#diary of a broken soul

[dailydiarynquotes]

[hauntingblue]

Hiyori is the most effective person to complete their kill so far

[ignyxdaughter]

𝐗𝐈𝐕 - 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄

(𝐦𝐨𝐛 𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐬! 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬)

READ ON WATTPAD

MASTERLIST

summary: Katherine has to talk to people from the past. Her and Billy have a loving moment at the end :)

word count: 4174

warnings: none

────────── ★ ★ ★ ──────────

There's a whole minute of silence between us. I analyze every detail of Katrina. Last time I saw her, she was with short hair on its natural color — light brown — and a frown that reminded Tissaia's arrogance and Andrew's hate towards the whole world. But now Katrina has light on her face; her blue-green eyes are shining and she doesn't seem the same spoiled girl I know — though she's still wearing fancy clothes.

For the first time, Katrina Eloise Morris looks like a good person.

"You're different", she says.

"You too."

Her smile catches me off guard. She's never smiled towards me. "I changed for better, I think, and I wanna talk to you about it." I raise an eyebrow and she looks at the men by our sides. "Alone."

No. I glance Billy, praying for him to notice my despair. No. No! I don't want it!

My heart sinks when he nodded and let go of my arm. "I'll have a talk with Cypress, then." When the albino capo opens his mouth to talk, Billy adds: "But with you two on my sight."

"Fair enough." Cypress faces Katrina. "Go to the opened hallway, amore mio. We'll be looking at you from here."

She smiles and grabs my good arm, pushing me to the spoken place. I keep glancing back at Billy while being guided, silently screaming for help. But why would he help me? I'm his hostage, a mere pawn on his game. For him, it doesn't matter if I'm hurt; he just wants me alive till we find Katarina and solve the case. He may even kill me later to avoid any living evidence.

He won't dare to do that. I shake my head to gather my thoughts. You're a Mikaelson.

But what if he finds out my family doesn't want me anymore? Will he attack or have mercy?

No. Billy's smart; he wouldn't have mercy.

"So", Katrina's voice makes me finally come back to reality.  "Here we are, sis."

"What do you want, Katrina?"

"To apologize." I scoff. The day my sister regrets everything she's ever done to me, it'll also be the day when pigs will fly.  "I mean it."

My serious face is long gone when I laugh. That can't be true.

"Katherine! I really mean it!" She exclaims in indignation, which just makes me chuckle more.

"Oh, Katrina, when did you join comedy?" I giggle, almost having a belly ache from laughing so hard. "You really should do a stand up. It's been years I haven't heard a good one."

Her expression is stern, the mirror of someone gathering patience to not punch someone. And she knows better than to attempt that. "I really mean it, Katherine! I've been horrible to you."

It takes me a few seconds to realize she's telling the truth. I take some breaths to compose myself and look deep at her eyes for a moment, trying to see if this isn't an act. But no; this is indeed the truth.

"I know." My sister uncomfortably gazes the floor in shame. "Years ago I wouldn't believe me either. But I've changed. I really have."

"That doesn't erase everything you've done— or better, haven't done with me."

"I won't try to justify myself, 'cause there isn't any reasonable reason." She looks at me. "But I want you to know that I'm sorry."

I bite my tongue to avoid a fight in the middle of this event. What Katrina's saying doesn't make sense. She was never like that, a good person, so why change it now?

"Why?" I ask her. "Why telling me this now?"

"I— I don't know, but maybe it's to be forgiven, to end the guilt. Even if I realized I was wrong just a few years ago, at least I noticed!" I stay silent, analyzing each movement to detect a lie. Her little speech seems like a perfect trap, one that I won't allow myself to fall for.

She lets out a deep breath. "I found out how mom and dad left people. They were good and suffered because of us." I can't believe I'm hearing that.

It takes everything in my will to not roll my eyes. "How do you think they were left, Katrina? Happy for being poor? Enlighted for being fooled by a couple and some kids? Heartwarming for helping a scammer family?!"

"No! I— I knew they wouldn't be happy, but at least they had each other. All of them were an united family, not a broken one like ours."

"Yours", she closes her eyes as I correct her. "You are not my family."

My sister sighs and stays silent about the correction. Good. She knows better than to argue that with me. "I didn't know at the time what people would do for money, Kat."

"Oh, you didn't? It'd take just a look at your parents to find that out. After all, their money appeared out of nowhere." I look deeply at her blue-green eyes, gathering all of her attention. "I don't blame them for being on the criminal world, Katrina, but I do hate them for being cowards. Because only a coward would steal from the good instead of being face to face with another criminal."

"I know!" She sniffs and quickly passes a hand on her nose to not mess her makeup. "And that's why I told the latest family to call the police after I left. They had a little boy and—  and it was the first time we went to a family with a kid. I couldn't let a kid suffer."

"Did they call the police?"

Katrina nods. "They're good now, but our—", she shakes her head, remembering to correct herself "— my family spent the night in jail."

"When was this?"

"6 years ago." She was 20, then. "I started working on a restaurant to gain my own honest money and rented a flat with a rommate. That's actually where I met Cypress... I was having my night shift when he entere—" Oh, bloody hell!

"I'm not here for a love story, Katrina."

My sister nods, yet gives a little scoff. "Yeah. Yeah, of course you aren't."

"Does Katarina talk to you?"

She bites her bottom lip. "None of them talk to me anymore. Dad and mom cut me off that night, and a year ago Rina did the same." I keep looking at her for an explanation, but I guess she didn't want me to have a richer boyfriend."

I raise an eyebrow. That's such an immature reason to cut someone off, though Katarina is exactly that kind of person. "So she stopped talking to you because you started dating Cypress?"

"Seeing. I wasn't even dating him yet!" I roll my eyes. "But she was dating Billy!"

Hum... Maybe this conversation won't be a total failure.

"She used to tell me how he was handsome and rich and good in bed—"

"Katrina, I'm not here to praise Russo either."

"Okay!" She throws her hands in the air. "What I want to say is that she told me about the scam. She wanted him to give mom money to invest on the stock exchange. That way, mom'd already have enough on her company when Rina left Billy."

"Company?"

"Yeah. She has a loan company. That way she's access of other people accounts to steal their money."

"Oh, that's so her."

My sister nods. "From what Rina told me, she and dad broke up and now she has a lover. Aaron LeBlanc, I think."

I shiver at the thought of someone loving Tissaia. That woman doesn't deserve anything good in this world. "And Katarina? Where's her?"

"She said she'd go to London. But I'd search on Amsterdam too."

I frown. "Why?"

Katrina shrugs. "She just loves that place. You know, the green."

"Well, now it makes sense why Katarina's brain is so damaged."

She chuckles, what makes me raise a brow at her. "Your lungs are as damaged as her brain."

"So is your liver."

Her laugh increases with my statement. "A pothead, an alcoholic and a smoker. What a wonderful trio mom birthed." Ok, maybe this was a little bit funny. But I won't join Katrina at that joke.

"We're not a trio."

She stops laughing to face me with a regretful expression. "I know. And you have every right to hate us, but, please, know that I do regret. I changed, Kat. I really did, and I don't blame you for not forgiving me."

I look at her blue-green irises to make myself clear to her. "I recognize your change, Katrina. But I can't forget everything with a conversation."

My sister nods. "I wanna help you to find Rina though."

"In exchange of my forgiveness?"

She shrugs. "I wanna end the guilt."

I narrow my eyes at her, scamming every detail on her to not fall on a trap. "And will you not feel guilty of betraying Katarina?"

"Not when she doesn't want my happiness."

After a few seconds, I finally nod. "Tell me everything, then."

────────── ★★★ ──────────

"Must've been a good talk", Billy says when we come back to the men. They're seated on comfortable white chairs; Cypress is with a cigarette while Billy and another man drink whisky. I know the latter from some old business. He didn't change much on the outside, and I suppose his dirty inside is still the same. After all, Viktor Orlov is from the Russian mafia since he was born.

"We had some issues to solve", I say as taking a chair to seat.

Viktor smirks, well aware of my relation with my biological family. "Good to know you're friends now." We aren't.

A waiter appears with champagne glasses, and I happily take one. Alcohol can help me a lot tonight, yet a cigarette would be better. "I'll then assume you are making some friends too."

The Russian man passes a hand on his blonde hair, an habit he's always had. "Of course! Actually, Billy was just telling us how you two met! Though I don't imagine any of you at a museum."

I control the urge to roll my eyes.

"What?! I totally imagine Kat at one." All eyes go to Katrina, who's on Cypress' lap. "Last time we saw each other, she was doing history in Harvard!"

How the hell does she remember that?

Viktor's jaw drops in shock. "You studied history?!"

I smirk at his face, suppressing a laugh. "Surprised?"

"It's just so... weird." I raise an eyebrow at him. "So different from you."

"That's because you don't know me, Orlov."

"Katherine", Billy's looking at me like a hawk "may I talk to you?" Nodding, I excuse myself from the crowd and accompany Billy to an isolated corner. "What did you two talk about?"

I take a sip of champagne before answering: "Katarina's in London or Amsterdam. She robbed you to get money for Tissaia's company."

"But her company's of loan." I nod. "She got all kinds of accounts to rob. So why wanting my money?"

"For more money, of course. Tissaia's never satisfied, nothing is enough for her."

Billy frowns, probably solving the puzzle on his head. "No, there's more that we don't know."

I scoff at his skepticism. That man simply can't stand that he was fooled, that Katarina planned to leave him since the beginning, and not the other way around. However, as time passes, Billy's confused face suddenly changes to a smirk, realization hitting every inch of him.

Uh oh. This isn't going to lead us to any good.

This is a victorious grin, one that express his contentment for finding out what happened between him and his ex. It's clear that Billy's just discovered my sister's weakness.

"She's in debt."

A tired sigh escapes my lips. I really don't have time for this paranoia. "Billy—"

"Her mom's already had money when she started dating me. She could've choose any NY rich man but she chose me!"

"So?"

His dark brown eyes are shining when he looks at me. "Rina's not dumb—"

I chuckle. Is this a joke? "I beg to differ."

"She knew I was from the mafia. She knew it, and that's why she wanted me: to have money and intimidate her enemies. It was killing two birds with one stone!" Oh, God, he is acting like a mad man. "We've to find out who's that enemy."

"Now?"

"Right. Fucking. Now."

Billy pulls me by the forearm so quickly that I gasp in pain and almost drop champagne on the floor. I feel my wound sting because of the muscle's stretch, which makes me stiff for a moment. But the Anvil CEO doesn't care; he leads me through the ballroom, probably searching for someone. After all, he wouldn't be crazy enough to leave a — criminal — business party so soon, which would certainly stain his reputation.

"W—What about Petrov?"

"We're goin' right to him."

After minutes of trying not to trip on my own gown and dodging the crowd of guests and waiters in the ballroom, Billy finally stops at the garden, a few inches away from 3 men talking to each other. I just know the tallest of them. His brown hair is thrown back with gel exactly like Billy's, his navy blue suit seems new, as if it was bought yesterday, and his tattooed hand holds a glass of vodka.

I analyze the tattoo on his hand. It wasn't there on our last meeting, though his hand was covered in blood. It's a lighthouse at sunset. For the Russian mafia, that means freedom.

"Petrov."

Kage's gaze turn to us, and a smirk forms on his lips as he sees the man by my side. "Oh my—  Billy Russo!"

The Anvil CEO gestures to himself. "The one and only."

"What a wonderful surprise, my friend", although better, his Russian accent is still noticeable when he speaks english. "This is your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no!" I chuckle while Billy answers we're partners.

Kage narrows his hazel eyes at me, scamming every detail of my face. "You remember me of someone. What's your name?"

"Katherine Elizabeth Morris." My eyes go wide at the stone cold voice behind me, my whole body freezes and a shiver runs through my spine. It's been 3 years since I've heard that French accent, and at the last time, it was filled with rage. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

With closed eyes, I take a deep breath before making a spin to face the woman. She's stunning as always; half of her hair is tied down, letting the blonde curls fall on the red gown that contrasts with her pale skin. However, Michelle's light blue eyes gaze me with complete hate.

"Mich", her name almost sounds like a plead on my tongue.

"Michelle for you." Her correction breaks my already shattered heart. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Oh my God, why have I just said? She's going to hate me even more for this!

"She's my girl", Kage's voice interrupts our conversation, but none of us turn to him. "Now how about all of us sit down and—"

"Actually we've gotta talk", Billy says. "Just the two of us."

"Right now?"

"Business doesn't wait, Petrov. Let's leave them on our sight while we solve some things."

He groans and faces Michelle. "It'll take a minute. Will you alright, sólnêchka?"

She nods. "Oui, mon amour."

It's obvious the annoyance on her face when she turns around to face me. It's been 3 years and my cousin hasn't forgiven me, which, honestly, I understand. And that's why I have to contain myself to not apologize to her and say everything that really happened on the night we last saw each other.

"So—", she huffs before I even finish my sentence, as if my voice was a disgusting sound to be heard by her ears "how are you doing?"

"How am I doing?" She repeats it out loud, questioning herself. "Let's see—"

Something good won't come out from her.

"I'm young and beautiful, rich and popular... I haven't seen you for years — which made miracles for my mental health—"

I take a deep breath to control the urge of slapping her. "Michelle—"

"And I've a handsome and loving caring boyfriend that you can't kill."

A punch would have been better than that. My heart sinks in my chest, her sharp words hitting me like a train.

The message couldn't be clearer: my life's better without you. Michelle hasn't just said that she doesn't want me, but that Kage — and her — will kill me if I ever lay a finger on him. But the worst part of all is that, although filled with rage, my cousin's right.

I've never been good enough for anyone. And I'll never be.

I'm nothing but a burden. Everyone's better without me.

"I want to apologize", I gulp in an attempt to avoid crying. "Not for Mason and his dead body, but for hurting you. It was never my intention."

"Wow—", her scoff lifts one of her blonde locks "you're so cynical, Katherine. More than I've ever thought."

"Michelle, I'm not being—"

"Ah, spare me your words! You kill my boyfriend, disappear for years and now is following me like a puppy as if nothing happened." She narrows her light blue eyes at me, pure hate inside them. "You're acting like a victim, something you sure aren't."

I chuckle at that. Is she really calling me the handler in this conversation? "I know I'm not the victim, Michelle."

"Oh, do you?"

"If I were doing what you're implying, I wouldn't be here apologizing to you again. So stop distorting my words."

"Ok, then." My cousin nods. "Say that you regret killing Mason and we can never discuss 'bout that again."

"And will we see each other again?"

She scoffs in annoyance. "What do you think?"

I sigh in frustration. God, she's more difficult than I remember. "You know I won't apologize for Mason, Mich—"

"You accused Mason of cheating on me, filled my head with your paranoias of the time, and then you killed him! How can you not regret that?!" She yells at me with widened eyes.

"Because he cheated on you and betrayed the family!" I raise my voice, all of my patience running out.

"That's your freaking paranoia!"

"Goddamn it, Michelle! I showed you the photos and all evidences that he wasn't as trustable as you'd thought. He didn't deserve you!"

"And you had to kill him for that?! You had to break my fucking heart?!"

"I did it for you, for the family! He tried to hurt us!"

"Mais tu m'as fait mal!" (But you hurt me!) "Tu as détruit mon bonheur à l'époque juste parce que tu n'étais pas heureux!" (You destroyed my happiness at the time just because you weren't happy!)

I go immediately still. Firstly because my cousin's speaking french, her native language; something she just do when she's losing her mind. Secondly due to an accusation I would never do it. If Michelle — or any of my cousins — knew of my mental breakdowns and all of emotions I kept to myself in order to help the family, she would've never said that.

"Don't you dare." I clench my teeth to control my rage. "I would never do that."

She scoffs, clearly not believing me. "Vous savez quoi, Katherine? Va te faire fou—" (You know what, Katherine? Go fuck your—)

"Alright, that's enough", Sorrel puts herself between us. "You kids had your fight, but now it's time to rest."

Behind my friend, I see Viktor holding Michelle in an attempt to calm her down. She's acting like the perfect victim as always. Nobody but her can make a mistake. She's the only one that can do whatever she wants despite all the consequences of her actions.

I'm used to that since we met as children, but sometimes it really gets on my nerves. And I really would've stayed calm if it wasn't for her wiping some tears away.

"You're crying?"

"Katherine—"

I completely ignore Sorrel's warning. "I'm the one with no family or place to call home and you're crying?!"

She's seeing red when she faces me, but I'm seeing that color too. Every part of my body wants to slap and punch her till she screams 'I'm sorry'. Michelle has the perfect life, with a dream job, alive parents, cousins that talk to her and a boyfriend. She should've been thanking for still being part of the family and being able to live that wonderful life. But no, she had to cry tears and act like the victim.

She points a finger at me with a psycho face. "Oh, tu n'oses pas." (Oh, don't you dare.)

"Oh, but I dare on the same way you'd the audacity to say I wanted to fuck up your life because I wasn't happy!" I yell at her, letting all of the feelings flow. "And you do want to know more? I've never been so miserable than nowadays. So congratulations for your perfect life. Try not to ruin it yourself—", I slowly approach her, well-aware of Viktor holding my cousin to not jump on me "because we both know you're very capable of that."

A strong grip on my arm almost makes me gasp in pain, however, I don't have time to compose myself because of the same person that is pulling me through the ballroom. Again. I don't need to look up to know it is Billy, to his face that must be stone cold right now.

He didn't let go of me until we reached the open-air parking lot of Cypress' mansion. His warm hands suddenly released my arm like he was disgusted of me, and although I know Billy's done this due to his anger, a tiny voice in my mind said that he truly was annoyed by everything that I am. My appearance and body, my personality and habits and even my skills.

Suprisingly, that thought hurt me straight on the heart, and, unfortunetly, the pain I'm feeling on my arm isn't enough to make me stop this thought.

"What the fucking hell was that?!" His scream makes me gulp for a second. "I try to talk to Petrov and you started to make a scene with his girlfriend?!"

"I tried my best—"

"Yet you fucking failed." I let out a yelp when he strongly grabs my arm again, right on the wound. "Next time you know someone, let me know to avoid you ruining everything like tonight!"

He increases the grip strenght, making me involutary back off of him to stop the pain. Suddenly, Billy's dark brown eyes changes from rage to regret.

Wait. Regret? I question. No, he would never feel that. I must be seeing things.

The Anvil's CEO, aka mob boss, sighs, which eases the tension on his shoulders. "Let's go home."

I slowly nod and follow when he starts walking to the car, the sound of gravel the only noise in the open-air parking. No one else's near us, all of employees on the gates or entrance of the mansion, and I thank God for that. It'd be more humiliating to get a scold with people looking and listening to us.

The ride to the penthouse is silent, with no stealing glances nor jokes. I look at the window the entire time, seeing a few drunken and homeless people walking around the cold NY streets. This helped me to forget Michelle's words, especially because I feel better after saying hurtful words to her too. It's true I'm upset, but at least I'm not alone in that.

However, there's one little thing that's been on my head the entire way to apartment and is indeed making me regret of what I said to the blonde French woman.

"I'm sorry", I say to Billy when he's taking his suit off.

"Huh?" He throws it on a chair and turns around. The moonlight going through the huge windows lets me see the slight frown on his face, since we haven't turned on any lights yet.

"I'm sorry for ruining the mission. I let my emotions take over my ratio." I sigh while approaching him. I want to look at his eyes to know I'm forgiven, to be sure he's not disgusted with me like on the mansion. "You're one of the only people I talk to now. Even when our talks aren't good, that's the truth, and I don't want to make our relationship any more difficult than it already is." 

"Katheri—"

"Especially when I'm in debt with you... for helping my anaemia and wound."

"Katherine, it—"

"And yet I don't regret anyting about Michelle—" I'm interrupted by his lips collinding in mine, which makes me still in surprise for a moment, thinking if I'm dreaming.

But after realizing I'm not, I return the kiss and open my lips to let his tongue inside my mouth. My hands go to his neck while his arms wrape strongly around my waist, pulling me closer to him. A good sensation spreads through my body: there's a coil forming in my stomach, and my muscles relax while my mind goes silet. The only thing inside my head now is the kiss and the deep desire for more.

Billy breaks us apart when air is necessary. Both of us are panting, with red lips and looking deeply at each others eyes. "It's ok." One of his hands goes to my cheek. "There's nothing to worry 'bout."

I only nod with a smile before pulling him for another kiss, not caring for anything else now.

────────── ★★★ ──────────

Michelle's look:

Sorrel's look:

────────── ★★★ ──────────

A/N: English is not my first language. I don’t own The Punisher and Legacies characters; they’re, respectively, Stan Lee and Marvel Studios, L. J. Smith and Julie Plec. Also, this is my Billy and some The Punisher events will be changed due to the story's course!

[violet-evers]

Today I looked out at the horizon

Past and Present

Roaring against one another

as I looked out into the far off city...

I see a place,

person

I used to be

And look down and see

the people I love around me

In a place

In a time

In a moment of mine own

Where I can feel myself

Letting Go

...

I know how long it's been

and it sounds

Unreasonable...

To have held on for so long

Tho

Unlike how films and stories claim

You don't let go of the one person

That held your heart any soul

In the palm of their hands

That let it run thru

To walk away

To find new lands

In one go

No

I think letting go...

It's in the moments

where you can feel their absence

At first it's every day

every second

And you can hardly breathe

But slowly it becomes...

A dull ache

Until you hardly notice that it was ever there

But once in a while...

On a warm sunny day

Or in a song you used to play

You can feel it

The moment

Of past and present

Sitting, waiting for you to look

At the ribbons of time

Unwinding...

But no matter how hard you try

How much you long to reach out

You know...

That there's nothing you can do but

Let Go

-VS

[hwaightme]

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance. 

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included. 

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal. 

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour. 

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think. 

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…” 

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present. 

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?” 

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony. 

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories. 

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton. 

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny. 

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm. 

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul. 

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?” 

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze. 

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer. 

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric. 

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you. 

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing. 

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out. 

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

🌑 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @starrysvn @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @uwuheeseungie @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? please consider reblogging <3 thank you

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

[rottendollface]

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 4.

Co-author: @bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart Al.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon;

broken time line and age line for the sake

of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous

relationship, family abuse, self-harm,

misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected

sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic,.

body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy

Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage

grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation.

murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom

system in Snezhnaya; all the characters are

adults; 18+.

Time was running mercilessly and the date of Ajax's departure was getting closer. Your mental state improved and you opened to your family, but the common joy ended quickly, as you hid into your wordless shell again, frustrated with a hollow feeling of upcoming loneliness. 

Ajax was stressed out. It wasn't rare for you to find him talking to himself, discussing plans for the future and even arguing. Ajax's short temper and unreleased anger were showing at these moments: he was gesticulating in an excited manner; if not, he was walking back and forth, and sighing heavily. 

It happened again when you were searching for Ajax to tell him to come and help others on the stable. You heard his heavy footsteps on the second floor. Before you knocked on the door, you overheard him saying something about grandmother. 

“How in the world could an uneducated hard-working woman become a witch? Still can't get it right in my head.”

You shouldn't be heeding to his words – you were taught not to eavesdrop, but something in your mind told you to stay and spy on Ajax. You pressed your ear to the door and leaned on it. It was unusual and exciting for you until you heard someone answering him.

“You don't need to have specific knowledge to become a witch. She was in so much despair and pain it made her prayers especially sweet and strong. We couldn't ignore such a broken soul. After she got the power, she got the education as well – we taught her to read and count in one hour.”

You frowned, trying to understand who Ajax was talking to. You didn't hear that voice before and it sounded strange: loud, deep and hoarse. At first you couldn't even understand what the person was talking about – their speech was gibberish without words. You heeded, then your mind translated it to a normal humanly sounding state.

“Brilliant. And who was she praying to?”

“She was praying to the devils, young master. The disadvantage of her choice is simple – you never know who will answer to your call.” The person chuckled. You frowned. “In her case, it wasn't just a deal. It was a salvation. We saw a potential in her: her hatred and thirst for vengeance were commendable. She wanted someone from her family to inherit the power and continue the legacy. Just like in the prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“Not now, young master. You want to ask me about the diary and the missing part of the power, I can feel.”

“Don't you dare tell me what I want to do.” Ajax hissed. “I had enough of this! One more time you and your fucking henchmen show me these lousy dreams I'll send you all to the deepest of the Abyss and let the guards have some fun with you all in the same manner. Speak and then get lost, son of a bitch.”

“So, part of the power was passed to your dearest sister and there is no way for you to get it back from her, but she will share it with you.”

“What?!” Ajax was stunned. 

“Ask her yourself. Not in my duties to explain everything to you. But I must confess she has a rather beautiful birthmark on her pretty back. Such a pleasure to watch her dressing up in the morning.”

You felt that someone pushed the door and jumped back so as not to fall into the room. 

“Ajax! Father needs your help on the stable.” You spoke first and played like you didn't hear anything. Ajax froze with an aggressive expression on his face, but his gaze became softer when he looked at you. 

“'Thanks,” He didn't wait and rushed to the stable. You stood aside to give him enough space, then looked into the room.

You made a step into it. The atmosphere here was different. A cold sweat broke out your body when you realized whom Ajax was talking to. In a second you felt that everything around you was hostile and hurried to get back to your room, but the door closed right in front of you. In fact… you had questions too, but you were afraid to build up communication with those ghoulish creatures. 

“How can I get rid of you?” You asked into the fake emptiness. 

“There is no way.” The answer was given to you immediately. You cried out, regretting your decision. “We serve your brother.”

“What about me? You said I have the same power as him.” Your brain was running fast, as you tried to rate the risk of the situation. You didn't want to repeat your recent journey of escaping demons, so you stayed alerted. Just a reminiscence of it made you weak in your knees.

“You stole a part of it from him. We mean no harm to you because of the master's order, but we have no desire to help you.” A mocking voice said, leaving you angry. 

“You caused me a lot of harm.” You flared up. You realized that you wanted to play dirty on them. “I'll ask your master to execute his threat. You'll get what you deserve.” You grinned, imagining the torture Ajax promised to them. “Open the door.”

The door opened with a creak. You stepped out and the daze fell from your mind. Your heart was beating like crazy and your limbs started shaking from the fact that you commanded those demons. 

“I hope you are suffering in a sulfur flame, grandma!” You couldn't keep the sudden outbreak of anger inside your throat. It all was her fault. Ajax and you were doomed to repeat her miserable fate because of her selfishness. The old fool believed in some prophecy – you were sure it was just a fiction of the demons to trick her into selling her family's souls to the devil as well. “Stupid cunt! Why couldn't you kill your husband without this fucking heresy?!” You screamed and froze. You opened your eyes so wide they hurt and pressed your palms to your mouth, trying to understand what you just said.

You made it to your room, feeling dizzy from the overexcitement. You laid down to rest. You felt so disgusted by your attitude you couldn't even believe that you let these words out of your mouth. Guilt was gnawing at your heart. Your head and your chest were heavy, you were about to doze off to sleep. Recently you got health issues: no matter what, you always were sleepy. With every day it was harder for you to wake up and get out of bed. You slept for ten and more hours, skipped meals and house work, as you felt completely drained out of energy. Even father stopped bothering you: despite his strictness, he was concerned about your health. 

Suddenly you remembered about the diary and your attention focused on it. You got up but sat down on the edge of your bed, because your vision blacked from a sudden move. You took the diary from its secret place and started reading from the very beginning. You didn't know what you hoped to find, and everything you read didn't make any sense. The words were written in a normal human language, but you couldn't understand a thing from it, as if the diary itself didn't want you to know its secrets. 

You stopped in the middle part to examine a magic circle that was drawn on a page. It was a simple circle with two smaller size circles inside of it. The smallest one had inside two triangles merged in the shape of a star, and in the free space in the middle of the triangles there was an eye; outside the smaller circles there were four crescent moons. You looked at it carefully, then read through the text on the next page and managed to understand it. The text was about an astral plane – an experience of lucid dreaming with the astral projection of your soul traveling through the spiritual world. Flashbacks of grandmother's house attacked your mind right after you decided to explain to yourself the definition of the spiritual world. There was no other useful information to gain and nothing was said on how to get into another world. 

You returned the diary to its place, then realized that there was something wrong with it. It seemed like the diary was deciding which information to give to you, and which one to hide – maybe it was some sort of magic. Bewildered, you took a deep breath and laid for a nap. You were in a slumber when Teucer opened the door and came to your room on his tiptoes. He looked around, then stared at your face. 

“Older sister,” he whispered and shook you by your shoulder. You woke up with a scream, making him jump back. “There is a noise inside your room!” By Teucer's tone you could tell he felt as scared as you. 

“What? I heard nothing.” You rubbed your sleepy face, hardly understanding what he was trying to tell you.

“No! I could swear I heard something inside!” In a second Teucer turned into a whiny boy, his voice got crying notes – it was his usual strategy to attract attention to his words. “'Like someone was scratching on the wood!”

“It was mice, probably.” You tried to wave him away. You were too tired to talk: your whole body was heavy and your eyes were clothing on itself. You couldn't sit anymore and laid on your side. Teucer's ginger hair irritated you with its bright color, it made your eyes hurt. You couldn't hear him anymore, simply ignored everything he tried to tell you. Teucer ran away, as he got no response from you.

Just a moment after he came back with Ajax, lamenting on your behavior. Ajax sighed, patted Teucer's head and promised to take a look at the situation. Teucer, who was feeling like a hero, left Ajax and you alone. “What's wrong, dove?” Ajax closed the door and sat on the bed. He brushed away hair that fell on your face. You could feel his peculiar look with your skin.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, hiding your face in a pillow. “I just want to rest.”

“Don't want to seem rude,” Ajax's voice was anxious. “but you are resting too much. Are you okay?”

You didn't answer him, as you fell asleep already. All Ajax could do was to cover you with a blanket and leave, tormented by conjectures. He asked the devils by his side about your health, but their answer was vague – an eclipse was about to happen. Ajax spent the day without you, hoping that you would wake up, but you didn't. 

As usual, he came to your room at night when everyone else was asleep. Ajax found you awake, reading the diary. Two candles were illuminating the room; the wind was howling behind the window, bringing chilly air through the loose shutter. Your room was the coziest in the whole house to Ajax, because it was you to leave here. It was located in the back of the house, poorly furnished and cold, but your presence made it comfortable and welcoming. You closed the diary and put it in the secret spot.

“Do you mind sharing something interesting with me?” Ajax blew out the candles and made himself comfortable in bed. He laid on his side, so he could face you.

“Just a magic book paired with an autobiography.” You did as well, looking at your brother in the dark. “Ajax,” you started, but stumbled, afraid that your question would make him angry. Still, you continued. “Is there any chance for us to return to a normal life?”

“It is our normal life now. You better get used to it.” Ajax sighed. “It is our fate, dove, and we can do nothing about it.”

“I don't want fate like this. I would better die, than…” you bit your tongue, realizing how foul your words were. 

“We were talking about the diary.” Ajax replied with a stern voice that sent shivers down your spine. 

You got nervous and scratched your clavicle. “I don't understand what is happening. Why are we talking so casually about something like this, ignoring all the devilry that is surrounding us?” 

You were the voice of sense, and Ajax lost all his words. You were right – for him it was a usual topic, but for you, who almost lost one's mind contacting the devils and was contaminated with abyssal power against one's will, it was a delirium of polluted brain. 

“That's not something we should discuss for a night. I'll tell you everything later.” Ajax put his pinky finger towards you and you did so, sealing the promise.

In a small talk you were the one to lead the conversation. Ajax kept you in his tight embrace, replying leisurely. His warmth and soft smell of his sweat made you feel relaxed – in this chaos of life Ajax's hands were the only space you felt safe in. It was selfish, it was unfair, but Ajax was the only reason that kept you in this world. His love was your motivation to live and become better. You wanted to protect Ajax in your own way by giving him solace he needed. No one could replace you in his life, no one could love him and comfort him better than you. Was it jealousy? It definitely was. You couldn't even imagine Ajax doing the same things he did for you to another woman. Those fantasies made you feel angry and reckless. 

You turned your head to him, his lips were dangerously close to yours. You looked at him, waiting for something more – out of sudden the desire to be closer awoke in you. Ajax tarried, taken aback by your sudden move, so you pressed your lips to his gently. He slightly opened his mouth, helding your lower lip between his. You felt Ajax fingers brushing over your jawline, that made you hold your breath. An unusual drawing feeling curled in your lower belly; it made you thirsty for more than a kiss – your nipples hardened, full of lustful sensation. 

“This is wrong…” he whispered, pulling away from you. The two extremes were fighting inside his soul – being on the verge of another Fall, Ajax suddenly remembered that he was a virtuous man once. Even his corroded heart contracted nervously. He desired to have you, but you were his sister.

Perhaps, he just needed a little push into this abyss.

Ajax quickly got on top of you, his trembling hands caught your hips. It was the first time he touched a woman in such a private place, that left him overly excited: the beast he was restraining broke out. His mouth covered yours, he placed heated kisses across your face, got down to your neck, biting soft skin, then traveled lower, until your night dress. Ajax's ardor surprised you, the way he forcefully pushed his tongue inside your mouth and squeezed your breasts with tenacious slender fingers made you squeak. 

Ajax lost his mind: all the moral borders were broken and he was striving to push his erected member into your hot, wet place. Afterall, you were a woman in the first place, so it was nothing wrong in sharing the bed with you and making you bear his children. 

It was hastily and clumsily, as arousal and thrill of being caught took over both of you. Ajax pulled down his pants quickly; you felt the tip of his cock pressing to your entrance. It was more painful than you expected it to be, so you bit on your index finger to ease that stinging feeling.

“Please, relax…” you heard your brother's husky voice. You did as he asked, and Ajax showed more of his member into you. It was hard not to cry, as it felt like you were about to split in half from this burning and stinging ache. Ajax's lips were trembling, as he was close to climax already.

You kept silent when Ajax started bucking his hips into yours. The process wasn't pleasurable at all and left you praying for it to end soon. Ajax, unlike you, couldn't keep his voice inside his throat, and moaned quietly: your quivering wet walls wrapped him around, sucking his cock deeper inside your womanhood. He had never felt more pleasure in his life. It didn't take long for Ajax to cum, staining your walls with his seed.

The following fuss went in a shy and wordless atmosphere. You left to clean yourself up, and Ajax stayed in the room to fix the bed. Intimacy proved to Ajax that you loved him the way he loved you – and your relationship should result in a marriage. He was ready to marry you right now, but it was impossible to his own regret. Demons suggested Ajax take you to another village and introduce you as an orphan to a priest, so the marriage would be possible. His mood lightened – it was the first time those devils recommended something good to him. 

You came back and curled on the bed, as your lower tummy still disturbed you. Ajax hugged you and fell asleep right at the moment, soothed by your warmth. Your brain was restless. For demons it was a triumph, you thought. Despite the fact that this night was calm, you still felt their presence. They were a part of your normality, so you tried to think positively of them. It was very convenient to have servants like them, probably: all the dirty and impossible work was on their shoulders and they couldn't say no. 

You snapped out of your cogitation. You got an awareness that it wasn't your thoughts. They belonged to your head, but were planted in here artificially. You knew yourself well enough (at least you thought you were) and it wasn't in your character to have such destructive ideas. You didn't want to end up like Ajax – losing yourself over uncontrollable animal impulses that were implied to him by demons. They were trying to take control over you, you were sure, and Archons did nothing to protect you, which led you to a painful question – was there any point in praying to someone, who didn't respond to you? Slowly you started to understand your grandmother, and it sent shivers down your spine. 

To calm down you got out of bed and came to the window. Looking out, you saw the Moon. It was unusually bright today, you could see its surface in detail out of your window. It was exciting, for a moment you forgot how to breathe, beholding celestial beauty. Was it possible to reach it? You never heard of experiments of entering outer space, but you were sure it was possible. Why didn't Archons try it? Or, maybe, there were experiments, but in your obscure village no one heard of it. You sighed heavily. You were jealous of Capital citizens, they had everything on their plate by birthright. Ajax promised you that he would find a school for you in the Capital, but you were sure it wouldn't happen. He would be a regular soldier, no one would even think about doing him favors at the beginning of his career. If only you had access to actual knowledge and science… you brushed it away. You had enough disappointments in your life and didn't want to focus on sadness before going to bed.

Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, you saw a green lightning in front of you. It disappeared before you could react, and something fell on the floor, making a sound of fallen glass. You picked up what turned out to be a trinket, something similar to a pendant by its shape and design, but it lacked a chain. 

Shadows in the room started shifting chaotically. 

“What happened?!” Ajax jumped on the bed, aware of a strange sound. He quickly made it to the window and looked out, then he rushed about the room. “I heard something.” Ajax was turning his head, his eyes peering into the darkness. 

“I don't know…” You came to him and showed the find. “It appeared here.”

“A Vision!” Ajax exclaimed and covered your hand with the trinket. “You should hide it, okay? Don't let someone see it.”

“Why? Is it bad?” You got scared and wanted to throw it away, thinking of it as some kind of cursed treasure.

“No. I don't know what you wished for, but Celestia found your desire worthy of attention and granted you Vision. It allows you to manipulate a certain element of nature,” Ajax took his hand off and looked at it. “Dendro, in your case. I have one too. Mine is Hydro.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” You spoke with an offended tone. You thought Ajax would share such a great thing with you, but he chose to conceal it.

“I was told not to. I'm sorry, dove.” He got a guilty face and scratched his head. “But it means we became even closer! You and I both have extraordinary powers. I'll teach you how to use them.”

“I thought we were close enough already. Thanks, I guess.” You looked at the Vision again and decided to hide it in the same spot with the diary. 

You had no idea on how to use it and why you needed it, but at the same time it gave you a hope – if Celestia counted you as worthy, then your future was determined to be interesting and wasn't bonded with this gloomy village.

One day was left until the set date. You thought parents would prepare some kind of celebration or a farewell dinner, but nothing was done. Everyone took it as a natural part of his life, as if nothing had to happen. You were puzzled, until you realized: for them Ajax's enlistment in the Fatui was a shame. Instead of saying proper goodbye to Ajax and spending time with him, father brought his friend, Pavel Korneevich, into the house and introduced him as your groom to everyone.

You could swear: you physically sensed the immediate tension and confusion coming from Ajax. Your opinion wasn't welcomed, so you stayed silent, afraid to stand up for yourself. You weren't just shocked – you were scared to death. All your dreams for a happier life were about to be broken with a marriage.

It was scandalous: Pavel Korneevich was old enough to be your father. You were indecently younger, yet it didn't stop father from bringing this man into his own house. With this gesture he showed how little respect for you he had had, and the scanty amount of good things he had ever done to you was immediately forgotten by you. That grain of love you had for him was destroyed and turned into pure hatred. But Pavel Korneevich… How could he even think about marrying you? He was out of his mind, if he thought of you as a suitable wife for himself. 

“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” Ajax's aura gave you shivers. His tone was serious, yet soft and sickly sweet, while his slightly narrowed eyes were fixed on the guest and father. “Don't you dare to put a ring on her while I'm out. I want to see my dear sister walking down the aisle with my own eyes.”

Ajax's words didn't make sense and you hoped that he said it only to win time. Ajax stood behind your back and put his heavy hand on your shoulder, that almost broke at the weight and a tight squeeze that he gave you. You portrayed a labored, trembling smile.

“Of course,” Pavel Korneevich nodded. “We need no rush in such things.”

“Sure,” Father grunted, munching on his wrinkled dry lips. “You are free to go. We have business to discuss.” Then he looked at you and, without calling your name, addressed you. “Pasha will talk to you later.”

On numb legs you made it to your room, Ajax following you like a shadow. As soon as you entered the private area, you cried out and fell on your knees, helpless and miserable. All he could do was hold you in his arms and remain silent. 

A familiar shadow appeared in front of Ajax, waiting for instructions. Ugly, ridiculously slim and tall, the demon in the shape of a man with a pig's nose was looking right into Ajax's soul. A second shadow, small and stout, showed up right near the first one: the same pig nose, but also small sly eyes. It was too late to pray, so Ajax made an order – to ruin the wedding and kill Pavel Korneevich, but his death should seem natural. By sinister smiles that bloomed on twisted faces and revealed sharp, abnormal teeth, Ajax figured out that the order was taken. They disappeared to prepare their nasty trap.

“Worry not, dove,” Ajax nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. “I'll take care of it. Your brother will never leave you. I'll always be here to help you.”

On the contrary, Ajax's words made you feel even worse than you did before: dragged away from his home, he would think about you without the opportunity to communicate with you properly. You wanted to disappear, to dissolve, to stop existing in a physical way only to escape from this agony. If not Pavel Korneevich, then somebody else would be chosen as your groom. Parents wouldn't miss an opportunity to get rid of you. What could you do? 

“Take me with you!” You clutched at the collar of his shirt, your gaze crazy behind the clumped lashes and redness of the eyes. “Take me with you, or I will run away!”

Ajax hardly endured your emotional breakdown. Your broken voice and hysterical ideas were impossible to listen to; at this point he wished for the night to come sooner and take him from this cursed house – he didn't tell you that Fatui would take him in the night to avoid unwanted attention. Ajax stayed until you cried yourself to sleep. The last day with you was meant to be tragic, for his own regret. When the clock struck midnight, Fatui appeared in the yard, waiting for him. Mother gave Ajax a heartless kiss at his cheek, and father remained uninvolved. Ajax left without looking back not to torture his soul. For the first time of his life he found calmness. 

The gate grated, soldiers in heavy boots left, leaving deep footprints on the snow; a small lamp went out inside the house. The moon was unusually bright, its agily light oozed into the house through every crack. Your room was filled with moonlight, making it as bright as day. In your dreamless sleep you heard someone calling your name, and your body, hit by impulses, stood up on its own, pursuing the voice; step by step you made it to the front door.

The door opened on itself and closed, when you walked out. Your bare feet touched the snow; it melted from your heat. A bigger celestial body closed the Moon, causing the eclipse and hiding all the blissful light that Illuminated you. You felt like falling: the horrifying hungry maw of abyss opened under your feet, swallowing you into the darkness and covering your body with snow. You opened your eyes and saw nothing. You landed on the stone floor, all your body responded with pain. 

It was a big room with just one chair and a burning fireplace. Cold walls of unknown color were hidden in the dark, as well as other spaces of the room. You heard steps and a woman appeared in front of you. She had long white hair and manic crimson eyes. Her expressionless face scared you.

“This must be a joke.” She smiled to herself. “How could a worm like you deserve the Forgotten God's blessing? This is ridiculous.” She turned back on her heels. The cape on her bony shoulders followed her moves, and you noticed dozens of death masks that froze in scream on the hemline. 

“Where am I?!” Your voice broke on scream. It couldn't be that the nightmare from your grandmother's shack found you in Morepesok.

The woman sighed irritably. “He had one job – yet he failed. You are in the Abyss. The power you stole from your brother brought you there.”

“I want to go back.” You stated. Unusual hardness in your voice made the woman laugh. “This ain't funny! I'm tired of these devilish tricks I'm being involved in! I swear this time I'll fight you instead of running away!”

“Then fight.”

At an impossible speed she made an attack that struck you into your shoulder and made you fly to the nearest wall. You couldn't breath at the pain you felt – it seemed like your clavicle, scapula and ribs were crumbled into tiniest pieces. You were opening and closing your mouth with no sound, just like a fish that was taken out of water and left to die on the surface. It was a pure shock that paralyzed you and concentrated your brain on the inhuman pain. 

The woman sat in the chair and looked at the fireplace, as she immediately lost her interest in you. You didn't know how much time had passed since you were left to suffer, but it felt like decades to you before you were able to stand up. 

“You possess great power, yet I bet you know nothing about it. That's why you should think before stealing.” She spoke, watching the fire. “I heard a prophecy about brother and sister, who would free us from the shadows we were trapped in and restore the ancient order. It doesn't matter anymore – deep inside I stayed skeptical, and it proved that all prophecies are lies. Look at your right hand.”

You did as she said and staggered. One of your wrists was abnormal: your fingers, palm and veins got black, traces of the same color ascended until your elbow. 

“I'll teach you the concept of ritual – that's the starting point of your journey. Then, you will be on your own.” She let out a short chuckle, full of sadistic anticipation.

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒 ༻

This recurring nightmare of Raphaels death haunts you each night, now you find yourself question Haarlep and believe they have something to do with it all. Tav is a sorceress with royal red draconic bloodline.

Angst - Death - Comfort - slight NSFW

You’ve been having the same nightmare over and over the past month… A vision of Mephistopheles holding a bloodied Raphael by a broken wing, ready to consume him. It haunts your very existence, each night you stir in your sleep only to awake to clammy skin and a bead of sweat descending from your temple. Your breath always ragged as if you’ve been running for hours non stop… Your body twisting hastily to see that Raphael is still next to you in your shared bed. During the nights he chooses to not be at your side at night your anxiety looms until you’re finally forced out of bed to go looking for him around his house of hope.

Whenever you come to find him he’s usually reading or writing in his diary, and when you see him sitting there quietly, his face at ease… That’s when it dwells in your soul, the deepest longing for him. You can’t help but to crawl in his lap, can’t help but to flick your tongue against his neck, to grind yourself into him; wanting nothing more than for both your bodies to become one and to make sure he is very much still alive.

“This little mouse of yours, she feels your claws within her heart, and when you’re away it only tears apart.” Your voice soft like a sweet whisper, Raphael can’t help but to hum in response as he closes his eyes to listen.

“If only I could make you feel the pain you cause me when you aren’t around, then maybe you would begin to see-.” You lean back in his lap, your eye’s glassed over as you put one of his stray hairs back in place, “That this 'Cat and Mouse' is not a game for those in love should play.”

Raphael’s chocolate eyes bore into yours, with a voice ever so amused before it becomes stern, “Love, my delight? …My torture.” His face scrunches, his brows creasing in disapproval. Yet you can see you satisfy a need he has despite trying to hide it.

He never questions why you seek him out looking so dejected at night. Raphael only thinks that it’s because you’ve become desperate for his touch once more. He enjoys how you come crawling to him, enjoys the way you ride him until he’s rutting into you.

Walking into the boudoir, you spot Haarlep staring out at the red world from the balcony, watching the hells with that oh so famous smirk of theirs playing on their face. You didn’t trust them, never had and never will. There’s something about Haarlep, you know for a fact they loathe Raphael. Every time they have spoken to you about him only malice comes from their tongue. They would constantly question your sanity as to why you would willingly choose to stay here.

Standing a few feet behind Haarlep, you decide it’s time to speak your mind, “You were a gift from his father, Mephistopheles, right?”

“Oh my my, what do we have here? A little lost pet seeking answers that they already know, but alas I will tell you what you wish to know once more. Yes, I was a gift. Bound to Raphael as a distraction.”

Your eyes say it all but your lips move so that Haarlep truly knows how you feel, “That’s what worries me.”

Haarlep laughs, striding over to you, “You’ve been having nightmares, haven’t you? I’ve heard you at night, moans escaping you as you toss and turn, not out of pleasure but agony.” Their thumb strokes under your left eye, “The bags under your eyes prove it, mouse.”

You move your head to the side in disgust to shake his fingers from your skin. Hells you couldn’t stand the way Haarlep calls you mouse, mockingly. Your lip curls under, your eyes hard as you look up at the incubus. All you want is to tell them to stay away from Raphael, that you fear Haarlep has been feeding Mephistopheles intel on the both of you… and that it would lead to the nightmare you’ve been having.

The incubus’s smugness grows, his violating eyes reading you as if you were an open book, “It bothers you, doesn’t it? That you can’t tell me to stay away. Not out of jealousy, but love and protection. You can’t order me around and that angers you. Hahaha, oh if only he would make you the lady of this house, then maybe?”

You bite your lip in vexation, but a wave of calmness takes over you. You are no sheep, you are a dragon. Not just any dragon either, you are the ancient red dragon's daughter and you will not let a mere incubus laugh in your face.

All it takes is one step forward for you to be in their face, you can feel Haarleps breath on your face, feel the heat radiate from them, “I will not hesitate to burn you to ash. Test me slave and it will be your fall.” The fire in your eyes burns bright, your breath controlled and your form daring Haarlep to say something smart. You love Raphael, support his goals and wish to see them through. You’ll help him get the crown of Karsuss, and you’ll stand by him even if it costs you your own throne.

Turning on your heels you make your way out of the boudoir, unbeknownst to you that a certain devil named Raphael was listening the whole time…

[lixzey]

SERENDIPITY

a/n: there are scenes here from the demigod diaries, specifically the diary of luke castellan. credits to uncle rick for those scenes 💯 the characters and the pjo verse belongs to rick riordan except Amaya Williams and her father.

beta'd by the amazing @lilmaymayy 💘

If you guys wanna be added to the luke castellan taglist, just ask! Anyway, onto the story!

word count: 5.5k

luke and maya masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: THE YOUNG HALF BLOODS

LUKE CASTELLAN didn’t want to be a half-blood.

        Who would want to be one? Luke had learned from a young age that he could not live a quiet and peaceful life. He was a demigod. If you think that sounds cool, think again. All those Greek monsters from the stories? They are real. Demigods are monster magnets. Monsters can sense them even from miles away. 

Luke was nine when he ran away from home. His home life wasn’t exactly ideal. For as long as he could remember, he knew his mother wasn’t normal. Sure, some mothers had addictions, were abusive, and such, but his mother was on a whole new level. At the young age of three, Luke was terrified of his mother’s fits. Her stormy eyes would turn green and she would start screaming Danger! Terrible fate! in a deep, far away voice. Every time it happened, Luke would hide in the furthest corner of his closet, covering his ears while his mother screamed again and again as tears streamed down his face. He felt helpless that he couldn’t do anything for his mother. Luke prayed and prayed for someone to come and save him and his mother, but no one came. Not even his father.

Luke had known who his father was since he was four. His mother always muttered his name, how could he not understand that? Luke was a son of Hermes, he wasn't clueless like how the gods expected him to be. There was a photo at the top of the mantle of the once cozy house that Luke never got a chance to see: a photo of a happy couple with a squirming little baby, them, his once so perfect family.

Luke wondered why his father abandoned him and his mother if they were this perfect family when he was a baby? He prayed day and night to his father but as the days passed, Luke learned to resent his father—blaming him for all of his misery and for what had happened to his mother—if it wasn’t for him leaving maybe his mother wouldn’t be unstable, if it wasn’t for him he could’ve had a proper childhood, if it wasn’t for him he could’ve had a nurturing mother.

Luke would get extremely jealous of children with loving parents—the life he was deprived of—he would watch as mothers tended to their children in his neighborhood, he would watch fathers play with their children, while all he had was a broken mother and a deadbeat father. 

Because of that, Luke packed up and ran away and didn’t look back. He’s come to understand that no one will ever rescue him; he has to take his fate into his own hands. 

Living alone on the streets at the age of nine is harder than it looked. At first, Luke thought it would all be a great adventure, just like in the stories he heard before, but he eventually realized that living in that house—if you could even call that a house—even with his possessed mother, is safer than fending for himself.

Luke hadn’t brought a weapon with him when he left, not even one of those knives from the kitchen that had never been used and was only rusting in the kitchen drawer, and his carelessness had nearly killed him more than once. He resorted to diving in dumpsters to try to disguise his scent and never stayed in one place for long, always on the move with hardly enough time to steal a few hours—even minutes—of sleep using his backpack as a pillow.

By the second month, Luke nearly admitted defeat. He’d sell his soul to some dark god for a good night’s sleep and a hot meal. He’s exhausted and filthy, penniless and constantly on the run from monsters and well-meaning mortals alike. His backpack felt far heavier than it should and he found himself running out of breath almost every time. His clothes, which had once been bordering on too small thanks to a recent growth spurt, now hang off his thin frame, the cuffs frayed and stained beyond recognition.

Luke imagined all the normal families living in those cozy houses he once passed. He wondered what it would be like to have a home—a proper home—to know where his next meal was coming from, and not have to worry about getting eaten by monsters every day. He barely remembered what it was like to sleep in a real bed. Luke was tired of fending for his life, but eventually he managed to get the hang of living day to day with a promise to himself that he will never be like his father. 

He traveled on foot, to state by state, lonely and miserable. Once, when he stopped by in a town for a while, Luke tried to befriend a mortal, but whenever he told them the truth about himself, they didn’t understand. He’d confess that he was the son of Hermes, the immortal messenger dude with the winged sandals. He’d explain that monsters and Greek gods were real and very much alive in the modern world. His mortal friends would say, “That is so cool! I wish I was a demigod!” Like it’s some sort of game and he’d always ended up leaving.

For five years Luke fought hard to survive. He shoplifted food from convenience stores and tried to fight off monsters with a pocket knife he had stolen from a family having a picnic at a park he once passed. Even though he’d never met his father and didn't really want to, he shared some of his talents. Along with being messenger of the gods, his father is also the god of merchants—which explains why he was good with money—and travelers, which explains why the so-called divine god left his mother without ever looking back at the family he supposedly built. Hermes is also the god of thieves, hence the shoplifting and stealing. It wasn’t an ideal life for a child. He was barely living, but eventually Luke just simply learned to live the life he was forced to. 

When Luke was fourteen, he had met Thalia—the daughter of Zeus. The meeting had been an accident (it wasn’t). They had literally run into each other in a dragon’s cave outside Charleston and teamed up to stay alive. At first Luke was skeptical of trusting Thalia. No one else in his life had ever understood him, but she did. Thalia fighting off monsters should’ve been Luke’s first clue, that Thalia was like him—a demigod. But unlike him, Thalia had it worse. She was a forbidden kid, born out of a pact sworn on the River Styx. Luke eventually trusted Thalia and the two chose to team up to stay alive, subsequently traveling across the country while fending for themselves.

Being with Thalia made Luke feel less lonely. He finally had a friend, a friend who understood the struggles he had gone through his whole life. With her, battling monsters didn’t feel that scary anymore.

At some point, they arrived at Richmond, Virginia where Thalia followed a goat—Amaltheia. Luke didn’t understand why they were following a goat. Why were they following a goat? He didn’t know. Thalia then told Luke that it was Amaltheia who led her to him, that their meeting wasn’t by accident and decided to follow her thinking that Amaltheia was sent by her father, Zeus. Thalia could flash her blue eyes, give him one kind word, and she can get him to do pretty much anything—even though it was against his better judgment.

Amaltheia led Thalia and Luke to an old mansion. Once inside—thanks to Luke’s skills (which he isn’t proud of)—they realized that the mansion was a trap, a deadly one at that. As they were trying everything to escape, they met Halcyon Green, a demigod son of Apollo who was cursed by the gods for saving a girl’s life with his ability to see into the future. He had been imprisoned and unable to speak. A part of Halcyon’s curse was to lure demigods into being eaten by the three leucrotae—a terrifying monster that cannot be defeated by man nor god. 

Luke already knew the gods could be cruel. His own father had ignored him for fourteen years. But Halcyon Green’s curse was just plain wrong. It was evil. Luke desperately wanted to find a way to rescue him and Thalia. But Hal told them that every demigod thought that at first, that they could escape, but soon realized it wasn't possible. Thalia was able to claim the Aegis—a bracelet that transforms into a replica of her father’s shield—a blessing from Zeus. After hours of searching, they discovered that the only way to defeat the leucrotae was making Greek fire.

In the end, Hal decided that he would sacrifice himself to give them time to escape. But before he did, Hal had predicted Luke's future but left him vague answers when asked about it. Hal later gave Luke his personal diary and a celestial bronze knife. Luke and Thalia successfully escaped, shaken, but nonetheless unscathed. Luke gripped his backpack close, the diary and the celestial bronze knife—the only remnants of Halcyon Green’s life—safe inside with the word Promise, that Hal had written.

I promise, Hal, Luke thought. I’ll learn from your mistakes. If the gods ever treat me that badly, I’ll fight back. Luke wouldn’t let him down like the gods damned them to be.

The two ran through the streets of Richmond until they found a small park where they cleaned themselves the best they could. Then they laid low until dark. The two didn’t bother to talk about what had happened while they wandered through neighborhoods and industrial areas. Luke and Thalia had no plan, no glowing goat to follow anymore. They were bone tired, but neither of them felt like sleeping or stopping. Luke wanted to get as far as possible from that burning mansion. It wasn’t the first time they’d barely escaped with our lives, but they had never succeeded at the expense of another demigod’s life. 

Thalia suggested heading to their old camp on the James River as they shivered in the cold of the night. It would take at least a day to get there, but it was as good as a plan. The two demigods sat and split a ham sandwich as they ate in silence. The food tasted like cardboard, but they really didn’t have a choice. After the last bite, Luke heard a faint metal ping from a nearby alley. Someone was nearby. 

Luke got up, pulling out the dagger Hal gave him as Thalia had her spear and shield at the ready. The two crept along the wall of the warehouse, turning into a dark alleyway that dead-ended at a loading dock piled with old scrap metal. Just then there was a loud clang, a sheet of corrugated tin quivered on the dock. Something—someone—was underneath. Luke crept toward the loading bay until we stood over the pile of metal, Thalia following closely behind. He gestured for her to hold back as he reached for the piece of corrugated metal and mouthed, One, two, three! As soon as he lifted the sheet of tin, something flew at him—a blur of flannel and dark hair. A hammer hurtled straight at his face.

Things could’ve gone very wrong. Fortunately his reflexes were good from years of fighting. Luke dodged the hammer, then grabbed the little girl’s wrist. The hammer went skidding across the pavement. The little girl struggled. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

“No more monsters!” she screamed, kicking Luke in the legs. “Go away!”

“It’s okay!” He tried his best to hold her, but it was like holding a wildcat. Thalia looked too stunned to move. She still had her spear and shield ready.

“Thalia,” Luke said. “put your shield away! You’re scaring her!” 

Thalia unfroze. She touched the shield and it shrank back into a bracelet. She dropped her spear. “Hey, little girl,” she said, sounding more gentle than he’d ever heard. “It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m Thalia. This is Luke.”

“Monsters!” the little girl wailed, tears staining her face. 

“No,” Luke promised. The poor thing wasn’t fighting as hard, but she was shivering, terrified of them. “But we know about monsters,” Luke explained softly. “We fight them too.”

Luke held her, more to comfort than restrain now. Eventually she stopped kicking. She felt cold. Her ribs were bony under her flannel pajamas. He wondered how long this little girl had gone without eating. She was even younger than Luke had been when he ran away. Despite her fear, she looked at him with large eyes. They were startlingly gray, beautiful and intelligent. A demigod—no doubt about it. Luke got the feeling she was powerful—or she would be, if she survived.

“You’re like me?” she asked, still suspicious, but she sounded a little hopeful, too.

“Yeah,” Luke nodded. “We’re…” he hesitated, not sure if she understood what she was, or if she’d ever heard the word demigod. Luke didn’t want to scare her even worse. “Well, it’s hard to explain, but we’re monster fighters. Where’s your family?” 

The little girl’s expression turned hard and angry. Her chin trembled. “My family hates me. They don’t want me. I ran away.”

Luke’s heart felt like it was cracking into a million pieces. She had such pain in her voice—familiar pain. Luke looked at Thalia, and made a silent decision right there that they would take care of this kid.

Thalia knelt next to him. She put her hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Annabeth.”

Luke smiled. He’d never heard that name before, but it was pretty, and it seemed to fit her. “Nice name,” he told her. “I tell you what, Annabeth. You’re pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you.”

Her eyes widened. “You could?”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke said earnestly. Then a sudden thought struck him. He reached for Hal’s dagger. It will protect its owner, Hal had said. He had gotten it from the little girl he had saved. Now fate had given them the chance to save another little girl.

“How’d you like a real monster-slaying weapon?” Luke asked her. “This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer.”

Annabeth took the dagger and studied it in awe. She was seven years old at most. What was he thinking giving her a weapon? But she was a demigod. They have to defend themselves. Hercules was only a baby when he strangled two snakes in his cradle. By the time Luke was nine, he’d fought for his life more than a dozen times. Annabeth could use a weapon.

“Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters,” Luke told her. His voice caught as he remembered Hal Green, and how he’d died to save them. “They don’t have the reach or power of a sword, but they’re easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy’s armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling you’re pretty clever.”

Annabeth beamed at him, and for that, all his problems seemed to melt. Luke felt as if he’d done one thing right. He swore to himself that he would never let this girl come to harm. “I am clever!” she said.

Thalia laughed and tousled Annabeth’s hair. Just like that—they had a new companion. “We’d better get going, Annabeth,” Thalia said. “We have a safe house on the James River. We’ll get you some clothes and food.”

Annabeth’s smile wavered. For a moment, she had that wild look in her eyes again. “You’re…you’re not going to take me back to my family? Promise?”

Luke swallowed the lump out of his throat. Annabeth was so young, but she’d learned a hard lesson, just like he and Thalia had. Their parents had failed them. The gods were harsh and cruel and aloof. Demigods had only each other.

Luke put his hand on Annabeth’s shoulder.“You’re part of our family now. And I promise I’m not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?”

“Deal!” Annabeth said happily, clutching her new dagger.

Thalia picked up her spear. She smiled at Luke with approval. “Now, come on. We can’t stay put for long!”

The trio left Richmond, headed to their safe house on the James River. The three of them fought for survival and avoided monsters together. It wasn’t much, but it was home for them—the family they built.

At some point, Thalia got injured by a monster and Luke and Annabeth wanted to rest. Given the situation, Luke decided to take the girls to his mother's house to treat Thalia’s wounds and to gather up a few supplies as Annabeth rested. There, Luke finally meets his father, Hermes, for the first time in thirteen years. Luke was angry and resented his father. He demanded to know why he had never shown up when Luke had desperately prayed while he hid from his mother when she had fits, or when he was on his own, running away from monsters. During this conversation, Hermes inadvertently revealed that he knew of Luke's fate. Luke asked about it since Hal had only given him vague answers, but Hermes refused to tell him as he had already said too much. Luke then told his father that he couldn't possibly love him if he wouldn't tell him and angrily left with Thalia and Annabeth.

Eventually they met Grover Underwood, a satyr tasked to bring them back to Camp Half Blood. A safe haven for demigods. A place where monsters and mortals can’t come. Grover led the three of them to camp, but it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

Monsters attacked them from left to right. All three Furies and a pack of Hellhounds attacked, Cyclopes followed, and one thing led to another. Thalia sacrificed herself so Luke and Annabeth could get to camp safely. Luke thought she was stupid to sacrifice herself, he yelled at Thalia to not do it but she was as stubborn as her father. Luke held a crying Annabeth while fighting tears of his own as they entered the barrier between Camp Half Blood and the mortal world, where Thalia breathed her last breath as Zeus turned his daughter into a pine tree.

“Don’t worry, Annabeth. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Luke soothed the young girl in his arms, who mourned the loss of their friend—their sister. Luke vowed to himself that he won’t let the gods treat them horribly ever again. 

MAYA WILLIAMS hated being a half-blood. 

      Why wouldn’t she? Maya grew up alone because she was one. Sure, she wasn’t chased by any monsters, but she lived with one. Her father—Oliver Williams—despised his daughter. Why? Her mother left when Maya was born, right after she was born. Oliver blamed his daughter for that. Maya had no clue on who her mother was, or why she left when she was born. When she would ask her father, he would get angry at her and hit her and yell at her to go to her room. There were times that Oliver would leave for days—weeks, even—leaving Maya with a nanny and the toys he had bought her just to leave him alone and the occasional visits from his secretary (who pitied the young girl). Maya didn’t understand why her father hated her when she only wanted to make her daddy happy. 

     When Maya was five, she started experiencing strange things. Like white doves flocking near her school that refused to leave how much the exterminators tried. Or that time when her grandparents brought her to the beach and dolphins started swimming towards her. Or that time when she was at the park and swans approached her as she fed the birds with her nanny. As a child, Maya didn’t pay it too much attention. She only thought that animals liked her so much that they couldn’t leave her alone. But when she turned eight, she knew she was different. Apart from having dyslexia and ADHD, she had this aura of beauty, causing everyone to like her, want her even. Aside from that, Maya could ask anyone for anything she wanted and she would get it. Like that time when her grandmother took her out to shop for clothes when she saw a pretty dollhouse that she wanted. It wasn’t because she was spoiled or anything, but when she would ask anyone out on the street for anything, they’d give it to her—no questions asked.

When Maya was six, she heard her father one night drunk in his room, crying over her mother. It was weird for Maya to see her father crying without any cameras because he was an actor, so as a curious little girl, Maya peeked into his room. She saw her father, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a photo in the other, which Maya assumed was her mother.

“Oh, Aphrodite, why did you have to leave me?” Oliver sobbed, titling the glass to his lips. “You left me with nothing! You left me alone to raise—” 

Maya ran to her room before she even heard the rest of what her father said. She packed a bag of clothes, grabbed food from the pantry, medical supplies in the bathroom, and money from her dad’s office before running away from home and never looking back. Maya wasn’t stupid. For six long years her father made it clear that he never loved her, therefore she was doing him a favor by leaving. But she understood something. Her mother’s name was Aphrodite. Her mother was the goddess of love. How did a six year old understand that? She didn’t know. It just clicked in Maya’s head—the doves, the dolphins, the swans, were somehow enough to prove that the goddess was her mother.

Maya ran through the streets of New Hampshire as fast as her little legs could carry her, determined to be as far as possible from the place she once called home. She thought it would be easy, like what she’d seen once on tv, but it wasn't—it was far worse than anything she had ever seen. Maya didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She couldn’t go to her grandparents, they were in Europe. Maya never felt so alone, living by herself in a world not built for little kids, especially a kid like her. 

Eventually, Maya got the hang of being on the run. By the second month, she was living from state to state, asking for help—using her charm—to get by.  From time to time, the thought of her father would cross her mind. Was he looking for her? Was he worried for her? Did he miss her? Maya wanted nothing more than to have her father’s love, she wanted him to find her—to wrap her in his arms and tell her he missed her and he was sorry for making her feel unloved, but she knew better than to expect that. Maya watched fathers with their little girls, wondering what she did to deserve a father like the one she had—a father so careless enough to let his own child believe that she wasn’t loved and run away from home at seven years old. She couldn’t understand how he hurt a little kid, his own kid.

And then there was the thought of her mother. It was ironic, how Maya was a daughter of the goddess of love and a man who’s incapable of loving. Maya wondered if it was some sort of joke, that she’d been born to parents who didn’t care about her. Or maybe her mother just didn’t think she was pretty enough to be worthy of being her child. It didn’t matter, because she was all alone—her mother never answered her prayers and pleas, proving all of her points. Maya was all on her own, she always had been. The happy little girl was gone, replaced by a little girl terrified by everything the cruel world tossed at her.

At seven years old, Maya has told a million lies—that came from her mother, probably—just to survive. Her clothes were tattered, flaming locks of auburn hair were matted and dirty, and skin bruised like violets from tripping as she ran away from creepy older men who tried to follow her. Maya had been on the run for two years, she had everything under control. She shoplifted from convenience stores and whenever she was caught, Maya would tell them that she lost her parents (which was true, in a sense) and had nowhere else to go. It worked like a charm each and every time, well except for that one time she ran into the police. Maya dreamed of living in peace, a place where she could be just a kid and not having to think where she’d sleep for the night or where she’d get her next meal. Given the state of how she was living, Maya knew it was impossible and maybe she had to learn to live with the miserable life she had. It was then that she held a grudge at her parents. Maya was tired of believing her parents ever loved her, because someone who loves you wouldn’t do any of this. They’re just the ones who gave her life, nothing more.

Maya promised to herself that she wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again, that she’d never be naive enough to believe that anyone could ever love her.

At eight years old, Maya met Ferdinand—a satyr who had sensed that Maya was a half blood. At first, Maya was scared. Of course she’d be scared, she was still a little girl and Ferdinand looked a lot older than her—she didn’t have great experiences with people older than her—and he had goat horns and legs. 

“Don’t be scared, little one. I am a friend,” Ferdinand had explained to Maya, who hid behind a large trash can in an alley.

“Go away! I don’t wanna be friends!” Maya screamed, clutching her fraying backpack close to her chest.

“I can take you to a safer place, little one. A place where no one could hurt you.” Ferdinand explained, taking a step closer to the crying young girl. “I sense that you have been hurt before, am I right?”

Maya didn’t want to believe him. He was a stranger and strangers meant trouble. But something about the goat man felt safe. “I don’t wanna go to your stupid place! Leave me alone!”

“What’s your name?” Ferdinand asked, peering over the trash can.

Maya hesitated, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Not telling.”

“Alright, I’ll go first,” Ferdinand took the risk of walking to Maya’s side. “I’m Ferdinand. I am a satyr, protector of young demigods, or half bloods as they call children of the gods. And you are?”

Maya looked at him, eyes still glazed over with fresh tears. “Maya.”

“Well, young Maya, are you hungry?”

Maya shook her head no, but the grumble of stomach betrayed her. “Hungry,” she mumbled. 

“If you’d like, you can come with me to that convenience store just ‘round the corner.” Ferdinand smiled at her, a kind genuine smile that Maya had never seen before in any other person she’s met. Reluctantly, she agreed, keeping her distance as Ferdinand led the way. Maya looked around, wondering how people are not looking at Ferdinand. He literally had goat legs and horns yet no one’s looking at him like an animal.

As soon as Maya was settled with a sandwich and juice box, she asked Ferdinand. “Why aren’t people scared of you, Mr. Ferdinand?”

Ferdinand chuckled. “It’s because of the Mist, young Maya.” 

Maya raised a brow. “The Mist? Like perfume?”

“The Mist is what separates the mortal world from our world.”

Maya looked at him as if he was crazy. “What do you mean? Don’t we have one world?” 

“Let me take you to Camp Half Blood, little one. Everything will make sense once you arrive.” 

“Why should I go with you?” Maya asked, gripping the straps of her backpack, ready to run at any second.

“Because,” Ferdinand chuckled, acknowledging Maya’s skepticism. “There are kids like you at Camp Half Blood. It is a safe haven for young half-bloods like you. It is where the gods claim their children, young Maya.”

“You’re not lying?” Maya asked, big green eyes searching for any malice in the satyr’s eyes. She has had enough from malicious men who wanted to do unspeakable things to her. There was once this man who tried to lure her in with a good meal. When Maya declined, he tried to grab her, luckily Maya escaped—with the help of a little foot stomping and biting. It only fueled her hatred of men.

“I’m not, young Maya.” Ferdinand smiled at her. “It is our duty to protect. I promise I will not let any harm come to you as we travel to camp.”

“You promise?” Promises were never good, Maya hated promises. Promises were always meant to be broken. But this one felt like a tug in her heart, like a way to find who she was. 

“On the River Styx, young one.” 

Maya didn’t understand what the River Styx meant. Was it a river full of sticks? Despite her worries, Maya trusted him. The two then traveled to Long Island on foot from Massachusetts. Maya learned to trust Ferdinand, who kept her safe no matter what.

“You know, I have a nephew that’s around your age. His name is Grover, a fine protector in the making. He could be your friend once you arrive at camp.” Ferdinand mused as he and Maya—aboard his shoulders—trudged up the highway nearing Half Blood Hill. 

“Really? You think he’s gonna play with me? An orphan-” 

“You are not an orphan, Maya. You have a mother. I’m sure she’d claim you as soon as you step through the barrier.” Ferdinand insisted. Maya doubted that, but decided against voicing out her thoughts. She had prayed and prayed for so long, but her mother never answered, so why would she? Now that Maya was finally at camp?

As soon as Maya arrived at Camp Half Blood, she was in awe—giddy, almost. It wasn’t what Maya expected it to be. Camp was beautiful, far from the dumpster Maya had thought it to be. Every camper had necklaces, with beads indicating the years they’ve been at camp—Maya wanted one so badly and tried asking Ferdinand to make her one. There was a strawberry patch—much to Maya’s excitement, she loves strawberries and wanted to go straight to the patches. And for the main attraction, the twelve cabins, which Maya assumed one was her mother’s since Ferdinand had explained it was for each of the Olympian gods. 

Maya was then welcomed by a crowd—campers of all ages, a grumbling man in a Hawaiian shirt, and half horse, half man.

“Welcome, young demigod,” Chiron greeted the young girl who was looking up at him with wide eyes. It’s not everyday that she sees another half human animal. 

“Uh, what are you?” Maya asked, her hand immediately went flying to her mouth. “Sorry, I-” 

Chiron laughed. “It’s alright, I apologize for not introducing myself properly. I’m Chiron, a centaur and the activities director of camp. And you are, young lady?”

“Maya,” she squeaked, eyes still wide. “Maya Williams.”

“Welcome to Camp, Maya. You’ll do great things, I know it.”

Suddenly, there was a collective gasp. Everyone stared at Maya like she’d just done something wrong. 

“What did I do?” Maya asked, her lower lip trembling. She had been at camp barely a day, and she had already done something wrong. Was everything in her life always going to go wrong? 

“Look down,” One of the campers said, pointing to Maya’s clothes. 

Maya looked down and her eyes widened once more, she looked different. Her clothes weren't tattered and filthy anymore. Now, she was wearing a beautiful white sleeveless gown that went down to her ankles. Delicate gold armbands circled her biceps. An intricate necklace of amber, coral, and gold flowers glittered on her chest, and her hair was perfect: lush and long and flaming locks of auburn hair, braided to the side with gold ribbons. The filthy child, gone—as if she never was. Her mother had claimed her, just like that. Maya had been expecting that her mother would personally come and claim her, but she didn’t. Maya should’ve known better than to expect a literal goddess to come down and meet her child.

Chiron folded his front legs and bowed to her, and all the campers followed his example. “Hail, Amaya Williams,” Chiron announced proudly, as if she did something honorable. “Daughter of Aphrodite, lady of the doves, goddess of love!”

friendly reminder: this is how small maya was when she ran away 🤭

taglist:

@mischiefmoons (special mention to jo cuz i love love love trouble!verse 💯💘) @iliketopgun @pleasingregulus

[ashessonfire]

if you’re still looking for headcanon requests: what about kaz and reader who is disabled/suffers from chronic pain? i don’t often see x reader fics include things like disabilities, and it’s really quite nice to have found a character like kaz whose struggles i can relate to - ty <33

Kaz Brekker x (Chronically ill) Reader - Headcanons <3

- Paring : Kaz Brekker x Chronically ill! Reader A/N - Thank you so much for this request, and absolutely this is important, and i suffer from multiple chronic illnesses and pains too! I am basing it off my own experiences, which is chronic illness, but i hope it's general enough for anyone to relate to :) ════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz Brekker's image is one that permeates throughout the whole city, not a soul is unaware of the leader of the Crows

His limp only adds to the terrifying image, broken and twisted in every element of his being, yet completely unrelenting.

However, privately, his leg causes Kaz excruciating pain, a constant ache that never seems to cease, fatigue from stumbling around for too long, or the cold inducing agonizing flares of pain.

As a result, Kaz has become familiar with the aches and troubles, so when his partner reveals they experience something similar? Kaz suffers from a great mixture of hurt and relief

Why is he relieved you may ask?

Well, the bastard of the barrel can finally offer someone a sense of comfort and support, which in most things he finds practically impossible to do.

Sharing the experience with Kaz would offer the both of you solace, although at first it may come across as if he doesn't notice your constant pain.

However, very swiftly small pots of expensive medicines would arrive neatly wrapped on your bed, his cane would conveniently be placed close by during a flare up, and your favourite foods would mysteriously make their way to you, helping to brighten the tougher days.

Kaz is not a man of words, at all, however he would work on verbalizing his concerns, reading you easily and offering clipped but gentle check in's, like :

"How is the pain compared to yesterday?"

"I'm not going out soon, take my cane just in case"

"The painkillers are already in your drawer, I had Inej replace them this morning"

In terms of severe pain, both chronic + caused by a disability, please expect to never move a muscle - he will 100% get someone else to run around and do everything for you, especially when he himself is struggling.

If you care for him in return, you may even get a few faint smiles - he would be so deeply grateful for your attentiveness and devotion (but obviously it's Kaz, he won't show it freely)

Another reason i believe Kaz would be relieved, is that someone would finally understand his own disability and pains

You would be able to return his gestures, offering him the same sense of security and compassion, without overbearing sympathy or pity - something Kaz detests

Just after he broke his leg, I can vividly picture the pigeons of the barrel dramatically cooing at the young boys limp, explaining their sorrows for him with overwhelming pity

After this, he would undoubtedly threaten any sorrow for his condition with an excruciating death

Let's just say word spread quickly, and few dared to repeat this offence...

Kaz would also have little diaries tucked away in his office and at the slat, detailing each symptom of yours during flare ups - allowing him to prepare anything you could possibly need when the next one arrives

Kaz would feel more at ease with you than anyone else, and would likely share his own hardships with you - knowing that the pair of you can relate on a level few others could match

Honestly i just know that he would be in a strange way very relieved for you to understand his own struggles - allowing for him to be more comfortable with you overall <3

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

P.S : As a chronically ill person myself, I just wanted to say that my requests will always be open for ideas like this, and my private messages are open for anything. If anyone is experiencing any form of chronic illness and needs someone to talk to, I am here for you!! It can be super isolating and difficult, especially when those around you cannot understand your struggles, even if they try to. Hopefully this post can find all my spoonie crow fans!! <333

[petaltexturedskies]

September 30. The last day of a month and the last pages of a diary! I suppose each day the sun sets on many ends. the end of life, or of hope sometimes, of illusions…who knows? All my tears have fallen on your pages, all my smiles have beamed upon you, till you have swelled, and leave me to join the other books, to melt into one Book—my Life! Your strength will be the wave that will sweep me, carry me to the pinnacle of my life's task, whatever it may yet be. I love you. You are the treasure box of the things dearest to me—the images of someone who will never live again, the girl of today, older tomorrow. Time is the greatest thief of all; it carries away things that are never replaced or reborn. Tomorrow I will have lost something, the thoughts of today, but I will be learning other things, developing, crystallizing. So keep here for me all the things I have given you—the unsolved mysteries, the broken enchantments, the reflections of a storm-tossed soul, the reflections of a girl's simple exterior and complicated, perplexing interior life. They do not belong to me any more; they are yours. I love them in you because a creator always loves his creations, like a mother her children. But I part with you for the very love of them: you will keep them for me, unsoiled, while I travel through strange, perilous lands. And when I return, if I return, I will claim my children and carry them away to my House of Sleep.

Anaïs Nin in a diary entry dated 30 September 1920, featured in “The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin”

[loafyall]

Heheheh angst…. Heheheheh

What would the HCQ do if Yanqing either got seriously injured or just died

OOOHHHH I LUV ANGST TIME YALL

Let's go with if yanqing died

Depression, Jing yuan wouldn't leave his room for days or even weeks heck it will do turn months!, It was stupid of him, So stupid that he couldn't protect his own son, Someone who he treasured, He won't be able to get over his death so easily, in the soul soothing ceremony, He didn't give all yanqing's items, Only a few, And rest? He kept to himself. The pain of losing a child was unbearable, he wasn't able to eat or sleep properly, It was only when Yingxing forced him to rest and eat.

Yingxing and danfeng would have never believed the news, Thinking that people were pranking them, But no. After seeing jing yuan's state, They realised that Yanqing was no longer, He was gone. Yingxing just stayed in his blacksmith shop for days, Refusing to eat, He was broken after yanqing's death, But he had to take care of jing yuan, Knowing that Jing yuan would have a scar for the rest of his life, He has to help his husband.

Dan feng did find yanqing's diary, There were many things that Yanqing wanted to do, It was like a bucket list, see the new swords at the artisan commision, Buy swords, etc. poor boy will not longer buy his desired swords, Nor stay with his loved ones. This was rarely when Dan feng cried, Losing the kid who he raised along side his two husbands, Yingxing and jing yuan, He swears he will kill the person who murdered yanqing.

Baiheng would not believe the news at first, As jingliu told her, But as she started to realise, Baiheng had a breakdown, She started crying in the arms of her wife, jingliu, Jingliu however in the situation was strong, And held back her emotions. But deep down, Yanqing's death did affect her, She couldn't stand seeing baiheng and jing yuan like this at all, She missed yanqing.

WELL I HOPE YALL LIKE THIS, KEEP GIVING ME MORE QUESTIONS!!! HAVE A GOOD DAY SWEETIES 🥰

[cogmin213]

Who is Raven?

Reincarnation of Deon Hart from im not that kind of talent

He is 174 years old and Cruel Hart's forever baby

What is Raven's true name?

"Deon" but his name is censored by the world so whenever you mention Deon. They will only hear static noises or "■■" in Cruel's system chat box

Raven is only an alias since his true name is censored

Why does Raven have black hair and Green or grey eyes?

Raven's original hair color is white and his og eye color is red, however due to an accident. He become blind and his red eyes turn into murkish grey

The reincarnation Deon was kidnapped due to his ability of " spirit fragment" and been taken care by his fake parents.

The Head of Spirit Fragment association during that time use Deon's fake parents to keep an eye of him until Deon decide to escape in his snowfox form but during his escape his eyes turn blind and met the head of association

He awaken his shaman ability and met the guardian spirit. The guardian spirit save Deon but Deon's soul fragment is broken and missing some pieces

Cruel decide to give a partial of his soul to Deon thus making his hair turn black. That black hair is a connection of Cruel and Deon and if the connection is broken means Cruel disappeared as Deon's guardian spirit and his hair will turn back white

The green eyes was lend by Cruel and it can be turn off and on like a switch by Deon. Cruel can see anything Deon can see since that eyes belongs to him

What is Raven's backstory?

Deon is born with the purest soul. Pure as a snowfox.

He snowfox is a proof he could become a spirit fragment user and thus making several people wanting him.

Guardian Spirit has been watching Deon since the moment he was born.

The Head of Spirit Fragment Association kidnapped several children including Deon and put them under several fake parents.

He taken a form of snowfox to escape but large accidents happen during his run making him blind

He goes back to take revenge to kill the head of association as he accidentally open the 'gate' in rage and awaken both immortality and shaman ability.

Due to his shaman ability, he was able to communicate to the Guardian Spirit

Note- Gate is the vortex directed to the demon world meaning it could bring out monster or an entrance to a territory like the vampire queen. In this case, Deon open the gate and manage to bring out demonic monster to eat the head of association.

Does Raven know about his previous life?

In chapter 98, he will acquire the book Remember written for Deon.

The book is only for that one reader

The cover was smudgy and you could only read the title as "talent" written by Remember

In Chapter 99, He ask permission from Cruel if its okay for him to read the book since it's related to him. Cruel only answered he shouldnt let him waver his action due to Cruel's opinion but Raven insist Cruel is more important than the book

Chapter 100, as Raven reads the book with Cruel. Raven naturally remember his past life and Cruel was crying when he reads the book

In conclusion, Despite his shitty life for 24 years of life as Deon Hart. Its nothing compared to the way he live for 150 years as ■■. All the hatred he felt in intkot doesnt mean anything to him. He just felt pitiful to his previous life but he never deny he was a sinner

He became closer to his Guardian Spirit after that

Why is Raven curse?

Karma from his previous life

The curse is about when an ordinary person taken their eyes off Raven. They would forget about him from their memory

Raven's disciple tried their best to remember their master by creating diary and adding matching tattoos together

...Hwan took the tattoo way too seriously though

Who is Raven's disciples?

Raven have 5 disciples but maybe 6 now

Altair , Live, Rowena , Hwan, Deceiver and reincarnated!Dan

Altair : First Disciple and the Head of Awakening Association.

• 31 years old with Navy blue hair and sky blue eyes. He have a mole below his left eyebrow. 188cm

• Raven's little star

• Tsundere who wants to kill his master becayse he knew his master is immortal

• Rarely calls Raven father and when he does. Its meaningful

• The person who is hurt the most by Raven's disappearance.

• The most rational person between the disciples

• big oldest sibling energy

• loves to tease his younger siblings

• Dwarf Chief favorite

• doesnt like sweets

• Most likely to carry out the crime plan by his siblings successfully

Live : Second Disciple and Head of Spirit Fragment Association

• 30 years old with green hair and yellow eyes. 169cm

• Professional gaslighter and two-faced

• The sibling who start an idea to commit crime together

• Calls Altair "hyungnim"

• Elf King favorite

• Spirit Fragment is a Jaguar

• Semi Immortal due to Hwan delaying her death (she is supposed to be dead)

• loves to tie Raven's long hair

Rowena : Third Disciple and Head of Fighter Association

• 27 years old , 174cm , black hair and orange eyes with fair skin

• massive Chaotic energy and wont stfu

• always the main reason why Altair declare an emergency meeting between siblings

• Cruel's most favorite but also his least favorite

• she could crush a skull with her barehands

• Have an artificial vampire blood due to being experiment as a child but was saved by Raven

• Vampire Queen's favorite

• wants to marry Raven ( Cruel reacts so strongly he wants to yeet her) because she wants to spend most of her life with Raven but not because of sexual attraction

Hwan : Fourth Disciple and Head of Shaman Association

• 28 years old, 180cm , Red hair with gray eyes and southerner dark skin (similar with the shaman in intkot!Ran skin)

• Looks like a good boy but could kill you

• Will curse at your face as long as Raven isnt around

• Doesnt know martial art and the weakest in physical strength

• Can see your future and call you ugly af even in the future

• Mermaid Queens favorite

• put a tattoo brand on Raven's tongue

Deceiver : Fifth Disciple and Demigod

• 196cm , pretending to be 26 years old to be called the youngest by his siblings lmao. He have white hair like Deon and red eye pupil with black sclera (however his eyes in disguise is grey pupil with white sclera to appear like a human)

• Demon King Caver and intkot!Deon Hardt biological child

• World Error

• He is above the emperor and everyone except his noonim, hyungnims and father. He hates Dan and never acknowledge the newest disciple though

• he loves his father so much he start a war against the holy land to find his father. He is also willing to create a world for his Father

• He is very knowledgeable about both of his fathers life

• His true body is the tree in Esperanes Kingdom

• the 4 disciple keeps kidnapping Raven from Deceiver and also trying to keep him away from Raven since he is the main reason why their father disappeared for 10 years

• Raven only tolerate this child after he founds out he is the world error but his responsibility to kill him to save the world from getting swallowed by the gate

Dan : Fifth Disciple who is supposed to replace Deceiver and the successor of Spirit Fragment Association

• same appearance as intkot tbh (he is the reincarnation of intkot!dan)

• all the disciples hates his ass and probably jealous because during Raven 10 years of disappearance. Raven just adopted a new disciple

• Live is using him to gain favor from her papa and Live is keeping an eye on him since he wants to kill her father

• Raven loves him

• Member of Lofty Mercenary

• Spirit Fragment is a crow. His spirit fragment often accompany Raven but always getting yeeted by the other disciples to spend time with their papa (Altair threw Dan out of the window before lmfao)

• only became a disciple recently

-

• All Disciples except Dan called Raven "Father"

• All Disciple except Dan have childhood memories together creating diary and matching tattoos before Raven disappeared for 10 years

• Raven called all his disciples with cute nicknames even if they're an adult such as " my son, my dear, my baby, my little star, etc..."

• All Disciples except Dan raised with warmth and love since they were children until the day Raven decide to disappear for 10 years

• All Disciples except Dan have abandonment issues because of Raven

• All Disciples except Dan always gives Cruel a headache and you can always see Cruel taking out his sword from his sheeth slowly ( its like Cruel always feels his blood pressure rising whenever they done something stupid involving his baby Deon 😂 )

• All Disciples except Dan planned to lock Raven inside the room with no escape which made Cruel want to smack them even more (but Dan visits Raven in his imprisonment room for time to time so basically he wasnt against the idea of locking Raven up LMAO)

• All disciples loves cuddling and getting kisses to their face from Raven (though Altair doesnt like being treated as a child but he loves his father)

• Raven priorities taking care of their trauma and very supportive parent

What is Raven and Cruel's relationship?

• Hyung and Dongsaeng. Raven tease Cruel by calling him ancestor since Cruel is born during mythological era (intkot timeline)

• They're soulmate literally

• They cant live without the other

• They are more open to their feelings and communication

• Cruel is always against on Raven's marriage whenever he receive a marriage proposal

• touch starves (kisses, hugs, caressing cheeks , etc...)

• Flower is their love language. Cruel always give Deon flowers

• even before and after having previous life memory. They never stop being together

• respectful and ask for the other opinion before they do something they felt they might cross the line

• HAPPY CRUEL AND HAPPY DEON FRFR

• THERE'S SO MANY THINGS ABOUT THEM 😭😭😭 EVERY CHAPTER IS JUST ABOUT THEM AND THEY'RE VERY CLOSE I CANT EVEN PUT THEM INTO WORDS. IM SO SOFT ABOUT THEM. I LOVE THEM BEING TOGETHER UWEEEEH. THEY LITERALLY CAN NOT BE SEPARATED NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO TO THEM BUT IF YOU DID. RAVEN WILL GET ANXIETY AND GO INSANE WHILE CRUEL WILL DO HIS BEST TO GO BACK TO RAVEN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I LOVE THEEEEEM

[txtmetonight]

Two Slow Dancers

call summary ⋆ ★ As a young child, you preached over the thoughts of soulmates. Huening Kai had too, believed that two souls intertwined like puzzles–fitting perfectly. But sometimes, it’s almost too fitting to be true.

pairing *. * Huening Kai x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Angst

warnings *. Death, Cheating, Blood, Pregnancy, Bad Grammar, Crude language

call duration⋆ ★ 6.1k

a/n*. * Zoowemama 😍 finally wrapped up this series lol i'm js a bit late but whatever. ermm hyuka is an asshole ngl :(

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet//@oreoqueen // @woncheecks//@probably-too-obssessed// @matcha-binz

The Mitski Diaries Masterlist

The idea of soulmates is beautiful.  

It’s astoundingly astronomical how the stars believe that two fated souls are meant to be intertwined, are supposed to be carried with one another while death does them apart, in their graves with smiles on their faces because... they had each other. You like the word “each other” for it means you wouldn’t have to die at the hands of loneliness, strangled by its cruel hands, which you beg for it to stop. 

Though you detest the word “had”.  

Your mom has your dad. Your older brother has found your sister-in-law. And your friends were dating their boyfriends, some already turned into fiancés. And you had Huening Kai, arguably the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. You were supposed to have him, but you had him.  

The walls of your bedroom walls were non-existent with personality, not a splotch of color that you could find for you wanted to wallow inside of your broken heart. You were to not make it past the age of twenty-one because your soulmate doesn’t love you anymore. You are dying of a broken heart and cannot do anything to stop it. And so, you cry.

You suppose that you hate Kai, but you really don’t. You can’t because that’s what fate had written down for you. A tale of despair between a couple that couldn’t hold much of a spark even through what the universe had chosen for them.  

You and Huening were a special case. And it hurt horribly the day that he had admitted that he had strayed off the path of love for you two. You weren’t the best with feelings, so you let him go as you watched with shame and a burning face that you wanted to melt off. He didn’t hold you in his heart anymore...but you still do, so what are you supposed to do now? Laugh? Forget?  

The answer was to do nothing at all and wait until your last day. 

And tomorrow is it.  

Does it smell like a school gymnasium in here? It's funny how they're all the same

You don’t prefer the new layout of the school gym at all. It crawls and picks at your skin in the way that the floorboards are now a shade of dark brown, and the walls are plastered with flourishing paintings that in your eyes look hideous. But the smell of familiarity still stuck in between the crevices of the gym, holding nostalgic memories that hurt to uncover.

The floor underneath you squeaks, but there is no one except for the meek moon there to listen to the way that your feet drag, unable to lift them for their heaviness has grown with immense dread that burns. The heavens twinkle in delight...at the way that you sorrow. But you’ve grown accustomed to the way that they laugh, drinking in that they will soon gain you through for such pathetic reasons.  

You’re just a bit early but you wanted to swallow the tremor in your throat before you officially meet him. And you want to hide how weak you’ve been getting; you can barely even stand up on your feet for too long before collapsing and your breath seems to run out faster from your lungs with a fervor that makes walking seem like a laborious chore.

You want to stay strong, to uphold an image that you want to be. Wanted it as a mask. But you couldn’t afford it, nope not at all. Not even as hard as you tried, with your memories of heartbreak holding you back.  

The bleachers are cold, and the stairs lead up into a cloud of darkness that you couldn’t peer through even as much as you squinted. The bottom step is made from wood, the only thing that wasn’t even bothered to be renovated, and you cross your legs, patiently waiting for the man of the hour.

You’ve already exchanged goodbyes with your family, have done a few days ago just before you locked yourself in your room, mindlessly hovering over the pictures that the walls held, smiling faintly every once in a while. And you find yourself doing it once more, scanning over the gym where you spent four years of your life, rotting away, piece by piece.  

The door creaks open amidst the silence, but you don’t jolt. Footsteps echo immensely, bouncing off the walls before they abruptly stop, leaving you to slowly snap your head to the shadowy figure that occupies just near the end of the bleachers. That’s where you used to meet up with him, just as the bell rang. You grin. 

“That stupid team is taking up all of your time with me!” Kai grumbles, pulling you closer by the straps of your backpack. Hair a mess and face flushed, you giggle at him and pull off your sweaty headband to launch at your boyfriend, who whines. “Are you not proud of me for making it in?” You snort, looking up at him to find him staring down at you with a soft smile that makes your heart churn.

“Of course, I am. You’re so sexy when you perform.” He dodges your hits with loud chuckles but then quiets down into a large pout. “It’s just that, I feel like we don’t spend that much time together anymore. And they’re like...stealing you away from me. Just say that you want to date your team and be over with it.”   

“Oh hush, stop being dramatic.” You reach over to place a chaste kiss on his cheeks, but he smugly turns his head to connect his lip with yours, which you don’t complain, pressing into him. “And plus, we have all the time in the world to be together. I’m yours, no?” 

You quickly avert your eyes as your stomach aches and stare at your shoes instead, tapping quietly. 

It's funny how you always remember

“Do you still dance?” The voice booms, and it’s comforting yet alienable to you. You take a second to pause, watching the figure walk closer and closer to where you currently sit. “No. I had to give it up.” You don’t provide an explanation, but you’re sure that he knows why.

“It was your whole life.” He rasps and suddenly you don’t think you’re ready to see him, because the moonlight lights his face up with a luminous glow, he almost looks like a fucking angel.

Your body reacts to the sight before you even realize it, and you lurch painfully as tears prick your eyes, coughing quite violently into your palms. A stingy smell of metal meets your nose, but you don’t pay mind to it the way that Kai does, eyes wide with a fearful shadow on his face. Turning to him, you wipe the liquid on the stairs and scoot over just a bit. 

“So were you.”  

“I’m sorry.”  

You shake your head and sigh, patting the space next to you. He hesitates a little but stalks over with long, slow steps, his hands curling into tight fists that pierce his palms before he relaxes them again–a habit you’ve seen countless amounts of times. Your eyes trail up over to his hair, and you notice that it’s a soft brown, just like he used to have it when you were with him and it makes your fingers tremble when you know that dyed it on purpose just for you. He knows.  

It was blonde just a few days before–but you’ve always liked brown on him.  

Kai is stunning and has always been, but he seems unreal as he sits down next to you with a golden face and soft smile that you can’t rip your eyes from, however hard you try to. And the way that he stares at you, penetrating your skin with a sharp glare that melts you inside, sends rolls of lightning down your back.  

“How have you been?” He’s tender when he speaks and gentle as he lifts his fingers to brush away a strand piece of hair from your face as if you were going to break if used much force. Yet the contact leaves your muscles spasming with pain, softly trying to grasp your leaving breath. Huening flinches too, pulling his hand back with a light gasp. “Oh no, I didn’t know that was going to hurt.”  

You can’t help but pull a smile and chuckle. “That’s alright. Honestly, I’ve felt worse before.” His eyebrows furrow but he doesn’t say more except to encourage you to answer his previous question with a shaky grin.  

“But...I think I’ve been fine? How about you? You’re dating someone aren’t you?” His lips turn at your words, and he softly grasps your hand beside him, your eyes widening at his sudden reaction. This time around your lungs don’t choke, but you think that you’re being drowned alive as Kai’s eyes drown with unexplainable tears. But you don’t do anything, instead, you intently watch him try to get words out, gaping like a pitiful fish.  

“Fuck I don’t even know why I’m crying...I just... I’ve been doing good too.” His flushed cheeks carry words that he couldn’t say and so you move just a little closer, but it feels wrong, especially when he another woman that he had at home waiting for him...but it wouldn’t hurt to indulge, right? “I shouldn’t have asked to meet up, should I? I’m sorry” You whisper, rubbing his cheeks.  

“No please don’t. I’m happy that I’m with you right now. I’ve missed you so much.”  

His words leave a blowing punch to your gut, as you lurch into him, gripping his hands tightly as you start to sob. Kai’s touch awakens sparks up your back, which just worsens when he pulls you closer to him, hugging flush against his chest. You feel like you’re floating as if you’re traveling between time and space, as if everything around you is actually okay... 

“Baby please don’t cry” Your boyfriend whispers in your ear, threading his fingers through your hair, wrapping his arms around your trembling figure. He’s warm like a blanket but that doesn’t stop your onslaught of tears that burn like acid on your cheeks.

Kai places his hand over yours and pulls it up to his lips to gently kiss before his other hand comes to wipe away at your face. His own eyes are overflowing but he stops them for you, trying not to crumble. You sniffle and bury yourself in his neck, trying to calm down your racing heartbeat.

You’ve never preferred to cry in front of others, rather liking to shed tears in the depths of your room but with Kai, you think that you’re safe with your feelings. You think that he’s the one for you to get rid of your sadness, the one that you’re going to love the most because he was Kai and possibly crying was quite stupid since he was your fucking soulmate.

Not your neighbor’s or your desk mate, he was yours. And maybe that’s why you were crying right now, but you didn’t want to dwell on it too much. 

“I think that this such a bad time, but I think that you��re really pretty right now.”  

Choking on a sob, you lift your head from the crook of his neck to stare at him with a curious look, lips puckering into a pout at his sudden confession that leaves his face in a sheepish matter. “W–what?” Grabbing his cheeks, you furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know why you’re sad, but god I can’t help it. You’re so beautiful and it hurts that you’re crying.” And before you know it, his lips that were just on the side of your jaw pulls you into a slow kiss, soft and tender.  

Just like right now.  

And we've both done it all a hundred times before It's funny how I still forgot

After you two had parted ways on behalf of Kai, your lips would burn each time you wanted the affection of another. Maybe it was the universe refusing your attempts at another love or maybe you just couldn’t move on, but Kai’s lips on you right now are soothing but it churns something heavy deep in your gut. You’ve forgotten how he tastes like candy and how his lashes flutter shut, cherishing the intimate moment and the way that fingers paw at the base of your neck, asking for something more.

You want to blame it on the instincts or the muscle memory at the way that it doesn’t take you a second to push yourself into him, but you knew that you craved his touch for years on end, battling with serious heartache that will eventually end with you in your demise.  

Demise.  

Using your fingers, you gently push Kai’s face away from yours with wide eyes, chest stuttering rapidly. His own eyes draw big, but he doesn’t do anything to move his palm away from where it sat on you, instead, it feels as though he is digging it deeper into your skin. “You don’t love me.” You mumble, almost cry. “You’re not my soulmate anymore or else I–” 

“Would’ve lived. You would be next to me right now and you would be healthy and breathing just fine, and definitely not coughing up blood because god forbid you have it easy!” He gets loud at the end, and his words bounce off the walls, diminishing into nothingness. “But I want you to pretend.” Kai breathes and it makes you mad, furious.  “I don’t want to fucking pretend! This is my reality and I–I just...”  

You initiate the kiss this time. And he hesitates just a little before he leans in. This time around though it’s a bitter feeling of guilt, that fills up your senses and you can tell that Kai felt the same in the way that he squirms around.

A woman quite pretty and just his type doesn’t know her boyfriend was kissing his ex-lover. Was sitting dolled up for him as his hands roam around your face for a feel of something. You feel bad but you can’t stop as your heart slowly stops as the night becomes young and perhaps that’s how you’re trying to rekindle it again. By kissing him.  

You suppose that you hate that word now too. 

“I wish that we could go back again.” Kai pants against the corner of your mouth, finally pulling back a bit to observe you. You don’t know what to say so you avert your eyes and kick a spare gum wrapper from the floor.

“Whatever I guess.” You’re awkward but it’s unfamiliar to you when it’s with the person you’re with right now. You’re left speechless and so is he in the way that he nods his head and leaves not a word hanging in the air after you, and you realize that he’s right. You want to be young again without a thought in the world.

You want to talk again, and not through the monkey’s mouth like you were doing right now but through your actual teeth and tongue that used to chatter nonsensically. You want to breathe through your nose, not through an elephant’s trunk and you wish to be you again. Just you; but you assume that you’ve lost yourself years ago.  

It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again

Only twenty-one and you feel old, dying from blood that cannot be filtered through your veins due to a decaying love story that cannot be revived. The boy in front of you knows it too, but he still tries as he grabs your arm again, palms gone so cold that they stick to your skin like ice. “We have more time.” He says and shakes you out of the daze that you find yourself getting into recently.  

But as it is And it is

“You’re right. Do you want me to leave?”  

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rises to his feet, steady as he holds his hand out for you to take. “I want to take a walk and I’ve been longing to dance with you right after.”

Your fingers curl up against his palm before you’re forced to reel back once more, retching into your elbow as tears prick your eyes, the dark gym flashing into and out of view. Kai is behind you with pats of sympathy that you detest, yet you let him hold you up securely against him.  

“You’re okay” He whispers, and it takes you back to when he used to calm down the anxious tremors that used to encase you whole and it takes you a second to not let everything crash down when you realize that he was the one who was able to cake it down to a mere once in a while occasion where you would have internal panicked spikes of a heartbeat.  

With his comforting words that used to rely based on reassurance and love, you can’t find the affection when he says it now. It’s just you two, but it feels like others are crowding around you with jeers possibly along with the universe and those above taunting you. Because just like he said, they wouldn’t let you have it easy–to be the last ones out.

  

We're just two slow dancers, last ones out We're two slow dancers, last ones out

The gym is square in shape but is jutted out in some places to make room for the front doors and the locker rooms. So, when you and Kai walk, you must avoid the cracks in the wood and instead circle around them.

You don’t know how time has passed along so fast being with him, but you realize that the clock had always ticked faster, since the very beginning, you just weren’t ready. You weren’t sure–or rather prepared if you wanted to spend your time with the man beside you, spend your last breaths with him but the way that he stuns you to no limit makes you swallow down morsels of regret that coat your throat.

He’s quiet and so are you, which lets you have an eye of proper observation of the boy next to you. Kai, who you know from the bottom of your heart, is older than you last saw him.  

It hurts you think. Perhaps more than the scalding pain in your lungs that choke for proper air.  

He’s stayed the same height, but he’s grown into his face, more chiseled features that make you sway because–you couldn’t see him turn into the twenty-one-year-old he is now.

And you’re stuck staying the same, while he gets to change even more, which is not particularly fair yet when you press a soft kiss to his jaw (you’re sure your body moved on its own to blind you from the internal mess you were creating) you wouldn’t want him to have it anyway for fate has already played its tragedy covered cards. 

“You’re pale” He rumbles before he places his palm over your forehead. “And warm too. You have a fever.” And for some reason when he says it with a quiet voice, it pulls back more weary wrinkles into his face, and you wince. You must wonder how you look to him. “I suppose so. I’ve been at my sickest recently.” You mutter, throwing in a weak smile.  

And the ground has been slowly pulling us back down You see it on both our skin

“How much does it hurt? On a scale of one to ten” He says, holding up ten fingers which one is enveloped with your own hand, bringing both of his arms down at the same while he chuckles. “I dunno. Right now, I would give it a... seven point five?” Kai nods solemnly and suddenly you feel small underneath his gaze. “Is that so? I wonder how it feels?”  

“Really bad” You nervously laugh, swinging your arms back and forth in a constant rhythm. “It’s been harder to get out of bed, I just wish...wish that I had more time.” 

“I wish I could give you more time, to live longer. I’m sorry that I can’t.”  

You nod but you’ve fallen into a certain comfortable trance that the conversation is deemed normal to you. Odd and craving for more but no emptiness that leaves your heart desolate. The talk is sentimental and rather than wishing that you had more time to experience the world’s wonders you want more time to chatter with your heart’s content. Talk for years and years with your soulmate. You believe that you deserve it.  

“Do you remember the first time that we met?” Kai softly asks, coming to a halt in front of the doors that lead to the outside corridors. You twinkle and say, “How could I not.”  

You were running late. And in your first year of high school too. The clock screamed that it was currently 8:03 but you were supposed to be in your homeroom by 8:00 and you pray that Mr. Yoon accepted your tardiness with a flourish of his hand.

You’re drenched with sweat and your uniform is tugged wildly and your hair is askew with bits of it falling in your face, but you don’t pay any mind as you try not to crash into the lockers from your crazy sprinting.   

“Oh god!” You cry as you find that out the main doors to your science hallway, where your homeroom sat was locked and so you take a quiet of a big U-turn and make headway to the gym (which an older senior slipped to you was the way to escape the looming locks that the doors had to prevent tardy kids from getting in).

Fortunately, the first-day tour had paid off and you knew that the gym was exactly a hallway down to the left, so when you skid off, your feet landed you exactly in front of the door, tall and brown with a few splinters sticking out.  

“Please be open, please be open, please be open!”  

And it was open. But not by you, but by a lanky boy withholding stacks of papers.  

Perhaps you were blind because of the exhilaration in your veins, or he was just clueless about the desperate girl outside of the door, but you both head butt each other with a hard push, both falling to the ground with a loud grunt of despair. But that quick rush of anguish turns into something more magical. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine, fireworks bursting in your veins as your eyes blur in and out to adjust to the brighter look of colors–a more glowing appearance of the world.

Your fingers tingle and your tongue swirls with a hint of sweetness that you just couldn’t put your finger on. And the ache on your forehead had turned into a pulsing feeling of coolness. Since you were young, you’ve heard and read about the feelings of love and how pure it could be, but you think that the words that have spilled into your ears haven’t given justice to how exactly refreshing it was.  

“Holy...are you okay?” A voice sweet as honey makes your spine shiver with glee. “Yeah, I’m alright, but oh no! I’m late!” You cry, rising to your feet with panic but you’re suddenly held down by a gentle hand.

“It’ll be okay. Let’s go the nurse’s office and say that we had a nasty fall...but all my papers that I was supposed to give out fell.” A boy with the most stunning features you’ve ever seen, pouts at the fallen papers, and your heart practically jumps out from your chest, unable to stop smiling.

You would wonder if he had felt the same explosions as you, but the way that he trembles from the graze of your hand over his shoulder speaks wonders to you.  

“I’ll help.” You assure. 

“I–thank you.” He breathes and suddenly he can’t seem to take his eyes off you, making you feel warm inside. “You’re very pretty.” The unknown boy says, and you flush which makes him laugh.  

“What’s your name?”  

The boy smiles and throws you an eyebrow raise. “Huening Kai. But everyone calls me Kai!”  

Grabbing a piece of paper from the floor you respond with a small pep in your voice. “Yeah? Well, I’m (Y/n).”  

The first date you two shared was in the nurse’s office.  

And many more followed after that yet too less for your liking. 

You don’t even realize that you’re crying but you’re happy. Happy to be where it all started. The gym was the home that your heart lived in and the place that it chose to die. It’s warm. 

Turning your head to Kai, you’re startled to find him already looking at you with a glossy look and a mouth that betrays itself to speak its true words that itch his teeth. You wait patiently though but the silence allows the jarring sound of a ringtone to pierce the air and fade the sentence on the tip of Kai’s tongue.  

"I–oh fuck, Yuna’s calling me.” Kai’s voice stutters and your stomach drops into reality once more.  

We get a few years and then it wants us back 

You’re falling once more, drenched in cold water at the way that his fingers leave your touch, how his lips quirk up into a smile that used to be dedicated to you, and how his tears dry up so easily without a hint of anguish. He’s sweet and you’ve always known that he spits out candy compliments that were sickly as sugar, but it stirs a burning sensation deep in your throat.

And maybe it’s not even how he loves her, but how he makes it so that all of it was an act–that you were a complete fool for thinking that he had an ounce of adoration for you or even pity.

He’s the one that kissed you so softly and sweetly first, but he talks as if you were nothing to him like you weren’t the one that he was supposed to be destined for. 

“Hey sweetheart...I’m hanging out with a friend right now.”  

You can’t feel your legs anymore. The bones in your knees have turned into jelly, but you can’t do anything but woefully stare at him with a longing look of gloom. 

“I’ll be back soon, I promise. Hang tight, I’ll make it up tomorrow for Valentine’s Day, how does that sound?” 

Perhaps you’re going to faint because your vision suddenly spins like a carousel. You’ve always found it ironic how you’re born on the day of love and yet you’re going to die because of it. And now you crave to celebrate your birthday extravagantly instead of wallowing in your sorrows as you did in your previous years.

You wouldn’t be too old, would you? To toast a to yourself? 

It would be a hundred times easier If we were young again

But you chuckle at how you’ve been through it all on Valentine’s day; born, lost your other piece, and soon enough die as you choke on the waters of love. You feel the thorns of the red roses that grow in your stomach filled with envy and yearning, cut into your esophagus, releasing ruby red to drip into the pits of your stomach.  

“Good night. I love you.”  

But as it is And it is

You don’t realize that you’re on the ground until Kai cries at you, hurrying by your side as you sew out copious amounts of blood that your body refuses to keep, all the burning endearment that you’ve held to Kai being let out.

“Hey baby, oh god, you’re alright.” His fingers wrap underneath your waist to pull you up, uncaring of the red that splatters his shirt. You feel like you’re on fire, as you scratch at chest for any type of relief, sobs ripping from the bottom of your guts.  

He pecks your cheeks then your nose, and the corner of your mouth before he moves his lips to your forehead. Huening is certainly frantic with his touch and usually, you wouldn’t mind, but you want to squirm.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, alerting you of how much ever time you have left in your life. 30 minutes. "Oh gosh...” You manage to rasp out, crying at how terrified you feel. Kai must’ve sensed the fear that rolls off you in waves because he hugs you as tight as he can.  

He’s an asshole but you can’t help but love him. And it stabs you in the gut. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” He chants but you shake your throbbing head, trying to get up from the icky floor. “You can’t–you don’t know that!” You wail but Kai doesn’t pay any attention to your protest, gripping your hand so you don’t fall onto the ground again. It takes you a second to not wobble, using his shoulders as support when you close your eyes. He kisses your head again and stays there, swaying.  

“I fucking hate you.”  

Kai doesn’t react. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re a...a horrible asshole.” You splutter before you grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. He matches your desperation, even as the taste of metal coats his tongue. He pulls away for a second and crawls his hands over to your face, cradling you in his cold palms.

“I want to dance with you. Just one last time.” When he said that before, you weren’t sure if he was serious but as soon as you nod, he rubs his hand down your sides to place on your hips. 

“Just one last time.” You repeat back to him.  

Kai is swift with his feet but not as fast as you. His hands swing with grace, but they don’t beat the way that you make your arms float. Or how you swivel around, flying with charm. You two are in your room, dead at night, but a soft slow song plays its notes. You feel love in the air.

The pads of your boyfriend’s fingers thread against your skin, pressing into your waist. He spins you around, but his eyes never leave your own pair, and he thinks that you look like an angel like this. An angel in his arms–he’s possibly the luckiest boy in this world. He ghosts over your neck before he moves away so he can tug you into him once more.

Kai presses lingering kisses all over you just to hear more of your giggles. And once the song stops singing, leaving a quiet atmosphere in its wake, you trip into your bed. It’s warm next to him, and cozy and you would like to spend anything here next to him for the rest of your life.  

To think that we could stay the same To think that we could stay the same

It’s the same this time around, but his touch on you is cold. Your sneakers squeak on the ground and you’re definitely not poised with your moments, but you wonder if Kai sees you as beautiful as you were in your element when you were younger. You spin and try not to fall, but you trust him to not let you trip over your own torment.

There’s no music this time except for the beating of your heartbeats, one slowing down and the other racing with adrenaline. You both are growing apart as you two did before, not in sync with anything anymore. You kiss his neck and feel the goosebumps that arise.  

The moonlight watches with tears in its eyes and the wind comes to a stop, letting you two soak into each other in peace. The grasshoppers hold their head down in pity and two doves stare into the depths of the lake, hearts aching. And you’re growing weak with each passing moment which Kai can feel in his arms. 

His tears start to plow down his flushed cheeks.  

To think that we could stay the same 

Your vision starts to fade in and out, but you don’t give up, leaning into the boy. He coordinates your arms to place them along his nape, pulling you close. You’re dying and you know it more than ever how life seeps out of the pores of your skin. Yet you feel a sense of tranquility, dancing slowly with the love of your life.  

“I love you.” You whisper, nuzzling into him. You’re trying to calm his breathing down as he sobs. He cries and cries while you slowly mumble sweet nothings into his ear, closing your eyes which he realizes before he slams his lips onto your mouth.

Blood fills your mouth with agony and your lungs wheeze unable to get anything, but you don’t pull away, relishing in his honey mouth. 

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry. So sorry about–about–Yuna! And everything. I’m such a horrible person.” Kai howls, eyes widening as your arms go limp around him. Your legs give but he keeps you upright against him.  

“Am I just a friend?” You ask. 

He shakes his head wildly. “No!” 

You weakly laugh at him. Your time is up. “Then good. I’m your soulmate. You’ll remember that won’t you?”  

But we're two slow dancers, last ones out 

“I’m so sorry (Y/n)” Kai mumbles, holding out a bouquet of flowers for you to take. “What...what do you mean that you don’t love me anymore?” You say voice cracking in the middle, gently pushing away the flowers in his hands, his eyes falling down to his shoes in shame. His silence says a lot and you take a step back. “Why?”  

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel that spark anymore.”  

You scoff and angrily wipe the tears away from your face. “I’m your soulmate, you just can’t–” 

“I’m so sorry.” He cuts you off, eyebrows dipping down. He still looks so beautiful in your eyes and so you sob. Kai places the flowers by your feet and turns to walk away, opening the doors of the gymnasium to escape into. You feel discarded as you watch him, but you want to throw one more word in before he leaves you to be. There’s a burning sensation in your lungs.  

“You better remember that I’m your fucking soulmate the next time you...you date someone else. Because I know that there will be no one as good as me, no one else that will make you feel like that!” You scream, throat raw. You're hurting everywhere when he whips his head around, tears glinting in his eyes, making you hiss pathetically.  

“I know.”  

When you fall against him, he stumbles onto his legs, your heart-stopping in its glory. A shrill silence follows through before it’s cut by his screams of pain. He feels your death through his veins as the universe spoon-feeds him the truth. His tears feel acidic on his skin but the ones that roll down your cheeks, are more painful than imaginable. His heart tears into two.  

“Happy Valentine’s Day...and birthday, love,” Kai says into your neck, pressing kisses into where you would be able to feel your heartbeat, hoping that they could revive you. 

We're two slow dancers, last ones out 

Kai has never thought much about having a family–except with you. But here he is in the hospital room with his wife, tears running down his face. Yuna thinks that he’s happy, and he believes that too, but he knows that there’s a lingering sense of prickling at his heart.

February 14th holds a special place in his heart for many reasons that thinking too much about brings great pain to him. Yet a baby should drive happiness, no? 

He’s now a father to a wonderous daughter.  

But as he stares at her, he wonders if he’ll actually ever love her. He’s having doubts. He drags his attention to his wife who is not his soulmate but a woman that he loves. But she’s not you. He doesn’t have a family with you, have kids with you...so will he ever harbor great attraction to them. Like he does to their mother, he knows that he doesn’t love her as deeply as he did with you.  

“What should we name her?” His wife asks, staring at his brown hair that got mangled in a mess. 

A name leaves the tip of his mouth, eyes widening before he realizes what he just uttered.  

“(Y/n).” 

She smiles and the deep veins of hatred infiltrate just a little bit deeper. But when the little girl in his arms yawns, he finally cracks. And when he sways with her, just after her mother falls asleep, he dances with love. 

Two slow dancers, last ones out 

It’s alright. He’ll love her forever because he couldn’t do it with you.  

[moremousewrites]

Trading Gossip

Pairing: Haarlep/f!Tav

Summary: Haarlep approaches you in rare form. You suspect they're up to mischief and offer entertainment at someone else's expense for once in the form of rumours. Haarlep is more than willing- they know you'll be on their tongue soon enough

Tags: smut, face sitting, oral sex, fingering, electricity play (lightening charges hehe), biting, bottom Haarlep, orgasm denial

A/N: Haarlep takes tav's/reader's form for the majority of this one. Also i did my best at coming up with gossip but it's hard to imagine what would shock a fiend lol. ANYWAY I hope you enjoy this!

The devil's incubus always seemed to keep a watchful eye out for you. They'd study your movements whenever you were in the boudoir, always watching. The two of you never trusted each other. They'd lure you into some trap, then watch you suffer the consequences of their misdoings. You'd run to Raphael and convince him the creature was disobedient. It was a tiresome game. Especially when Raphael insisted you share a bed but could not touch. The rule was made to be broken, the game was rigged. You always ended up with the short straw and everyone knew it. 

Haarlep approached you, rippling muscles on display, prowling like the animal of prey they were. You stuck your nose in your book to ignore them. “Little thief. Did the master leave you all alone to fend for yourself?” They asked, crawling into the bed next to you. 

“Not alone. I'm somewhere else” you lifted the book and turned the cover so they could read the title.

A clawed finger hooked the crease of the book, snatching it from you and tossing it to the floor. You pressed your nails into your palms and took a deep breath. They were not going to bait you.

“You're making the most adorable face, pet. You should see it for yourself” they said, your own voice slipping through as their image shifted to that of your own. Your sour look reflected back to you. 

“Haarlep, are you bored?” You asked, rubbing your temples to relieve the stress they were causing. 

Your mirror image lit up with a sly glee. “Yes! Would you like to try to entertain me?” They asked, moving their face a bit too close to yours.

You studied their actions. They seemed a bit… erratic. Your glamoured eyes shifting to yours, rapidly. Normally, toying with you was a pastime they did because it was easy. They seemed almost desperate now.

“How about we trade gossip?” You suggested. Haarlep nodded and you felt the heat of their magic on your face before they sat back on the pillows, shifting back to the form that most resembled Raphael. You leaned into their ear and whispered. “I heard Korilla was caught reading the master's diaries. I think she was trying to see if he wrote of her” you watched Haarlep roll their eyes.

“Old news, thief. Who do you think caught her?” They asked, turning their head to whisper in your ear. “I heard Mizora offered to buy your soul” they spoke through a sly grin. 

You weren't surprised by that. You wondered what she offered, it couldn't have been a normal deal. Possibly something to aid Raphael in the war. “She tried to bed me” you huffed, remembering her proposition. Tempting as she might be to some, she had made Wyll's life hell. Well, not that you could speak on the matter as you'd become bedfellows with a devil. 

Haarlep tsked, the sound tickling your ear. “More old news” they said, shaking their head in disappointment. 

You crossed your arms in defense “That wasn't my gossip. But be that way” you stuck your nose up at the incubus and they laughed in response. 

“One more then. Please, little thief” they pleaded, tail twitching with expectation. For all the tricks they pulled and mischief they made, you couldn't deny they were hard to refuse. You didn't trust them, but they were growing on you somewhat. 

You nodded and leaned in once more. “I heard that Raphael had a wet dream” you said, quiet as a… well, a mouse. Haarlep turned to look you in the eye. Their jaw dropped in shock, commending you for your juicy gossip. 

“How do you know?” They asked, failing to contain their excitement. 

You tapped your ear, demanding one last piece of gossip from them. They cupped your ear, moving slowly to meet the shell. You felt a light puff of air before their tongue licked your ear, inside and out. You jolted at first, the feeling repulsed you. That is, until they held your waist and pulled you closer. The incubus spittle lit your nerves and the feeling settled deep in your cunt. You couldn't contain the pitchy little moan that slipped past your lips at the sensation. 

Regret coursed through you in preparation for the retribution that was sure to come. But the incubus’ warm lips stoked a heat that smothered any trepidation. “Good little pet. Give in to me” they traced their fingers down to your chest, teasing your nipple in their hand as their lips lowered to take the other. 

Your brows furrowed, you couldn't submit so easily. Haarlep growled lowly as you slipped your knee between your bodies, effectively separating the two of you. 

“What do you think you're doing, pet?” Haarlep ran their hand up the underside of your leg and cupped the knee, pressing forward. “Are you playing hard to get?” They leaned down to taste you and you grabbed their horn with haste.The glare they gave you could cut you to the bone. Haarlep was an ardent supporter of foreplay but they seemed particularly needy today. You gave them a smoldering look that reassured them in a novel way.

Haarlep liked playing with you. Not that they'd admit how sincerely they enjoyed your coupling. You played many roles excellently. The distressed damsel, the submissive pet, and Haarlep's personal favourite- the vengeful hero. You were smart to add variety to your repertoire. Haarlep never knew who they were going to bed. Your intense stare and half-smirk informed Haarlep that they would be serving the hero tonight. Their tail actually wagged in glee. 

“Not Raphael's form tonight, harlot” you tilted their head back, your grip on their horn willing them to your bidding. Their golden irises gleamed with understanding. 

Before you, Haarlep once again shifted to your form. Your hands positioning you so deliciously, your lips parted in anticipation. “Beautiful” you admired your image, dropping the hand that held Haarlep's vanished horn to caress their face. Your fingers trailed down to the fiend's throat, pushing until they relinquished their hold on you. You knocked them on their back and climbed up their body, kissing and nipping the exposed skin in your wake. 

Haarlep gave a huff of irritation but their quickened breath betrayed them. They were impatient but not displeased. You grabbed their chin in your hand and slipped your tongue into their mouth. Your tongue danced with theirs, the feeling so strangely similar yet the infernal heat of their body gave them away. More incubus spit infected you and you felt your ache deepen. Pressing against your reflected image, you felt Haarlep arch their chest onto yours. They rutted their mound onto your thigh and you moaned at the relief you felt in tandem. You watched them grind against your thigh, their face twitching in pleasure. When you felt them chasing their release, you pulled your thigh from between their legs.

“Stupid little slut! You think you have an ounce of power?” Haarlep hissed, clearly frustrated from the denial of their orgasm. You giggled at their tantrum and they dragged their nails along the curve of your back. Not nearly as much damage as they would do in Raphael's form but it would have to do. You let out a breathy whine at the sting. 

Feeling a bit emboldened by Haarlep's frantic behaviour, you moved to straddle their face. “Lick and I shall give you release” you ordered before lowering your hips onto Haarlep's disgruntled face. Their hands wrapped around your thighs, anchoring you to them. You rocked your hips, their tonguing causing you to shake in their grasp. Their hand moved to toy with their clit and you felt both your orgasms arriving far too soon for your liking. You reached back and pulled their hand back to your thigh.

In retaliation, Haarlep bit your clit making you yelp. You squirmed but their jaws would not let up. Panic surged in you and you felt your fingers charge with the electric magic that spurred when you were threatened. You leaned back and pinched Haarlep with charged fingers. You were immune to the magic but Haarlep thankfully was not. They finally released your abused clit and you lifted your hips, then flicked them on the forehead. “Bad incubus!” You loomed over them, taking a disciplinary tone. 

They mumbled something inaudible. “What was that? You're going to have to speak up” you ordered, taking control once more.

“Do that again” they said, eyes blown out with lust.

You flicked their forehead again, intentionally misunderstanding them. You weren't keen on indulging Haarlep after they bit you.

Haarlep rolled their eyes and kissed your inner thigh. They looked up at you from beneath your kneeling position, eyes suddenly wide and full of plea. “That little spark of magic. It was salacious. Please, touch me again” their voice alone had you reeling. 

You climbed off of them, lying at their side. You focused on letting a part of your constitution withdraw while you concentrated on pulling magic through your fingertips. Normally, magic was instinct. An action as small and intentional as this took a bit of thought. Once you had enough of a charge moving, you lowered your hand to Haarlep's nipple. You watched as the electricity formed a bridge with their budding nipple just before stinging them lightly. Haarlep arched at the biting shock. They let out a sigh and turned to you, nodding encouragingly. You tried both hands now. The shock was stronger this time, unintentionally so. You were too eager and unconcentrated. Still, Haarlep moaned your name. You separated their thighs, exposing their sex to you. You admired your body on their wanton form. 

When you first met Haarlep you thought Raphael was a pathetic narcissistic joke for only taking his incubus in his form. You have long since abandoned the opinion. There was something very comforting about loving yourself in this way. And of course there was the added benefit of the doubled pleasure. If Raphael was a joke, it wasn't for his bedroom habits. 

Haarlep was mewling, desperate for you to follow through with your actions. Your fingers charged, the light crackling along them. You brought one finger to their clit, careful so as to not over charge this time. When your finger met their bundle of nerves, they tensed so much you thought they were seizing. 

You worried for a moment that you pushed them too far, but the drunken grin their face displayed soothed your doubts. Of course they were fine, they were a being constructed of pure evil energy with the sole purpose of pleasure. A small realization formed in your brain as you saw the incubus panting in need for your touch. Raphael had been neglecting them for some time, and your role demanded you withhold from touching them. They were in pain and needed relief. 

One of your fingers slipped between their folds, running up and down to play with the soaking skin. You moved your fingers to their clit, rubbing circles in precise motions- exactly how you liked when you touched yourself. Haarlep threw back their head, moaning at your practiced touch. You sped up your pace, pressing kisses into their neck. They appreciated your focused attentions to make them come. You could feel your own touch building an orgasm within yourself, their end drawing near. Their fists balling the silk sheets beside them as they writhed in your hand.  Finally, you let them come, riding out their pleasure as you rubbed them through their orgasm and your own, twitching at the phantom touch.

Haarlep grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a deep kiss, thanking you in their way. When they pulled away, you noticed the mania had left their eyes but they looked far from sated.

“Oh, little pet. You are such fun” they sighed, cradling your face in their hand.

You nuzzled into them, taking in their warmth. “Careful, Haarlep. People will start to talk” you said, wrapping yourself around them. Rules be damned, you were sure Raphael knew everything anyway. 

Haarlep traced their fingers on the planes of your body, soothing your skin. You relaxed into their touch as they kissed your head. “Let them. News travels fast, here” they said, watching you drift off to sleep in their arms. You needed your rest, anyway. Raphael was going to rage at the sight before him once he returned. Haarlep smiled to themself, content with their little pet.

[iamnmbr3]

i like your tom riddle and voldemort meta. do you know any good fics about him either any ship or gen?

Thank you so much! Here are some I've come across. If people have other recs feel free to post in the replies. And blanket warning to mind the tags on these for obvious reasons.

Amulette d'amour by The_Carnivorous_Muffin, Vinelle (words: 51,908 | not rated | Tom Riddle/Alphard Black)

Tom is commissioned to repair a magical amulet.

The Unwinding Golden Thread by The_Carnivorous_Muffin (words: 50,260 | rating: T | Gen )

In his fifth year Tom Riddle discovers his destiny and meets the cold, alarming, and bizarre transfer student Harry Evans. But sometimes things unravel in ways we do not expect.

Ouroboros by Metalomagnetic (words: 258,416 | Rating: E | Tom Riddle/Voldemort)

A strange man adopts Tom Riddle and it is not his father, as Tom desperately wants to believe. Stranded in the past, Voldemort once again comes to the conclusion he's the only one he truly needs.

A Broken Soul by wheatear (words: 4,529 | rating: G | Gen )

What exactly is the nature of a soul? And when Lord Voldemort so willingly split his own soul in half, what damage did he do to himself?

the pleasure, the privilege by asterismal (asterisms) (words: 19,901 | rating: M | Harry/Voldemort | CW: Horror, Extremely dark themes)

It begins with Vernon Dursley’s body, dead across the table. In which Voldemort is dosed with amortentia, and nothing is better for it.

One For Sorrow by axilet (Words: 1,795 | Rating: G | Gen )

Like a magpie, what Tom Riddle wants, he simply takes. One-shot; from the boy to the man.

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by ToAStranger  (words: 34,400 | rating: M | Harry Potter/Tom Riddle)

Voldemort is dead. It's Christmas, and Harry's just opened a gift from Fred and George Weasley.

War Paint by provocative_envy (words: 18,876 | rating: E | Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle)

It was small, slim, about the length of her hand; the leather cover was soft, the sewn-in binding was crisp, and the thick vellum pages were empty. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' was printed in ancient, flaking gold leaf across the front. He had been a Slytherin, a prefect, and head boy in 1944. She had checked. [ ALTERNATIVELY - Hermione finds Tom Riddle's diary. ]