeping kiss. 

Pinky sighed as he was brought back to the real world. He had the most splendid idea and he couldn’t wait to share it with the Warners. 

“Who says that we could only have fun outside?” The lanky mouse asked. 

Wakko gave the mouse an incredulous look. “What do you mean?” 

“Maybe we could bring all the fun inside the hotel room instead!” Pinky exclaimed. 

Yakko and Wakko thought this through and grinned at the suggestion of bringing the fun back to the hotel room and including Dot and Brain in their activities. After all, she only wanted Yakko and Wakko to have fun but didn’t specify where they could have fun. 

“That’s brilliant Pinky!” Yakko complimented. “Maybe we could do some fun arts and crafts projects!” 

“Or play board games! And buy lots of snacks!” Wakko eagerly added. 

“Or purple: all of the above!” Pinky cheered. 

The three of them bounced off of the bench, excited to bring some much-needed fun to Dot and Brain. Pinky tugged at Wakko’s sweater sleeve, prompting the middle child to place the mouse back on top of their cap. 

“We could go to the mall and purchase some supplies for today’s activities!” Pinky explained as he pulled out the gold credit card from his pocket. 

“Well let’s hop to it!” Yakko declared. He broke off into a sprint, with Wakko running on all fours to keep up with their brother’s pace. Pinky laughed joyfully as he held onto the middle child’s red hat. 

-                  -                   -                       -                       - 

Back in the hotel room, Brain was silently reading Heidi while Dot was fast asleep in the other bed. The smaller mouse took another glimpse at the snoozing Warner sister. He had to admit that she was quite adorable. Hopefully, the girl would be on the mend by the time she woke up.

The small mouse let out a blissful sigh. After dealing with the hectic antics of the boisterous Warner siblings, it was nice to have a moment of peace and quiet. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to develop a brilliant plan for world domination! 

Brain closed his book and quickly retrieved his journal and pens from his pocket. He was determined to devise a fool-proof scheme just in case his previously crafted giant robot plan backfired. Now the question was what could he do? Cradling the pen in his hands, he began to ponder the many ways he could ascend to power. 

Create a mind-control app? Start a pop culture-themed podcast and send out subliminal messages during the ad-breaks? Start a TikTok trend that encourages participants to obey him? Blackmail Elon Musk? Promote an enticing convention and swindle money from con attendees? Stage an elaborate heist in the Mar-a-Lago Club? Build a drone to harass the politicians in Washington D.C.? 

Oh, the possibilities were endless!

But his ears twitched upwards when he heard the door open. Pinky, Yakko, and Wakko returned to the hotel room, each carrying multiple bulk plastic bags filled with who knows what. As the three entered, Brain immediately shushed them, placing his index finger close to his mouth. Once he got their attention, he gestured towards Dot. 

“Right-o!” Pinky whispered, giving his partner a thumbs up. Yakko and Wakko immediately did what they were told and tip-toed quietly into the room. 

Yakko looked over at his sister, slept serenely in bed. He was quick to notice her chest rising and falling with each breath she took. Overcome with relief, the eldest Warner smiled. Dot was okay. 

He looked over at Brain, who was putting away his novel and felt a pang of guilt for doubting him. 

“Hey Brain,” Yakko addressed the big-headed mouse. “Thanks for watching over Dot.” 

Brain smiled at the Warner brother. “You’re welcome.” He said. “And judging from your text, it’s quite obvious how lucky she is to have older siblings who love her dearly.” 

Yakko smiled back, feeling touched by the praise. Wakko carefully patted his back. 

“Hi, Dadoo!” Wakko happily greeted Brain. 

The smaller mouse tilted his head in confusion at first. But then he remembered Wakko referring to him and Pinky as their dads last night and assumed that dadoo was just a unique term of endearment. “Greetings Wakko.” Brain replied with a small wave. “So how was the movie?”

“Oh, we didn’t go to the movies,” Wakko answered.

“You didn’t?” Brain inquired. “Then where pray tell, did you three go?” 

“We just came back from the mall,” Pinky reported. “Yakko and Wakko came up with these fun ideas of activities we could do instead, so we all decided to have a fun-fun, silly-willy day in the hotel room!”

“We figured that we’ll take it easy for today,” Yakko said. 

Yakko and Wakko took out some of the contents from the bags, such as materials for arts and crafts, Jenga, Connect Four, and Chutes and Ladders. Pinky also took out a few items from the bag. 

Pinky brought a few packages for Brain. “Here, I bought these just for you. Troz!” 

Brain opened up the bag to find over a dozen packages of doll clothes. The mouse marveled at various suit jackets, coats, sweaters, pants, and royal outfits Pinky purchased for him. His beau remembered his fashion preferences and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“I remembered what you said about making as many extrapolate purchases as possible. So that’s what I did!” The taller mouse explained. 

Brain was so flattered by Pinky’s memory that he didn’t even bother to correct his poor vocabulary.  “Why Pinky, I’m touched by this kind gesture.” He said graciously. 

“Aww Brain,” Pinky cooed. 

“I’m going to get started on my next graphic novel!” Wakko declared as he took out one of their library books from the book bag. 

Yakko also retrieved his book on European architecture from the bag and sat cross-legged on the ground. He took one of the bags and dumped out its contents. Packages of popsicle sticks and various bottles of glue sprawled across the floor. The teen opened up the package and carefully took out the popsicle sticks and began assembling his latest crafts project.

Brain couldn’t help but notice the eldest Warner’s determined look as he began gluing the popsicle sticks in a large circle while using his library book as a reference. The mouse was fascinated by this development and walked over to the teen. “So, uh what are you up to?” The pudgy mouse politely asked. 

“Oh, I’m building a popsicle stick model of The Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris.” Yakko casually explained. “I read about it in my library book on European architecture.” 

“Ah, le Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre.” Brain blissfully sighed. The mouse was impressed with the oldest Warner’s excitement for recreating the iconic church. “Would you like any assistance?”

“Sure!” Yakko answered enthusiastically. 

The mouse was pleased with the thought of being included in a wholesome crafts project. Brain took out a few popsicle sticks and collaborated with the Warner brother in companionable silence. 

As they built their model cathedral constructed from popsicle sticks, Yakko continued to muse over the idea of the mice becoming new additions to their little family. Pinky constantly doting on them, showering them with praise and gifts. 

Brain, on the other hand, was a grump who could be stern at times but was ultimately a softie who had their best interests in mind. Yakko loved to tease the serious mouse whenever he had the opportunity, but he also loved to share his educational pursuits with him, knowing that the intellectual would appreciate it. 

He also took Pinky and Brain’s short stature into consideration. Since they were small mice, Yakko and his sibs could cause as much chaos as possible and they would have some challenges keeping up with their silly antics. 

There was a lot of untapped potential in allowing the rodents into their everyday lives, and Yakko couldn’t help but ponder the possibilities. 

But the teen lost his train of thought when he heard a soft mumbling from the bed. Wakko, Pinky, and Brain also stopped what they were doing and turned their attention towards Dot, who roused from her sleep. Stretching her arms, the Warner sister fluttered her eyes and slowly got up into a sitting position on the bed. 

Yakko was the first to notice his sister getting up and smiled. “Great to have you back, Lazarus.” He joked. Dot couldn’t help but snicker at her brother’s quip. Yakko decided to ask a more serious question. “You feeling better sis?” 

“Yeah.” She answered. “How long was I asleep?” 

“About a couple of weeks, give or take,” Pinky answered with a shrug. 

“Pinky!” Brain berated his partner. He then turned his attention to the girl. “You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours.” 

Dot nodded as she carefully adjusted to a sitting position on the bed. “Thanks for helping me, Brain.”

The smaller mouse smiled humbly. “You’re welcome.” 

“Oh Dot, I’ve got you something from the store!” Pinky crowed. He sprinted towards one of the bags and took out a plastic box containing a family of Calico Critters. Lifting the package over his head, he raced to the girl’s bedside. 

Dot’s eyes twinkled as she eagerly took the package. She inspected the small bunny family dressed in their finest countryside attire. While Dot prided herself on being an intelligent young woman, she didn’t have it in her to hide away her interests in soft toys and plushies. 

“Oh thank you Pinky! You’re the best!” She exclaimed as she scooped Pinky up and nuzzled her cheek against his face. 

The smaller mouse laughed and let out a “Troz!” as he was smothered with affection. 

Wakko contentedly sighed as he closed the graphic novel. The middle child got up to place the book back into the book bag. “I should get back to work on my latest artistic masterpiece!” He declared as he rummaged through their pocket. But the drawing wasn’t there. 

He rushed over to the book bag and dumped out all the books, hoping that their drawing would fly out. Only a dozen books plummeted onto the floor. Wakko scrambled through the library books in search of their precious illustration but to no avail. 

Yakko and Brain paused their popsicle stick construction when they noticed a distressed Wakko desperately looking for something important. 

“What’s wrong, Wakko?” Yakko asked concernedly. 

“My drawing!” Wakko warbled as tears started pouring down their cheeks. “I must have left it back at the library!” 

Brain got up and carefully approached the worried Warner sibling. “Now now, it’s not the end of the world, Wakko. You can make another drawing here.” He soothed. Providing words of comfort wasn’t one of his strong suits, but he was trying his best. 

“But it’s very important to me!” The middle child trembled as the waterfall of tears continued to fall. 

Brain felt something stirring deep inside him. Seeing Wakko reduced to tears over his missing illustration brought up the painful memory of Pinky sobbing uncontrollably when he forgot to send his letter to Santa. The mouse learned not to brush aside Pinky’s own wants as trivial and he would not do the same for the middle Warner sibling. 

With his tiny pink paws, Brain gently patted the child’s foot. “Dry your tears Wakko, we’ll retrieve your picture from the library before closing time.” 

“You will?” Wakko grinned at the mouse despite the tears that streaked their face. Brain replied with a confident nod. 

The smaller mouse retrieved his smartphone from his pocket and tapped his Google app. He typed the name of the library in the search bar and hit the magnifying glass button. He immediately found the results and looked over at the library information on the right-hand side, searching for the weekend hours of availability. The library closes at 5:00 PM. He looked over at the time on the top left-hand corner of the phone. It was now 4:45 PM. 

Brain looked over at Wakko with sheer determination. “Come along, Wakko. We’ll make it to the library faster if we take my human suit.” 

The chubby mouse sprinted over towards his robot, swiftly climbed up the suit, and hopped inside the driver’s seat. Yanking the control levers, he swiftly grabbed Wakko and made their way out of the hotel room. The mouse ran over to the elevator and saw the doors about to close. Brain managed to place his foot on the divider, stopping the doors from closing. Once he got inside, Brain pressed the rooftop button. 

“But aren’t we going to the library?” Wakko asked worriedly. 

“We are Wakko, we won’t be walking or taking a cab.” Brain answered with fierce determination. 

“But I will promise you that we will arrive at the library before closing time.” He guaranteed. 

Once the elevator doors opened, Brain began to sprint towards the center of the rooftop patio. “Hold on to your hat!” He commanded, and the middle child firmly guarded their red cap with one hand. 

Pressing the red button in the controls, Brain ignited the jet-powered boosters on his shoes and he took off from the rooftop and ascended above the hotel. Brain carefully steered the controls as he flew across the city skyline, careful to keep Wakko secure in his arms. 

Wakko kept a strong grip over their hat as their eyes wandered down to the ground. He looked over to The Brain, who kept a determined stare as he searched for the public library. Wakko stuck out their tongue and let out an enthusiastic cheer. 

“Wooooo!!!” Wakko joyfully shouted. Many onlookers in the city streets turned their attention to the strange robotic suit carrying the eager toon. Not the most unusual thing spotted in Los Angeles on a Saturday afternoon. 

Brain spotted the library gardens and swiftly descended towards his destination. Jerking the controls, Brain landed near the library entrance in a superhero pose. Wakko released himself from Brain’s hold and ran into the library. 

Upon remembering the no-running policy, Wakko sped-walked over to the children’s section. Once he burst through the entrance of the kid-friendly area, Wakko picked up the pace. He spotted the drawing tables but was sullen to find them bare, save for the box of colored pencils. 

“Oh no!” Wakko gasped. Someone must have stolen his artwork! While he didn’t have the same detective skills as Hercule Yakko, he was determined to get to the bottom of this!

“Can I help you?” A kind voice asked. Wakko turned around to find the nice librarian he met this morning. Maybe she can help him solve the case!

“Excuse me Miss Librarian, I left my important drawing on the table earlier, and now it’s gone!” Wakko nervously explained while rocking on their heels in anticipation. 

The librarian sympathetically looked at the child before remembering. “Oh, that’s because I saved it!” 

“Really!?” Wakko exclaimed. 

“Yep,” The librarian confirmed as she opened up the drawer and took out the illustration. “Normally we recycle any pictures that are left behind, but I thought that this picture was too good to be tossed out. Plus I figured that you and your family would have come back for it anyway.” 

The librarian gave the picture back to Wakko, who quickly retrieved it. The middle child gazed at the drawing with tears of joy. 

“Reunited and it feels so good!” He cheered while clutching the picture to their chest. “Thank you very much, Miss Librarian!” 

“Your welcome.” The librarian kindly replied. 

Wakko waved at her as he made their bouncy exit from the children’s section. By the time he exited the children’s section, he found Brain awkwardly waiting by the circulation desk. 

“Found it!” He proclaimed as he showed the mouse the back of the picture. 

“That’s wonderful.” Brain sighed in relief. “May I see your illustration?”

“I’m not finished with my drawing yet. But I promise I’ll show you when it’s done.” Wakko said as he stuffed the picture in their shirt. “Scout’s honor!” 

“Very well. Let’s make our way back to the hotel.” Brain said as he held Wakko’s hand. Once the two made their way out of the library, Wakko tugged at the robotic arm hard enough to gain Brain’s attention. 

“Hey Dadoo, can we fly again?” Wakko eagerly asked, bouncing up and down. 

“I would prefer if we walked.” Brain answered hesitantly. 

“Awww,” Wakko groaned in defeat. 

“Come now, walking has its benefits.” Brain reassured the middle child, but they still looked down at the sidewalk, kicking a stone pebble out of frustration. The mouse furrowed his brow as he pondered. Certainly, the best way to please Wakko was to please their appetite. 

Brain gently squeezed Wakko’s hand, causing the Warner sibling to look up at the big-headed mouse. “I know of a wonderful designer donut shop where we can pick up two boxes of confectioneries to share with the others.” 

Wakko’s eyes widened with joy, eager to visit his favorite donut shop once again. “Yay!” The middle child chirped before leaping into Brain’s arms. The mouse was caught unaware by Wakko’s sudden gesture of love but welcomed it nonetheless. 

-              -                    -                       -                      -

Back at the hotel room, Yakko, Dot, and Pinky were playing an intense game of Jenga. Pinky inspected the unsteady tower, searching for the perfect block to remove. The mouse found a loose piece. He yanked it out in one swift motion, but the tower soon collapsed on him. 

Dot put a hand over her mouth as she saw the poor mouse toppled by the Jenga blocks. Yakko couldn’t help but laugh at the tower’s sudden destruction, but the Warner sister swiftly elbowed him. 

Fortunately, Pinky popped out of the pile with a hearty laugh. “Oh, that was so much fun! Narf!” 

“Let’s play another round!” Yakko declared as he gathered a handful of Jenga blocks. He began to assemble the tower when the door clicked open. He, Dot and Pinky turned their heads to see Brain entering the room, carrying Wakko in one arm (whose face was covered with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles) and two boxes of donuts in the other. 

“Hi fellas!” Wakko greeted with a wave. 

“Hey, Wakko!” Dot called back. The middle child was relieved to know that their little sister looked much healthier and seemed to be on the mend. 

“Did you find your drawing?” Yakko asked his sibling. “Yup!” Wakko cheered as he jumped out of Brain’s grasp and onto the floor. “And we also found donuts!” He swiftly took the two boxes and opened one of them, showcasing eleven donuts. 

Pinky trotted over to the box and gazed at the many different flavors. “I’ve never seen so many donuts like this in my life!”

“Oh, they’re the best!” Wakko exclaimed as he was about to list off the various donuts. “There’s brie, white cheddar, chicken noodle soup, buffalo chicken, seafood salad, avocado, macaroon, bacon, ranch dressing, and macaroni and cheese!”

“Ooh, so many choices! Zort!” Pinky exclaimed. “But I’ll have the macaroni and cheese donut please!” Wakko happily handed the donut over to Pinky who eagerly accepted the unusual treat. 

Brain retrieved a handful of napkins from his suit pocket and offered them to the group. “Now let’s save the hotel cleaning staff the trouble and avoid making a colossal mess.” 

“Okay Brain!” Pinky replied as he took a napkin. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot quickly grabbed some napkins from the robotic hand before grabbing their donuts of choice. 

The chubby mouse placed the last two napkins on his bed before exiting the robotic suit. After landing on the mattress, he walked over to the box of donuts to inspect the bizarre donut flavors. 

Before Wakko could eat his second donut, he noticed Brain having a difficult time selecting which flavor to indulge himself with. The middle child remembered how Brain offered his french fries the other night and decided to return the favor. He looked at their donut and split it in half. 

“Here Dadoo, have some of my mashed potatoes with butter and gravy donut!” Wakko eagerly offered. 

“That’s awfully kind of you Wakko, but I’m all set.” Brain declined. “I think I’ll have the brie donut instead.” 

“Okay, suit yourself!” Wakko concluded. He threw the two halves of his donut in the air and caught them in their mouth. Wakko hummed contentedly as he felt the mashed potato, butter, and gravy melt in their mouth before swallowing. 

“So Brain, what’s the dinner situation like?” Dot inquired as she cautiously took a small bit from her donut, careful about not upsetting her stomach again. 

Brain pondered for a moment. Dot’s sudden illness threw a wrench in his plans to take the kids out to a fancy restaurant, throwing away another chance at having an elegant dining experience over the weekend while he could pay for it. But Brain was never one to dwell in defeat. He couldn’t change what he can’t control, but he could always adapt. 

“Is anyone in the mood for room service?” Brain asked the group. 

“Now we’re talking!” Yakko exclaimed. 

The mouse hopped over to the nightstand and took out the pamphlet regarding the hotel’s room service. After everyone informed him of what they wanted, Brain picked up the telephone, punched in the numbers, and requested a lengthy dinner order: meatloaf and side vegetables for Yakko, roast beef and chicken for Wako, chicken noodle soup and caesar salad for Dot, garlic jumbo prawns and filet mignon for himself and a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes and pudding snacks for Pinky. 

A half-hour later, their dinners arrived. The Warners sat down on the floor as they consumed their respective meals. Pinky dove into the potato as if it was a swimming pool. Brain was satisfied with his meal, thankful that the steamed carrots that came with his prawns were served al dente. 

After dinner, The Warners plopped back onto the bed rather exhausted after a long day. Dot took the remote control and turned on the television. She searched through the hotel’s selected movies in search of something decent to sit through. 

“The Sandlot was a bit of a let down in my opinion, so I’m gonna pick out tonight’s movie.” Dot drawled as she scanned through the various movie titles. 

After a minute of scrolling past some bland-looking movies, she came across an unusual-looking movie poster. A picture of Brain wearing a brown toupee standing in a dramatic pose with his eyes closed beneath the bold text of the title: A Beautiful Brain. 

Wakko and Dot ‘oohed’ and ‘awed’ at the screen. Yakko initially let out an amused snort but then he read that the movie was nominated for several Academy Awards, including Best Picture. A movie that was directed by and starred Brain somehow was in the running for Best Picture? 

The Warners were wildly curious about the fact that Brain of all people was involved in such a prestigious movie. 

“Okay, I have so many questions right now!” Yakko declared. “Were there no good movies out the year you made that movie?” 

“What made you want to direct?” Dot asked with genuine intrigue. 

“Can we watch this movie please?” Wakko begged. 

Brain waved his hands in the air. “Now, calm down.” He ordered with an indignant frown. “To answer your inquiries, yes I acted, directed, and produced this piece of critically acclaimed Oscar bait, and, as you children would suspect, it was all part of an elaborate plan to take over the world.” 

“By winning the hearts of critics and audiences everywhere?” Dot spoke up. 

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t the main objective of my plan.” 

“So what’s it about?” Wakko asked curiously with their tongue bouncing about. 

“A Beautiful Brain follows the story of a once-promising gifted student who grows up to be a weary and cynical college professor who learns that his value in life extends beyond what he could provide with his superior intellect.” Brain explained. 

“Oh, it’s such an emotional rush! I laughed, I cried, picked my nose when no one was looking!” Pinky eagerly added. “And it could have won Best Picture too, if it hadn’t been for…” The mouse’s smile contorted into a rueful frown as he remembered his blunder during his mission to secure Brain’s place as Best Picture winner so he could take over the world on Oscar night. “Me...”

Pinky tucked his legs in, wrapped his arms around his knees, and lowered his head on top of his kneecaps. Brain gave a sympathetic sigh and gently rubbed his partner’s back. “But all is well, dear Pinky.” 

“What happened?” Yakko inquired. 

“I was supposed to rig the ceremony by putting in Brain’s envelope in the winners’ pile, but I accidentally put in my no-bake cheesecake recipe in the envelope by mistake!” Pinky sadly recalled. 

“And had I been announced the winner, I would have used my immobilization ray to kidnap the entire audience of Hollywood elites and force them to do my bidding.” Brain finished as he continued to caress Pinky’s back in a soothing manner. “But it’s best not to dwell on past failures.” The pudgy mouse reminded his partner.

“Can we still watch the movie?” Wakko asked anxiously. 

The smaller mouse cringed at the question. Truthfully, he had not revisited the movie since it premiered in select theaters, and since they recounted their failed plan to the kids, he was not in the mood to watch his critically acclaimed vanity project. 

“No, you kids wouldn’t enjoy it.” Brain insisted. “It’s a dreadfully long movie with too many conversational scenes and not enough action to keep your attention.” 

“You’re right, that doesn’t sound very captivating at all,” Yakko remarked. 

“Yes,” Brain said dryly, brushing aside the eldest Warner’s quip. “In all honesty, the movie makes The English Patient look like Mad Max: Fury Road.” 

“Wait a minute, they made another of those movies?” Dot asked. Yakko and Wakko were equally surprised by this revelation. Apparently, they glossed over the most recent Mad Max movie in their Reboot It song. 

“You haven’t seen Mad Max: Fury Road !?” Pinky and Brain shouted simultaneously. The Warners wordlessly shook their heads in unison. The mice looked at each other and knew that this needed to be remedied. 

“Oh, it’s only one of the best movies in the history of history!” Pinky explained. “There are so many cars that go zoom-zoom-zoomie! Zort! And there’s a lot of emotional moments that make you feel all soft and gooshy!” 

“Fury Road is a cinematic masterpiece that works on so many levels!” Brain added. “Brilliant action set-pieces, a major focus on visual storytelling with biting commentary on the brutality of war, and a magnificent exploration of feminism.” 

“Feminism in my action movie!?” Dot gushed, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Sign me up!” 

“Alright, let’s see if we can find this movie anywhere,” Yakko said as he scrolled through the various movie titles until he found a colorful movie poster featuring a woman with a shaved head and a man in the front seat of a car. 

“Oooh, so pretty,” Wakko awed. As he read the descriptor he noticed one huge obstacle. “Aw man, the movie is rated R...”

Brain hummed in response. “It appears that this movie is deemed inappropriate for children…” He drawled as he gazed at the Warners’ defeated expressions. But he laughed in response. “But we’re cool guardians, right Pinky?” 

“Amen to that!” Pinky cheerfully responded. 

“And if we’re going off by the date you were originally conceived in the Warner Brothers Animation Department, all three of you are technically over the age of seventeen and needn’t worry about this sort of issue.” Brain stated confidently. 

Yakko and Wakko bounced up and down the bed in elation, linking their arms and doing a do-si-do. Dot went over and hugged the mice. “Yes! I can’t believe you two are gonna let us watch the adult action movie!” 

“It would be a crime not to show this movie to you kids,” Brain chuckled. 

“Yes! Best dads ever!” She declared as she hugged them close, their cheeks squishing together. Pinky savored the affection while Brain was stunned by the sudden gesture. Once they broke away, Dot carefully cradled the mice in her hands. 

“But mark my words, I will watch your Oscar contender at some point, old man!” Dot added. 

“Yes, yes, certainly.” Brain waved his hand in dismissal. “But for now, let us indulge in this beautifully crafted piece of action cinema.” 

Dot gently carried the mice in her hands as she brought them over to the other bed. Yakko and Wakko landed on the bed and got into their movie-watching positions. 

During the movie, Brain was surprised to learn that the Warners remained relatively still when watching the movie. Although Wakko did get up from time to time to act out the thrilling action scenes. 

Brain was so invested in the movie that it took him a few minutes to realize that something soft and warm had wrapped around his broken, zig-zagged tail. He looked down to see Pinky’s tail intertwined with his. A gesture normally reserved for moments of intimate cuddling after a failed scheme to take over the world or a particularly grueling day of experiments at the lab. Regardless, Brain smiled at Pinky’s affectionate gesture. 

The pudgy mouse looked over at the Warners and his partner before releasing a contented sigh. Even though they weren’t able to go to the movie theater together, they still managed to watch a movie from the comfort of the hotel room. 

Once the credits rolled, the Warners applauded as Brain turned off the television set. Brain tried to get up but felt a sharp pain in his rear when he tried to move. He looked over at Pinky and noticed that their tails were still tangled together. 

The color of Brain’s cheeks and tail tinted to a light shade of pink. “Pinky!” He alerted his partner, gesturing to their tails. 

The taller mouse looked over at their tails and blushed at the sight of their intimate display. “Oh, sorry Brain,” Pinky replied with a sheepish smile. He slowly unraveled his tail, careful not to hurt his partner, and liberated his appendage. 

Brain was ready to give a reprimanding speech to Pinky about showcasing such lewd activity in front of the children but was alerted when he felt a gloved finger gently patting his large head. The mouse turned to see the Warner sister batting her eyes and endearing him to her cuteness. 

“Hey Brain, can you and Pinky tell us a story?” Dot asked. Wakko nodded enthusiastically with their tongue bouncing about. 

“We would be delighted to, wouldn’t we Pinky?” Brain answered as he slyly glanced at his partner. 

Pinky eagerly rushed over to his beau’s side, pulling him into a side hug. “We should tell the story of Rapunzel- no! We should act out the story of Rapunzel, Brain! With costumes and sets!” He suggested. The Warners were excited at the idea of the mice putting on a show for them. 

“Sounds like an ambitious endeavor, but with enough ingenuity, we can pull it off.” Brain concurred. “Now, we just need to obtain materials for the set, some costumes, and a long wig for Rapunzel’s hair.” 

“I’ve got some pieces of cardboard from the crafts store,” Yakko stated, pointing over to the small pile of art materials. 

“Excellent!” Brain said with a confident grin. 

“I have some Calico Critter clothes that would fit you both.” Dot added. 

“Wonderful!” Pinky exclaimed, clasping his hands together. 

“I’ve got some pisghetti for Rapunzel’s hair!” Wakko declared. He reached into their hammerspace and retrieved a handful of long, moist strands of thin spaghetti, which was covered with small specks of black fur. 

Brain stared at the spaghetti and back at the middle child. “Wakko, I am both amazed and disgusted by your creativity.” The smaller mouse remarked. Wakko grinned at the unusual compliment. 

“Now, Pinky and I need approximately fifteen minutes to prepare for our low-budget stage production of Rapunzel. So I suggest that you three get ready for bed.” 

The Warners saluted the mice and immediately began their bedtime routine of changing into their pajamas and brushing their teeth. 

The mice were quick to construct an elaborate set made entirely out of cardboard, don their wardrobes, come up with a script on the fly and memorize said script and all the musical numbers. Pinky was excited to play the role of Rapunzel. The mouse wore a lavender dress and fashioned the spaghetti into a braided blonde wig. Brain decided to play the leading man, wearing a teal vest, a white undershirt, and black pants, and his brown toupee (the same toupee he wore when he taught high school under his Mr. Brainslowski alias and when he acted in A Beautiful Brain). 

The Warners emerged from the bathroom in their pajamas. Yakko had a grey T-Shirt with the Warner Bros. logo and red flannel pajama pants. Wakko wore a hockey jersey and a blue bathrobe. Dot a purple nightshirt and matching pajama pants. The siblings were surprised to see a small set on the foot of their bed and the mice already dressed in their respective costumes. 

“So, you guys have everything all set?” Yakko asked. 

Pinky eagerly nodded. “I’m so excited to play the role of Rapunzel!” He declared as he twirled around. 

“And I’m equally excited to play the role of Finn Glider! The charming rogue and Rapunzel’s love interest.” Brain explained dramatically as he struck a dynamic pose. 

Yakko raised his hand in objection. “Uuuuuhhh, but isn’t his name Flynn Ri-” 

“Ah ah ah!” Brain interrupted with a pointed finger. “We don’t want the mouse to sue, now do we?”

“But Brain, why on earth would I want to sue you?” Pinky questioned as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Brain rolled his eyes and he took Pinky’s hand. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” He told his partner as he tugged him by his hand, retreating behind the curtains of their makeshift stage and turned off the lights. 

Moments later, a small puppeteer’s box emerged from the curtains, with a small dim light behind the screen. The mice picked up their shadow puppet props as Brain’s booming voice provided the expository information in the prologue. 

“Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom there lived a beautiful princess. But the poor girl was kidnapped at a young age by an awful hag. The poor girl, whom the hag named Rapunzel, lived in solitude in an abandoned tower in the woods. Each day, she stared out at the world from her tower window, longing for companionship…” 

The lights behind the small screen blew out. The puppeteer’s box was wheeled away to the left and the curtains pulled back to reveal a painted forest background and a cardboard tower. So far the Warners were impressed with the mice’s creativity and were immediately invested in the play. 

Pinky strutted onto the stage, but Brain quickly yanked him back. “You have to open up the tower window, you imbecile!” Brain reprimanded in a hushed voice. 

“Oh, sorry Brain!” Pinky whispered back. The Warners suppressed their laughter as the mice dealt with their theatrical screw-up. 

The cardboard shutters to the cardboard tower flew open and Pinky popped his head out with a radiant smile on his face. 

“Oh, what a lovely morning it is outside! Narf!” He spoke in a somewhat monotone voice. He looked down to refer to his script and continued on. “The animals are having such a fun-fun silly-willy time outside, and yet I am alone in my tower. Oh, how I wish I had someone to talk to.” 

At that moment, Brain waltzed onto the stage and stood in a dramatic pose. 

Pinky smiled and waved at his co-star. “Greetings, fair person!” He exclaimed. “And what might your name be?” 

Brain looked up at the tower and tossed back his toupee. “It is I, Finn Glider! Notorious outlaw, cunning rogue, and certified ladies’ man!” The mouse flashed a smarmy grin at his audience. 

Yakko and Dot stifled their giggles. 

Wakko, on the other hand, was frightened at the sight of Brain baring his teeth and pulled their hat downward to shield their eyes. “You guys didn’t tell me that this was a scary story!” He wailed. 

After giving a smug smile, he turned his attention back to Pinky and approached the cardboard tower. “And who might you be fair maiden?” He inquired. “I could only hope your name is as beautiful as your face!” 

“My name is Pinky- I mean, Rapunzel! Zort!” Pinky faltered. 

“Nice save,” Brain muttered sarcastically. 

“Thank you, Brain.” Pinky kindly replied whilst batting his eyes. The mouse glanced back at the script in his hands and focused on his performance. “So Finn, would you like to drop by for a spot of tea?” 

“That sounds lovely, fair Rapunzel.” Brain eagerly responded. He looked to the tower and his smile turned into a forlorn frown. “But alas, I have no way to access the tower.” 

“Not to worry, Finn. For I could let down my hair for you to climb up the tower!” Pinky crowed. 

Brain knelt down and extended his arm out to Pinky. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair!” 

The taller mouse gathered the braided spaghetti wig, which proved to be much heavier than he anticipated. But nevertheless, he happily dropped the pasta wig, which crash-landed on top of Brain. The Warners laughed at the sudden slapstick comedy while the chubby mouse let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Glad to know you kids are enjoying yourselves…” Brain soured. 

Once he got up, he climbed up the spaghetti wig. However, this proved to be a challenge, for the pasta was surprisingly slippery after staying in Wakko’s pocket for an uncertain amount of time. Upon reaching the top of the tower, Pinky pulled him through the window and the curtains closed, ending the scene. 

For the next half hour, the mice continued to perform their rendition of Rapunzel, and the Warners were enchanted throughout the play. In the final scene, the two mice sat in a boat made from a used toilet paper roll cylinder, singing a passionate duet about finding the light and falling in love. Once Pinky and Brain completed their song, they leaned in for a kiss and the curtains closed. 

The children stood up and applauded. The mice emerged from the curtains to see their enthusiastic audience. Pinky and Brain exchanged loving glances, proud that they were able to pull off a play in a short amount of time and with limited resources. Clasping their paws together, the mice bowed. 

“Oh man, that was a riot!” Yakko cheered. 

“Two thumbs way up!” Dot agreed. 

Pinky took off his pasta wig and walked up to Wakko. “Oh, can I eat some of the spaghetti?” He pleaded with the middle child.

“Of course,” Wakko said, as he took the spaghetti and split it evenly between themselves and the smaller mouse. “After all, sharing is caring. Right, Brain?” 

The intelligent mouse was surprised that not only Wakko remembered his dry remark from their dinner at McDonald’s, but how he has taken it to heart. “That’s correct, Wakko.” 

Pinky took one of the strands and offered it to Brain. “Here, you take this end of the spaghetti  and we’ll recreate that iconic kiss from Lady and the Tramp!” 

Brain silently shoved the spaghetti back to Pinky. “A tempting offer, but I would prefer to have pasta that wasn’t stuffed in someone’s pocket for Lord knows how long.” 

“Okay, more for me!” Pinky said before slurping the spaghetti. Brain shook his head at his partner’s moronic display. 

Pinky was about to give Brain a kiss, but Brain held his hand up before their lips could collide. “I will only kiss you after you brush your teeth.” He commanded. 

“Right!” Pinky agreed. 

“Okay children, you know the routine.” Brain addressed. 

The Warners nestled themselves underneath the covers. They were rather exhausted after an eventful day and were ready to hit the hay. 

Pinky and Brain gave each of the siblings their mandatory goodnight kiss on the cheek before Wakko gave them a goodnight smooch on their heads in return. After the middle child placed them on the nightstand, the mice hopped to their bed. 

By the time Wakko turned off the lamp, Brain collapsed on the pillow, eager to fall asleep. The mouse closed his eyes and was ready to drift off to his slumber when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. 

He opened his eyes to see Pinky gazing at him with a worried look. 

“Don’t go to sleep just yet,” Pinky said. “I’ve got a surprise for you in the bathroom.” 

“Well, that doesn’t sound unsettling in the slightest.” Brain sarcastically remarked. 

“But Brain,” Pinky whined. 

Brain looked into Pinky’s eyes and pondered for a moment. The last surprise Pinky planned for him turned out to be a fun karaoke night. Perhaps he should have more faith in his partner and indulge in whatever he had in store for him. 

“Oh, alright.” Brian surrendered in an exasperated tone. 

“Great!” Pinky cheered as he gave Brain a quick smooch on his chubby cheek. “I promise you’re gonna love it! Just give me ten minutes to prepare!” 

With that, the lanky mouse hopped down from the bed and scurried over to the restroom. Brain placed his paw over his right cheek and let out a tired sigh. “I don’t know whether to be excited or scared of what that imbecile has up his sleeve.” 

AN: I apologize for the long break between chapters. I was feeling the winter blues and hit a bad writer’s block. Fortunately, I managed to overcome that roadblock and now I’m focusing on my writing. The next chapter is going to be considerably shorter compared to the last few chapters and more Brinky-centric, but it’s just as important in regards to character growth.

[sondepoch]

Chapter 7

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Panic sets in the moment you open your eyes.

You'd sensed hints of it in your dreams: the sensation of Lucifer's arms loosening their hold on you despite your protests, the feeling of the Devildom heat growing faint and being replaced with the coolness of the heavens, the sensation of the Morningstar's aura growing dimmer and dimmer until you couldn't detect it at all.

No doubt, your subconscious realized what had happened. Asleep, you may have been, but you felt it when your angel form manifested, when the room grew noisy with shouts and chaos as people must have set their eyes upon the blackness of your wings.

Your subconscious had known it, and yet your mind continued to deny such truth.

But now, having opened your eyes and taken in the unmistakable sight of the room you've spent thousands of years in—you can't deny it any longer.

You've been taken back to the Celestial Realm.

"S-Simeon!" You shout on instinct, untangling your limbs from the softness of the blankets.

When he doesn't come, you stand, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Your eyes widen when they fall upon your wings.

They're white.

Just how long have you been asleep?

Biting your lip, you creep the door open. "Simeon?" You call again, hoping, praying that he's nearby. You turn your head to the right, glancing down the hall that's usually lined with paintings and artwork, but all you see is an empty stone wall.

A sight you know all too well.

Gasping, you slam the door and retreat back inside, but then all the small details of the room you'd missed earlier are now highlighted in your eyes.

Your eyes dart over to the circular rug, the same creamy white you're used to but far too new and pristine to be the same one that you've had in your own room. You glance at the bedframe, a perfect replica of the one you once slept on, but it lacks the scratches along the side from all the nights you'd spent dragging your nails along the wood in boredom. The robes hanging off the hooks on the back of your door look the same, but they lack the telltale creases of your failed ironing attempts, too perfect to be the ones you've worn for so long.

You fall onto your knees, a shudder running through your body when you recall the familiar sight of the empty, stone walls outside.

There's no pretending otherwise.

You're in the tower of the High Seraphs.

You glance out of your window, hoping that the sight will prove you wrong, but the lack of neighboring clouds only confirms your fears. The room you're in is nothing more than a replica of the one in your shared abode with Simeon, the familiar surroundings nothing more than an illusion meant to give you some peace of mind.

You scowl.

Stomping over to your closet, you yank it open to find all the same clothes you have in your actual room, but it's obvious that these have never been worn. Still, you yank them over your figure with such force that you almost injure your wings in the process, knowing that time is of utmost importance right now.

You frown, running a comb through your hair as you begin to realize everything that must have taken place while you slept.

Doubtless, Simeon administered medicine to you, which must have manifested your angel form. If you recall the sound of shouting correctly, then the first person to scream must have been Luke—who likely summoned Michael on instinct.

Curses, you can't help but think. Luke can hardly be blamed for doing what he thought was right, but this situation absolutely could have been avoided if you'd told Simeon the truth about your wings. And now he must know that I've kept secrets from him.

Regret fills your heart at the realization, and you begin to wish you'd given him the truth from the beginning. Not just about your wings, but about Lucifer as well.

You're terrified to see the look of disappointment he'll give you when the two of you next meet.

But surely, there will be more to it than just disappointment. Michael must have also seen your wings and returned you to the Celestial Realm, which means that, as your guardian, Simeon should also be here. And if the High Seraphs know that your wings turned black while under his guardianship…

You don't want to begin to think about the punishment he will have to endure.

Mind heavy with thoughts of the angel, you yank open the door and storm down the familiar corridor that leads to the chamber of the High Seraphs. You've walked these halls before, during the Great Celestial War, when you were locked in these towers and isolated from Lucifer.

But back then, you were young. Young, timid, and docile. Now, you won't hesitate to speak your mind.

***

"Speak wisely, child." One of the seraphs warns you, raising a hand. Every holy being in the room frowns upon your figure, disapproving of your blatant disrespect, but you won't let them intimidate you into silence.

"Return me to the Devildom at once!" You repeat, your plea phrased as a demand while you cross your arms in defiance. "You promised me that I would be given a full year with Lucifer, and I will be given the full year!"

"You will be given what we permit," A voice returns swiftly, disinterested in your protests. "And nothing more."

"You can't go back on a promise!" You screech, gesturing wildly. You hate their utter apathy toward your situation, how they barely look at you as you argue your case. "It's unholy! You swore to me! You swore!"

"Our oath to you was that you would be allowed to partake in the exchange program as long as you did not allow your divinity to be corrupted by the demons," Another voice answers, and you whip around to face them. "Do not lie, child. Your wings were black as the abyss when Michael returned you to us. You are not so foolish to let such a thing go unnoticed. It is by Father's blessing that they have been restored to their true color."

"Perhaps our current punishment is too lenient for the child. Not only did she hide the truth, but she broke her vows to us in the process."

"Indeed. It is rather an embarrassment to have one so troublesome."

"Ah, but she is still young. With her lies, she has ruined all chances of ever seeing that fallen angel she adores again, so perhaps that may be punishment enough. Not to say that further punishment cannot be issued if she continues to act out."

Your body flits back and forth, turning every time a new voice speaks. The room is circular, and the High Seraphs each sit across from each other in different parts of the room, making a perfect circle that forces you to turn every time someone else speaks. Finally, you've had enough.

"Stop!" You shout, hands clenched into fists. You know that every time you raise they take you even less seriously, so you try to compose yourself. "Please, High Seraphs. I beg you—hear me! My wings turned black not from corruption but simply because I absorbed the darkness the way I absorb light. It never tainted my purity, I assure you!"

"The darkness did not taint your purity, but do you deny that you allowed Lucifer to do so?"

How do they know?

You flinch at the seraph's words, looking down. "W-we never had…"

"It matters not what physical pursuits you engaged in!"

"You foolishly gave your heart to a demon, child. How is that befitting of the holy equalizer of our realm?!"

"Love between an angel and a demon is forbidden. We allowed you to reunite with Lucifer because you swore that your love for him was pure, but that vile creature defiled you with temptation!"

You stare at the ground as the High Seraphs continue to rain insults down on you, each one mocking and ridiculing your relationship with Lucifer. You shut their voices out, trying your hardest to hold back tears as you stand, remembering a time where they had once praised you with the same vigor.

When a silence settles over the room, you speak again.

"W-who told you?" You ask, glancing away. You don't have any proper defense for falling in love with Lucifer when you were warned against that very thing, but you have the right to know who breached your privacy and spilled your secret to the High Seraphs. "W-was it Simeon?"

"Simeon?" A seraph asks from behind you, scoffing. "The fool has refused to answer any of our questions since returning. He is being punished. When he understands that it is his responsibility to confess the extent of your sins while in the Devildom, you can be certain that your own punishment will follow."

You gasp. "You would punish him simply for maintaining his silence? That's awful! It's immoral!"

"Simeon's sole instructions were to ensure that you were kept in line, and he betrayed us in the name of what he called your 'happiness.' We are not so foolish. Your happiness lies here, in this realm. Not in the arms of the treacherous Morningstar."

A fire ignites within your heart, fueled by the thought of these heartless divinities punishing the angel who's protected you for so long. "How could you do that?!" You spit, disbelief painted over your features. "Simeon has served for millennia as your holy defender! How can you lock away the very angel sent to protect you?!"

"Simeon is honorable, no doubt, but his loyalty is wasted. We live in the Celestial Realm, child. The defender of the High Seraphs is a noble title, but what need have we of him? Who would attack us?"

The fire in your heart blazes bright with the seraph's deriding words.

"Me."

The word leaves your mouth before you can even consider the weight of what you're saying, and you lunge forward to the seraph directly in front of you, your smaller frame growing closer and closer to his until he rises, summoning a wave of holy energy that deflects your body back onto the ground with more force than you ever imagined a person possible of procuring.

You try to suppress the sound that leaves your mouth when your body strikes the floor, sending you sliding along the ground as it cracks beneath the weight of the force you were thrown at. But you can't hold back your whimper as you raise your hand in defense, wings curling around your body as you try to nurse your front where the seraph's whip of light burned into your body.

"Foolish child!" The seraph exclaims, shaking his head in disdain. "You would dare attempt to attack me?!"

Another voice speaks up, and you might consider it an attempt to deescalate the situation if not for the fact that they take the side of your assaulter. "Celestial equalizer or not, this child's ways have been corrupted by demons. Let us leave her to repent, and that will be the end of her right to see us for the day."

With that, you sense the bodies of those around you fading, each seraph disappearing and leaving you alone in the room.

You let out a broken wail once they're all gone, not sure you're releasing your pain over being struck or over learning that Simeon is being punished for your actions or over the fact that the High Seraphs have made it painfully clear that you will not be permitted to see Lucifer ever again.

For once, you really don't know which is worse.

***

"And you'll never let go of my hand, is that clear?"

"For the thousandth time, I get it!" You tugged Lucifer's arm forward, pulling the two of you closer to the edge of the cloud. "Can we start now?"

Lucifer hesitated, glancing away. He didn't want to, you knew, but it was high time you learned how to fly, and he had made it clear that he wouldn't be letting any of his siblings teach you.

"Come on, Luci," You mumbled quietly, his nickname slipping from your lips as you pleaded with him. The angel had practiced posture and form all morning and all afternoon with you, running you through various exercises on land that he insisted were necessary for flight. Of course, you knew it was all just a ploy to delay the inevitable. Mammon had already told you about his first attempt with flight, and how Lucifer had thrown him into the sky and let the boy figure the rest out on his own, merely flying beneath him in case something went wrong.

But Lucifer was far too protective to pull anything remotely similar with you, and his hand never left yours as he tried to protest one more time.

"The sun is setting, MC." He gestured with one arm toward the ball of fire, which had only begun to journey underneath the horizon. "It's best to wait until tomorrow to try this."

"No," You responded, scowling. "We're doing this now."

Without even waiting for his word of agreement, you swallowed the last of your fear and jumped forward, tugging Lucifer with you as you spread your wings.

"Eek!" You screamed when you realized that you were falling, only held up by Lucifer's firm grip. But then you recalled the exercises he had drilled into you and attempted to flap your wings once, then twice, then thrice, and then you were flying!

"Lucifer—Lucifer, look! I'm doing it! I'm flying!" You exclaimed in joy, realizing that you were floating in place, wings bobbing your figure up and down as they flapped. Laughter spilled from your lips as the thrill of flight seeped into your bones, feeling nothing but unbridled joy as you pulled the angel next to you higher and higher.

"Very good, MC," He said, trying to keep his voice even. But you could see the pride in his smile, and his grip on your hand loosened as he began trusting you to use your wings. His hold tightened every time you wobbled or lost balance, and he pulled you closer when the two of you began making simple circles around the cloud of your home island, but soon he was letting you roam freely in front of him, a watchful eye trained on your body as you attempted to replicate all the fancy twists and spins you'd seen from Levi and Asmo.

"How does Belphie go so fast?" You asked, trying to flap your wings with more intensity. But the motion only lifted you higher in the sky, rather than propelling you forward.

"Lean forward," Lucifer instructed, flying in front of you to gently correct your posture. Even he couldn't tear the smile off of his face as he watched you. "And when you move your wings, make one strong push and then fold them inward to minimize air resistance. After that, just move your upper body to guide your path of flight."

Your guardian demonstrated once for you, circling back to where you were, pushing your neck down once before nodding.

With his approval, you followed his instructions, flapping your wings once with all the strength you could muster, and then folding them on your back as you tried to let your body propel forward.

For a few seconds, it worked. You were soaring faster than you'd ever moved, and you could feel your body cutting through the wind. But then, you began to plummet downward, falling headfirst as you desperately tried to unfurl your wings. But the wind was too fast around you, and it kept them furled close to your back as you flailed your arms out, opening your eyes and desperately trying to stop yourself from dropping.

You didn't even have the time to call Lucifer's name before he had managed to catch you, soothing you quietly while smoothing out your hair. "It's okay," He whispered, placing a kiss to your forehead. "You're safe. It's okay."

You managed to stop yourself from trembling in his arms, leaning into his strength and using it to fuel your own.

"I want to try again," You told him, and he didn't even protest as you pulled yourself out of his arms and got into position once more. He flew low beneath your figure, gazing up at you before nodding, and then you were at it again, flapping your wings once and then tucking them into your back, soaring forward at top speed. You managed to stay on your desired trajectory a little longer this time, and you almost thought you had gotten the hang of it when your body began to dip down against your will, leaving you to desperately try to stop yourself.

But this time, Lucifer was already waiting for you, strong arms wrapping around your body to catch you.

"Again?" He asked, a smile on his lips as he watched you continue to attempt the move over and over, proud of your tenacity.

You nodded, holding his hand as the two of you soared back up to try once more.

A smile blooms on your face at the memory.

Even then, you always knew that Lucifer would be there to catch you if you fell. But now that you've been ripped away from the Devildom, will he ever be able to save you again? Doubtless, if he had seen the seraph strike you earlier—regardless of whether you started it with your futile attempt of an attack—he would have been at your side, defending you against anyone who might hurt you.

And while you were prepared to leave the safety of his arms at the end of the school year when the student exchange program finally ended, you never expected it to happen so soon.

Just yesterday, the demon had been by your side, hugging and holding and kissing you. The two of you had expected to have ten more months together, ten more months of happiness before having to separate, but your time has been cut short.

How is that fair?

Please, Father, you plead, staring upward into the emptiness of your ceiling, imagining the face of God peering over you. Please help me. The High Seraphs can never understand. They'll only hurt me again if I continue to ask them, so I need your aid. I know that Lucifer has wronged you in the past, but have mercy.

You offer a light smile, unclasping your hands.

No matter how focused you are during prayer, your thoughts always stray to Lucifer at the end. Though this is the first time you've consciously voiced your desires to Father.

Mercy on us both, you think, closing your eyes before you rise to your feet. Amen.

Glancing at the mirror, you see that the feathers of your wings are still ruffled from when your back collided with the ground, and though your front still stings, there are no marks where the seraph summoned light to strike you down.

But your entire body is sore.

Not even bothering to change out of your clothes, you pull yourself into bed. It's already well into the evening, and you should probably stay awake in case someone delivers dinner, but the crawl back to your room had exhausted you. You just want to fall asleep.

Closing your eyes, you barely have the time to make yourself comfortable in the bed before exhaustion pulls you away to the dreamworld once more. Silently, you hope that Lucifer might visit you in your dreams, that you can bask in memories for some final tranquility.

But the moment you close your eyes, you're taken to a place all too familiar.

This isn't right, you think, recognizing the familiar circular chamber where all the High Seraphs sit.

This doesn't feel like a normal dream.

You frown, realizing that no one in the room seems to react to your presence, not even when you wave your hand in front of one seraph.

You're far too conscious for this to be a dream, impossible aware, to the point where you recall falling asleep just moments ago. So then, what is this? A vision? Of something to come or something still going on?

You walk forward, looking around as you try to make sense of what's going on. It almost feels as if you're awake, but surely that's impossible.

Hear me.

You flinch at the voice, the sound seeming to come not from anyone around you but from the inside of your own mind, the two words echoing in your brain. It's familiar, you realize, though you can't pinpoint where you recognize the voice from. Almost like...

A hush falls over the room, and you realize that the High Seraphs have heard the voice, too.

"Father!" A seraph cries, raising their hands to the sky and bowing low against the ground.

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Surely that cannot be true? But then you hear the voice again, and then there's no denying that this is the unmistakable sound of your Father, and you drop to your knees in a bow, honoring your creator even though you don't understand this vision.

Is it true that the child I have sent to you to answer all your prayers is now being denied happiness in her time of need?

"The child?" A seraph asks. "Do you mean the equalizer, Father?"

Who else?

You can almost hear the huff of irritation in Father's words.

I speak of MC. Her prayers cry for happiness and for mercy. Are you the fools who make my child weep?

Your eyes widen at the Father's words, realizing that he has heard your prayers. Instantly, you understand the nature of this dream, this vision, this truth. It is his gift to you: his silent blessing to allow you to sit in as he speaks to the High Seraphs as he does so often. Only this time, the subject of discussion is your fate.

And it seems that he is on your side.

"N-not at all, Father! She foolishly seeks the love of a demon, and we have been trying to show her the path of light."

"Indeed!" Another seraph cries in response. "Her heart betrays her holy nature! The Morningstar has corrupted her, and we merely wish to purify her soul!"

"The Morningstar may be gone, and her capabilities of absorbing the light may no longer be needed, but we aim to—"

You dare presume she was simply sent to absorb the excess light of my domain?

Everyone in the room flinches at the hostility in Father's voice.

That angel is my child, the daughter I constructed by hand to eternally protect the Celestial Realm. In her body, she harnesses the power of equality—to absorb light or radiate it, whichever is necessary to maintain the balance of the Celestial Realm. I gave this child to you as a blessing. You would dare trample her happiness?

Your eyes widen at your Father's words, and you glance down at your hands.

You've always absorbed the light, never attempted to radiate it. You've always thought that you were different because of your inability to radiate light, but if what Father says is true, then you truly are one of the most powerful of angels.

Suddenly, the title equalizer rings differently in your ears.

"Th-that is too much power for a single child to possess! Her heart is not pure, if she sides with the demons she can eradicate our entire realm and—"

You dare presume one of my holiest creations would misuse a power I have personally invested in her?

There's a pause, filled only with Father's fury. Not even one of the High Seraphs dares to speak.

Come, child! Show the realm what you are capable of!

You flinch, and suddenly everyone in the room has their eyes on you—likely another work by the hand of Father.

Hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the seraph who struck you earlier.

Don't just absorb the light, you tell yourself. Radiate.

It's every angel's most basic instinct: to give off light. Yet you've always walked the line of absorbing it.

But if you try...

You visualize Lucifer, how he's always pulsed so brightly with the light of his heart, carrying in it holiness or darkness and spreading his will.

Be like Lucifer.

While the High Seraphs watch you in shock, you try to harness the power in your heart, to radiate light as Father has so clearly instructed.

Like Lucifer.

A blinding light fills the hall, bursting with your energy. The sheer brightness of it jolts you awake, and then you're acutely aware of the power flowing through your veins. Breathing in and out, you can sense yourself absorbing and radiating light, the room darkening and brightening with your every motion.

Your gaze flits to the door. It's the only thing separating you from storming down the corridor and back into the hall of the High Seraphs.

Father's words replay in your mind.

It's time to show the realm what you are capable of.

***

Lucifer wakes up with a start, flinching as he opens his eyes.

The ink spilled, he realizes, wary eyes glancing over his desk. The demon blinks and pulls off a report that's stuck to his cheek. He must have fallen asleep. Small wonder, given the fact that he's hardly slept since Michael whisked you away, instead opting to bury himself in work.

But for the first time since your departure, Lucifer is wide awake, the demon now scrambling out of his desk to tear his door open.

That dream was vivid. Too vivid. And it's not the first time he's had such an impossibly lucid slumber.

Did Father mean to send him that vision?

Lucifer bites his lip, stumbling through the corridor. He's sweating, and his hair is disheveled, but he bangs on Mammon's door anyway, the noise loud enough to wake all the residents in the hall.

"Did you—did you dream—"

"Yeah," Mammon nods solemnly, not an ounce of sleep in his eyes when he opens the door.

"Go, Lucifer," Belphie calls from behind, standing next to Beel. "Father sent al of us that vision for a reason. Looks like MC is about to show the Celestial Realm the full scope of her power. And you can bet that she's going to want to see you when it's over."

Lucifer turns around, hesitant. "Lord Diavolo—"

"Lord Diavolo will understand," Satan interrupts, crossing his arms as he, too, opens his door to face the firstborn. "And if he doesn't, I'll take over your duties until you return, so stop wasting time and go."

Levi opens his door, nodding in agreement, and even Asmo is startled awake by the vision, making no comment about missing his beauty sleep as he urges Lucifer to go to you.

"I—" Lucifer hesitates, running a hand through his mussed up hair as he looks at his brothers. Each of them stands with their arms crossed, waiting for him to leave. "I want you to know that I—"

"Hurry up and go."

Lucifer can't tell who said it, but the words bring a smile to his face. This isn't the time to thank his brothers. Rather, the best thank-you gift he can get them would be the sight of your smiling face, something he'll only get to see if he manages to reach you in time.

Without another word, he nods his head and flies out the overhead window, left open the night prior when Belphie was stargazing. He begins soaring into the sky, his four black wings pushing him higher and higher as he prepares to exit the domain of the Devildom and approach the heavens.

It's been millennia since he's been so close. Millennia since he's dared to fly so high.

But he won't let any of that stop him, any of that prevent him from going to see you. Because to him, you are his world.

And there are no lengths he won't go to for your sake.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | ✔

Word count: 4.7k

Notes: It's kind of wild to think that at this time next week this series will be complete 0.0 This has been a wild ride and we finally get the beginning of our happily ever after with luci in the next chapter so yayyy

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/13/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[kyvir]

SSS Weekend

Day One: Early years. Slice of life.

Rating: K

Word Count: 1k

Home

…

If only every day could be so exceptionally blissful.

That was a thought that fleetingly flitted through Sasuke Uchiha’s mind on occasion—whenever he was doing nothing more than admiring his wife or his daughter.

Or, better yet, both of them.

So many things had happened to lead him to where he now was: a father, a husband, a man who had finally accepted love and wished to surround himself in it. His friends—his family. Being home. These simple things truly meant the world to him.

Sarada was a precious child, bringing even more joy to his days than Sakura could… and Sakura was otherworldly in the way she could bring light into the darkness that had been surrounding him for so long. Even from doing little to nothing, or things that seemed miniscule when he thought about it, his wife could have the most sincerest of smiles forming on his lips. She could make his heart skip a beat.

She could fluster him.

Sasuke knew he had always loved her, though it hadn’t been the same as the love he felt for her now. At first it was a simple affection brought about from their bond—their closeness as a team—as friends. Sakura Haruno had been a precious person who was irreplaceable to him ever since the early days of team seven forming.

The dark times, when he’s tried to forget her and everyone else that he cared about in order to shroud himself in an endless abyss of lonely darkness were days that he didn’t care to look back on anymore. He much preferred the days after that, when he had accepted the right way of life and had spent his days repenting for his sins and opening his eyes to the world for what it truly was so that he could open his heart properly to Sakura.

Then he married her.

Before that, their travels together began—when he slowly opened up to her more and more, letting her in and slowly came to love her on a much deeper, more intimate level. When soft hand touches became comforting hugs and eventually soft, heartfelt kisses that turned to even more.

After making her his wife, Sasuke had felt like a new man—even beyond how he’d felt since making so many changes in his life.

The changes in him only became more prominent after learning that Sakura was carrying his child. It was the first time since the end of his battle with Naruto that Sasuke had cried. However, he cried again when his beautiful baby girl was born.

It was a highly emotional time. Sasuke was beyond grateful to Karin for being there to help Sakura through the birthing process because he had probably never been more nervous in his life. He had worried endlessly for her, even though her labor wasn’t as long as most first time mothers—or so Sakura had told him.

He wished she hadn’t had to experience the pain she had, but he knew she meant it when she said it was well worth it—that she had forgotten the pain the instant Sarada had been laid over her chest. That was the moment the tears formed in his eyes and he could only remain silent, pressing a kiss to Sakura’s head and staring at the sweet angel that connected them.

Sasuke could only hope that both of them knew how much they meant to him.

Over the course of the next few years, he did his best to show them. Being by their sides, watching Sarada grow and reach one milestone after the next with his wife by his side was all that he could ask for.

But the bliss he had come to love and crave wasn’t meant to last forever. His family was the most precious thing in the world to him and he had a duty to protect them. So, when the time came for him to leave them in order to make sure they were safe, Sasuke resolved himself to do just that.

It wasn’t easy.

In fact, it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Preparing himself to leave them wasn’t even possible. As much as they tried to hold it together, to be strong for one another—especially Sarada—it just wasn’t possible. Sakura was an amazing, beautiful and strong woman whom he adored, but she loved him from the bottom of his heart. Knowing he was leaving and having no idea when he would see his girls again was painful. It hurt so much—seeing Sakura’s bottom lip begin to tremble and soon, a stream of tears fall down her cheeks was enough to crack the last of his restraint.

It only hurt worse at seeing the look of innocent curiosity on Sarada’s face as she looked between the two of them. Sasuke had taken a shaky breath and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his wife’s forehead. She did her best to swallow a sob and whispered out a broken “I love you.” before Sasuke gave Sarada a kiss just the same.

She called out to him when he turned his back to them and began to walk away. It was the first time he had to leave them and with every step he took, his heart shattered a little more.

That day was another of the ones where Sasuke broke down and cried, but he knew he was doing the right thing. He knew that as long as his girls were safe, they would be happy as well.

And one day, he could return to that exceptional bliss that meant so much to him.

Home.

[mimithings97]

Heartache (M)

Summary: You didn’t know such a feeling was so real, so vivid, so hurtful. But it had happened and happened to you before you could stop it. Tae had become written into your life hard and fast, so when you leave you question that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t willing to unwrite him.

Pairing: Taehyung x Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Heartache for starters, Unprotected sex, Oral (male receiving), Swearing, Nude modelling, Taehyung’s a sappy mess, Mentions of Alcohol

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Can’t lie in saying how morbid it is that I enjoy writing angst. It’s light angst though and a lot lighter than how fucking whipped Tae is at the end. Much love for the bub though, so, enjoy x

Ahhh jungkook features as well forgot to mention. Still love him. Nothings changed there.

Heartache.

Cringy, you once thought to yourself. 

How could you be so dependent, so set and so immersed in something that your heart actually aches? 

It didn’t make sense to you until the day words were spoken that couldn’t be taken back, bags were reluctantly packed and more tears were shed than there is water in the Thames. Heartache was real, vivid and the hardest thing you have ever had to live through in your 24 years of life. 3 weeks of a deep set dropping in your stomach that couldn’t be shaken despite the booze intake, the occasional listening to his voicemails and the relentless tears.

Your mother told you that if you built up too many walls it would hurt so much more when someone knocked them down. You had told Taehyung this on the first date, your first date, ever, with any man. You had always drawn a line between pleasure and dependency, settling for short flings and the occasional online relationship (purely for the sexting) instead of the commitment and responsibility that weighed on vulnerable shoulders when you bear your entire self to another in a relationship. Taehyung knew this. But he fell and you fell harder. You fell completely and utterly under his spell for three years. 

And then he told you he wanted to marry you. Bastard didn’t even propose, just mentioned that one toxic word of marriage and you instantly laid the bricks of that wall he had so unceremoniously knocked down all those years ago.

It felt so adult yet so childish leaving someone over the concept of marriage, but when talks of marriage turn to talks of children and one party wants something completely different to the other, what kind of relationship is there to continue. 

So three weeks later, just as the physical pain of emptiness and heartache has begun ebbing away, the emotional trauma of your decision begins to cave in on you.

To Jungkook:

11:31pm

You: I know I said I’d stop this

You: But I really dont know if this is worth the pain

You: His mum sent me a get well soon card today bc he told her i was ill and that’s why i hadn’t visited

You: I’m never going to not love him

You: How does anyone get over this shit its not fair

11:35pm

Guk: Oh noona

Guk: It’ll take lots and lots of time and lots and lots of tubs of ice cream and wine but youre both adults who want different things and not everything is meant to be

Guk: Sacrifice for the greater good right

11:35pm

You: There’s no fucking greater good here

You: I hate this

11:37pm

Guk: Noona you know that down the road hyung wants children. I don’t think marriage was that big, but he’s always wanted to be a dad

Guk: It’s not fair of him to ask you to have something you don’t want but its also not fair to leave him without the thing he’s always desired the most

11:40pm

You: Its just too hard to take

You: It feels like three years for jack shit

11:41pm

Guk: If you’re really struggling that much, noona, talk to him. I know he wants to talk to you still, he’s tried to contact you everyday. Maybe it will give you some closure or just help you see what’s right

11:41pm

You: Love you

Your phone is down as soon as Jungkook mentioned talking to him. How could you take one step forward and a million steps back by talking to him? It would be like hanging just what you want right in front of you but no touching, no talking to them after that 5 minutes of hell, no seeing them ever again. Closure is what you need but never what you’ll want.

The sheets that surround you, nuzzled closely into your neck and still unwashed even after three weeks just to keep that tiny scent of Tae over you naked skin, warm you to the point your eyes drift. You don’t mean to fall asleep so easily, but when every little action weighs so heavy on you during the day, sleep comes too easily. However, so does the nightmares of crawling alone in the black abyss.

---------------------------------------------

Resuming work was never easy on a broken soul, but alas, here you were, with three weeks of sick pay under your belt you’d rather not have and 20 children at your feet.

Ironic isn’t it.

You break up with the only man you’ve ever loved because you can’t face a future of settling down with children, yet you wake up at the fucking godforsaken hour of 6 am to tend to a bunch of five and six years olds every day. No, you didn’t hate children, but they weren’t the joy of your life either. You were good at your job and you had this mad psychological complex that if you could help a child at five or six like you had so desperately needed at that age, then maybe you’d make their life just that little bit easier and that little bit brighter. Taehyung always found your reason for working so admirable - fuck that look of pure adoration in his eyes when you told him - so he found it equally hard to come to terms with when you told him the opposite. When you told him you couldn’t have your own children because the responsibility scared you. His ears were ringing at the point where you told him you also didn’t want to share him and his kindness, even so, the damage had been done, whatever the reasoning.

“Y/N! Jennie said you were back,” it’s a tight smile from you and a loose hug, but it’s amazing you’ve managed that with the way your head is far from in the room let alone the conversation at hand. “God, I hope you’re better, you were out for a while.”

You squeeze a weak laugh out, “Yeh, it wasn’t all that fun.”

“For a second me and Jennie were thinking you might be pregnant.” The heartache subsides, rivalled by the very distinct feeling of sickness. The ball of energy in front of you persists in conversation, but it’s to drowned ears and for a second you think you’ll faint. 

You miss your name being called. Shit, you don’t even know where it’s coming from, because the all-consuming feeling of this tide of emotions has swept you far from your spot in the classroom. Marie in front of you still calls, asking if you’re okay, but it’s the tug on your skirt, not harsh, but enough to garner a reaction that casts your eyes down.

“Miss Y/N?”

It’s Jojo, eyes wide and glaring up at you, still clung to the material of your skirt.

“Miss Y/N, why are you crying?”

You instantly draw the back of your hand to your face and it catches a cascading tear, much to your shock. You face must morph into a mortified expression at the thought of so carelessly crying at work, in the presence of the kids you look after with a smile and a skip in your step each day.

“Miss Y/N, it’s okay to cry. You can draw with me if you feel crying…” he shakes his head, “sad. Sad I mean.”

You feel Marie’s hand on your back, but Jojo’s eyes sweep you into a frenzy of more tears before you find yourself kneeling on the floor by the table. His table, where he sits alone each day, with paper and paints, or pencils, or chalk, sometimes he just folds it and hands it to you saying he made his paper into a flower. He already has one of his drawings on the go but scribbled over it thoughtlessly before starting out on a series of words. ‘To miss Y/n’.  Your eyes well further, but his words stop you.

“I think sometimes that drawings can make you better. Can make better the sadness.”

---

“Tae are you still going at it?”

You peer around the corner of the door, leaning half in half out of his man cave to study your boyfriend at work. 5 hours he’d been couped up in there.

“Hmm.” 

He didn’t let you see his art until the product was finished, completely finished, because sometimes he’d say he was done and then go back when he’d found the smallest error only to get pissed off that you had witnessed anything other than the completed masterpiece.

“Tae, you’ve been in here for hours, just come out to help me cook.” You plead with him over the canvas, not daring to peak any further.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He hasn’t looked at you since you came in, his brow well and truely glued into a furrow and the tea you’d brought him earlier cold and untouched beside him. You lower your tone into a more serious one.

“You okay?”

Silence.

“Done.” He doesn’t sound relieved or happy at the finalising of a five-hour art project like most would, like he normally does. He’s merely, ‘done’.

With an apprehensive tone, you ask, “Can I come see?” A gentle nod and you round the canvas, his arm dropping the brush in favour of tugging at the skin of your waist until you’re gently seated in his lap.

It’s beautiful and it’s simplistic and there’s so much life and emotion in it that you know the five hours weren’t all spent with brush to canvas but with him mulling over the memories and thoughts it conjured up.

“Your grandmother’s house?” Your voice is soft, not a pitying soft, but a soft that lets him know he can talk freely.

“Hmm,” he presses a kiss to the shoulder exposed by the shirt that hangs off you loosely. “Wanted to do something for her.”

You let the silence and the painting speak for itself for a while as his hands brush at your sides and you lean into his head that rest against you, chin to shoulder as his warm breath lulls you into calmness.

“You miss her?” 

“So much.”

“Painting makes it better?”

… another kiss and a sigh, warm.

“Mmm. Sometimes painting and drawing just makes the sadness a little easier, just makes it better.”

---

You see Tae in this tiny boy, this boy who draws to ease the sadness, who coups himself away on his table to be alone, too afraid to cry in front of the other boys and girls. Is he doing it too? Is he alone and painting? 

Then Jojo slides you his paper, wordlessly and your eyes with dried tears, prick once again, heartache replaced with something completely different, regret. And now hope. It’s those small boys words on paper, insignificant to him, and probably tiny in the grand scheme of things, but it’s his words that make you seek out for the one thing you know you can’t live without, the one thing that will heal your sadness.

‘To miss Y/N, i hope your crying gets better soon. Its okay to cry but its also good to make you happy. I hope you find your happy. From Jojo.”

You’d already found your happy, you just had to get him back.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Y/N!?” 

And it merely takes your name for you to lose every word on your tongue. Any word you could’ve conjured at that moment couldn’t have described how you felt. He looks dishevelled, and beautiful, hair unwashed and falling into his eyes, white top littered with stains and his pyjamas bottoms you bought him for Christmas hanging off his hips. 

His eyes lull from their immediate shock before he turns to look at his apartment, running a frantic hand through his hair and stumbling on his words. 

“Shit. I- I mean. I wasn’t really thinking- I didn’t expect you.”

You probably shouldn’t have come. Some people would’ve turned and gone the other way. Maybe that was the right thing to do, was that the brave thing? Were you being a coward by rooting to the spot and not being able to speak a word?

He looks at you, then behind you somewhere, then back into your eyes and his gaze sinks so far into yours, you think you might just cry there and then.

“Dooo you want to come in?” He sounds apprehensive, he probably thinks you are too, but all you want to do is be back in his apartment just like three weeks ago, touching him, talking to him unhinged, perhaps feeling the skin beneath his shirt where his heart lies, feeling if his heart has ached as yours has.

With blinking eyes that try not to glaze over, you nod, short and curt, and you miss the puff of air his mouth rings out with relief. 

He dashes away once you’re past the threshold, scampering around as if to distract you from the surrounding environment - it’s dusty, too cold and dark with the way the curtains shut out summer light and you barely recognise his floor as wood with the way food scatters and clothes are strewn.  Small shards of light reflect from out of the study and your eyes naturally draw there only to find a mess, door open just enough for the hoard of half-finished painting and wasted canvas’ to come into view. The door is closed by Taehyung like he knew where your gaze would lead you.

“I-I’m fucking sorry about this, it’s gross and it’s messy and i-”

“It’s just like mine.” The corners of your mouth turn up sympathetically but also because you’re relieved he’s not okay. It’s awful to say but heartache has clearly done a job on him too and for that you’re relieved. “Don’t worry, it’s just fine.”

“Just fine,” he mutters under his breath with a half-laugh. 

You’re still stood stuck to the doormat, jacket hanging tightly to you like a defence mechanism and your hands remain tight to your sides. When his eyes find yours, you seize up further like it’s the first time he’d ever seen you.

---

You’d told Janice one too many times for this situation to be coincidence. You may or may not have told her you were a sucker for exhibitionism. She’d found it all shits and giggles until the art class she headed entered into ‘naked form’ week and it was too good of an opportunity to pass by. 

So the robe drops and you’re way too aware of the last time you shaved - you think you’d be prepared, but pair a hangover with a 7:30 start and bodily care wasn’t the first thought to come to mind.

Janice gives off a flow of instructions, pointing to your body like you were a cow on show, and telling the artists to ‘admire her form, the way her body dips and flows and let you brush or pencil do the responding as though her body was talking to you’ - you almost scoff aloud at her waffle because art is so full of shit.

Exhibitionism kink or not, you’re thirty minutes in and the way your hip cramps and you eyelids lower, there is nothing alluring or desirable about this. 

But then the door on the far wall swings open all too harshly for your eyes to feign jolting away. And they blow out further when they’re met with the masculine figure uttering apologies and skidding halfway from door to seat with his urgency.

‘Just women’ she said. ‘Nothing to be worried about,’ she said. It ruined the whole ‘i like being stared at by fit men’ at first but then put you a little at ease that some 70 year old man, trying to spice up his last years of life with a too expensive art course, wouldn’t be staring your tits down. 

Yet here you were, with a man with eyes too beautiful to be tarnished by the view in front of him, gazing in shock at your naked body.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nude form week. Guessing you didn’t get the email?”

You only have your imagination for what his voice must sound like because he only shakes his head, throat too dried and scorched from you laid out, baring it all in front of him for him to say anything.

But your imagination didn’t do justice in those two hours of torture. Because his voice telling you he’s ‘sorry for interrupting the session’ and even ‘sorrier for being so unworthy of staring at something so beautiful’. 

You’d always hated cringe. But cringe never sounded so good when it was spun off Taehyung’s silk tongue.

---

“Can I get you anything?” 

It’s him who breaks the silence, and it’s a godsend because you were two seconds away from spinning on your heel and cowering out of the entire thing.

“N-no. Thank you, Tae.” 

He groans at the timidity of how you say his name and nickname at that.

And silence soaks the atmosphere again, tenser this time because greetings have been uttered, drinks offered and there’s nothing more to say that unspoken words of the past.

That’s what you thought you were here to do at least. To tell him you’re sorry, first and foremost, because you’d never intend to break a soul as tender-hearted as his. Then you were supposed to tell him that you loved him, and you would always love him, and that sacrifice must be made for the greater good.

Jungkook had told you that once. But he’d said Taehyung must be the one sacrificed and you should be the one salvaged - until you realised there was no greater good in that situation, no salvation to be had.

“I’ll sacrifice myself,” words come out loud and unexpected as your train of thought is voiced. They’re too loud also, and they break the atmosphere to his shock, so his brow furrows like he doesn’t understand. “I- I will sacrifice myself for you.”

His face falls and you can’t bear the way his words stutter and his throat fills with a choked cry, as though he’d held it in as soon as your presence had hit him. It must have done the same to you because your body befalls you and tears and on the floor as you work your feet towards where he is rooted.

“I can’t ask that of you. You know I can’t do that,” he closes his eyes when your  body meets his, hands firm on his cheeks because they’re wet with tears and his shoulders are hunched in pain, “please.”

“Please.” You reciprocate. 

This is it for you. You’ll do anything for this quivering shell in front of you. You’ll plead. You’ll beg. You’ll give up your livelihood and every mantra you have ever told yourself about self-preservation because fuck it, some things are too good that you have to lose yourself in them. 

“You- I-”

“I’m- I might not be ready for kids now. I will though. If that’s what it takes. Fuck it I’ll marry you tomorrow.”

He chokes on a sob when his eyes meet your pleading ones and a quick hand wipes the stains from his cheeks so he can see every expression you give to him - untainted and full of love.

“We can take our time over this or we can have it all at once, but it has to be we. I’ll really do it for you, I have to Tae,” another sob and a whimper, “isn’t that what we’re here for. Kids.” You’re babbling now in a frenzied expression of all you have to give, and you’re so lost in his eyes that you laugh out, “‘be fruitiful and multiply or some shit.’ I’ll do it, I swear to you.”

“You’re not even Christian.”

“I would be if you told me to.”

“Fuck.”

He kisses you quick and without care, wanting to feel everything you have to give him like it’s what keeps his heart beating - and it’s beating fast because you finally find fingertips under his shirt and against the pounding that intensifies underneath.

He grapples at your hair, then waist, then hair again because his hands can’t decide on what he wants most. So you grab at them yourself and intertwine fingers as though he’d never left you. Each knuckle deserves a kiss and that’s what you give when your lips part.

“I’m so sorry-” you keep kissing across his hand, “I ever left,” and bring his hands to your neck, “never again.”

The tears subside in his eyes as they do yours. There is still relief, hot and painful inside your stomach because you have come back to him and he has taken you back, as if there were never to be anything but the two of you as one, yet now he finds your lips in something that claims more than just love. Possession. He has to know you’re his.

You were correct when you thought his room would be as sorrowful as yours - heartache as painful as what you had felt. 

Food containers stripe the floor dirty. Towels strewn and clothes dirty and forgotten. Again the blinds are closed as though you’re not here at 5 in the afternoon when the sun begins to fall into the red and purple hues of evening. 

But the blinds leave enough of a gap that his face is haloed, angelic and all too beautiful for your eyes to feign staring when your mouth departs his. Eyes glow amber and skin glows golden and you never want to look away, not from him, not now.

“You really want this don’t you.” There’s no question to the way Tae speaks. Instead, it’s disbelieving, like he can’t quite fathom that it’s really your shirt he has under his fingertips and your smell that lingers under his nose. Heartbreak had slowed his heart enough that it’s beating too fast for him to keep up with, so he slows it down.

“I really want this- You. I really want you.”

“And everything that comes with me? You’re sure?”

It’s a loaded question but at this point it is so light on your shoulders you laugh, grabbing and pulling up his shirt so you can sink lips to his chest, trying to find the beat of a heart somewhere there. 

“You act like you’re a chore, Tae.” You’re eyes soften when he still looks like you like he’s young and vulnerable. “Baby, I am so sorry I ever did this to you. Left. And made you feel like that.” 

Your hands map his skin delicately and you preserve how it feels because you hope, but never know, if you’ll feel it again.

“Never again, yeh?”

“Yeah.”

Clothes are shed until he looks at your naked body like the art that he first saw it as. He wants to paint it, remember it and cherish it as though he’s never seen it before. Every scar and blemish, precious to his vision, but the painting would only be worth it to him because he’s all who gets to see you.

“You’re not gonna turn off the lights?” 

Something that you’d told him was a habit of yours. Maybe something, a subconscious body image thing that was another way of saying, ‘I can’t give my whole self to you, I’m sorry’. He’d ran with it as though it didn’t hurt his pride. But now, as you push him down on his bed and clamber over his thighs, he’s so grateful he never got to see you in this light, because he loves it all the more now.

Fingertips tremble over your thighs when your hips find his, naked crotch so close to where he throbs. 

“Tae,” his eyes don’t meet yours, pieced, instead, onto where your bodies are so close to meeting like his gaze can fuse them together. “Tae, it’s me. Relax.”

Purposefully, your hands find his hair and coax him into a state of submissiveness, because his body still quaked underneath you no matter the words you uttered. 

You can’t lie when you say sex was a factor in your relationship you had missed. There was a heartfelt bond that went deeper than sex.

Admittedly the flatmate before Tae, the friends before the boyfriend and your parents who knew you better than you admitted to yourself had all said you were sex before substance. Some hated you for it and some laughed. Some said, ‘I wish I could be as emotionally detached as you’ and some thought you were the local gal whoring about like bodies were meant to be used. Then, somehow, Tae flipped the whole thing on its head. Made you feel butterflies before orgasm and it had you spellbound. 

So, no. Sex wasn’t it for you when you were with him. 

Yet, here you were, over your man gleaming with the physical sweat of want and need as well as the even more apparent glow of how his body lit up for only you.

“How do you want me Tae, what can I give you?”

“Fuck.” His hands fall over his eyes, not comprehending that you’re his and you’re this plaint. No, he wants you to take over him. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything.”

Instantly nails brush over the hardness that had been laid out under your folds obediently since you’d found yourself on top of his crotch.

A man could only control himself so much and immediately Tae found his dick twitching and his hips leaving the mattress in favour of chasing your hand.

“Y/N, I really don’t know if I’ve got it in me for teasing, I’m so horny I could cum!”

Well then.

The outburst has you struggling to fight off a laugh because he seriously is that desperate. Not the laughing kind either. The all-bearing, stripped clean and pleading kind of desperate.

So, you sympathise and let your lips find his, hand still trailing lightly so he doesn’t cum early, but enough for the need to remain.

“You wanna be inside me Tae?” His tongue is on yours yet the words are clear. 

“Urgh, fuck, please.”

Your eyes peer between your bodies, mapping where his muscles, tight with restrictions, create a V-shape down to the very distinct outline of a red hard cock. You think it’s photograph worthy in the moment, something worth slipping the camera out for, and if you hadn’t kept his dick pics from months ago maybe you would. But:

“Please baby, -need it.”

You deny yourself the simple pleasure of slipping him in because Tae whining and pleading is something worthy for the spank bank. You drop lower down the bed so his hips meet your eyes and the skin glistens so beautifully in this light you have to leave his dick untouched just so you can kiss around the area. 

His stomach, thighs, crotch, they see it all, lips and tongue mapping bold strokes because he tastes just as you remember and you want to savour it.

“Y/N ple- oh fuck,” and the taste of his dick beats anything that preceded it, let alone the noise that came with it. 

His tip is taken care of first, small licks and stripes with your tongue, so he’s unsuspecting when you choke him whole.

“FUCK.” 

Hands grab your hair violently. He’s deep and hits the back of your throat so you choke, unashamed of the noise. You’re past that and you know he likes it anyways. 

You set a rhythm, and it soon becomes clear he’s going to cum from it and that you very much want him to. Your hand finds his balls to fuel the process and the other one snakes to your core because there’s nothing that beats Tae’s moans when he’s getting a good sucking. 

“I- Fuck Y/N, I can’t- Shit!”

He’s close. Stomach seizing and balls throbbing in your palm so you sink back down again and take the choke like you want it and you want his cum more. It’s fast from there.

“Love you. I’m cum- Fuckkkkk,” salt and warmth line your throat, but only for a short while because he came quick. His hips stutter a few times and your eyes water when you continue to take it. 

Then it’s cold and silent. Yet somehow you feel buzzed. Like someone cumming down your throat was enjoyable. Like you’d do it a thousand times over if it meant he’d say he loved you again.

The hands that had once set deep into your scalp and verged on making you horny now pulled at your cheeks to lift you to eye level. 

He’s sweaty and a mess. 

“You’re sweaty and a mess baby.” 

His laugh is unfiltered, wholesome and worthy of the way your heart stutters.

“Because someone’s got a mouth on them sent from the gods.”

Blush overtakes your cheeks, whilst your stomach tumbles over at the fact that your blowjob skills are up to scratch - you thought a month off might have done something to your ability but clearly, you’re still on point. The bitter taste in your mouth tells you enough. 

“What’ve I done to deserve you coming back.”

Sincerity returns into his eyes as well as his words, and somehow you feel his dick twitch again from underneath you. He’s so soft under your hands so you keep feeling at his skin to reassure you he’s real.

“Nothing. You’re enough. You’re it.”

You kiss and kiss again, keep going until the fire ignites in him once more where it still flamed for you.

“Please.”

His voice is low no matter how much he whines so a guiding hand slips him into where you’re filthily wet. And he’s huge despite seed already spilt. He’s loaded like it was meant for you and not your mouth, throbbing enough so your pussy can feel it.

And suddenly you realise it’s bare. Complete bare. As in, bare enough that you are willing to take on a child kind of bare.

His eyes tell the story when yours find his, wide and curious. They roll back into whites when you pull up fully and then sink back down, milking him for all he has so he knows this is your full intention. Naked in every sense.

“Shit, Tae.”

“Fuckkkkk,” he doesn’t swear often, but sex is a must and the quirk of your lips tells him just how much you like him losing himself in pleasure.

He hits deep from here, cock lodged far in and even further when he begins to take control. 

His feet plant and his hands pull you down so skin flushes to skin and he can pump up into you with unadulterated need. 

Your teeth have to clamp onto his shoulder with the way he hits your cervix, it’s uncomfortable yet you love it. That kind of sex where everything is so fulfilling that you just can’t mutter ‘stop’. How could you say such a thing anyway when he’s groaning that he loves you with every upbeat.

It hits good once. Twice.

“Tae, fuck. There.”

Three times. 

“Here?”

Again.

“Oh my fuc- Fuckkk,” and there’s nothing you can do when you’re so stimulated you tumble deep and hard onto him and continue to do over and over in waves. 

He’s finding his end in the way your pussy grips him. 

“Baby. Y/N, Cunt so good, jesus.”

You’re burning when he’s going so fast the headboard bangs louder than your moans. So your hand quickly finds his balls underneath you and that does him, unravels him to the point he quakes.

“Holy- Love you. Love you. Fuck. Love you.”

Your ears might ring but that’s all you hear for the next minute. His mantra that keeps his lust alive until his love is so set in stone the words are not needed. 

Your hand, winding into his hair and the thrum of your heart against his tells him enough.

It’s this. Silence and tranquillity yet with the constant buzz of electricity all around you.

You’re still there entangled, limbs on limbs and lights touches on bare skin as the slither of light through the blinds turns ruby red in the heat of sunset.

You know his eyes must glow golden from where the sun angles on his face so you can’t help but spare a glance. And you’re right when you imagined it as beautiful because the sun bathes him like it was meant to. 

He’s still awake because his eyes flutter when you trail the outside of your fingers down his cheek and then onto his lips. It’s even more apparent when he brings his hand up to yours so he can kiss each knuckle individually.

“You came inside.”

It weighed heavy on you, the obvious factor that had happened earlier. And before allowing the beauty of the moment to settle in you had to see his expression when you mentioned it.

Yet there’s nothing but closed eyes and the slight smile that had been painted on his lips since you’d told him how much you wanted him.

“Mmm.”

“And you’re okay with that?” It’s not harsh, just a question from you. A security query because you have to know what this was for him. Caught up in the moment or something deeper?

His eyes bolt open at the question though.

“Are you?”

You almost have to think. Almost.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“And so am I.”

[koscheimaryas]

“i only have eyes for you, you know that.” benlissa t0x1c

“i only have eyes for you, you know that.”, starring vasilisa and benjamin

Sensitive dependence. A small change that tampered on big, life changing events, on things that only a few recovered from. Vasilisa was well-acquainted with the butterfly effect and its meaning, since the theory had been permeating her life for what it seemed like forever. By making the worst decisions ever known by men, she set herself up for failure. She bit the bullet and jumped feet-first over that impervious abyss, for she knew that there was no other way but that one. Of that, Lissa was certain; nothing would ever end up well for her, no matter how much she tried to make her own life work. 

That, however, had never been something she ever gave much thought to. The Russian girl loved taking the wrong, crooked route way too much for her own liking: she relished over the fact that by any means, whatever life threw at her, she made sure that she made good use of it and came out of it victorious. She quickly realized over the years just how that would work - by yielding. By doing the one thing no one expected a witty, smartmouth girl to do. After all, in order to succeed, she had to give up a few belongings. Her pride, it seemed, was to be one of them. That was how she ended up so tangled on men’s business and their wolfish agendas, the ones who always took and took and took and never gave back. Vasilisa knew men’s nature better than anyone else; by becoming the subject of their uttermost desire, she picked up one or two things. They all came down to that simple, disheartening truth: it was a man’s world, and she would never be anything but a puppet.

As a brilliant child. As a talented painter. As a breathtaking model. As an earth shattering muse. She slipped by the ages, conquering and losing battle upon battle, heart over heart. Although powerful, men were gullible. They would do anything for the right price, for the right amount of attention. For something so unattainable they had no other choice but to thirst over. That, after all, was Vasilisa. A lucid dream, so close but yet so far. She made sure she stayed that way until she couldn’t anymore. Until a serpentine, wistful man twisted her around his finger so tightly she felt like she’d never come up for air again. For three years, she paid the price of being the bane of his existence, being stripped away of her most unearthly possessions: her purity, her happiness and her youth. After that man, Vasya had been nothing but a shell of the girl she once was, with so many big dreams and a roaring mind that could’ve never been silenced. At least until someone made the highest bid.

There was no way to sugarcoat that tale: having an affair with a teacher was not well seen by anyone, and such a relationship like hers would surely baffle any well-adjusted person that ever heard about it. Her beauty became her exchange coin and she made very good use of it, offering it in the hopes that such a talented, brilliant master would share all his knowledge and secrets with her. And so he did: soon, Vasilisa was top of her class, her works evolving maddeningly and becoming something almost untranslatable, a feeling so raw and tangible that even her oldest instructors would stop dead on their tracks to have a look at it. Because that's what the Russian girl had wanted all along: to be recognized by her obsessive, insane art, to be once again put on the spotlight as everyone stared at her for the longest time. And that was what people ended up doing. In addition to staring at her and trying to unthread her, they wondered what kind of things went through her mind to be able to create such exquisite works, her punctured heart bleeding on all her canvases like she gave up a little piece of her in every painting. Like signing a deal with the devil and knowing that a few sacrifices would have to be made. Because Vasilisa painted like unknown forces watched her and urged her to make more of her abilities.

Nevertheless, with brilliance came burden. She felt way too tired of being everything to someone and absolutely nothing to herself, watching her very own essence slip away over the years as her professor pried into her beautiful, pearly shell and left it behind as a marred, lifeless thing. That, however, was until he came along. 

The thing with Benjamin Hong was that she had never, ever anticipated him.

Vasilisa was addicted to control. No matter how miserable, she always knew how she could guide her life and rein it in when needed, but Benjamin was way too unpredictable. He was an art project that too soon and too fast became an obsession, something she knew she wouldn’t be able to get out of her system, no matter how much she tried. It wasn’t the matter of an itch to be scratched. It was a disease, slowly making its way to her heart, its tight ways coiling around her. At first, it didn’t seem like a bad thing, as long as he did things to her that no other man had ever come close: her stomach sank and a thousand butterflies roamed free whenever he was near, all charming smiles and desperate flirting leaving her giddy and happy to have something different, something light, for the first time in her life. Hong breathed life into a body that long ago had lost its sense, and he didn’t even have to touch it in order to accomplish that. Who had once been a beautiful, breathtaking model to a devious painting soon became the one muse she never thought she needed before. Benjamin had always been too much. She just had no idea in what senses that affirmation furthered itself.

He made her want things she never thought possible before: the rest of her days with someone else other than herself, a bond, something other than sad, maddening power relationships that would end up as a disaster as soon as people got tired of her. He made her do something that never in her wildest dreams she had the courage to do: to break things with her professor for good, a night that began agonizing and ended up being the best of her entire life. As he soothed her and promised that nothing bad would ever happen to her again, Vasilisa let herself wish, and want, and wonder. There would never be anyone else but him.

Benjamin had never wanted her for anything other than herself, and that had probably been the problem. No one had ever wanted her that much, in a way it frightened her. To be the subject of his undivided attention and adoration turned out to be suffocating at times. Still, she accepted his somewhat burdening love for she had never known anything else but that. Deep in her heart, Lissa knew that there would never be anything for her but pure madness, raw feelings that made shivers run down her body and understood that, with her, everything was always too much. Just like her art, she lived ferociously, no matter how many times she had to take the fall for the consequences. Again, it had happened, one silent afternoon after a project discussion that had been the cataclysm of a discussion that should never have started. If it wasn’t for her and her impulsivity, he wouldn’t have done that. The fault, when it came to Benjamin, always seemed to be hers, one way or another.

No sound could be heard as he sat still by her side at the penthouse’s cream sofa, the sun having set long ago, plunging the sprawling living room into darkness. Even the sound of her measured breaths bothered her as he waited for her to tell him what had happened a few hours ago, the image of her leaving their teacher’s office still imprinted on her mind, as Benjamin waited for her outside with an expression that could only be described as utter despair. Again, she had disappointed him. Again, she had turned her back on him and done the one thing he had advised her not to, maintaining contact with the bane of her existence. The truth was that Vasya had no possible reason to be talking to that man, but she had done it nonetheless. He called and she obeyed. He didn’t possess her heart anymore, not even by the slightest chance, but the curiosity took the best of her. In the end, it hadn’t been anything but another one of his useless threats, and just then she understood the reason why her boyfriend wanted to tend to that matter instead of letting her do it. Because as she left that office, her head spinning with all the things that terrible man had said, she felt again that sharp pang that sliced through her every time she thought about him, remembering all she had to give in order to make him happy.

Aside from the terrible mistake she had made by entering the office, it was the familiar little pat on her head that her professor gave her every time they said goodbye that ruined everything. And Benjamin had seen it. He had seen how her eyes fell to the ground as the man’s hand slid through her platinum blond hair, making her recoil in pure disgust, so mad at the fact that she had agreed to that again. As she told her model everything that had happened, detail by detail, she made sure to punctuate just how embarrassed and guilty she felt. With Hong, there was no way out but by admitting her mistakes, even when she had never truly done anything wrong. 

“But you have nothing to worry about, my love.” Her shaky voice broke the silence after long minutes of pure silence from him, that wouldn’t give any indicator that had listened to all her explanations until then. Slowly, Lissa made her way to him, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly. Even the slightest touch made her shake. Even the smallest gesture made her want to cry, because with Benjamin, the delicacy always came accompanied with pain. And that was what Vasilisa felt at that moment: pure, untranslatable pain as she searched for his eyes in the dark, begging for him to look at her and grant her the pardon she so desperately needed. “I made a fool of myself by going there today. I just wanted him to leave me alone, and I thought that maybe he would listen to reason and finally leave me be. I told him we would never see each other again, Venya.” She whispered as quietly as possible, thick, hot tears sliding down her cheeks and ruining her already red complexion, so nervous of whatever his reaction would be. Her boyfriend had a way of turning her words against herself like she had never seen before, a terrible sting that wouldn’t extinguish itself no matter how many days passed by. When Ben snapped, he did it to hurt her, and deep down, she felt like she deserved it.

“Look at me.” Her hands slid all the way up to his face, cupping his sharp cheekbones, all those hard, otherworldly lines hidden by the dark. She got as close as she could, their foreheads gently joined, the undistinguishable pain shining inside those onyx eyes. That was the moment she finally broke down. With her, Benjamin allowed himself to feel, and all Vasilisa ever did was hurt him with her wrong ways and decisions. She cried quietly as her hands circled his thin torso, throwing herself all over him, the only place she had ever found peace. Vasya rocked them slightly as her hug got tighter, a thousand of “I’m sorry’s” escaping from her chapped lips in an unkempt try at forgiveness. She had never needed anything else but him and all his admiration, even though the Russian girl didn’t feel like she deserved it at that moment. “I love you so much. I only have eyes for you, dorogaya. You know that. You’ve always known that.”

And then, when his own arms finally circled her waist and caged her in another one of his tight, painful embraces, she understood just how there would never, ever exist any chance of escaping him and his heavy stare, his regal countenance, his mere existence. As much as Benjamin made her feel miserable at times, it hurt even more knowing that even the mere thought of being apart made her want to die. There was no Vasya without Venya. He would be her catalyst to the end of their days, as they shut away from the rest of the world and revelled in their strange intimacy, that closure that clogged her mind and made it hard to breathe. Love was a blood red slash across a stark white canvas. It was recognition. It was absolution.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Can you write a short dark fic for the pairing Joey x Henry, where after Henry threatens to leave the studio, Joey snaps and kidnaps Henry and turns Henry into a perfect Boris or Bendy so that Henry would never leave his side, please?

Summary: Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obcession.

---

[[MORE]]

When brought into the world children were never inherently cruel. They were curious and blunt, which often resulted in uncomfortable situations for those they interacted with, but overall younglings were empathetic at heart until reshaped and redefined into something otherwise.

The world was a terrible influence after all, and it could marr even the purest of things.

There were exceptions to this rule however…

Joey Drew had certainly been a curious kid. Unabashedly blunt too, with how often his innocent words cut deep into both his parents and peers.

But not once did he empathise enough with others to be considered a kind child.

If anything, most others his age had steered clear from his company, finding the mellow kid with the great big toothy smile to be unsettling on an instinctive level. Children were, after all, capable of sensing evil. Even in its stages of infancy.

So imagine everyone's surprise (Joey's included) when Henry Stein decided to befriend the town's most infamous little black sheep.

Kind bleeding heart that he was, Henry had thought it unfair that others would judge another as strongly as they judged Joey, so he'd taken it upon himself to make the kid next door's life a little less lonesome.

Give him what he surely needed: A good and caring friend.

Needless to say, he regretted that decision more than anything in the world...

It hadn't always been so bad. Once Joey had actually been a friend to him, and cared enough to look after Henry when he'd most needed.

Now however? Now Henry could barely recognize the monster behind that unnerving grin...

The burning selfish desires in those sapphire blues, hidden behind an half-lidded expression that was reserved to feign a serene and caring persona…

As charming and handsome as Joey looked (because he'd always been unnaturally pretty, even when going through the awkward stages of puberty), Henry couldn't help find his apathetic and selfish nature abominably hideous.

Especially now as he brought him the results of yet another failed experiment.

"I'm getting closer dear friend." He held the snapping, snarling little beast at arm's length, this failed mockery of Edgar barely looking like the adorable cartoon spider he was meant to be. "Soon I'll be able to make you perfect, and then we'll be back together as the dynamic duo we always were..."

Henry shuddered at the thought, tightly curling in on himself as he watched Joey end the poor creature's miserable existence. His bowl where his meals were served clattering loudly, as the inky heart of the slain critter was tossed onto it with precision. A mimicry of flesh thumping against the metal with a wet splat.

He fought back the urge to cry as he felt his mouth water.

"Eat up my loyal wolf… We can't be wasteful." Joey's cruel smile almost ruined his appetite. Almost. "Don't worry, this wasn't anyone you knew…"

With that said, Joey left him to greedily consume the offering.

Looking in the bowl's reflective surface once he'd licked it clean, Henry found that he could barely recognize himself anymore.

His stretched out face progressively becoming less and less humanoid as he was fed the experimental failures of Joey's horrid machine, and his pale hair having long since turned black and begun to spread.

He looked like what one would envision Boris the Wolf to look like in some lovecraftian fever dream. Dressed in ill-fitting ripped clothing, and barely able to balance a pair of cracked glasses on the bridge of his elongated nose.

An inhuman beast that fed off of the misfortune of others, losing his humanity as time passed on by.

He wondered if he'd forget himself eventually. If he'd forget that the devil in disguise that was Joey Drew was to blame for his malformations.

If one day he'd actually grow to love his captor in the same manner that Stolkholm syndrome victims tended to do, once brainwashed into submission by their abusers?

Another shudder forced a garbled whimper out of his deformed face.

To whatever god that could hear his broken pleas, he sure hoped not.

Henry didn't want to give Joey what he wanted.

Not when that monster of a man had taken him away from his family to keep as some sort of freak show pet.

Playing some sick version of house with the "puppy" he sustained on a cannibalistic diet. Disgusting.

Curling up, Henry cried himself to sleep. Thinking of his wife and children.

Missing them terribly while locked up in the bowels of Joey's demented studio.

-

The Ink Demon wasn't bad company, Henry had found. It seemed to understand his pain on a level no other creature did, offering him what little compassion it could whenever Joey dropped by with more "food".

It feared and loathed that devil of a man just as much as Henry did, and it knew to be kind despite never once being treated with the same sort of respect.

The one positive of this odd kinship between the two, was that Joey seemed pleased by them forming the sort of bond Bendy and Boris had. Thus never getting in between their interactions.

"One day soon, it'll all be just as I envisioned." He'd purr as he pinned the bound inky wolf to the ground, touching Henry in a way that made him want to gag, and rip the rat bastard's throat out with his horrific set of doggish teeth. "Just a little more and you'll be perfect."

He didn't want to be perfect.

All Henry wanted was to kill Joey Drew and go home.

"But first, I have a surprise for you." A surprise that came right after this twisted display of "affection". This gross invasion of the abominable wolf's personal bubble.

Joey presented him with an absolutely Perfect Boris.

Overalls, pie cut eyes, soft velvety fuzz and all… no signs of dripping or asymmetrical proportions.

The terror in those eyes however… it was all too human.

"I told you I'd find a way to reach perfection. Once I've finished tweaking the process you'll be just as perfect as him… Maybe more." Joey purred. "I miss your voice after all, dearest friend. Until then I give you this fearful pup to do with as you wish."

Upon his tormentor's departure, the cartoon wolf scrambled away from Henry. Shaking like a leaf and whining pitifully.

A child, Joey had converted a child…

Hell hath no fury like the righteous rage of a scorned father.

That bastard would pay for all he'd done!

But first, the large and deformed beast that was Henry Stein carefully scooted over to the shaking Boris clone and comforted him as best he could.

He'd protect this poor pup, no matter what.

The Ink Demon seemed to be in favour of extending that same grace, although it did still go for the kill when the less than agreeable ink monsters came around looking for trouble.

-

Buddy's transformation had certainly enraged him when Joey presented the poor boy to him. Sammy's and Norman's fates however were the last straw to break the camel's back.

Most of the people that worked at the studio were strangers to Henry, but the young musician and the oddball projectionist had been friends to him.

With every stranger's heart he consumed, the large beast of a wolf grew more and more restless. The revulsion he felt when looking upon Joey growing into an all consuming desire to violently murder his captor.

When a faceless ink creature wearing only suspenders and a Bendy mask came in one day to bring him his meal however…

"My lord wishes me to feed you, oh Great Lupine... Abyssal Hunger of the Ink's Abyss…" The body shape wasn't one he recognized. The slight arch to the creature's legs a bit strange to look at, and the four fingered hands an indication that something strange had definitely come to pass in this poor madman's transition into his current state. But that voice…

"Shhh...Shhaaammiieeee…?" His voice had returned as a dissonant mess, one that was not fit for a gross mockery of a muzzle like his own.

"Is… Is that my name, oh Hungry One?" There was both fear and hope in his voice. That in itself made something twinge painfully in Henry's chest. "I… Yes, yes that is my name isn't it? Sammy… I… oh thank you kindly, Benevolent Wolf. Please, feast upon your meal. I have worked hard to acquire it in the name of our Lord, your most wonderous companion."

What had Joey done to Sammy Lawrence, the proud music director that had more than half the mind this mindless drone had? Good heavens, what had he done that completely broke the poor kid?!

Rather than voice his horror, Henry did as he was told. After all the more he ate, the more his gluttonous appetite grew… as did this horrid body he was stuck with.

Abyssal hunger indeed…

He forgot what shame tasted like, but not mercy.

As selfish as it may be, he did request one thing.

"It is as you wish, oh Hungry One… I shall protect all pups that enter my lair." The Prophet bowed once, twice and then trice as he took Buddy by the hand. "Another horror skulks in the darkness, wearing an Angel's face. She hunts wolves, for fun. I shall show them your mercy."

He trusted that Sammy would keep his word. He was as stubborn as they could get, after all, and did not back off from a challenge very easily.

Henry would miss Buddy's company though.

That particular encounter was bad on a moral level, but it did turn out alright in the end. When the Projectionist was presented to him as a play thing however, Henry had begun to crack. No one deserves such a horrible fate as to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Norman had once carried a world of unimaginable knowledge on his back.

Now he only had the painful weight of a projector on his neck, and the volatile temper of a mindless beast.

The deformed wolf had done his best to gain the creature's trust, but it feared being attacked far too much to let a nearly 20 foot inky monstrosity near itself.

Self preservation hadn't completely left the Projectionist it seemed.

He'd let it go, hoping doing so would be a sign of good will on its own.

And then when he'd been once again left alone, Henry continued to stew in his anger. Talked himself into showing a rarer more violent side on Joey's next visit.

Even tried to fight back against him the next when he tried to touch him.

This was a losing battle however… After all, Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obsessions.

Henry Stein just so happened to be his biggest obsession. Even as this horrifically imperfect monster that only an equally horrific demon could ever hope to understand.

[docholligay]

Doc Loves His Dark Materials

If I were going to regret anything about HDM, it would be that I wasn’t in high school until I read it. If I read it when I was a child, I would have been full-tilt obsessed with it. It was precisely the sort of thing I was always looking for and could never find. 

There are a great many YA books that delve into the realm of fantasy, but few of them that inhabit such a fully realized world. Lyra’s world, as it is set up, immediately takes you in, and it manages to almost have an air of urban fantasy, a world that is clearly different from ours, but not so different that it requires a lot of jargon or that it becomes difficult to understand. It is our world, but only off a few clicks. 

Daemons are my favorite “personality sorter” of any of the YA books that have them, which is many, because everyone loves to put themselves into boxes while claiming labels are stifling. I also rarely see much discussion about daemons, and I assume this because it’s much more difficult than one’s Hogwarts house or anything like that. Your daemon’s form is intrinsically tied to who you are at your core, and Pullman is utterly unconcerned with overexplaining how they work, and how they are chosen for you, outside of that. 

Lyra Belacqua is a fantastic main character in that she has true flaws which are immediately apparent to the reader. It is not that she is plain, and put upon by life, she is not some brooding orphan looking to find herself. She is spoilt, and impetuous, and willfully ignores all the privileges of her life. She is a willful and skilled liar, and there’s a great deal about Lyra that’s not particularly likeable at all, and yet for all that, she feels more fully realized. She is a girl who must come into herself. 

And all of this, of course, ties back into the fact that Pullman does not treat his young readers as if they were incapable of handling deeper themes and ideas, or that they can’t read. The narration is often lyrical in quality, the title of the series is cribbed directly from Paradise Lost, and from time to time the book itself quotes poetry. It believes that young readers are capable of higher things. The concepts of grey morality, of desperation, of sacrifice. His Dark Materials is not afraid to question the very wisdom and usefulness of God. 

To this end, as I referenced above, Pullman does not feel the need to drill things down to the exact point. It’s actually a lot closer to adult books in this way, that it expects that young readers are also capable of drawing their own conclusions and coming to their own ends. Every time I thought it was going to put too fine a point on something, it would stop, right there. 

That is not to say it’s a perfect series, as nothing in life is perfect, and occasionally I roll my eyes at Pullman’s preachiness, but it’s few and far between. Most of the series is a deeply textured, complicated children’s series about maturity, heaven, the difficulties of one’s parents, and also there are witches. 

Spoilery below the cut

This is one of my favorite YA series of all time, and might be my favorite if we break it into age groups, being as A Series of Unfortunate Events is clearly meant for a much younger audience. Northern Lights/The Golden Compass (spicy take! The Golden Compass is a better title than the original! It fits with the pattern of The Subtle Knife and the Amber Spyglass, and also with the overarching Series Title of His Dark Materials. Why are you booing me, I’m right.) 

I think all YA series want to make their characters’ flaws into eventual strengths, but I don’t think any (that i’ve read) do it quite so well. Lyra’s stubbornness and lying, storytelling, save her ass more than once in a way that doesn’t seem coerced or cheap. I love that eventually she learns how to be less of a liar, and more of a storyteller. That her life can be as interesting as the falsehoods she used to tell, it feels very much like my own experience of becoming and adult and discovering that I had plenty of interesting things to say without telling a lie. 

Lee Scoresby is my favorite character of all of them, and I adore him, and his arc is so good, so entrenched with that classic Western sense of just wanting not to be involved, and being unable to stop yourself from getting involved. I was, of course, sad when he died, but there was literally no more fitting end for Lee than what ended up happening, that sense of sacrifice and willingness to die for the sort of idea that a person can hold, that utter loyalty. I still haven’t watched the HBO version partially because I’m not sure I can fucking handle him being played by Lin Manuel Fucking Miranda. Who also played ~the cockney lamplighter~ in the new Mary Poppins because I’m not allowed to enjoy anything. 

People are often surprised that I love HDM because it’s intensely anti-religion, and indeed, there are a handful of times that Pullman’s edgy atheist act annoys me. But in fairness, it’s MOSTLY not my religion taking the punishment, in that Pullman, like most Culturally Christian Athiests, assumes all “abrahamic” religions are the same, despite all three of them (or four, if you count protestant as its own thing) being vastly fucking different in approach and belief. So, really, I don’t get hit that much. But also rather than JUST being like “RELIGION MAKES YOU NAUGHTY” which is about as deep as it goes in The Golden Compass, it ends up taking the tack that God is nothing but a powerless old man who WANTS to die, who is being held up only by those who wish to bring war and strife. What a concept! Amazing! Not where I expected it to go at all. 

Also the fucking courage to show dissolving into the world as being preferable to some form of eternal life? FUCK ME. I was so absolutely struck by that, as a religious person who, probably 70% of the time, really can’t deal with the concept of an afterlife. It seems so overwhelming to me. I thought the whole thing was done beautifully. 

And its not as if he doesn’t punish both the religious and not alike--despite everything, Mrs. Coulter and Lord Asriel both end up hurling through the abyss because neither of them could every really move from their positions. In bringing down the Voice of God, they also must destroy themselves, built around this idea of upholding god and destroying god in equal measure, they cannot stand without him. I mean shit! You’re not gonna see that in Harry Fucking Potter, which built up the necessity of a hero’s sacrifice only to pull it out of the ass. 

The way that Lyra’s parents are both villain and hero, at turns, and how you come around to be like, ‘Wow, you are both assholes” even though they are on opposite sides, is remarkable. How many times how you read YA and it’s been like “oh my long lost and/or dead parent is wonderful!! How I love/miss them!!”? HDM does not fuck around with parents. Lyra’s parents are enemies and completely corrupt weirdos, Will’s mother needs him to take care of her in a way that is NOT made cute, and his father just fucking fucks off and dies the minute Will meets him. It’s a thing I didn’t realize I saw so little of in YA until I saw it here. 

I completely expected, braced for, and readied myself for Will and Lyra to end up together, and I was so fucking pleased that they don’t. It’s refreshing to be proven wrong, to have an author not decide that the boy and girl need to get together at the end of it. And it’s remarkably low drama.

[legobiwan]

What do you think Crowley, Loki and Obi Wan would do in each other's places?

WOAH, INTERESTING ASK, ANON

I kept coming back to this one and then closing it because it is one hell of a question, and I really needed to ponder all the possibilities here. (Well done, btw!)

Okay everyone, bear with me here, this is going to get WEIRD and I really have no idea what I’m talking about, hahahahaha. 

Obi-wan Switch

Loki: Okay, so let’s assume Loki is dropped into Obi-wan’s boots. We know Loki feels that he is underappreciated and overshone by his brother, that he has issues stemming from how he perceived his treatment by his father. I don’t see this improving under the tutelage of Qui-gon Jinn. In fact, whatever insecurities Obi-wan had would be intensified ten-fold with a Loki in place, who might have had more time to stew in his emotions than Obi-wan. Loki - who I love dearly - would probably be a far better candidate for the Dark Side under Palpatine, who I could see being a mirror for Thanos post-Thor 1 fall into the abyss. The question would be - would Loki crawl his way out?

Crowley: Now, if Crowley was dropped into Obi-wan’s boots. I think he’d just head for the hills. Crowley was barely skirting by in his work with Hell, and he’s not about to take the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders by trying to influence cosmic events. Except…Anakin is the Chosen and Warlock was kinda of the chosen one, in a way (or so they thought). So I’d imagine Crowley would either peace out to the nearest spice den and get involved in some shady deals with Hondo Ohnaka until he was able to get back to his own reality or he would very, very begrudgingly look after (not train, but check in on, in a more insistent manner) Anakin. But he no quests for good or light or whatever other nonsense. Ultimately, I could see him becoming a bounty hunter-type, helping out when needed but not getting involved.

Crowley Switch

Obi-wan: 

Hastur: *holds out basket* “Here, deliver the Antichrist.” 

Obi-wan: *not knowing anything about Western religion but having a bad feeling about this anyway* No. 

Yeah, I mean…Obes is not delivering the kid. I don’t even think that Obi-wan would have necessarily left Anakin on Tatooine had events gone a little differently in TPM. (I also don’t think Obi-wan would have brought him to the Temple to be trained, but that’s another story for another day.) Now, let’s just say for Narrative Convenience that Obi-wan makes his way to the infamous Soho bookstore with the child in tow. First of all, the accents of these two alone. Hahahahaa! Secondly, I just think everything would get derailed as Aziraphale and Obi-wan talk metaphysics for hours on end and reconciling Heaven/Hell with the Light/Dark. Perhaps Obi-wan gets some insight as to the bureaucratic nature of the Jedi he grew up with and Aziraphale is bolstered by some wise Obi-wan aphorisms. I think…this might be the healthiest environment for Obi-wan, as he can decidedly say “no” to Hell without feeling bad and help out Aziraphale while reading a bunch of books and drinking tea/wine. Obi-wan totally gets his nap in this situation and it is well-deserved.

Loki: Loki would *love* pulling stunts for Hell. I mean, this is his wheelhouse, this kind of semi-petty mischief, and for once he gets rewarded for being who he is instead of being ostracized at the Asgardian court. I could see Loki being pretty close to Crowley in action, but with fewer fucks left to give, and so when it comes to Armageddon, he’d just be like…”nah, nevermind.” Given their natures, I could see Loki being a gigantic pain in the ass to Aziraphale but them becoming friends just due to their mirrored natures and Aziraphale’s book collection, which Lokes really wants a go at. Plus, I imagine Loki would love traversing Midgard and, pulling stunts, and getting to live a semi-free life. Again, this is another best-case scenario for Loki, as it’s essentially an extended vacation. (And can you imagine - Loki, to the four horsepeople, Beezlebub, and Gabriel: “You think you fools know Armageddon, let me introduce you to my children, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. Now get out of here, I have to go mess with the stock market before my reservations.”)

Loki Switch

So I think the Loki switch is interesting because we can see in Crowley and Obi-wan two divergent paths of how things may have been able to go a little differently for Lokes.

Obi-wan: So Obi-wan has some experience being overlooked and I think he’d get really annoyed by Thor and his short-sighted family, even more so after finding out about any secret heritage issues. But! (And as much as I adore dark!Obi-wan), I think an Obi-wan in this situation would negotiate, hard, and even travel down to Earth to help out exiled Thor. In short, he would have been a decent ruler, shown his mettle, and maybe even brokered a legitimate peace with the Frost Giants. It would like…the best possible AU of Loki in Thor 1 (at least, for Loki’s mental health) where everyone just finally gets their shit together and team up to defeat Thanos. 

Crowley: In contrast, I think this situation would be out the worst tendencies in Crowley. He’s already insecure, wants to get into a fistfight with God, and without the stabilizing influence of Aziraphale and his trickster nature being looked down upon in Asgardian society - I think that’s when we’d get dark!Crowley, who just wants to burn shit to the ground, leave Thor to suffer on Earth, and bring the legions of the damned to Asgard and let them feast on the souls of those hypocritical warriors. It would be…the worst possible AU of Loki, in which Loki just lost all of his already tenuous moral compass in Thor 1. Crowley wouldn’t even need Thanos to screw up his mind, he’d be there already and what were once pranks would turn pretty damn malicious-to-murdery. Hell gets overcrowded in this one, for certain. 

What I think it fascinating about going through this exercise is the temperature of the different worlds. The Good Omens universe, by far, holds the most positive outcomes because it is the most upbeat world - I mean, both the TV show and book argue for optimism, which is why I think we get Obi-wan and  Loki in their better forms here. In the Asgard world, we kind of see both - the negative aspects and the redemptive ones and Marvel does tend to balance both, with the light ultimately winning out. Star Wars, however, is by far the most tragic universe, which is hilarious considering that it’s…you know, Star Wars! Luke Skywalker! Obi-wan Kenobi! Our heroes! Mixed with dirty politics, genocide, fascism, broken family bonds, slavery, torture, genetic manipulation, betrayal, etc. I think it’s why I’m so drawn to the Star Wars universe, as it’s so layered and so god damned Shakespearean and no one gets out unscathed. And so we’d see Loki devolve to his worst and Crowley, not devolve but just become totally amoral, a kind of extreme extension of his avoidance of Hell in GO. 

Anyway, this is totally off the top of my head, but thank you for the thought exercise, anon!

[project-ohagi]

Soramitsu Tabe x Reader

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Even with the will of the entire world, you just couldn't tame his emotions. Frustration swelled within you, because you were exhausted from having to constantly mind him. Your relationship usually allowed proximity and romance, without him lashing out and attempting to eat away at your flesh. Genuine adoration was shielded behind that mask, but the thought of expressing too much of it was terrifying to him. Given his societal status, he had never before known such a pure and authentic love. This wasn't something he wished to ruin, and yet the venomous ticking in his head, the whispered voices...they were perpetually hunting for creative, new ways to tarnish his remaining chances with you. It wasn't a controllable force, but it could be temporarily subdued, by the melody of your voice.

Every lyric that rolled off your tongue was Heaven (or as close as he could access), softening the abyss of his mind. It was ephemeral, however, and every second that ghosted past in your absence felt like Hell. The demons who shackled and repressed any traces of optimism that might creep into his system, appeared adoring towards you, and so provided a little leeway in your company. When you abandoned him, even for a mere moment, they returned, their taunts more aggressive than before. They informed him of his dependency on you, and how very tired you were becoming, as a result.

But...how could he function, with a degree of normalcy, without you? Although, yet another matter niggled the back of his brain: your relation to the young head of the Hassaikai, Overhaul. The connection hadn't been completely fleshed out, so he wasn't sure if you were siblings, cousins or something else, but he could concede that it frightened him, ever-so-slightly.

What would transpire once the news surfaced? A simple, yet violent argument? A fatal fight? For as much as he was deemed insane and incapable of empathy or affection, he truly craved your kindness, your divine presence. It was that which bestowed upon him a sense of security, of home. He never wished to be the cause of your demise, or your split from the organisation. An alien love had settled within his core, and instead of consuming it, he had nurtured it. If you ended up suffering injuries because of him, whether they be physical, emotional, psychological or anything in-between, the grief would devour his heart. Behind his burlap sack mask, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, as his nerves illuminated. His hands started to tremble. The fear, the demons, they were invading his head again. Overhaul had rescued Soramitsu, yes, but that was inconsequential.

Such a powerful figure commanded the utmost respect from his inferiors, not this. To Overhaul, it could manifest as scorn, as a 'trash-is-dating-your-relation-in-an-attempt-to-usurp-your-post'.

Surely, he wouldn't even consider his pleading, his insistence that the truth was far more benevolent! If honesty permeated him, Soramitsu didn't see why you had chosen him. Often, only a singular word attained liberation from his lips, and it wasn't something worthy of adoration. Why? Why did you claim to love him, so very dearly? Why did you gaze upon him, as an awe-struck child, learning to interpret the stars? And...why hadn't he refused your advances?

Ah...perhaps it was the introduction of love into his otherwise worthless existence, that had so mellowed his heart. It was something which he hadn't fully realised, and which his mind agonised over, for many moons. Feelings of neglect bubbled away in the pit of his stomach, as time trickled by. You were still nowhere in his immediate sight, and that was filling him with worry. His mind and mood dropped further into their depressive cavern, as he imagined what tortures Overhaul could be subjecting you to. You possessed a mental strength far superior to his, but it was generally nigh-impossible not to break under such agony. His knees wobbled with the anxiety, forcing him into a crouching position on the ground. What was presenting such an issue, that you would break your promise to him?

You never betrayed his trust.

Yet, maybe an hour had passed since the time that you had suggested. The panic was eating him alive. Had you encountered someone with foul intentions, or had you simply fallen out of love? Were you really busy, or simply in hiding? Soramitsu just couldn't be certain, and the desperation was killing him, slowly. How would he ever hope to function without your help, without your guidance? Even his illustrated emotions were unsure of themselves - should crystalline tears be falling, to signify his sorrow? Should screams tear apart his lungs, because of an unrelenting anger? Or...should he retain his silence, as a testament to his emptiness? All three were competing for validation, but he didn't know which to grant an audience.

As he brooded, these feelings only developed in ferocity. Almost like a relapse, food was once more on the brain. It happened suddenly, eclipsing the final few scraps of rationality, which had lingered since your previous visit. Despite the relatively short period in which you had disappeared, his heart thundered with malice, misery and rejection. This relationship was still fresh, still brimming with bashful side-glances and awkward half-smiles, yet he sincerely cherished it with all his faculties. Had your numerous, supposedly affectionate encounters simply been a nicety? Were those ever-burning embers of love real, or a façade? Did you pity him, or did you revel in his hopeless confusion?

Eloquence aside, would his deepest, innermost emotions - the ones that caused his nerves to explode with an unfamiliar comfort - ever reveal themselves to you? The very worst circumstance, he fretted, would be for you to turn tail and flee, the moment his lips parted. But...but surely that sort of cowardice, of discourtesy was unachievable for someone as wonderful as you...right? Soramitsu placed a hand on either side of his burlap sack mask, desperately searching within his soul, for a sign of reassurance. It might be mentally and physically draining, attending to him around the clock, or ensuring his lack of rampage, but it didn't automatically predetermine that you would just walk out of his life...right? His overactive mind needed an answer - one to ground it again.

"Sora! Oh my gods..." Those heavenly echoes sliced straight through his thoughts of desolation and self-contempt, as a knife to the flesh.

The tepidity of your embrace was something for which he had long yearned. He understood himself to be wholly undeserving of such a loving gesture, yet his quivering hands failed to shove you aside. He couldn't! He refused to impart even the most minor injury on to your delicate skin. You caressed him with a tenderness that should have been reserved for someone else - someone who carried an air of stability, of maturity. You didn't require his filthy love, and you never did. His deplorable appearance was that which should be scrubbed from your life. He didn't wish to taint your grace any further.

He didn't even deserve to touch you.

But...wasn't it above his station, to spurn your courtship?

"Soramitsu? What's going on, sweetie? Did someone hurt you?" The concern penetrated your heart, and this was reflected in your voice.

This whole ordeal was painful - agonising! His vocal chords strained with the effort, but he was determined to respond.

"Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-You...I - It w-w-was y-you..."

"Me...? How did I - what...? Did you...did you really mean that?" The quiet cracks which fractured your words were ungodly; why was he cursed with such inarticulacy?

The abnormal dejection crossing your features, the sniffling, the near-waterfalls of your eyes...No! Anything but this! He couldn't bear your current expression. If only his words could be repealed...If only he had been more careful! What had he set in motion? Could his crime ever be absolved? Shaking his head over and over, desiring the phrases which would inevitably dispel all this negative energy, Soramitsu started to choke on his own sharp breaths. Tears threatened his heart with thousands of red-hot pokers. Your form was convulsing in its sorrow, but you hadn't moved away, not even by an inch. Soramitsu relinquished his voice - words couldn't possibly aid him now. Rather, despite his unwavering anxieties, he rested a hand on your shoulder. The connection was feather-light, as though you might shatter, or gain an intense disgust for his touch.

Neither of those harrowing ideas occurred in reality, to which he thanked every god and goddess in the universe.

[Word Count: 1414]

[writers-blogck]

Opposites [ Mandalorian x Reader ] 04

The sun was just beginning to peek over the edge of the dunes when Mando started up his ship. It rumbled under you as it began its ascent into the air and journey into the stars. It was strange as the ship began to sail in the sea of stars. Everything was dark up here. An ocean of an abyss filled with gem shards of stars. Your eyes scanned the vast landscape before you, hands gripping the armrests lightly to contain your excitement. It was everything you had dreamed about and more. "Have you never seen stars before?" Mando's gruff voice broke the silence, only stealing your attention away for a moment before you were focusing back on the stars.

"From the ground but never this close up. It is amazing."

"Are you telling me-" The chair turned to face yours, armored arms crossed over his beskar chest, "-that you have never been on a ship flying before? You said you were a skilled mechanic. Did you lie to me? I can still go back down to that sand-covered hole you call home and go on without you."

"No! I mean, I haven't but I've worked on a lot of ships before. They just...didn't fly. I could get them to turn on and I could have flown them if I knew how. I'm a mechanic, Mr.Mando, not a pilot. I never lied to you." Sitting up straight, you looked at where you assumed his eyes were. You wouldn't let his Mandalorian act get to you. He wanted you to feel intimidated, yet for a man to take in a băiat (baby boy), he couldn't be that terrible. You had been told you trusted people too quickly but you didn't let their words stop you. "Don't call me Mr.Mando." With the huff, he spun his chair back to focus on the controls. There was an alto pilot for backup at the moment but he still was plotting a course to find the next best planet to go to. You didn't care where he wanted to go as long as he took you away from your planet. What would you see? What was out there that you had never seen? Just the thought excited you. With one final glance at the vast unknown in front of you, you turned your attention to the newest book you had found. When you went scavenging, it was a rare treat to find pieces of literature. Sometimes they would be manuals or fiction but this was different. This was a notebook or diary someone had filled in. It was the first time you had ever found something like this. It was covered in wreckage from the ship when you found it but after a good brushing over, the only hint to the past was the aged pages and slightly worn cover.

The coffee-colored pages were held together by a leather cover with what looked to be two swords crossing on the cover. There was no way for you to tell how old it was. You had flipped through it quickly when you first found it and there weren't any dates listed. Perhaps it would be hidden in the entries and you could figure it out yourself. If there were any big or famous events, you should be able to put a small timeline together. The time didn't matter in reality. You had simply taken the book because it seemed interesting. There was nothing you were expecting to learn, unlike the other manuals you had taken from other ships.

As you opened the journal, you could feel how rough the pages were against your fingers. It had to be at least ten years old, probably older. You were surprised that it had lasted with how it looked to be on its last leg. A few more years and it may have begun to wear away, leaving broken pages and a worn leather cover. Who knows what kind of secrets would have been lost if you hadn't found it? Your eyes began to scan over the words, escaping into the diary to allow the Mandalorian the quiet which he seemed to prefer. The only time he did was when he reprimanded you. You pushed those thoughts to the side, making yourself focus on what was written on the pages. -Entry One-

I'm not sure why I'm writing this.

I've never kept a diary before but now I have so much I can't tell others. It is not due to a lack of trust per se but I know that I will only end up being scolded or taught some deep lesson if I do say anything. I could always talk to Skyguy about some of this stuff but he already has so much on his plate. I've ranted to R2 but it is still a lot different ranting to him. I know he is way smart and advanced for a droid but he still is a droid. Plus, what if he goes and tells Master? I can't risk that happening. It's nothing serious, I don't think anyway. R2 said it was just girl troubles and normal as I started to reach puberty. Yuck! Just the idea of R2 knowing and understanding puberty feels weird...Like he is a textbook of what happens during it. He can't fully understand how it feels. Robots don't go through puberty...Do they?

Anyway, he probably is right. There aren't many other fourteen-year-olds fightings in the rebellion. Plus, I am surrounded by guys all the time! There was the rare occasion of seeing Padme or some of the other female rebels but most of the time it is all guys. If I did have any questions, how could I ask them!? I'm not changing that much, right? I should just write down some of my questions about that and ask the next time Padme is around. She seems close to Master so she tends to pop up unexpectedly. I can feel how much he trusts her. I trust her, though I don't spend that much time with her. Still, she has some type of maternal aura around her when I'm near? Is it because she is so used to dealing with C3PO? That would be a handful. I'm glad we have R2 instead.

I also have some questions about the Jedi but I don't dare ask any of them just yet. Maybe I can ask Skyguy one day but not now. I just...Recently there was an attack and it was unknown if there were any survivors that needed help. Obi-wan said it was too risky to do a search and believed we should have left them. How could he think like that? They are a part of this rebellion as much as we are. I know he is just worried but is that how a Jedi is supposed to feel? I've heard him scolding Master at times for being so close to R2. Jedi's don't make attachments. Like, seriously? Why is that a rule we are supposed to follow?

Master doesn't think like that. It's hard to figure out what he believes because he always pretends when he wants to do something that Obi-wan doesn't believe in. He agreed about the search mission at first but once we left the base, he decided we had to go and find them. Does he get how confusing that is? He calls me reckless at times but he is thinking the same thing. He just acts like that because I'm younger than him. That has to be it.

I know both of them are good people but I just can't understand why they aren't as willing to take chances. We are the Jedi. We help people, it's what we do. Right? I'm not so sure anymore what we are supposed to stand for.

It's so confusing. I just want to help people and take down the bad ones. That sounds simple enough. Maybe it is just because they're old and need a young person to remind them what we need to do. They praised my determination for the search mission after it was all done. That has to be a good sign. Yet I dare not ask these questions yet and risk my padawanship. I still have so much to learn before I can do anything to help. I'm going to change the Jedi way one day. No one is going to have to follow those stupid rules...Oh, Gods, I'm starting to sound like Master now. Was he this way when he was a Padawan? Maybe we are more alike then I think.

As the entry drew to a close, you heard cooing and felt the child climbing up your leg to get on your lap. You had wondered where he was when the ship first took off. You assumed he was off taking a nap somewhere, maybe he was. Kids need a lot of sleep when they are that young. Well, when they are in that life-stage anyway. You couldn't call this child young when he was as old as your grandfather. It was interesting to see in person how different races can differ in such important life matters such as aging.

Shutting the book and placing it aside, you turned your attention to the little green ball of energy. With how he was acting, he just woke up from a nap and was ready to play. You doubted that the Mandalorian played with him a lot. He seemed to even keep himself from touching the little thing as much as possible. Did he not want to get attached? Just like in the entry, did he believe he couldn't form attachments?

To you, that was utter nonsense. Your people put relationships, platonic or romantic, above everything else in your beliefs. Being raised that way had made you able to express your feelings easily and let people know that you cared about them. Did this tough warrior have anyone? Did he ever have someone? This life seemed one filled with loneliness and solitude. As you had gotten on the ship, it was easy to figure out he was a bounty hunter with the carbonite freezer he had. Finding this kid was good for him...Who could keep themselves from getting close to the baby? He was so cute and adorable. You loved children to begin with but this one was the cutest you had ever seen. It hit those evolutionary instincts to take care of him with those big eyes. It was easy enough to entertain the child since he found your fingers to be just as interesting as any toy he could have. His tiny hands reached up and grasped at your fingers which threatened to tickle him. Could he laugh? You were curious if he was just like a normal baby in that regard. That was a question that deserved to be experimented on. His cooing was adorable enough that it would only make sense that his giggle would be too.

Your attention was drawn away from the diary you had read. There would be time later when he went back to taking a nap that would give you time to think. Still, it was hard to ignore one piece that you had read in the ink dried from years past. A ringing question that seemed to stick in your brain even as you idly played with the green jellybean: What was a Jedi?

[thecardsimagine]

Admirable

a/n: Did I really finish the first giveaway price? Amazing, wow. I hope it’s to your liking @multifandomtrashempress (if not hmu uwu)! A little piece of Lucio getting jealous over the reader spending too much time with Valerius!

Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Teen and Up Audiences _________________________________

You were an admirable person.

From how you spoke to any and all people with respect and a smile on those pretty lips of yours, to the way you'd brush your hand gently through Lucio's golden locks. You were the only one he'd even let close enough to his body without all the fabrics and gold adorning it, showing only you some of the scars he'd rather not showcase to other people. And he was happy to hold you in his arm while you traced the injured parts with your fingertips. His own fingers against your skin, feeling, experiencing you, and a content smile on his face, unlike any you've ever seen him display before.

You always helped people. He caught you carrying around baskets full of vegetables for the old maids, hold the ladder for the servants dusting off the enormous chandeliers, and feeding his dogs instead of their own keepers, before. Lucio didn't always take those well-meant notions of you well, feeling like they only took time from what was really important - him. But he let you do them because you'd always come back to him with a smile and a promise to make up for the lost time. And no matter how he felt, he knew it was what made you endlessly happy, and that was all that was important for him.

Considerate, that's what you were. You helped guests wash out wine from their dresses, and you held their glasses when they had to greet a duke real quick, leaving you behind. You, the count's companion. The second most important person in the ballroom. But you never batted an eye, humbly accepting thanks and apologies for your troubles. Other than Lucio, who very well was ready to throw these people into the dungeons for their misbehavior. When you kissed him though, he accepted the silent apology you muttered for them, resuming to just glare them into submission, rather than doing you the displeasure of hiding these people into the darkest places of the palace for a while.

Yes, he was not a pure and good man, and he made sure to tell you. You and only you got to hear it from him, his doubts and anxiety. His anger and all the hurt that poured out of his heart. On the seemingly endless nights that you two stayed up and talked, where he confessed his insecurities and problems to you, you were the only one to ever know that he wasn't as blind about himself as people thought him to be. "It's alright, Love," you'd mumble, brushing some hair out of his face, plugging some strands behind his ear tenderly. "We'll manage." And he'd huff, smiling softly about your words, feeling like they couldn't be real, a pretty wish at best. But at least for that night, he took them, coming back for more and more pretty wishes the longer you two were together. No matter what fights he had, after meeting you, he was never alone with them. Lucio loved you endlessly for that, even if he never truly believed it would last.

You showed him most of his good sides, and you showed him all of his bad, never complaining, never justifying. Like the godsend angel to his sins, you were there to stand by his side when things got rough, holding his hand even when people screamed profanities into your direction. After all, how could you stay with such a person? It was all his fault, all him to blame, and yet he put on a smile, squeezed your hand tighter and laughed it off. That's the only thing he knew how to do after all, even though he put you into his bad light with it too.

Where you were the light in the masses of the people around him, he was the darkness that swallowed it whole. No matter how many fingers you gave to him, he'd always take your whole hand, arm, body. Greedy he was most of the time, but you were the thing he desired most. Still, you stayed. Endlessly patient, endlessly shining. Some days, you were far too bright for him to look at you, though he could never take his eyes away from his sun.

That's why it hurt so bad, whenever the moon dared to cause an eclipse to his dear sun.

Oh, he despised the moon. Admittedly, once, the moon had been what you were now. He was pretty to look at, more comfortable to keep one's eyes on too, but with you so bright, Lucio hadn't had any thoughts about Valerius anymore. He didn't miss him either, and pretty sure, neither did Valerius. But just like the count was fascinated by his sun, so was the moon and you couldn't help but enjoy being blocked off from such hungry eyes that were Lucio's for a while every now and then.

You welcomed the breaks you got. It was time to collect strength, share some of your worries. Something, Lucio knew, you needed desperately. To be away from him, even if it was just for a few, fleeting moments. But he always knew. When you met Valerius, even just for a handful of minutes before returning to the count's side. Even Lucio was surprised he never commented on it, just clawing his fingers a little rougher into your hips while you two strolled down the hallway together in thoughtful silence.

Lucio hoped you knew that he did not enjoy the need to keep you like a dog by his side. In the morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and at the parties. He always tried to keep you pretty either on his arm or the chair on his left, as long as you were in close proximity, he was satisfied. Did you ever mind it? Just how close he was all the time, hoping to keep you where you were? His partner, the second most important person, the only person he could trust. Did you?

How should he handle the pain otherwise? It was nothing he was ever told how to do, and while he turned out to be surprisingly patient with you, it was as if you pushed a dagger right into his heart every time you talked with Valerius. If there was one person that actually meant something in his life, was he to endure the stabbing just to justify how much of a bad person he actually was? Was this fate, or put simply, Karma?

And yet, whenever you touched Valerius's arm in a playful manner, Lucio imagined your touch on him. The way you'd brush through his hair, combing it through with tender caresses. How you'd drive your fingertips over his scars, thinking about them with your beautiful mind.

When you shared your problems and listened to the consul's advice, only to be just as attentive to the worries on Valerius's mind, Lucio remembered your smile and the feeling of your kisses, comforting himself with how you'd made up for the lost time with him soon.

No matter how much he glared at you two from an upper-story window, wishing to throw your precious friend into the darkest and deadliest abyss of the dungeon, he never acted on his wish, aware that it was you that would burden the apology for the misbehavior of getting to close with the count's lover.

And for your love, for your happiness, for your mercy, he tried so desperately to be a better man.

Yet, the next thing he'd know, you'd make plans to meet for a nightly wine-tasting. Lucio wouldn't come, he'd pout in his room while you get ready. Ask you not to go. Ask you to stay. You would smile, and leave without him, no matter his concerns. Was it pity he detected in your eyes? Or annoyance? He wouldn't know, so he would lay awake the whole night, pretending to sleep when you finally slipped into the room again and under the blanket with him, hugging yourself to his body as if you never left.

And his eyes would open, staring at the ceiling while you fell asleep, the smell of wine - or what he preferred to call it: Valerius's - on you like no other.

You had proven your loyalty so often. Assured him not to worry about your dedication and Lucio knew there was no way you would leave him. Especially not for the likes of Valerius. But no matter how much he tried to console himself with these thoughts, it never worked. When you were not with him, his mind would not rest and though he scolded himself for that thought, was it so bad that he felt a right to be jealous? With what limitations you two had, was it too much to ask you to stay with him?

It was, but Lucio had yet to accept the truth about this.

And once he threw himself into this pit of doubts and lies, blurring his reasonability, the stone began to roll. A storm picked up, that tore you two more away from each other than any other of his misbehaviors. It had taken such a long time for him to reach this point, clawing onto his sanity for your sake. But like many things in his life, it was futile, and remorse only hit when it was already too late.

You knew something was going on from the moment he stopped talking to you. You were better than falling for the shaming he did, aware you were not in the wrong for whatever he threw at your feet, but he was. It still hurt. Seeing him leave first in the morning and waking up to a cold mattress alone. No shared breakfast, no tender affections outside of the meeting chambers before he had to go in. And no interest when you told him about your day, something that got him more curious than anything under normal circumstances.

It gave you the biggest punch in your unknowing mind when he asked you to sleep in a guest chamber for the night. Never had Lucio pushed you and especially the comfort you were emitting to him, away. You felt hit by pain with every step you did down the hallway to your temporary sleeping quarters, thinking for the first time if maybe it had been you to do something wrong.

And it didn't get better. Next, he'd pout. Like a child, though it was less adorable considering, he was too old for such a public display of childishness. Lucio would remark on your faults, though in fact, they were more his than yours. "Well, I don't go and spend time with every court attendant here, do I," he'd blame you. "Neither do I," you'd retort, so Lucio would huff, leaving the room in anger. And you'd finally pick up on what's going on. Who could blame you for being the one not wanting to share his bed that night, besides Lucio that is? And even he knew that he must have been looking unreasonable while he punished himself with thoughts about you in the quietness of his room.

If you hadn't been the person that you were, this would have never ended well. His temper tantrums where something right out of a book for entitlement, and though you knew where it rooted from, even you couldn't be expected to react to them well. There was screaming, crying, accusations back and forth, the full-blown arguing about things you two never even had thought about before. And admittedly, neither him nor you really remembered the first reason after a while, hissing and shrieking at each other just for the sake of finding who was in the wrong.

It wasn't until you sat down in a chair, shielding your eyes from the light of a candle and starting to disconnect from his pity party, that Lucio's voice came to a shutdown, breathing ragged. There were a few deep breaths where he tried to start again, but his own exhaustion didn't let him either. It was not what he had wanted. Looking at you, he never wanted to see you so done with all - mostly him. He didn't want to see you cry and he didn't want to feel so damn unfair towards you.

Finally, remorse hit. After what seemed like a small eternity, when both of you broke down under the pressure of these futile arguments. Lucio sitting on his bed, hands stuck in his hair, eyes on the ground. Your small sobs and the occasional fallen tear being the only sound that reached either of your ears. It wasn't until he started to clasp his hands together in front of him, not looking up to you still, that you were able to give back your attention to him.

Him, coming to terms with his doubts about you being serious with what you two have, his words were quiet, a whisper at most. "I can change," he promised, empty, invalid. You sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your thumb. "You won't," you retorted, his real knuckles turning white under the pressure of his grip. "[Name], if there is anything I can do to keep you from leaving, I will! You just got to tell me-"

Your raised hand stopped him right there in the middle of his sentence, while you shook your head sadly. "There isn't."

Never had you seen someone's heart break before, but at the moment Lucio finally looked up to you, eyes dulling as they seemed to water, mouth gaping in disbelieve, you could almost hear it. So many emotions flashed through the one hurt expression on his face, from disbelieve to what seemed like the face of someone you just told that their closest relative died in an accident. Rarely had you ever seen him so shaken as in this very moment as he tried to comprehend your words.

And then, the king fell from his throne. Or in this case - the count, to his knees. In what seemed like a pose fit to someone losing in battle, his hand barely reached out for your foot as he supported himself on his forearms. There was no strength in his grip, and he could barely even hold on to you in what seemed like a try to keep you from leaving. You saw the shudders hitting his body, fingers clawing into your foot, releasing, collecting strength, clawing again.

No words were spoken as he laid there to your feet. Defeated, lost in his fear of losing you. It hit him over and over, robbing him of his clear thinking and understanding. His mouth could open, but it could not form words. Something he hadn't felt for a long time, the warmth of his tears, made his face burn up. A feeling he knew all too well, his body was on fire. Lucio wanted to scream, but nothing left his throat. All he could think about was you leaving, something even more terrible than death.

While his mind screamed for him to do something, to act, to move, to react, you leaned down, brushing your hands through his hair, patting it softly. And his emotions halted for a second, relishing in the touch. His breathing stopped as he tried to take in the feeling of you being close, letting your fingers glide under his chin, picking him up from the floor.

"But I will not leave…" you hushed, pushing back some of his disheveled strands of hair tenderly behind his ear. Reaching under his armpit, you struggled to pull him up, making him sit back up, only giving him the right to get more and more confused. And then, you sank to your knees before him, bringing one of your arms around his back and pressing his head into your shoulder. It took him a while to respond, but his embrace was all the more eager when he did.

It was so tight, it hurt, but you didn't have the guts to take the one thing he needed desperately from him. You warmth, your confirmation, your existence. "I will never leave. And you know it." Nodding into your shoulder, he pressed you even tighter against himself, as if you would dissolve if he didn't keep you together. It was his way of holding on to you. His way of trying to believe at least a little bit that your words were true. Because after all the fakeness he saw in his life, he just wanted this one thing to be real. Just you. Only you.

"Please," he whispered, his mouth so close to your shoulder, he didn't need to scream anymore. "Please, say it again."

"I won't leave you. I am not going anywhere," you muttered back, rubbing over his back calmingly.

"But what if this happens again?"

"We'll be alright as long as you still think about these things. Talk to me when they arise, work with me. I will do just the same, always correcting you on your mistakes until you send me away."

"I wouldn't," he mumbled, tightening the embrace. "I couldn't."

"I know, so I stay."

You felt him take a deep breath, slowly letting it out of his lungs again while pressing you airtight for a moment. "Alright." Leaning back, he let go of the tight embrace, looking deep into your eyes, scanning them for any ill-intent or liar that may reflect in them. With his left thumb, he reached up, brushing it over your cheek tenderly, hoping to gain a reaction. Disgust, rejection, hatred. But no matter how much he searched, he could not find any hint that would tell him that you were faking any of it. That you were, in fact, only pleasing him. No one ever could have made his heart leap in his chest like you did. No one ever would.

His change in demeanor was almost instantly. You felt relieved at the sight of his shining silver eyes returning, replacing the hopeless dullness from before. "I'm-" he started, immediately pressing his lips together in a sharp line. "Oh?" you mused, smiling expectantly. "Be quiet, will you!" he stammered, a flush of red decorating his cheeks.

His comment was met with a pinch of his cheek, pulling on it for a while. "You don't get to talk like this when speaking with me." Hissing his obligatory annoyance over the pinched cheek, you let go shortly after, instead cupping both cheeks lovingly. "Fine, fine," he mumbled, covering one hand of yours with one of his.

"I'm-" he started once more, breaking mid-sentence to take a deep breath. "You are?"

"Be patient, I am working on it."

"Lucio…"

"I am sorry, alright? Is that satisfying, will you just be quiet now?" he hissed under his breath to your satisfaction, his body poise like an angry cat with his shoulders lifted and muscles stiff. But even after all this time the two of you were together and confided into each other, he could not hide the grace of embarrassment on his cheeks, the red making such a nice contrast to the white and gold of his clothes.

"No, I will not be quiet." Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his, engaging him in a few small smooches before backing away again. "Repeat it, please."

"Why?" he groaned, almost horrified.

"It'll make you a better man! Do it for me!" you laughed, face beaming up like the sun over Vesuvia every morning. His sun. His endless shining light. Lucio clicked his tongue, whispering his next words. "... am sorry."

"Again!"

"Sorry!"

"Once more!"

"I am sorry!"

"I love you."

"I am really- wait, what?"

"I love you, Lucio. More than anything."

The sheen of red washing over his entire face was a delicious sight for you, and you reveled in the knowledge you were the only one that ever got to see it. Laughing you tugged on the hand he brought up to his face, trying to hide behind it. "No, no, let me see it. I want to see that you love me too."

You were grabbed and pressed against him roughly almost immediately, arms snaking around your body to keep you in place. "What? After all this, you still need a reminder that I love you?" he asked mockingly. "I need as many as you do!" you explained, giggling over the small growl that escaped his throat since he didn't want to hear you point out his insecurities. "Well, I love you more than you do."

"You do not! I love you more," you immediately gasped back, returning his embrace with an equally strong hold on him. "Oh, do you now," he mumbled, starting to kiss along the side of your face. "Yes!" He let out a long, thoughtful hum, stopping in the middle of your left cheek while he thought.

For a split second, Lucio allowed himself to let what happened rerun through his mind. It could have turned out so bad, he was already at his worst, you could have just left him there to rot. But you didn't, and even more so, you were still there. Even after everything he put you through, you held him in your arms lovingly. Even after all he was, all he stood for. You were too good to be true, and yet you were, even if he had more doubts about you than about himself. You - his sunshine - would not leave even after his disgraceful display and all he had thrown at you. What a pure soul you were. What a lucky man he was.

"This is non-debatable. I love you more."

You were the only one that would ever be able to capture his heart like this.

After all, you were an admirable person.

[cupidsmusings]

The Chained Goddess

Description: Eisuke Ichinomiya had it all. Money, power, and looks. He wanted for not. Some wondered how he did it. How was he able to accomplish so much at such a young age? Rumors that were joked amongst some of the wealthy individuals that knew him were that he sold his soul to the devil. They were almost correct in that aspect. It was not a devil he sold his soul to. He hadn’t even sold his soul to anyone. He was just lucky enough to find a rumored vase and rich enough to purchase it. 

Rating: PG-13 

Series: The Chained Goddess 

Chapter 1: Vase

Couple: Reader insert, but unsure who the love interest is yet

Author’s note: Just a small idea I had. What if Eisuke was only able to accomplish such feats because of a deal he made with a goddess that he helped free? A slight crossover with Star Crossed Myth and Kissed by the Baddest Bidder.

{Name}, goddess of fortune and prosperity, was an unfortunate woman. Jealousy and envy had chased at her heels since she was but a young child. The only daughter to the King of the Heaven’s, as well as his only child, she was looked after with great care. She never wanted for anything. Gods and goddesses, of course, did not struggle the way mortals had, but she always managed to obtain the best jobs, best fabrics, best everything. And despite her father’s fickle and rather twisted nature, she was still loved deeply by him. If she cared not for a god or goddess he was pursuing, he would drop them and pursue another.

This was her downfall. A woman whom her father was intimately involved with felt the most jealousy one would. Why couldn’t the King care for her more than his daughter? She was the most beautiful in the Heaven’s, the most talented in subjects like dance, singing, and music, as well as the best partner to have in bed. So, why was it that he would always ignore her whenever his daughter entered the room?

One night the King’s bedmate left him to slumber away by himself so she could creep through the palace without any extra eyes. She had clutched at the amulet she had spent a pretty penny on once she arrived at the door that led into the princess bedroom. And there she found the princess, quietly slumbering away like a babe. What a fool. What a spoilt little fool. She was quick with her actions and quick with her incantation. The young princess glowed a faint amber, but that amber brightened every-so slightly. The glow ate at her body until she no longer laid asleep. The glow, now a small orb, was transported into a vase that was kept on the princess nightstand. Her job not quite done yet, she walked over to the vase and pulled out a string of gold. She had to be slow with this, for with one misstep her entire plan would unfold without anything to show for it. She whispered another incantation under her breath as she wrapped the gold string around the middle. Once tied, the string turned into thick chains, but within a second the chains dissipated and fell to the floor with a few loud clanks. Fear tugged at the lover’s heart as she watched the chains turn into dust. It had worked, but she wasn’t aware that it would cause such a ruckus.

Now it was time to be quick. She snatched the vase from its perch before she ran towards the opening into her room that led onto the balcony.  She jumped over the railing and allowed her body to float downward until it reached the ground. Without any hesitation, she ran in the direction of an old well. A well that barely anyone knew of, and thank the Heaven’s for that. It had taken fifteen minutes before she reached the well and with a smirk of triumph she stared into its dark abyss. She held out her hand and released the vase she held. She watched with satisfaction as the darkness swallowed it. When she could no longer see it, she released a crazed laugh. The King was finally only hers.

 It was peculiar really. Surely she had not slept-walked into a new room. A room that she found herself locked in. The walls bowed outward and as the stretched upwards they grew closer together. They met at the ceiling… Or they must have. She had a hard time seeing the ceiling. Quite honestly it made absolutely no sense. Where was she?

“Papa?” She called to her father, but when she got no response she pursed her lips in thought.

“How odd, he usually always answers me when I call for him.” She hummed to herself. “Oh well.”

She shrugged her shoulders as she all but skipped over to a large bookcase. What a hefty piece of furniture it was. Without much care with the situation at hand, she plucked a book out from the bookcase and bounded over to one of the plush cushions that littered the floor. She plopped down and tucked her legs underneath her to get into a more comfortable position. With a smile, she opened the book and began to read.

That was how she spent her time in there. She would finish a book, go find another book, read that one, then the cycle would repeat. It wasn’t until she reached for the final book that she realized something was definitely amiss. She tried to summon a pitcher of water but nothing appeared. Okay. She then tried to summon her furry friend Plop, but he did not appear either. Noted. So summoning was a no go.

She went to the walls and poked and prodded at every inch. It was when she was floating in the air, staring upward in annoyance, that she came to the conclusion that she was trapped somewhere that had an ancient spell on it. A spell that would be hard to find and taxing to cast, even for a god.

“It must also mask my presence. Papa would surely have found me by now if not.” She hummed to herself as she let her body slowly float onto the floor, her sway reminding one of a feather. “I suppose I just have to wait this out.”

She closed her eyes. In the meantime, she would take a rest.

 Who knew how much time had passed before she opened her eyes. The only reason as to why she awoke was because she felt something amiss. It was a slight hum that tingled her ears, a common thing that let her know something was about to happen, what that something was she did not know. She stood up and glanced about the room but found nothing amiss. In the blink of an eye though she was removed from her prison and suddenly stood before a young man that must have been no older than 20.

He was dressed in strange attire foreign to her. She eyed him from head-to-toe and did not mask the movements of her eyes what-so-ever. What did surprise her, however, was the unimpressed look he was giving her. That was rather rude of him.

“So the rumors were true.” He hummed to himself.

“What rumors?” She inquired and floated around him.

His eyes followed her casually as she did so. Even when she picked at a few strands of his hair to examine the color and texture he showed no signs of being perturbed. Interesting indeed.

“That a genie was enclosed within the vase of Gomora.” He stated.

That was when she laughed. Her arms circled around her torso and her head flew backward as her laughter continued. Did he think her a genie? How adorable.

“What’s so funny?” He asked and there was an edge there that had her laughter ceasing.

She wiped at the tears that pricked her eyes and allowed herself to float around him once more before she sat comfortably on his shoulder. She rested her elbow against the crown of his head and was successfully able to contain her chuckle when he glared up at her.

“I am a goddess, not a genie.”

“I’m not religious.”

“And I like apples. How does that pertain to the discussion at hand?” She asked him with a tilt of her head.

“It means I’m having a hard time believing you’re a goddess.” He quipped.

“But you believed me a genie a few seconds ago?”

“That’s because genie’s fall under the supernatural category.”

Another gush of laughter flowed from her mouth as she pushed off him to float in the air in front of him.

“What an interesting thought process!” She laughed but was jostled to the ground when the human grasped roughly at her wrist and tugged her down.

“Rules dictate that you do what I command. Whether that be three wishes or just one, you must do what I ask you!”

“Cocky for a mortal I will give you that.” She said and stared at the wrist he was tightly grasping. “And considering it was you who freed me I will give you three wishes. Like a genie.”

“Good.”

He released her wrist then and once freed she made a show of rubbing it gently. What a rude little boy.

“Are there any rules?”

“Rules! That is a rather important aspect of the wishing part I suppose.”

He stared at her. It was different than the glare and uninterested stare he had given her before. This was one was of…. Exasperation?

“Well, I suppose no wishing for immortality, yeah that is a good one.” She closed her eyes and nodded sagely to herself. “You also cannot wish me to make someone fall in love with you. I also will not preform a wish that asks me to raise a loved one from the grave, or anyone from the grave really. And no wishing for more wishes!”

“I wish for you to be my personal assistant until I say otherwise.” He wished.

“Assistant? Why would someone your age wish for an assistant?” She asked him as she tilted her head to the side.

“It isn’t the genie’s part to ask questions.”

“I told you, I am a goddess, not a genie.” She snapped and crossed her arms over her chest. It wasn’t as if the wish would be hard to grant. Her life span was different from his, so for him, a life-time would seem like ten-years to her maybe? 20? Wait how long did humans live anyways? But she also needed to get to her father and let him know she was okay.

“Whatever. Just grant my wish already.” He rolled his eyes at her.

She would have found it annoying if he wasn’t so adorable when he did it. Like a little rebellious babe. She snapped her fingers and watched with curiosity as cuffs appeared on her wrists. She followed their chains to the vase she was apparently just released from. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as a new pair of chains poked from the cuffs and shot towards the human. He caught them easily and right when he got a hold of them they slowly faded into nothing as if that entire scene was a figment of her imagination.

“That was odd.” He commented as he stared at the palm that once held the chains.

“You saw that too!” She shouted as she floated towards him. “Was that a metaphor of sorts?”

“How should I know. This is all pretty much new to me.”

“How exciting then! It is always fun experiencing new things, yes?”

“I personally don’t care about learning new things.”

“Well, that is rather boring.”

“It’s a good thing I could give a shit what you think is boring.”

“Such foul language coming from a child.”

His glare was on par with that one god Scorpio. She had met him all but five times but he always glared at her. Even when she was kind enough to offer him a treat from her special treat stash! Enough of that rude so-and-so, back to the task at hand.

“What of your other wishes?” She asked him.

“I’ll wait to ask those. I don’t want to use up all my wishes at once. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity after all.” He smirked at her.

What an amusing little creature this human was. At least her time on earth would be an interesting one.