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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

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The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it��s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

“Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #jjk geto #getou x reader #getou suguru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader

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weeping-petals · 6 years ago

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Little Thief

Word Count - 2,194

The gems grieve in their own ways for the loss of Rose Quartz.

It had been different since… Rose.

Not like the times that one of them had taken off on some mission and lost track of time, reappearing months, possibly years later. The passage of time for gems was different, time existed beyond them, detached. Somehow now, it felt… different. As if in some way time creeped into one of them and the clock ran out all at once, and suddenly they were all grounded to this specific place. Anchored to a now, where once time extended and branched outward around them.

“I still don’t get it,” Amethyst huffed. She walked a distance back from the other two, arms crossed behind her head. The light snowfall ended hours ago, leaving a fluffy layer across the sidewalks and soil made harder than Apatite. “You keep sayin’ Rose is gone, but we have Steven. And Steven isn’t Rose, but she has Rose’s gem. How come they aren’t the same person?”

Pearl rubbed at her eyes and looked off. The icy wind didn’t bother them, yet she still looped her arms around her shoulders. It made her look chilled, with her lack of sleeves.

Ever patient Garnet came to the rescue. Always easygoing, calm, and collected. “Rose and her child can’t exist together, because Steven has her gem.” She thought it over a bit, searching the night sky for answers and strength.

The three gems were out at this hour on a patrol, assuring that Beach City had no secrets or dangers present before they turned focus to missions. Someone would always stay behind while they ran to distant destinations, but Amethyst was less experienced with fighting and tact, and Pearl was… preoccupied. The general atmosphere of Beach City was still, the snowfall forcing inhabitants behind walls and into blankets on this inhospitable night. Some wispy clouds remained stubborn across the cobalt sky, tinged a varied of shades of royal and yale.

“It’s like Ruby and Saphire,” she began. Garnet walked over to the Amethyst and knelt, showing her hands. “Garnet is her own person, but not alone. She – I – am both a part of Ruby and Saphire. But they have their gems, they have their own persons. I am neither one or the other, I am my own person. I recognize that now.”

Amethyst set a hand over her chin, and the other touched one of Garnet’s palms. Intense thought was going into this deduction. “So, she’s like a fusion. Yeh, I get that.” Garnet winced when Pearl groaned.

“Sort of…” Garnet frowned, searching pathways for the right words. “But baby humans are not like fusions. They are individuals, detached from their fusors. I can’t go anywhere without Ruby, or Saphire. It’s physically impossible. Steven… has a freedom we will never totally understand.”

“Okay. But it’s not like they don’t stop existing when they make you.” Amethyst pointed out the two gems on Garnet’s palms. “That’s Saphy, and there’s Ruby. I recognize their cuts. Steven has Rose Quartz gem, so why isn’t she Rose Quartz still?”

“Amethyst!” Pearl barked. Garnet stood and held up her hands, stoic but trying to ease the boiling point that hit the Pearl. “The concept isn’t that difficult to grasp! Even for you!”

“Try me!”

“The two of you—” Garnet stopped, head snapping towards the serene city limits, interrupted briefly by the chug of a primitive engine. From the roads careened a vehicle, plowing through drifts of powdery snow and bucking over hidden obstacles with reckless abandonment. The head lights flashed across the three figures in the night, and abruptly swerved to avoid impact. It barely came to a full halt, when one of the doors cracked open and a figure tumbled out. Thankfully, the van lost momentum and stayed put, engine still rattling.

A panty, lumpy figure trudged through the snow layer. “Guys! Guys!” Patiently, the three waited for Greg to catch his breath or catch up with them. He was doing more crashing and shivering than covering ground. Was he in his flipflops? “I— Help! It’s— I was!” He gaged on a mouth full of snow and crashed sideways. “STEVEN!”

“What happened? What’s wrong!” Pearl was the first to reach Greg. She hesitated at his side refusing to touch the sputtering human, and only knelt as Greg struggled to surface from another mound of frost. “What have you done now? We can’t trust you with anything!”

Those words made him wince. “I didn’t— an angry twizzler stole him!”

Befuddled and shook, the three gems stood in varied expressions of painfully slow buffering. Pearl wilted and looked to Garnet, who held the stoniest expression of them all. To a stranger, this may have appeared indifferent to the presented situation of panic and unknowns, to the gems that knew her relatively well…. Amethyst was backing away, dawning horror on her face.

There was high likelihood someone was going to shatter this night.

In a deep shadow, above where the waves crashed and bubbled, the sea froths and scrubbed away at frozen rocks:

“So. You’re the Gem that stole her away. Robbed me of my Happily. ℰ𝓋ℯ𝓇.

̗̬̳̥̠͚̟̻͇̅ͧ̑̂͗ͮͪ̌ͥ͝.̢͔̰̩ͬ͋ͣ̿͑̄ͩ͠

̻̲͙̲͗ͪͦ̀̓Ḁ̞̯̀ͮͭ̅͊̀̋f̵̝̪̦̹̪͔̝̖͖͂̎̂ͥ͘͘t̤͆̚e̤͇̫̻̹͉ͮͪͫ͢ͅr̸̲̰̹͚̗ͫͦ̂̑ͩ͢ .”

The baby nibbled on her – his. His fingers, and sniffled. He had not woken at all throughout her reckless and wild movement through the town. Though that was a goal, it was entirely too easy to jostle a tiny and sensitive baby, and she didn’t need to upset the pebble and have him wailing across the night. She really didn’t want to hear him cry.

“Hmm. But you’re… kinda cute. I guess.” She touched the little puff of curls poking out from the blanket bundled around his body. “A cute lil thief.” A tear plipped on the baby’s nose, and the eyes opened, staring up at the looming being. “Thieved me of my entire world. My purpose. Everything I ever thought was precious to me. Everything I fought for, would’ve splint in two for. You don’t know what that’s like, do you? Hmm? You have no idea yet. Huh?”

The baby blinked, vacant of comprehension. He knew his father, and to an extent, foggily recalled Others. But this one. This one was stark and different, in shape and color. Light from the moon hit the ocean, and its brilliant radiance slanted through the alcove catching on the sculpted stone set in her chest. Every buckling quake of her body caused the light to jitter, and her eyes, dulled by sorrow, glimmered in the sullen light. Nothing else was visible, aside from magenta streaks drooping.

“Will you ever be capable of understanding? How much you hurt us. Hurt me. Rose. Wasn’t I enough? Why? Why wasn’t I enough?” Spinel choked and bent forward, unable to regain control of the intense wave vibrating through her Gem. She was never good enough. Nothing was ever good enough for Rose – Pink Diamond. Having a colony didn’t satisfy her, having a whole world to herself, not good enough. She couldn’t be happy with her friends, the only survivors of the War. It was never enough. Spinel failed. Failed her Diamond. There was no greater shame, than failing the one you were created for. She had one purpose in all of her existence, and it was gone.

“Why? Why wasn’t I good enough? What did I do wrong! Why couldn’t she just be happy, with me? What should I have done?”

The baby coughed and began an insignificant gurgle, reeling that into a rolling yowl. Spinel jolted, body coiling a little tighter around the bundle.

“No-no-no,” she cooed. “Oh no-no, please don’t cry. Shh-shh….” She tugged the blanket corners around his neck and made certain none of the damp air got through. She wasn’t exactly feeling like a furnace right now, but she could generate heat. It used energy, but she could do that. None of it was soothing the baby, his cracked hiccups and pitiful whimpers edged on Spinel’s natural instincts to comfort. Again, she was failing. Pathetic.

“Please, I don’t know… I don’t know how…Rose.” She felt so lost, severed from abilities she had purposefully learned and were not inherit to Gems. How did it go? What did humans do? What did pebble humans like? She could just bubble him, that was what they did with unruly corrupted Gems. “Please stop. Shhh-shhh…. Um.” She hummed, choosing a tune and warble lost from ages ago. It was soft and bittersweet, a melody that once upon a time moved through the Garden, before the Great War. Before she abandoned innocence, for a new purpose. A new Game.

The baby hiccupped and spluttered, eyes blinking at the strange being. He looked on the verge of regressing, spurring Spinel to draw her arms up from her lap and hold the child to her gem.

“Oh my stars, Oh distant galaxies, watching and turning, tirelessly pining. I stand still and proud in my Garden all alone, waiting out the eons as they slip away. I wonder, will today be the day my light returns? My radiance and eminence given form, to take and hold me, praise me. My purpose, my star gifted aspiration. Will this be the day I win the game? What fun we’ll have, if we keep each other. Cherish one another. For eternity boundless.’

“Endless and timeless, we are forever. What always was, shall then continue. From my Garden I watch as the ones once cherished, grow distant and dim. But not us. Not us. A star becomes a nova, but a Gem is set and steadfast. Farewell to the stars, the galaxies, vacant of passion, bereft of sorrow. Void of precious longing. We burn bright, but stars snuff out. When they dim, erupt, dazzle like Gem Glows, I say farewell. I will miss your light, I will grieve for your guidance and comfort this night. Stars flicker and fall, but not us. Not us. We are… we are forever.”

This was not how it was supposed to be. This was not how the game should have ended. Spinel buckled, struggling and failing to shove off the memories. The longing and irreversible nature of permanence.

The baby burbled and snuggled into her chest. He breathed calmly, absorbed in the lullaby and quieted into soundless sleep. Her tears soaked into the thick fiber of the blanket.

This. This was all she had now. No more Rose, no more—

“SPINEL!”

Her eyes snapped open, rimmed and spiraled. Below on the ledge of the sea cliff stood the remnants of the Crystal Gems, minus Pearl. Where could Pearl be?

“You need to give little Rose back!” Amethyst’s Gem gleamed as she reached for her weapon, but an arm set out by Garnet stalled this movement. Spinel narrowed her eyes.

“You need to return him,” Garnet boomed. “It is too cold for a child to be out unprotected, you’re putting his life at risk. He’s not like us, he’s human!”

“What’s his name,” Spinel murmured. “What did they… decide to name him? He’s a… uhh, a Rose Quartz.”

“Steven,” Garnet supplied, gently. “Rose wanted him to have a human name. He might have a gem, but he may turn out to be more human than Gem. We don’t know.”

“Hah. Hah-ha.” She tugged her knees up around her arms and checked the entrance of the alcove. Pearl’s absence made her nervous, but it was possible she wanted nothing to do with this confrontation. Either way, the baby – Steven’s – safety, was the forefront of their focus. “This was what she wanted.” She often said that in the few months following the news. “She wanted. This.”

“It was her decision., and we will preserve those wishes!” Garnet edge her body down, moving her arm away from Amethyst. The stout Gem reached for her weapon, scowling. “For his safety, we will take chances. Don’t make us take that course. Please, Spinel. I have seen the choices you make, and they all end badly.”

“You can’t bluff me.” Spinel blew a raspberry. “I know better.”

“Then consider I don’t care what I see. It’s irrelevant. What I do know, is that under no circumstance will we fail. We will take Steven back, and deal with you accordingly.”

Spinel sighed and drew her face back from Steven’s forehead. “You really can’t take the chance, can you? Pff.” Like a thread unraveling from a sweater, Spinel uncoiled her body and stood. Garnet and Amethyst flinched, geared for the next act. Spinel picked her way gracefully down the jagged rocks, a complete contradiction to her sporadic and craggy movements. Gradually, Garnet unwound her own body and stood at her full height. When Spinel hit the moonlight fully, Amethyst’s jaw dropped.

She was on high ground and didn’t need to stretch herself, to pass the baby from her arms. “Despite you yelling, he stayed asleep.” She backed away, cloaking herself in the shadows once more until only her eyes and gem were visible.

“Spinel—”

“What happened?” Amethyst blurted.

Spinel didn’t answer, instead, she shut her eyes and doused the light burning in her Gem.

“What HAPPENED to her!” Amethyst spat, once more. Garnet was about to respond, but jarred and stooped low.

“Duck!”

Honestly, Amethyst didn’t need to. Pearl cleared her head with enough space and went sailing outward, with a wail, spear in hand. The two watched her descent and inevitable splash in the ice capped waves below.

“Nice try, Pearl.”

Amethyst cupped her hands around her mouth. “You had ONE JOB!”

#steven universe #spinel fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #spinel fanfiction #garnet #amethyst #pearl #greg universe #crystal gem universe au #spinel crystal gem #baby steven

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memoirsverse · 6 years ago

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Dresden Files/The Authors of Paradise: Dark Days

This is a crossover fan novel featuring my own characters and world of The Authors of Paradise, blended with those of Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. This derivative crossover work is being written for the sheer fun of it, with no financial gain. Jim Butcher owns Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files, and all associated characters. I own Evelyn Alvar, Arabella Thorne, Thornebridge Manor, The Authors of Paradise, and all associated characters. I’ve taken the two worlds, mashed them together, and whipped up this meandering thingamabob. Mmm, tasty.

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody. This chapter isn’t bloody, though; just dreadful.

i. Evelyn

I emerged in a room that shifted and warped, always in motion, always changing, and turned my attention to the figure standing at the far end. A softly glowing, color-changing mist curled around my ankles as I walked past impossible staircases and other Mobius-like structures, approaching the figure. It stood dispassionate, sexless, an endless void that glimmered with distant stars. Its name was Thornebridge, and this was the form it took in this place.

If I looked too deeply into that void, I would be drawn in, tumbling helplessly for eons as every potentiality, every reality, every actuality, every universe seared itself indelibly onto my conscious mind. I would know the truth about myself if I did that. I didn’t want to know. I most certainly did not want to know. I was confident it would drive me mad.

My bare feet settled into place, concealed by the mist, as I stopped directly in front of Thornebridge. I was wearing the filmy white thing that I always wore when I Traveled, and hair the color of moonlight tumbled over my marble-toned shoulders. I’d seen my reflection before in this form. I looked like a marble statue with intensely purple-jewel eyes, inhuman and profoundly alien. I had grown accustomed to it, but I still didn’t understand the why of it.

“You have something to tell me?” I ventured finally. I would never be entirely comfortable talking with Thornebridge-- if talking was the right word. The entity had its own language, one that didn’t often translate well into English, or any other language with actual words.

The response was instantaneous. From out of the mist, a great tower pushed its way out of the hidden ground, rumbling like thunder as it grew to a great height. Dust and debris rained down from it as it stretched higher and higher like some kind of monolithic tree, until its top vanished into the star-studded, nebula-swirled darkness above. A pair of winged figures circled the tower, armed with swords, their wings beating the air into a whirlwind as they flew around and around and around it.

A low, animalistic growl surged behind me, and I turned to see a man dressed in robes and expensive finery, crowned by four inverted pentacles that spun around his head. The man looked like a photograph in negative exposure, black and white, light where he should be dark and dark where he should be light. He ran at the tower and leaped on it, clawing at its base, digging to its foundations, tearing off huge chunks of stone and dropping them into a large canvas bag he carried slung over one shoulder. The two angels didn’t seem to see him, continuing their high-altitude patrol.

I sighed. The overall message was obvious, but the details were still obscured. “Who’s attacking you?” I asked.

The robed man vanished from his place by the tower and appeared before me so suddenly that I took a couple of steps backwards. I took a breath to steady myself and turned my eyes to Thornebridge. “But who is he?”

The human-shaped starry void said nothing. Of course. It stood still, its head turned towards me.

I could look into its void and See...

Shaking my head, I motioned with my hand to the diorama. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to be a bit more clear than that. Okay?”

Thornebridge just watched me. This was apparently the entirety of the message; I wasn’t going to get any more unless I Looked.

I ran my hands through my hair and sighed again. “All right, fine. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

Thornebridge nodded, and the scene vanished, replaced once again with the Escher-like environment. Closing my eyes, I let myself phase through the layers of reality, back to whatever dimension my Traveling form was held in. I felt the threads of silken energy close around me like a cocoon, and my conscious awareness faded to gentle black before becoming aware of the weight and solid mass of my everyday form.

I lay there for a minute, eyes closed, letting my consciousness re-align with physical reality. Slowly, my senses re-connected and began to filter information back to me: the lingering scent of incense, the soothing flow of the meditative music that I had set to play in a loop, the spongy feel of the mat between my body and the hardwood floor, the slight chill in the room that raised gooseflesh over my arms. It was September, and morning, and my stomach informed me that I had not yet eaten breakfast.

Opening my eyes, I stretched, then rose to my feet. The room my housemate Arabella and I had designated for communication sessions with Thornebridge was sparsely decorated with a couple of small tables, a bowl for incense, a scattering of candles, a few carefully placed crystals, some calming prints framed on the walls, a small rock garden, and an iPod set up with a meditation playlist. It was simple and zen, intended to cultivate the kind of relaxation needed to put one’s self into a deep trance.

I turned off the iPod, blew out the candles and the incense, and left the room in the heart of the house, winding my way through corridors that never seemed to follow the same path. I had gotten lost on multiple occasions while trying to find my way through the less stable portions of the house, until I had learned to open my senses enough to navigate my way to the space Arabella and I lived day-to-day.

I saw the door, and my senses told me it was the one that led to the mundane part of the house. It was always a different door, sometimes massive and intricately carved, sometimes simple and rustic. Today, it was narrow, arterial red, and half my height, sporting an ornate silver knob. I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped out of the dizzying instability of Thornebridge Manor and into the dimensionally stable, comforting warmth of the house’s living space.

The difference in energy always takes a moment or two to adjust to. It’s a little bit like waking up from a dream, as reality re-establishes itself around you, solid and fixed. After taking a few slow breaths and doing a little grounding exercise by placing my palm flat against a wall and feeling its solidity, I moved on, making my way to the kitchen.

_________________________________________

The coffee tasted hot and sweet as I sipped it from my favorite old coffee mug, which depicted a calico cat similar in appearance to my own Nimue, batting playfully at a Victorian-style fairy. The house was strangely quiet and felt vast and empty; Arabella had left town to attend some sort of bookseller’s conference. Slowly, I ate a breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and fruit, as I held my battered, leatherbound notebook in my left hand and read over the notes I had written on this morning’s communication with Thornebridge. A well-worn deck of tarot cards, its colors faded and its edges tattered, rested beside the notebook.

I took a bite of scrambled eggs, set my fork down, and flipped through the cards, withdrawing the Tower, the Emperor, Temperance, and the Four of Pentacles, laying them out on the table beside my plate. Chewing thoughtfully, I studied the cards, static images embodying the living diorama I had seen in the communication room, but I came no closer to achieving clarity. The only thing I knew for certain was that someone was attacking Thornebridge, someone Arabella and I-- the Guardians of Thornebridge Manor-- had not yet seen or encountered.

That... was not good. There was an endless list of reasons why that was not good. But I still had precious little to go on. It would be nice, I thought, if the damn house would learn to speak English.

An alarm sounded on my phone, alerting me that it was time to get ready for work, so I put my plate in the dishwasher, returned to my bedroom to dress, made sure my cat and Arabella’s dog Ghost had plenty of fresh water, checked on Virgil the ferret in his little house, and hurried out the door to drive to the shop. There wasn’t a lot I could do until I had more information, and I certainly wasn’t going to figure out the puzzle sitting here all day.

_________________________________________

I own a little shop called Boreas Curios, Antiques, and Odditites. It’s a quaint little place, sharing a storefront with a pizza parlor and a jewelry store, and is situated directly across the street from Arabella’s place of business, an antique bookstore that she inherited from its former owner when he retired. It was something akin to kismet that the two of us spent years working in these places, across the street from one another, before we met for the first time through completely unrelated events. And it wasn’t for a lack of browsing each others’ shops either-- I love books, and Arabella is a bona fide pack rat and loves to collect all sorts of strange and wonderful things. And vice versa. We just always managed to visit when neither of us was in our respective shop.

The shop was slow throughout the morning, giving me time to sort through inventory and clean a little bit as I tried to shake the lingering feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I chalked it up to the vagaries of my communication session with Thornebridge and carried on. A few minutes to eleven, Violet breezed in through the front door, smiling brightly at me with her black-lipsticked lips as we greeted each other. Her hair was short and spiky, black tipped with blue, and she wore black-and-white striped stockings on her arms and legs, a green corset, a knee-length black tulle skirt, and a pair of worn old army boots. She waved at me with a black-fingernailed hand and disappeared into the back of the shop, re-emerging a short time later wearing a blue apron that absolutely clashed with her getup.

I didn’t mind her eccentric way of dressing; in fact, I felt it fit the atmosphere of the shop perfectly. She cashed in to her register, and then set about helping me sort through a box of mini-Furbies that had been programmed to say diabolical things. The store rang out with sinister phrases such as, “I am Lord Beelzebub, hear me rooooar!” and “Sacrifice your virgins on the altar of the Goat King!” for several minutes as we inserted batteries, cataloged everything in the system, and put the Furbies in a wire bin near the register. The Diabolical Furby Collection was Violet’s idea, and I thought it fit nicely in with the theme of Strange and Bizarre I had cultivated in the shop. After all, I kept a constant supply of haunted dolls on a shelf situated on the back wall. People loved creepy things. They always sold well.

Right around 1:45, just as the lunch rush had mostly dissipated, the sky went dark, not gradually, but in a quick fade, as if somebody had used a dimmer switch to turn off the sun, cloaking the world in night.

Violet, looking up from where she was ringing up one of the last customers in the store, frowned. “Um. Evelyn?” She paused, then added, “Did somebody forget to pay the sunlight bill?” The joke fell flat as her voice trembled a bit.

I was busy staring through the glass door, blinking in confusion. The slight uneasiness I had felt earlier amplified itself, evolving into the kind of dread that speeds up the heart rate and sends butterflies swarming through the stomach. Violet clearly felt the same, but it was probably just from the inexplicable celestial event. Right?

“What in the blazes...” I murmured. Casting a glance at Violet and her equally confused and anxious customer, I strode across the shop and out the door, peering up at the sky, searching for the sun. Violet joined me a minute or two later, after shooing the customers out and locking the door.

“Is... is it an eclipse?” she asked, doubt slowing her words. I shook my head, but pulled my phone from my apron and began pulling up an online almanac to be sure.

“Probably not,” I said. “Wouldn’t have gone dark that quickly.” I scanned the almanac long enough to determine that there had been no eclipses predicted for the day, and then my phone went dark.

So did the rest of the block. All around us, the lights illuminating the buildings flickered out, plunging the world into heavy darkness. Even the cars on the street died, rolling to a stop. I heard the metallic clatter of a car wreck somewhere in the near distance, and somebody screamed.

The creeping dread flared into visceral, heart-pounding terror, and for a moment, I was lost in it. I wanted to fall to my knees, pull at my hair, and moan with it. I wanted to dig into the ground and hide from the darkness, to curl into myself, to lose myself to the fear, to be consumed by it. It coiled around me, a primal, atavistic horror that threatened to strangle the life from me. I was barely aware of Violet next to me, frozen and trembling with the same terror.

A long moment passed, and the dread eased of its own accord. It still lingered, pulsing softly on a psychic wavelength, but it no longer threatened to drive us mad. I found I had indeed fallen to the ground, and slowly got to my hands and knees, reaching out to help Violet to her feet. The girl was still shaking, her blue eyes wide in the gloom, but she let me stand her up and steady her.

“What was that?” she cried, but then seemed to realize how near to panic she was edging, and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. She leveled her gaze on me and said, “I’m going to guess you’ll be leaving the shop to me for a bit.”

I hadn’t ever told Violet about my other job, the one where I worked for the sentient spirit of a dimensionally transcendent and unstable house, but the girl wasn’t stupid. She’d picked up on the fact that I had a tendency to deal with the out-of-the-ordinary things that seemed so often to happen around me. I sighed and ran my hand through my short, wavy hair, a deep chestnut with hints of red and a stark contrast to the flowing silver locks of my Traveling form.

I turned on my heels and strode around to my car, a 90s-era silver Accord parked in the employee-designated spaces in the parking lot. Violet followed. Unlocking the trunk with the key set I had in my jeans pocket, I removed the emergency bag I kept packed and ready. “Close the shop,” I told her, then frowned. I had been about to tell her to pack up and go home, but she lived several miles away and it seemed as if the cars had all died too. “Stay indoors, keep the doors locked, and watch for looters.”

“That baseball bat still under the counter?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said, and paused. If that feeling of dread had been city-wide, it meant we’d be dealing with mass panic, and panicked people can be violent. “But don’t try to be heroic, okay? If anybody gets violent, just get on out of there. Find somewhere safe. There will probably be some sort of organizational effort to keep things under control, maybe a place for people to gather for shelter, a church or something. Try to find it if you can’t stay in the shop.”

“Gotcha.”

From the bag I removed a pair of silver rods, slender, about the length of my forearm, and etched with runes, then slung the bag over my shoulder.

Then, taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness.

#not roleplay #ok to reblog but don't try to roleplay with it please!#so this is the first in what will hopefully turn into a series #in which i'll explore other tAoP characters as well #this chapter is a doozy at over 2600 words #other chapters will probably be shorter #maybe #next chapter will be from Harry's POV.#fic #Dark Days

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flatsuke · 7 years ago

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for you, the world

Title: for you, the world

Summary: Sometimes, he wished someone out there could grant the wishes of a god. Time Loop AU

Genre: Angst, Romance

Pairing: MC/Leon

Rating: T

a/n: Happy Belated Birthday @maidofstars!! I’m sorry this came really late, but I wanted this to be good lmao! This fic was heavily inspired by Madoka Magica’s 3rd Movie! I thought it would be fitting for Leon :’)

Also a big thank you to @kiserusmoke for getting my ass into overdrive also @angel34jolly-blog, i finally made a Leon fic :D

The wishes always came to Leon in endless streams.

As a Wishes minister, he’d heard them all before. The annoying lottery wishes, the please-let-me-get-an-A wishes, the heal-my-dog wishes—he’d heard everything, and frankly, he was tired of doing so.

None of those could hold a candle to the sheer amount of love wishes that landed on his desk, however.

Humans never seemed to stop wishing about love, and that annoyed Leon to no end. There was always someone out there who wanted love to be shaped according to their terms, without any consideration for anything else. Leon thought there was nothing more disgustingly human than that.

It came to a point where he had to put his foot down and ban granting love-related wishes in the department. He was sure the other gods had their misgivings with this development, but no matter. His word was the next best thing to the law in the heavens.

“Leo, don’t you think you’re being a bit hasty with this decision?” Karno asked him. Typical of the Cancer god, Leon thought. Always the only one brave enough to question me.

“Of course not. There’s no merit in granting wishes that aren’t worth anything.”

It was true. Leon couldn’t think of any goldfish wishes that didn’t have some hint of human greed or selfishness in them. The mere thought of granting any of them left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Except, maybe, for one wish.

There was one goldfish whose wish didn’t disgust him immediately. The human—a little girl—always looked at the stars with her hands clasped and asked for the same thing—

“I wish something wonderful would happen.”

It was vague, childish even. But it held the hopes and dreams of a little goldfish with stars in her eyes.

Maybe just once, he’d grant this wish.

That trickster of a king must’ve had a twisted sense of humor if he thought sending Leon on Earth to erase his mark of sin was funny.

But sending him on earth knowing full well that he’d fall for the ex-goddess? The king was an absolute bastard.

The goldfish, in her enthusiasm, had invited to him to attend the Star Festival with her. He willingly chose to indulge her—after all, this was the last thing he could do for her before he’d face the wrath of the heavens. He had to leave her with something, and all he was allowed to give was a memory worth keeping.

Unfortunately, their evening was ruined when Minister Ponytail decided to make himself known.

“Lay a hand on her and you’ll regret it.” Leon was smirking, but his words had no mirth in them whatsoever.

“…Because you don’t want any harm to come to her?”

For the first time in the long time they’ve known each other, though he’d never admit it, Leon agreed.

Leon knew, deep down, that Zyglavis did nothing out of malice. He only acted out of a sense of misplaced duty and honor, not to mention the fact that he was incapable of seeing things beyond black and white logic.

That, Leon thought, was his greatest mistake. He would never beat Leon as long as he lived by that outdated mentality.

Leon was already preparing to block Zyglavis’ attack, but he underestimated how foolish she was.

(And how selfless she was.)

Humans were not supposed to have holes in their chests, but here she was, charred skin surrounding the gaping wound right on her heart. She slumped onto the ground, and he was reminded of the little fish they won earlier, now flapping helplessly beside her.

“Why did she…?” Not even Zyglavis could’ve predicted that she’d try to shield Leon from the attack.

But none of that mattered right now.

Leon felt his suppressed power well up in him in waves, and despite all the chaos around him, he could only see red. How dare this insolent god hurt her, how dare this filthy world reject her—

How dare you for not protecting her, Leon.

“Leon! Don’t do this, there are humans here!” Zyglavis’ screams were already white noise to him.

He remembered a wish long ago that he promised himself he’d grant.

If there was anything Leon was completely sure of, it’s that he would do anything to make sure it would come true.

Even if I have to do it over and over.

ii.

This time, he was able to save her before Zyglavis’ attack reached her. Only, in her attempt to keep him from going berserk at Zyglavis, her body absorbed all the impact from his unleashed power.

This time, it was his fault.

But despite all that, she forgave him. Even when he was being dragged off to the heavens to stand trial, she didn’t blame him for causing her pain. Hell, she even begged him to take her with him.

(How could he compete against that?)

In the end, both of them stood before everyone in the Punishments court. She was beside him, obviously unnerved by the scrutinizing looks of all the gods. Still, she met all their gazes head-on with the hidden strength he came to love.

That’s my goddess.

He was, as the humans would say, in deep shit. But seeing her stand her ground against the likes of the ponytailed stick-up-the ass gave him a reason to smile through all this.

“The time of judgement has arrived,” Zyglavis’ stern voice rang across the hall. “You were exiled to Earth for committing the sin of defiling a goddess. However, instead of spending your time on Earth atoning for your sin, you broke a law of the heavens.”

She trembled beside Leon, holding his hand tighter—tighter than she did the first night they met.

“Do you admit to this sin, Leon, wild lion of the heavens?”

He smirked. Of course, he knew exactly what he did better than anyone. The old adage of the heavens, “a god must not love a human more than any other,” rang in his head, but he didn’t bother entertaining the thought further. In fact, he’d abandoned that thought long before he arrived in court.

You’re the only person here that matters.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Zyglavis,” Leon said, giving the other god his best sneer. “I never denied that I broke the law.”

“Tread carefully, lion—”

“But the fact remains that she helped me erase my sin. So make of that what you will.”

The furrow in Zyglavis’ brow only grew more pronounced. “Of all the gods here, your power is paramount to the balance heavens.”

Again with his “balance” foolishness—

“That’s no concern of mine," Leon said.

“Watch your mouth,” Zyglavis scolded, his voice reverberating. “Despite everything, you are still the head of the Department of Wishes—for the time being. I will have you decide now. God or human—which do you choose?”

Leon knew this was a trick question. Should he choose to be human, he would lose his powers, thereby rendering her unable to return to Earth. If he chose to remain a god, he would have to do the unthinkable.

“…Are you asking me to kill her?” His voice took a deadly edge.

“If you don’t, then the only path left for you is extinguishment.”

She panicked visibly at that, and Leon could already read her thoughts—all of which asked him to kill her and save his own life.

Like I would ever let that happen.

She’d told him before that she never wanted to be separated from him, even at the cost of her life. As a wish-granting god, Leon could only do what he did best.

The space around him shifted. The light around him grew to a blinding gold, and he knew the end was near. Yet, none of that mattered to him.

To hell with the King, the gods, and the heavens. If he was a sinner, then so be it. Let the world condemn him, so long as she could have another chance at happiness.

And I would do it again, just to see you smile.

iii.

He was back at the planetarium again, just like the first night they met.

True to her nature, she leapt off the planetarium’s balcony to save a little boy from falling. The force of the boy’s fall was too strong, and just like before, she was pulled over the side of the roof, falling to what could have been her untimely death.

But unlike before, he wasn’t the god who saved her this time.

Leon distinctly heard her heart call out for Huedhaut.

True enough, Hue responded at a moment’s notice, and Leon had never seen the god of Aquarius look so desperate before.

Not since he’d lost that person all those years ago.

Hue held her carefully, guiding her gently back to the planetarium. She, in turn, clung onto him as tightly as she could.

At the back of his mind, Leon always knew that she and Hue had a connection of some sort. He wasn’t a fool not to know that Hue’s missing stars and the reincarnated goddess’ existence were related. In fact, Leon never missed the way Hue looked at her longingly, as if she would disappear from his sight if he didn’t watch her.

Still, seeing them together still sent a stab of pain in Leon all the same.

He supposed this world wasn’t the one meant for him. If he was right, then she was meant to be with Hue in this world. It wasn’t Leon’s place to interfere. He would stay in the sidelines and support them. All that mattered was that she ended up happy.

However, Fate loved to play tricks on the good, and she was the greatest of the good.

Huedhaut returned to the heavens after his mark of sin faded, but her heart didn’t sit well with his absence. Day after day, the rain never stopped its barrage on Earth—a clear reflection of her feelings.

Feelings Leon knew all too well.

Zyglavis, ever the dutiful square, gave her the option of letting Huedhaut die to save Earth, or to let herself die to save both him and Earth.

And, just like always, she gave herself up so easily.

(He wondered if this unending agony was what Hue had to live with for eons.)

iv.

Leon remembered an interesting question Vega posed one day.

“If the gods grant the humans’ wishes, then who grants the gods’ wishes?”

For the life of him, he didn’t know. Supposedly, gods were existences of the highest order; they were at the pinnacle of the everything, able to manipulate the laws of creation at will.

Yet the only wish he’s ever had, the only person that made his world have any semblance of meaning in it—

“I’m sorry, Leo,” Karno had his eyes closed in sorrow. “She was trying to save a boy from a moving car, but…”

He didn’t need to hear Karno continue. He’d already seen her body sprawled on the crosswalk, blood and viscera splattered everywhere.

Humans prayed to the gods to grant their wishes, but Leon had no one to pray to.

Gods didn’t fail.

They were perfect beings that naturally excelled at everything. That was how everything was and always will be.

But after holding her limp body against his chest for the nth time, Leon didn’t think so anymore.

vi.

If this world was the King’s doing, Fate’s doing, or some sick being’s doing, then they were truly despicable in the worst ways.

Leon looked everywhere, but he couldn’t find a single trace of her in this world. He went to the planetarium and asked her friend Hiyori about her, but she only told him that no one of that name ever worked there. Her ever-cozy apartment was vacant, with no sign of anyone ever living in it. Hell, he even checked her family registry only to find out her parents never had any children.

It was utter blasphemy for her not to exist. No one among the gods could fathom his grief, not Karno, not Zyglavis, not even Hue. To them, Leon holing himself up in his private flower field was just another show of his apathy toward everything and not a means of escape from his dreadful reality.

So be it.

He would leave this world and let it rot like the trash it was. A world without her in it wasn’t one worth living in.

vii.

Leon already stopped counting when he reached the thousands. Snapping his fingers was growing tiring at every failure he’s lived through, and the gods have noticed his growing disdain for the universe.

The King had told him once before that gods loved all beings equally.

However, all Leon could think of was how fast this world could end.

viii.

Supposedly, as a god, Leon had all the time in the world. In theory, it made sense. Gods were immortal by nature, and the long stretch of time was nothing to the lifespan of a god.

But if Leon was being honest, his greatest enemy wasn’t the Department of Punishments or even the King.

It was time.

There was never enough time to prepare himself for her inevitable death. There was never enough time for him to save her.

(How he wished to grab time by its throat and crush it with his hands, so that it would know at least a fraction of his pain.)

ix.

Maybe, Leon thought, he should just ask her to wish for his unconditional success.

(He stopped for a while and asked himself if it was possible for gods to go insane.)

Why?

Why are you still so selfless even after everything?

xi.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

xii.

He still had one last option, one last trump card he’s kept to himself all this time. If he used it, he’d be breaking not only the laws of the heavens, but that of the universe as well—of reality itself.

But that didn’t matter to him. It never did.

He’d told her this before, and he’d say it forever:

If loving you is a sin, then let me be a sinner.

xiii.

None of the other gods could hold Leon down in his divine form. The King himself tried to step down and intervene, but Leon was stronger. No one in the world could ever hope to understand his grief.

It was for her alone.

He would become an existence far beyond the god of Leo; he would be her direct antithesis—selfishness itself. The universe would be rewritten according to his terms, and his terms alone. She would never again be hurt by anything or anyone.

He would specifically make it a universal law to never have her be hurt.

“Please, think about what you’re doing!” Karno yelled at him. “You can’t just destroy everything like that!”

Leon only held her in his arms tighter, the light around them becoming blinding.

Even the scorpion couldn’t hide his panic. “You’re messing with shit beyond our realm!”

“Leon, this isn’t what I—” she tried to plead with him, but he only smiled at her.

Now I can finally—

“Leon! Stop!”

—grant your wish.

xiv.

He sat alone on his throne, marveling at his new creation. The threads of his new cosmos were beginning to form, and he was satisfied. Everything was just as it should be.

“Leon,” said a low voice from the end of the hall. It was Huedhaut, still in his divine form.

How impertinent.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Hue said. His eyes blazed a cool, blue fire.

“Oh, I do. But feel free to enlighten me.”

“You—you’ve tampered with something that shouldn’t be touched,” he said. “You may be a god, but you have no right to just change the order of the universe—even if it was for her!”

I would’ve expected you of all people to understand, Hue.

“Maybe not. But well, I’m not a god anymore, you see. I’ve become something far beyond that, so I doubt it’s in your best interest to defy me like this,” Leon said, a deadly grin on his face.

“I won’t just let you do this, Leon.” Hue channeled his energy into an orb, aiming it at Leon.

“Before that, let me ask you something,” said Leon. “Why are you missing stars in one eye?”

“You know exactly why—”

With a snap of Leon’s fingers, Huedhaut reverted back to his regular Wishes uniform, his godly form nothing but an afterthought. He stood there, dazed at the sudden shift of power in him.

“Let me ask you again. Why are you missing stars in one eye?”

Hue’s expression became clouded, like he was trying to decipher the world’s mysteries. He held up his hand to his right eye, but his face remained troubled.

“II’m not sure…was it always like that…?”

If Leon were still his old self, he would’ve felt guilt at meddling with his friend’s memories. All he could feel now, however, was impatience.

“Yes, it was. But don’t worry, I’ll give them back to you on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t interfere.”

If loving you is a sin, then let me be a sinner.

Donning his human disguise, Leon visited the planetarium roof—the place where it all began—and he hoped to find her there.

Sure enough, she stood at the balcony, hands clasped in prayer at the stars. He felt his heart break at the sight of her smiling so openly.

How long has it been since he last saw her smile?

Too long.

“So, are you making a wish?”

She turned to him, startled, before giving a reply. “Well, um, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there, sir. Are you hoping to ask more about the Star Tour package?”

She was still the same flustered goddess she’s always been. His eyes narrowed in affection.

“I’m talking about the stars,” he said, pointing up. “Do you actually believe wishes come true when you wish upon them?"

“Oh…well, I guess I do. It’s nice to think that there’s someone out there who can hear me.”

I will always hear you, so you can wish for anything you want.

“Is that so?”

“Yes…” she said, trailing off. “Honestly, this is going to sound weird, but I feel like my wishes always come true when I see a shooting star. I guess I’m kinda lucky in that sense.”

I’m glad I could make you happy here, then. Never stop smiling, my precious goddess.

“But you know,” she turned back to the stars, a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes, it all feels strange. Like I’m supposed to be somewhere else, and that this isn’t real at all...”

He felt a surge of divine power come from her, and he knew that this was her innate selflessness rejecting the very nature of this universe, which was borne from his own selfish wish. If he let her power run amok, she would surely choose to restore everything back to what it once was, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything they’d been through.

I’m sorry.

Leon immediately embraced her as tightly as he could, both to repress her power and to feel her softness against him. It had been far too long since he held her like this, far too long since he felt any semblance of peace. He couldn’t stop his tears from falling.

“You’re perfect,” he told her gently. “You should stay exactly as you are.”

“Um, s—sir?” She was obviously confused at his sudden boldness, and the power that once flowed from her halted to a complete stop at her shift in mood.

This is all for you. It always has, and it always will be.

He stepped away from her, taking in the apple-red blush on her cheeks. He’d missed this more than anything.

“Just as I thought,” he said. “The stars in your eyes really are the most beautiful.”

He knew she was probably confused—but that was okay. He didn’t want her to suffer with the burden of knowledge; she never should. Maybe the day will come when her memories come back, but for now, all she had to do was be happy.

He’d promised himself on that day so many, many years ago that he’d grant the wish of that little goldfish girl.

And that was all that mattered.

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novarasalas · 7 years ago

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Second Look Review: The Feud

*This post is very graphics heavy. Use caution. Sorry*

Nnnnggggg…..

…..I hate game shows.

And you know what I hate more than game shows?

1970s game shows.

…..yay, this episode.

But I’m gonna power through it, because there’s a lot of throw backs and references here that you may not have noticed the first time around. There’s also some good plot happenings, too.

But really….

Pictured: my two moods watching this episode.

So the first reference people got almost immediately is in the Garfle Warfle Snick logo.

It’s a classic 70s design. While the asterisks and colors of the GWS logo aren't present in the original Dating game logo, they do feature in the set.

That’s Farah Fawcett, by the way.

The first game is called Pictation. It’s obviously a play on Pictionary, which had it’s own game show in 1997. The original drawing game show, however, was “Win, Lose or Draw”.

This is an episode from 1987, featuring Burt Reynolds, Annie Potts, Dom Deluise, and…

Betty White!

And now Keith is lucky enough to play.

The hair tie is to keep his emo bangs out of his face while the pacifier is to bite down on in frustration.

I know this from experience, as I was in art school starting in 2005, which was a prime year for emo kids, and they made us play Pictionary one afternoon.

Everyone’s pretty much already said it, but yes, I can confirm, Keith is a good artist.

None of us were that day, though.

Several instructors pulled all of their students into one room and broke the news that we’d be playing a game. As socially awkward and socially anxious weirdos, the news also broke us. Half the students didn’t even participate, the other half were doing what Lance is doing here: yelling random stuff that doesn’t even come close to making sense.

And we were terrible at this game. All of us.

After the 3rd round, a cry came from the back of the room:

“hOW Are wE SO BAD aT ThiS???!!!”

I wish I knew, random art kid.

What I do know is that Keith is doing far better than I did. I mean, he didn’t start crying, not even a little bit.

In the end, Team Voltron loses, giving Team Galra a chance to steal. That’s a game mechanic from The Family Feud, and it’s the only one, even though the episode is titled “The Feud”.

It’s more in the overall design of the set, really.

….

I’ve never liked “The Family Feud”. I claim legacy on that: back in the day before remote controls were standard, my sickly grandpa would drag himself out of his chair to turn the t.v. off because he hated Richard Dawkins so much.

Richard Dawkins was the original host of the show, and he was one in a line of 70s game hosts that always made me feel like I was about to be sexually assaulted.

...can’t imagine why I’d ever feel that way.

To be fair, he’s not kissing those women without consent. They asked them before the taping if they were ok with it. But still….ick. And Richard Dawkins wasn’t even close to being the worst in terms of smarmy game show hosts.

Back to the episode at hand though.

(This is a great loop, btw. I suck at gif making myself, so thanks op.)

Everything about Team Galra is delightful. I just wish there was more of it.

With a steal and a win, Zarkon chooses Lance to play.

Zarkon is so thrilled to call Lance dumb. It’s hilarious. Also, Lance fans, please enjoy this endless loop of that moment.

I kid, I kid. I like Lance. We’ll talk more later.

I don’t know what Faces from the Past is referencing, but that isolation shield seems awful lot like The Cone of Silence from “Get Smart”.

What is The Cone of Silence? It’s a class A security procedure, used to transfer top secret intel between two agents.

Demonstrated here:

The next game is more familiar.

It’s the Garflator, or otherwise known as...Password!

...wait….is that…?

Yes! It’s Betty White again. Also seen here in an episode from 1963.

Doing this research, I found out that Betty’s done a lot of game shows in her time. That’s news to me, because I still don’t like game shows.

After the dumb one is the smart one.

And everyone knows it.

Pidge plays miniature golf here.I don’t think it’s in reference to anything else, though maybe you could see a game from The Price is Right if you squint.

And then Pidge gets things done about, by calculating a shot that takes out the camera and the crazy, demi god like creature known as Bob, tackling him to the ground.

The ambition, drive and self assurance that Pidge has is amazing and no one talks about it nearly enough. I want to be her when I grow up.

So now it’s down to a vote: who ever gets voted for the most gets to leave while the rest stay for eternity. It’s kind of like a reverse “Survivor” situation, really.

And now everything gets very heartwarming as they vote for each other, but one stood out to me: Lance, voting for Keith.

Lance: He’s our leader, plus he’s half Galra, so I think he’s, like, the future.

That….was so sweet. I mean it. That face, those words. I didn’t expect Lance to say that. He’s come so far since those first episodes where he was just an unmitigated asshat to Keith. It’s growth. It’s good.

Keith, what say you?

Keith: I just don’t wanna be stuck here for eternity with Lance.

Oh no! Keith...hahah...Lance gives you something so heartfelt and that’s what you go with? Aw man…

Really, though, his ire’s not directed at Lance, not really. It’s more like he’s just done with everything that’s happening, he’s frustrated, and Lance is the only one he’d take anything like this out on.

But buck up, kiddos, your love and friendship won the day!

And lastly, one more reference, this time directly from The Price is Right:

At the end of each show, host Bob Barker would turn to the camera and say “Help control the pet population: have your pet spayed or neutered.”

Bob Barker has fought for animals rights for decades, and while I don’t necessarily agree with everything he’s done, good things have come from his work. I’d link some info on it here, but...I can’t. Channel you’re inner essay writer and go find those sources.

So, that episode was a trip. In all, it more reminded me of “Let’s Make a Deal”, where costumed contestants would be chosen from the audience to play games for cash and prizes.

Bob himself is most like Bob Eubanks, as played by Q from Star Trek. I believe the showrunners even mentioned Q while talking about Bob in this episode

That’s Bob Eubanks up there. He was the host of “The Newlywed Game” and “Hollywood Squares”.

Q, on the other hand, is:

“He is an extra-dimensional being of unknown origin who possesses immeasurable power over normal human notions of time, space, the laws of physics, and reality itself, being capable of violating or altering them in unpredictable ways with a casual thought or hand gesture. Despite his vast knowledge and experience spanning untold eons (and much to the exasperation of the object(s) of his obsession), he is not above practical jokes for his own personal amusement, for a Machiavellian and manipulative purpose, or to prove a point. He is said to be nigh-omnipotent, and he is continually evasive regarding his true motivations.”

This is him:

youtube

So...I still don’t like 70s game shows. But, I gotta say, not everything is terrible about them.

Gene Gene the Dancing Machine is fun. This is from “The Gong Show”.

youtube

Fun, if your definition includes “pure chaos”.

The uh….energetic...host there is Chuck Barris. He’s the creator of “The Dating Game”, “The Newlywed Game” and “The Gong Show”. His shows seem to have pioneered the whole look and feel of most of these 70s game shows, and thus is my sworn enemy.

…

Don’t even think of talking to me about “The Match Game”.

In summary:

I actually had fun with this episode, as much as I don’t like the aesthetic.

And apparently Josh Keaton said that this episode foreshadows something and I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS AND I’M SCARED SO VERY SCARED.

Next up: Wow! What a call back! -and- Kolivan’s been having a bad time.

#second look review #voltron #voltron legendary defender #long post #the fued #keith #keith vld #lance #lance vld #pidge #keith voltron #lance voltron

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bwinabi · 7 years ago

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saint nothing: prologue

◽ pairing: taehyung + reader ◽ genre: grim reaper au ◽ word count: 2,605 ◽ warnings: depictions of violence and gore

Friday nights called for trouble. Artful, alluring trouble. The kind of trouble that thinks they can outsmart death, outrun death, but they’re really only running the other way. After all, when you’re in the palm of death’s hand, where is there to go?

London, England, 1880

On one rainy Friday night, one particular streetlight on one particular busy street flickers, flickers, flickers--and goes out. A chill wrapped around each and every pedestrian as a whisper of something inhuman brushed past them. Death was here, and it looked like trouble lost the fight again--someone was dead.

A young man no older than his early twenties cruised down the street, his hat pulled low over his head, shielding his face from recognition. He hummed a tuneless song as he made his way down the cobbled walkway, talking to no one. The people around him made no effort to look his way or walk around his lithe figure to avoid collision, so instead the young man turned this way and that, slipping in between the soaking pedestrians to get to his destination. He, too, was drenched in rain, but he didn’t mind. The rain ran down his black-brimmed felt hat, sliding down the length of his black trenchcoat, down to his worn leather boots.

The people around the young man, hurrying to shelter under their umbrellas and makeshift umbrellas with their coats and suitcases, couldn’t see the slight upturn of his lips when he finally located the dark, narrow alleyway between two pubs. They couldn’t see the slight tightening of his fist as he anticipated what would happen in the next little while. They couldn’t see the glint off something on his wrist as he walked under another streetlight, the warm light catching on something reflective on his wrist.

The young man flicked his wrist reflexively, still not used to the new tightening of the bracelet locked in on his wrist. The Catcher. He understood why someone, some damned reaper, would want to escape from the loop of metal around one’s own wrist, cold and unforgiving, but didn’t they realize the consequences of their actions? The suffering they would leave behind? The young man put his hand on the metal now, feeling some sort of reassurance at the coolness under his fingertips. He thought with a grim smile, This damn cuff would probably cut off my circulation if blood were still running in my veins. But no. Now, the blood remains frozen in place, much like time to this unaging young man, cold and dead. There was a solitary clear, iridescent bead hooked impossibly on the rim of the bracelet--which is what caught the light--but the young man knew better than to try to rip it off, cast it away, and call it someone else’s responsibility. He knew the bead was worth far more than its appearance; he couldn’t afford to lose it. This bead was his responsibility, his soul to claim and put in its rightful place. He knew very well of the consequences if he didn’t do exactly as he was told.

When the young man closed his eyes, he could still see himself eons ago, merely a dead man with no memories of his past, feeling only the inexplicable dread of finally receiving the punishments for his actions that should have long ago been dealt to him. Death had come to collect his damned soul, and he was ready to meet his end. Instead, the young man of the past only saw darkness everywhere he turned, no signs or clues to indicate where he was or how the hell he was to get out of there. It was pitch-black to the point that he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face, but he surely felt it when a cold metal bracelet clicked into place around his wrist.

“Wha--” The young man had made the motion with his mouth, but no sound came out. Not even a whisper.

Suddenly, the empty darkness didn’t feel so empty anymore. The young man couldn’t explain how, but he knew there was someone--something--else in there with him.

Kim Taehyung.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was filling the entire space; it was all in his head.

The crimes you have committed in your one lifetime are enough for you to spend the rest of your time in the pits of Hell until this world falls, but doing that would be showing you mercy.

The voices were one and many at the same time, monotonous and melodic in his ears, piercing his thoughts until he felt like there was a physical presence in his mind, tearing at his brain. He held his head with both hands to stop the swaying he felt rock his entire body. It felt like spiraling into an abyss that he could see no end. The voices continued.

Instead, to give you time to reflect on your damned actions and to experience for yourself the pain you have given to endless others, you will be given eternity to collect the souls of the dead. You will serve a life of isolation, with death as your only companion. You will become death.

The voices were growing in volume, and the young man felt physically sick from the spinning and the voices that seemed to take over his all. The voices wouldn’t stop.

The bracelet on your wrist is the Catcher. You will be assigned to a certain location, and the others there will tell you of the details you’ll need to know in order for you to do your job properly. Do not bother trying to take the Catcher off; it will stay on until you leave this world entirely. You will not have any memory of your past for the safety of those you used to know.

Spinning, spinning, spinning. The young man felt bile rise to the back of his throat.

The torment and misery you have inflicted upon others has not been forgotten by them or their loved ones. Now, you will pay the price.

Taehyung’s eyes snapped open to the present. He had mindlessly walked to stand under the eaves of one of the pubs, just another man walking home from work, wanting to get some relief from the pouring rain. He stood there for a few moments more, watching the pedestrians hurry this way and that. No one batted an eye at him: at the man standing in the shadows, watching everyone go; at the man whose intentions were unclear, his eyes dark and heavy; at the man who looked quite different from everyone else on the street. But none of that mattered, because no one on that street could see him. Being a grim reaper really wasn’t pleasant at all, but one of the very few perks was the invisibility from the curious eyes of onlookers. The Soul Catcher on his wrist acted not only as a place where the collected souls went to; it also acted as a shield of invisibility, allowing death to slip through the seams without anyone knowing. As long as the bracelet was on him, no mortal could see him with their bare eyes. Unless--Unless there were special circumstances, of course. And unless their life was already draining out of their eyes, the seconds ticking down, and every breath they took was more likely than the last to be their final one. Such a man was found propped against one of the grimy walls of the alleyway between the pubs. Blood pooled around his limp body, streaming in rivulets down the cracked ground beneath him. One of his lungs were pierced with a particularly sharp pipeline, piercing through the muscles and soft tissues. Taehyung made his way down to the man, taking his time. This bastard wasn’t escaping him again.

The dying man made no motion to crawl away. He was transfixed by the shadowed man that moved like a phantom in the falling rain; he was transfixed on the light at the end of the alleyway that slowly moved closer and closer to him. Shining in the dim alleyway was a particular bead radiating a dull glow hanging on an ice-cold bracelet, calling out for its owner, only metres away, choking on his own blood.

Taehyung’s eyes slowly followed the man’s gaze to his wrist, his eyes still cold with indifference. The man before him was no stranger to sin, and Taehyung knew that guilt never registered with the dying man.

“Samuel Graystone.” Taehyung lightly tapped the bead on his bracelet, triggering a hologram of the name, birth, and death date of the soul that left the deteriorating body in front of him increasingly with each passing second. The light from the hologram lit up Taehyung’s face from below, giving him a demonic glow.

There were malicious words that Taehyung wanted to say, words caught in his throat, but he swallowed the urge to let the words slip out. No matter how diabolical those damned souls were, it wasn’t his place to tell them that. His job was to collect the souls and send them off to where they belong. And he would do just that.

“For twelve attempts of murder, three acts of murder, and numerous acts of theft, harassment, and bribery, your assassin had taken it upon himself to end your life. Cause of death: the 12-inch pipeline severed one of your lungs, causing you to choke on your own blood.” Taehyung enunciated each word clearly, looking into the other man’s eyes which were blown wide, his pupils swallowing everything out. “Do you submit to your death?”

Samuel Graystone was starting to black out. His blood bubbled in his throat, dribbling down his ruined shirt. The rain mixed with the blood, and if it was bright enough to see clearly, the watered down pink would be visible. When the words left the grim reaper’s lips, he felt the answer being pulled out of him like someone was physically reaching inside of him.

His voice isn’t his own when he answers, “Yes.”

Taehyung steps over the dead man and places a hand just hovering over the other man’s heart. A white wisp of smoke seems to appear from the dead man’s heart to the bracelet on Taehyung’s wrist. For one brief moment, the bracelet is warm. The bead shakes violently with its new occupant, filling the once-clear interior with a hazy mist. What happens next to him is up to how well he lived his mortal life. Who knows? Taehyung thought, his features twisting. Maybe all those crimes he’s committed will make him the next recruit.

But never mind that. Taehyung closed his eyes, feeling an ecstasy from the life that flowed into him. The body before him may be empty and dead, but the soul was so very much alive. The rain seemed to hammer harder into the ground as the bead finished its shaking with a final shudder before fading into a smoke that died as soon as it appeared, washed out by the rain. The bracelet on Taehyung’s wrist was now empty, only a bare metal bracelet cuffed around Taehyung’s slender wrist.

Before turning back to the lively street that still streamed with late-night wanderers, drunk out of their minds, lingering near the pubs even though they should’ve gone home hours ago, Taehyung turns around to look back at the body left behind. None of the inebriated men out there realize the death of the man that just happened moments ago. None of them realize the fear that coursed through the man when he blindly ran his way into the alleyway, his heart pounding from his pursuer’s chase. None of them realize the hope that briefly sparked in him, even as the light behind his eyes slowly burned out, as he watched a well-dressed man back-lit by the pubs’ bright lights make his way towards him. He was saved. He wouldn’t die, not like this. Those jackasses couldn’t get him last time, and they wouldn’t get him again. As the man walked closer though, he couldn’t explain why all the hope in him vanished all at once. He wasn’t getting saved. He wasn’t getting out of there.

Do you submit to your death?

Taehyung tipped his hat at the dead man. It was a tradition for him, to show a little courtesy, as though a brief display of manners could make up for taking their soul away. From his place in the alley, it looked like the man was staring at him with his glossy eyes. The dead man’s eyes were wide open--and stay that way.

The door to the Victorian house swung open with a loud creak. Taehyung was soaked from head to toe, and he stood in the doorway, contemplating on how to best get to his room without leaving a trail of muddy rainwater up the stairs.

Around the doorway, Yoongi sleepily made his way towards Taehyung, holding a steaming cup in his hand. “You’re back.”

He didn’t at all seemed fazed by the fact that his roommate had come home at such an ungodly hour. If anything, he only expressed his annoyance at Taehyung’s choice of clothing.

“Are you serious? That’s my trench coat! Look at all the fricking mud you got on it.” Yoongi glared at Taehyung in distaste. “You’re buying me a new one.”

“Aw, come on, hyung.” Taehyung flashed him a cheeky smile, gingerly taking off the dripping coat to hang on a rack. “You have dozens of these coats in your closet! What’s one less coat for a friend in need?”

“Hmph.” Yoongi set his cup down on the wooden slab table, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know how you have the energy to go around at night and still be awake in the morning.”

“I take my job seriously.” Taehyung padded into the sitting area. “Why are you so tired?”

“You know why.” Yoongi lifted his wrist, expressionless, letting the bracelet do the talking. There, hung precariously on the rim of the bracelet, were nearly ten beads, each clear and void of its occupant. “I’m not getting any younger, and these souls aren’t easy to catch, kid.”

Taehyung’s lips quirked up. “Hyung, I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Yeah, yeah, show some respect to your elder.” Yoongi took a sip of his drink, grimacing at the scalding heat. “I’ve caught at least a thousand more souls than you, and somedays I just want to give up, you know? I didn’t ask for this job. Those souls trapped in their dead bodies want to wreak havoc on this world? I say let them have it.”

Taehyung shook his head, knowing that Yoongi didn’t mean a word he said; perhaps it was true that Yoongi’s age was getting to him, but Taehyung knew better than anyone that Yoongi didn’t take his job lightly either. Yoongi taught Taehyung everything he knew about being a grim reaper.

Yoongi continued, “I could honestly sleep for the rest of the century if these damn beads didn’t keep getting sent to me.” He held one between his fingers now and looked at it with something like disgust.

Taehyung, laughing good-naturedly, replies, “That’s your job, hyung.” He took the iridescent bead from Yoongi’s death grip and carefully let it hang back gently on the bracelet like he was afraid he would break the soul attached to the name on the God-forbidden bead if he set it down any more roughly. “Besides,” he added with a dark glint in his eye, “we’ll have the rest of eternity to sleep in hell anyway.”

�� author’s note: if you’ve read this far and think that you’ve read this story before, you’re probably right! i’m re-uploading this from my other blog, which isn’t a writing blog :p

#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #bts scenarios #bts angst #taehyung #tae #mine #my writing #saint nothing

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 5 years ago

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Dark Days, Chapter One

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody. This chapter isn’t bloody, though; just dreadful.

i. Evelyn

I sighed. The overall message was obvious, but the details were still obscured. “Who’s attacking you?” I asked.

The human-shaped starry void said nothing. Of course. It stood still, its head turned towards me.

I could look into its void and See...

Shaking my head, I motioned with my hand to the diorama. “If you want our help, you’re going to have to be a bit more clear than that. Okay?”

Thornebridge just watched me. This was apparently the entirety of the message; I wasn’t going to get any more unless I Looked.

I ran my hands through my hair and sighed again. “All right, fine. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Is... is it an eclipse?” she asked, doubt slowing her words. I shook my head, but pulled my phone from my apron and began pulling up an online almanac to be sure.

“That baseball bat still under the counter?” she asked.

“Gotcha.”

From the bag I removed a pair of silver rods, slender, about the length of my forearm, and etched with runes, then slung the bag over my shoulder.

Then, taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness.

#Dresden Files #The Dresden Files #dresden files fic #crossover with original universe #Dark Days #not RP

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ellanainthetardis · 8 years ago

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“Let’s Wing It!” Fic Exchange (1st wave)

This is my first entry for the “Let’s Wing It” Fic Exchange. My prompter was @lux-i-fer and her prompt was the song Astoria by Marianas Trench (check the lyrics here). Her kinks were: deckerstar and wing scars. Her quicks were: dan/Lucifer.

I tried to follow the song as much as I could so I hope you like it! This one takes up right where season 1 left us and goes AU.

[FF] or [AO3]

Let The Melody Save Me

Lucifer realizes with a pang that he misses the stars as he stares at the cloudy sky that hangs over Los Angeles. They are never clear in the city. They are never as clear as they used to be eons ago either, masked by pollution and the lights from the neon beams on nearby clubs roofs or the endless caravan of cars in the streets below. He remembers lighting them one by one, flying amongst them, a sea of sparks and warmth. He remembers the wind in immaculate feathers and the simple joy in racing ahead of his siblings.

He remembers and, perhaps, it isn’t the stars he misses as much as the freedom of his wings.

He remembers and he cannot help but ask why in the safety of his mind even though he knows why. He pushed too far and, contrary to popular belief, his Father isn’t the forgiving kind. At least not when he is concerned.

Although tonight…

The cigarette is slowly burning itself between his fingers and he brings it to his lips in an afterthought. What was tonight? The question keeps twirling and turning in his head. It hasn’t stopped haunting him even as he laid the facts bare for Amenadiel. How much of it is his Father’s plans? Malcom was his brother’s mess but how much of that was planned? Detective Douche’s betrayal and unexpected righteousness… The spawn in danger… The Detective rushing to the rescue… His inevitable following in her footsteps… Dying for her. Going back to hell for her.

Was it all a ploy? He cannot help but wonder. Has Chloe been put on his path just for the purpose of him later dying for her? Just so he would beg for a deal and his Father would opportunely show him the empty cell and exchange his mother’s life against the Detective’s? Is it why the human has such strange powers over him? Was it the ultimate goal or is there more to come? And, if so, how long has it been in the work? That’s the problem with omniscient beings. It is always almost impossible to tell.

Easy deal in Lucifer’s opinion.

His Mother against the Detective… Not a hard bargain at all. A choice he would make time and time again in a heartbeat.

The sound of the elevator disturbs his silent reflection but he barely gives a cursory glance over his shoulder, certain it will be Maze crawling back home. Where else would she go? He is her home. Her very existence is wrapped around his. She was created for him, to serve him, guard him, protect him – annoy him, one might claim. And, yes, those were other times, times when that kind of relationship was a thing, times when he took some sort of pride in who he was, times when he delighted in punishing the guilty, times when he almost enjoyed the Lord of Hell title because he was so angry against his Father it felt good to evacuate some of that fury onto deserving preys… Those times are gone, though, and he isn’t sure what Maze is now. No longer the good soldier, no longer the lover, no longer the loyal second… He isn’t sure they are even friends anymore.

But if he knows one thing it’s that she will be back and thus he expects her to come out of the elevator, not… When he realizes who it really is, he drops his cigarette and crosses the penthouse in a flash, his dark eyes studying the Detective and the spawn wrapped in a thick blanket in her arms, searching for any sort of injury.

They might be safe from Malcom but his Mother is at large and he cannot think of a reason for the Detective and her child to be there unless…

The girl is sound asleep, face buried in her mother’s neck, her features relaxed and peaceful, perfectly secured in the Detective’s embrace. He wonders if he ever felt that way with his own mother and draws a blank. He cannot remember. He doesn’t think so. Too many children. Too much resentment clouding the happy moments.

The Detective looks unsettled but unhurt. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail and her eyes are a little red. He lifts his eyebrows at the pajamas she’s wearing under the leather jacket but doesn’t comment just yet.

“I had a nightmare.” she whispers – either not to wake the child or because she finds it difficult to admit as much, he isn’t sure. “You were dead. You were…”

“I’m fine, Detective.” he cuts her off softly. “I assure you.” She shakes her head and he can feel she is about to crash. She is frayed at the edges, has been for days. “How about we put your spawn to bed, yes? She can have the guest room. She is house trained, isn’t he? I just had it redone…”

The Detective doesn’t even crack a smile, no rebuke comes at all. She briefly tightens her arms around her daughter and then nods, handing her over. It occurs to him she wants him to take the child and he instinctively steps back only to relent when he notices the weariness on her face.

Unsurprisingly, he isn’t gifted at carrying small children and he feels awkward as he climbs the few steps to the bedrooms, leaving the Detective to make a beeline for the bar and the mess of broken glass. He is stunned when she doesn’t follow, stunned that she trusts him enough to take care of Trixie because he knows the girl is her world. It makes him strangely determined not to butcher the mission.

He places the child on the bed as quickly as he can and steps back, happy to be rid of the cumbersome weight. Then, he remembers the tears and the snot from earlier, the terror on the child’s face as she clung to her mother… It is all he can do not to let his eyes flash red. It is a good thing Malcom is in hell but it is regrettable he won’t be there to oversee the punishment.

Tiny socked feet are poking out from under the blanket the child is wrapped in and, before he can tell what he is doing, he makes sure they’re tucked back under it.

“Lucifer?” a small sleepy voice whispers. He detects the latent fear in it, the uncertainty.

“Sleep, child.” he answers – pleads, really, because he wouldn’t know how to deal with the spawn’s crying aside from tearing limb to limb whatever upsets her. “You have nothing to fear here. I’m watching.”

“Okay.” Trixie says and, just like that, she rolls to her other side and she is fast asleep once more. She is clutching something to her chest and he realizes belatedly that it’s a small tattered stuffed bunny. So innocent. It enrages him that someone tried to hurt her, used her to get to them.

Malcom is lucky that the throne of Hell sits empty, he thinks, he is really lucky.

He waits a few seconds to make sure the spawn is back asleep – because he somehow guesses the Detective will protest if he leaves her in any sort of distress – and, once certain the child is down for the count, he goes back to the living-room where Chloe has been helping herself to whatever she’s been able to salvage.

“I am having a strong case of déjà-vu.” he smirks. “Can we fast-forward to the part when you take off your clothes?”

“I’m not drunk, Lucifer.” she denies with an irritated huff. If the gaze she turns toward him is devoid of any vapor of liquor it is also strangely haunted. “You died.”

“So you said.” he dismisses, fishing an only partly broken glass and pouring himself one. “Do you often dream of me, I wonder? I hope they are usually more pleasant because…”

“No.” she cuts him off and she sounds in pain. “You died.”

He isn’t sure what she saw. Or thought she saw.

He isn’t sure what to answer. He dismissed it before, got out of the loop with a joke and a smirk, ignored the puddle of blood a few feet away from them but now… Now his Mother is at large, Maze is missing, Amenadiel is his usual jerk, Chloe almost died and he misses the stars. He doesn’t know how the last part ties to the others but there are nights when he feels the weight of his millenniums and tonight is one of them.

He wishes she has never come because it would have been easier.

He doesn’t protest when she hops off the stool and forces him to do the same. He doesn’t try to stop her when her fingers frantically run along the shirt, stop on the hole the bullet left…

“Detective.” he begs her. He doesn’t know what for. To stop there maybe. Not to look further.

He isn’t ready for her to snatch her child and run away. He isn’t ready for her to realize he has been telling the truth all along. He isn’t ready for…

She tugs on the shirt, untucks it from his pants and almost tears the buttons open and all he can do is stand there and let her do as she pleases because…

Fingertips brush against the unmarked skin of his stomach, stirring something in him. He reacts to her like he always does. There is nothing sexual in her touch. It is desperate, a little rough… And yet he twitches for her, attracted like he couldn’t remember ever be before.

A moth to a flame…

He is used to being the flame, not the bug.

Her thumb pokes and probs more firmly, hard enough to bruise with her so close, but he doesn’t deny her that either. It takes almost five minutes before she accepts there is no gaping hole, no injury, no explanations to the puddle of blood staining the hangar’s floor.

Her palm rests there, on his stomach, and there is a thousand innuendos he could make but his lips remain sealed. He sees it in the tension in her shoulders under the leather, he feels it in the quivering of her fingers, he hears it at her ragged breathing…

“I never lied to you.” he murmurs eventually. Because it all comes down to that, doesn’t it? He never lied to her. He never pretended to be someone he wasn’t – well… He never…

“It’s true.” she says flatly and, somehow, he doesn’t think she’s talking about the absence of lies. She looks up, then, and he can only lick his lips and avert his eyes. Hesitant fingers dance in the air, reaching out, stilling, and then cupping his cheek, forcing him to look back at her. “I need to know what happened back there. I need to know what…” Her breath catches in her throat. “You died.”

“I can’t die.” he denies and then makes a face, feeling obligated to amend. “Well, not entirely true. It seems I can die around you but my soul… My soul, my essence if you will, will simply go back to Hell so, really, it is a matter of semantics… What do you consider death? If…”

“You went to Hell.” she interrupts.

“It hasn’t gotten any more pleasant in my absence, let me tell you.” he sighs. Her fingers twitch on his cheek and he waits for her to withdraw, to confront him on the evil elephant dancing in the room they have yet to name… But she does neither so he hesitantly continues. “I talked to my Father. Sort of. We made a deal… I exchanged my services against a favor, so to speak.”

“Your life.” she says with enough confidence that he frowns a little.

“No.” he scoffs because it is preposterous. He would never have dealt with his father for something so trivial as his own life. It certainly isn’t worth submitting to the humiliating prospect of asking Him for help. “Yours.”

He isn’t ready for the kiss.

And he hates himself a little for giving in to it – although that also puzzles him, there are a lot of things he isn’t proud of and there aren’t on the same scale at all as giving in to this when he knows she might not be in her right mind, and really they’ve been over this before but it still confounds him and…

Her arm sneaks around his waist, her hand directs his head how she wants it and her lips are hard against his. When her tongue pokes at them, he can only open his mouth. There is no taming the fire within him, no telling what side of him she is calling out : Lucifer or Samael? Sometimes, he thinks she brings out the light in him but, at moments like this, his baser instincts take over and he doesn’t know who he wants to be for her. Lucifer doesn’t deserve her and is painfully aware of it but Samael has been gone for so long now and he was kind of a prat… And maybe, he thinks when she deepens the kiss, maybe he isn’t supposed to be one or the other, maybe he is supposed to be both and…

And this is madness.

And he would know.

He draws back when she tries to push his jacket off his shoulders. She frowns a little.

“Darling, I don’t think you’re thinking straight.” he says gently, with regret.

He wants this, wants it more than anything, and while he doesn’t entirely understand it, he knows it isn’t just about getting her in his bed. He had thousands of people in his bed. This is different. This is more. This needs to be done right.

“You died tonight.” the Detective retorts. “Because of me.”

He blinks, mystified. “Unless you were secretly Malcom in disguise and pulled that trigger, I do not think so.”

“You died because you followed me, because you wanted to help me.” she clarifies, shaking her head as if he is being obtuse on purpose. “You… you died for me.”

“I am fine, Detective.” he insists.

“It’s not the point!” she exclaims with some anger, letting go of his waist to punch his chest once.

It hurts more than he cares to admit and he pouts at her. “What’s the point, then?”

“The point is… What you did for me…” Her voice trails off as if she’s not quite sure how to express it. “I trust you. With my life. With Trixie’s. With everything I have. I trust you. And… And…” She seems frustrated by her own incapacity to word whatever inconvenient feelings she is experiencing and, in the end, she sighs and frames his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t you see?”

He searches her eyes, not quite sure what it is he is supposed to see until he finds it.

He remembers falling. He remembers the mind-numbing terror, the seething pain, the certainty that the crash would be terrible… And it is right there in her eyes. The fall.

It is only once he sees it that he realizes his second fall has come and gone without his noticing.

“What do you want?” he asks in a low voice, regretting now more than ever that his powers don’t work on her because then he could be sure. But the fact that she is immune to him is part of the charm, isn’t it? The fascinating mystery. The perfect riddle. The irresistible pull.

“You.” she whispers and there is no uncertainty at all.

He knows it’s not right. He knows because he feels it in the next kiss. This same nagging sensation that he should put a stop to it, insist on them having a real conversation, make it clear that the unsaid thing is clearly understood – the d word has yet to be pronounced and he’s not talking about the thing that is so obviously happy about the new developments.

He knows it’s not right because, even as the kiss grows messy and they start pulling at each other’s clothes, he barely has enough presence of mind to steer them to his bedroom and nudge the door shut just in case the little brat wakes up and comes looking for them and it shouldn’t be him who thinks of such details but her. He knows under normal circumstances she would never do that with him in his penthouse when her daughter is asleep in the next room.

He knows.

He knows but it feels good to drown in her. So, like a good little moth, he crashes into her flame and he lets her chase the memories away, let her make him forget about dying, about Hell, about his Mother lurking out there, about how terrified he is about that…

He has never been good at resisting temptation. He doesn’t believe in resisting temptation.

And Chloe might be the biggest temptation he has ever faced.

It is only after, once they’re both lying between his tangled creased silk sheets, him on his stomach staring at the window and her on her back staring at the ceiling, that he feels the sickening bout of fear again. Because if he loses her over this…

It isn’t how it was supposed to happen.

He is sure of it.

Somewhere somehow, something went off course.

And he can pretend he doesn’t see it, he can pretend he doesn’t know, but lying to himself is getting harder and harder nowadays… So a part of him waits for her to stand up and flee, to toss the M word – mistake or monster or possibly both – grab her child and run so far he will never find her again. He waits for the familiar pain of rejection, waits for the moment he will wander around the empty penthouse and pretend he doesn’t care, waits for the moment he will pour himself a glass, light a cigarette and sit at his piano, he waits for…

She shifts behind him and he knows she just reached a decision. He closes his eyes and he waits and…

She drapes herself over him. He feels her breasts against his side, her head on his shoulder blade, her leg slowly hooks over his ass…

Her fingers are hesitant when they dance on the edge of one of the scars on his back. She doesn’t touch but she is itching too, he can tell. He doesn’t know if he wants her to or not. He doesn’t know anything anymore. He is lost and confused and not sure how he is supposed to act. This isn’t a one-night-stand and he doesn’t know the script, doesn’t know what he is supposed to say or do. She didn’t flee but there is still something odd between them where there used to be ease.

“Did it hurt?” she asks softly.

“When I fell from heaven?” he snorts because this is such a pitiful line humans use and the opportunity is too good to pass. And also, perhaps, because he doesn’t want to talk about it.

He wants to tell her but he doesn’t want to at the same time. Humanity has been judging him since its dawn, blaming him for every little thing going wrong, and he cannot take the same from her. He isn’t the monster they believe him to be but he isn’t quite as innocent as he likes to claim. His has been a long life. There were periods of shadows. Dark times when he reveled in people’s suffering just because his own was unbearable. He isn’t ready to share everything yet. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want it to matter. Not here. Not now. The Silver City and Hell are far. The two of them are caught in between. A breath suspended in the air. And for now he wants it to be enough.

“Can we do this?” she whispers against his skin, pressing a long kiss at the base of his nape. “Do you want to?”

“Anything you want, darling.” he purrs, rolling over and trapping her under him, ready to go another round – ten other rounds if that’s what she wants. That’s something he knows how to do. That’s something he excels at. She flips them other with a small laugh and he steadies her with his hands on her hips, eyes sparkling in delight. “What a beautiful view…” She shakes her head at him, her hair briefly veiling her face, the ponytail having long succumbed to his fingers. He brushes the strands back, letting his knuckles trail down her cheek with a tenderness that surprises even himself. “What do you want me to do, Chloe? Anything I can give. And you will find that stretches quite far, pun fully intended.”

Her amusement makes him feel better about the whole thing. She won’t flee. And he won’t lose her. Whatever doubt is nagging at the back of his mind, he locks it away.

“Us.” she says firmly. “This. I don’t share, Lucifer. I know monogamy isn’t your thing but…”

“Yes.” he vows without thinking twice about it. He cannot claim to have ever understood what the big deal about exclusivity or cheating is. So many things to experience, so many different people to play with… He never felt the pull to commit to one person before.

But Chloe Decker…

Chloe Decker is entirely different.

“Okay.” she smiles and it’s bright and carefree and he props himself on his elbow to kiss her just because he can.

°O°O°O°

Lucifer pretends he understands the rules of a relationship. They pretend the normal rules apply to him. At no point is the devil issue addressed and he pretends that doesn’t bother him.

He can’t say he’s really happy when Dan comes back into their lives, even if he cannot help but feel some grudging respect for the douche. He is jealous, insecure about their brand new relationship, terrified she will turn away from him and run back to her ex, unsure about how to behave.

All those rules that seem obvious to the Detective, they aren’t to him.

He doesn’t understand why he isn’t allowed to kiss her at the precinct but is allowed to grope her and push her against a pillar at the Lux. He doesn’t understand why she claims he doesn’t have to be involved in the day to day life of her child but seems so disappointed when he refuses to drive the spawn to school when she’s late for work. He doesn’t understand why he isn’t allowed to spend the whole night at her place or why she simply can’t bring the child to the penthouse and settle her in the guest room instead of one of them having to sneak out of bed to work around babysitters or schedules.

There are a thousand rules he doesn’t understand.

He tries to drag her to Linda’s office once, so the doctor can talk some sense into her, but it isn’t exactly successful. They somehow end up discussing underlying issues, the unacknowledged devil thing comes up and Chloe’s “I’m fine with it” claim somehow rings wrong. The doctor, who still refuses to actually believe in his story, doesn’t seem any more convinced than he is.

He probes later on, once they’re in bed and sated because that’s when it’s the easiest to really talk, but he’s careful and a little nervous about it and he soon gives up on the subject altogether. He decides it doesn’t really matter. She knows. She seems to have accepted it without going insane – not always a given. And the thing is, as confusing as it is, he likes the exclusive relationship. He would have declared this sort of life boring before trying it out with her.

“I don’t love Dan anymore.” she tells him, almost out of the blue, as they share a coffee on their way back to the precinct. “It’s over. As cute as you are when you’re jealous, you really shouldn’t be.”

He huffs and puffs at the ridiculous notion of the devil being jealous but there is a new relieved spring to his steps.

Mazes comes back but her sudden claim for independence leaves him unsettled.

A little like hopelessly looking all over the city with Amenadiel for their mother.

When he finally tells Chloe about that, she’s not happy at all. She wants to know why he hasn’t told her before and explains about how they are supposed to be a couple and should share their problems. They end up kissing and make up easily.

There are a few tentative questions about his mother but he shuts that line of interrogation quickly.

“She’s dangerous.” he warns her. “And I don’t want her anywhere near you.”

It’s the closest they’ve ever come to actually directly talk about who he is, about who his parents are, but there is a murder to solve, a runaway goddess to find and no time to waste in talking.

When his Mother finally shows up on his doorstep in the body of Charlotte Richards, the decision to keep her as far away from Chloe as possible is one taken in the blink of an eye. Even as he agrees not to send her back, his resolution on that front never falters.

He wants to believe what Charlotte is saying, what she is offering… He wants to believe her so badly, to be the good son once more, the favorite… But he doesn’t trust her. It comes down to that. His parents are both master manipulators and he cannot, won’t trust them.

He doesn’t understand the discrepancy between the way his parents treat their children and the way humans deal with theirs. Every time he watches the Detective with Trixie – either of the Detectives, really – he feels an odd lump in his throat because this is how it should be.

And, if he still stiffens when the child hugs him at random, he tries not to be too harsh when he dismisses her. She is too much like her mother in a lot of ways, he cannot help but somehow soften around her.

“You would never let Detective Douche kick her out the door without doing anything to help her.” he observes quietly, one day, as they’re fixing lunch while Dan is helping Trixie get ready for whatever outing he’s taking the girl to. Camping or something alike. Lucifer doesn’t quite care beyond the fact it means he can have Chloe to himself all week-end.

“No mother would do that.” she frowns, adding a pinch of salt before turning to him. Her face falls when she realizes. He looks away, not liking the pity in her eyes. Still, he doesn’t push her away when she wraps her arms around him and props her chin on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It really isn’t your fault if I have the worst mother.” he snorts.

“You’re a much better person than your mother or your father ever was.” she declares firmly.

“Clearly.” he huffs.

An amused smile plays on her lips but she remains mostly serious. “What would you do if I kicked Trixie out?”

He frowns, really not following that line of thoughts. “Didn’t we just establish you would never?”

“Humor me.” she grins. She looks so sure of herself…

He shrugs. “I could hardly leave the spawn to the streets, now, could I? Even if she’s named after an exotic dancer…”

He’s not quite certain what he did to deserve the deep kiss he receives but he doesn’t press further. The conversation makes him a little uncomfortable.

For a while, he thinks he can balance everything. Chloe, Charlotte, Amenadiel, Maze and the police work… It is a precarious thing but he makes it work. And he is strangely proud of himself, beams when Linda tells him he is doing well considering his past experiences…

So, of course, it’s the moment Uriel chooses to show up.

Because the devil cannot have good things, that’s a fact.

He’s terrified for Chloe. The whole time, he is terrified for Chloe. He sees how Charlotte believes he is more worried about her than about his pet detective. He sees and he doesn’t dispute it but he knows he will push his mother in Uriel’s arms in a heartbeat if it comes down to that.

However, he doesn’t quite want to hand her back either.

And so he dances on a thin line, aware that Amenadiel and Maze have a point but unwilling to admit it.

He understands Trixie and her sudden need for her mother to read her a story. If he could, he would have lied with both of them and listened to Chloe’s voice all night just because… Because waking up in a world where her voice is a memory isn’t a possibility he wants to entertain. He cannot lose her.

So he goes to Uriel.

And when his brother threatens her, he loses it. The wrath comes from within, a wrath he’s been feeling since the dawn of time, a wrath like no other, a wrath that’s been the source of his powers for a very long time, the wrath of the favorite son, the wrath of the morning star…

When Uriel dies, a part of himself dies with him.

He goes back to the penthouse, goes back to his mother and can barely put a foot in front of the other.

He drinks himself to oblivion – or at least tries to. He doesn’t know how many days he spends locked at Lux. He ignores the calls, the voicemails and the texts. It’s a few days before he shows up to a crime scene, still wasted and has to deal with Chloe’s disappointed face and hurt eyes.

She doesn’t ask if there were other people during his few days of hard partying, as she calls it, but he knows she wants to and it makes it worse. Not really because it tends to show she doesn’t entirely trust him but mainly because it’s the most serious problem she can think of.

She realizes quickly that there’s something else though and she presses and presses and pushes and prompts until he feels his head is about to explode.

So he does eventually explode.

Once the investigation is closed and he failed to get himself shot, once they’re back at her house, blissfully spawn free for the evening, once she starts asking him again…

It all comes out in a torrent of angry words. Uriel, the threat on her life, his mother, his father, how unfair they’re all being to him, how unfair she is being to him… How much he deserves to be punished for what he did.

He gets angrier than he means to. He’s hurting and sad and he feels guilty. The wrath is there too, bubbling right under the surface, almost impossible to contain now that he has let it out to play…

He doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s in full devil mode, eyes burning red, human mask gone…

Chloe stands there and stares, her mouth open in a silent scream… Her hand has fallen to her gun at some point and he can only stare back and pant and wonder…

The way she’s looking at him is like a punch in the guts and he makes an effort to calm down, to at least get his appearance under control. When he’s sure the fires of hell aren’t blazing in his eyes anymore, he takes a step forward.

She takes three back and he’s sure she would have gone further if there hadn’t been a wall behind her.

He stops.

He laughs.

It’s bitter and broken. He understands, naturally. That’s why it all felt a bit off. She’s never said it. She’s never said he’s the devil. And maybe she knew but maybe she’s been playing pretend, fooling herself into thinking he’s a normal man.

Maybe they’ve both been playing pretend.

“I shall go, then.” he says and he hopes she will stop him.

She doesn’t.

He had his heart broken enough times to know what it feels like but it hurts afresh every time.

Falling isn’t the hard part, after all.

It’s the inevitable crash that’s the real kicker.

°O°O°O°

He doesn’t hear from her for weeks.

He knows what’s going on in her life because Linda comes to Lux now and then, hoping to lure him back into therapy – something he has altogether given up. She and the Detective have struck a friendship apparently, which has extended to Maze, and that’s how he knows Chloe and his demon have taken to sharing a flat.

That’s the worst idea he’s ever heard but between a glass of scotch and a tumbler of whiskey he manages not to really care. Or to pretend not to, at least.

It’s the Douche who tells him they’ve finally gotten divorced. Dan comes to the club late one night for a drink, full of questions about Lucifer’s sudden disappearance that he cannot answer without making another human go mad. He asks after Trixie without really knowing why. He misses the girl a little. That’s what the devil came down to: missing a little human monster.

There are crumbs like that, left by friends. Linda, Maze, Dan, Ella… They all come to Lux, apparently somehow missing his company, and they let out information about Chloe. Crumbs. He’s desperate for them.

He pretends not to care.

He drowns in booze, women and men… He acts as though this little foray in humanity hasn’t happened at all. He acts just like he had before he met her. He tries to lure Maze back, tries to convince her it could be like it’s always been, but she simply shakes her head and mutters something about self-destruction.

He’s so busy pretending to have gotten over it, over Chloe… It hurts more than he’s willing to admit when the Detective calls Maze instead of him the day they find themselves with a murder that’s a little too strange for the LAPD.

Maze brings him on board quickly enough, after all Uriel’s blade is nothing to trifle with, but it hurts that Chloe didn’t call him.

He imposes himself in the investigation, tries to show her that they can still work together at least, tries to salvage that part of his life… She flinches every time he comes too close and there’s only so much of that he can take.

At the end of the case, once he’s made sure the flaming sword is safely hidden and his mother understands how angry he would be if she pulls something like that again, he slumps behind his piano and drums on a few keys without any passion.

Singing doesn’t comfort him.

Playing doesn’t comfort him.

Drinking doesn’t comfort him.

Sex with random humans doesn’t comfort him.

He’s dying.

There’s a hole in his chest, his heart is missing, and it feels like dying.

°O°O°O°

He doesn’t want to go back to Heaven and his mother’s schemes are getting tiring. She doesn’t understand why he refuses, naturally. She doesn’t see.

It doesn’t make any difference.

Hell or the Silver City… At least in Los Angeles he has the Lux. It’s the only thing he has left and they will have to pry it away from his cold dead hands.

Obviously, that’s when the owner dies and the son wants to sell it, sell his home like it doesn’t matter at all. He finds himself on Chloe’s path once more. She doesn’t flinch away from him anymore but she doesn’t go out of her way to touch him or be overly friendly either.

He misses her kisses, the softness of her skin. He misses everything.

She doesn’t look like she’s missing him.

Maybe that’s why he’s so surprised when she sits down next to him at the piano in the deserted club and tells him she saved the Lux.

“You saved my home.” he breathes out, marveling at her proximity because it’s been so long, so long…

“I know how much it means to you.” she says simply. Her fingers wander on the keys and he can only watch her as she so obviously gathers her courage. “I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

That’s not something he hears often.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to apologize?” he hesitates. It’s one of those rules he never understood, isn’t it? He’s usually the one who does wrong when it comes to their relationship and…

“No.” She shakes her head, sounding sad. “I told you I was alright with… Who you are.”

“The devil.” he states plainly because it’s been left unsaid for long enough.

“The devil.” she repeats and he doesn’t miss the shiver. “I told you I was alright with that when we got together but… I don’t think I really…” She stops and sighs. “It wasn’t fair of me. I should have make sure I really understood. When I saw your real face…”

“You got scared.” he supplies. “You shouldn’t feel bad about that, Detective, it happens to the best of you. What matters is… You are here.”

He doesn’t keep the hope in his voice in check. He can’t. It seems he never learns.

She smiles but it is a little forced. “You should come back to the precinct. I need a partner.”

His own smile is short-lived, a little pained. “Only to the precinct?”

She doesn’t pretend not to understand and he doesn’t know if he’s glad for that or not. They’ve been dealing in pretences for so long it seems odd to stop now.

“I don’t know.” she admits.

It’s not a no but it’s not a yes either.

They’re still not fixed when she leaves.

And maybe it explains why he kisses Maze the next day when she comes with news of his mother trying to blow up Chloe’s car and of his brother covering for her. Maybe that’s why they fall on old patterns, familiar ones, comfortable ones. Maybe that’s why they hurt each other while rolling in bed. Maybe that’s why he comes with Chloe’s name on his lips and she sobs Amenadiel’s name in his neck.

Sex with Maze has always been good but right now it feels cheap, wrong. It’s a mistake and they both know it. He doesn’t really understand why. He doesn’t understand what has changed, why he can’t enjoy a good lay like he used to, why everything brings him back to Chloe.

It hurts not to understand.

“We’re broken.” he tells her very seriously once they’re lying on their backs and staring at the ceiling, sharing a cigarette. They must be. They’ve been lovers for millenniums and it has never felt so… empty.

“No, we’re not.” she shrugs. “You love her.”

He wants to protest, to huff and deny… It scares him deeply that she might be right.

“Do you love him?” he asks instead. Because that’s something else he doesn’t understand. Lust, yes. She’s a demon, lust is part of the package. But love? And if a fallen angel in love with a human is a little ridiculously cliché, a demon in love with an angel is maybe even worse.

She takes her time answering that, blowing out the smoke of the cigarette until it forms a vaporous cloud over their heads. “I don’t know.”

It’s confusing how much people don’t know when it comes to feelings.

°O°O°O°

Charlotte tries to turn Chloe against him, to prove him the Detective cannot be trusted, that he would be better off running home to the clouds with her and Amenadiel…

He wants to be surprised when Chloe stands by him but he is not, not really. Awed, yes. Humbled, too. But surprised?

She shows up at the penthouse just as he’s about to leave for her brand new apartment with her favorite burgers and fries. He has the vague idea he can try to salvage… something, that maybe it wasn’t what Charlotte intended but something good can come out of it anyway. His mother wanted to show him where home is and he thinks she was successful in that.

Because home equals with Chloe.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have rushed into this.” the Detective says quietly after taking a sip of her red wine.

They’re sitting on the balcony and their hands are entwined and he doesn’t quite know what it means but he doesn’t want to ask either in fear she will bolt.

“Wrong timing.” he agrees.

“Maybe… Maybe we could try again.” she suggests and his heart soars before it crashes down quickly, like a fledgling trying out their wings for the first time.

“I’m still the devil, Chloe. Nothing changed.” he tells her quietly.

“I changed.” she argues, squeezing his hand. “Before it was… I needed time to… accept it.”

“To accept me.” he clarifies with self-loathing.

“No.” she protests. “To accept… I’ve never really been religious, you know. It’s a lot to take in. And… Yes, maybe I got scared because it’s so much bigger than me…” He opens his mouth to make a clever remark, his lips stretching into an amused grin, but she rolls her eyes. “Don’t even dare make a pun.” He cannot help but smile. For real this time. He feels his whole face soften faced with her fire. It’s a different fire than the one he bears within his core, it doesn’t burn like hell, it flares like life. She shrugs, her gaze softening too. “I treated you like a normal guy and I didn’t want to get involved in all the… divine business and I guess… I guess that wasn’t fair. So… I’m here now. For the whole thing. If you want me.”

“Chloe, I always want you.” he declares before he can stop himself.

She smiles and he swears that smile would be enough to light up the whole sky. He leans in, she leans in and, naturally, that’s the moment the elevator pings and a stewardess walks in.

He sends her packing but the mood isn’t right anymore and this time he knows better than to rush it.

°O°O°O°

Learning that Amenadiel blessed Chloe’s mother, that his Father put her on his path on purpose, is a hard blow. The fact that the information comes from his mother whose motives he knows to be less than selfless is perhaps even worse.

Of course, then he goes straight to the Detective to find her poisoned and he stops caring about all those manipulations. What he feels for her is real. No matter who decided to put her there, no matter if she was created to… To what? What has Chloe ever done aside from convincing him to stick far away from Hell? She makes him vulnerable but that isn’t such a bad thing in his book. That’s how he learned to value life. That’s how he learned…

Going to hell for her is an easy decision, one he doesn’t even have to think hard or long about.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and promises to come back before he leaves for the room right below hers.

He does come back, thanks in part to his mother’s timely intervention. It doesn’t mean he forgives her, not really, but she helped save Chloe and that has to count for something.

He’s not next to her when the Detective wakes up, he leaves the room to Trixie, the Douche and her mother, not quite sure where he fits now. He’s not quite sure what he should do either. The knowledge of her origins disturbs him. Free will is a precarious little thing.

A part of him wants to run and never look back or, perhaps, to only look back once he has a real plan of attack. He needs to get rid of his mother. And if he can get back at his father in the process, he’s all for that. That would be the clever thing to do. Leave Chloe, for her own good.

But the moment he finally gets over himself and enters the now empty room to sit next to her… The first thing she does when she opens her eyes and sees him there is smile. And the idea of never seeing that smile again hurts too much for him to bear.

You love her, Maze claimed with so much certainty it troubled him. Now he sits there and he thinks love is such a small word for what he feels.

“Did you really go to hell for me?” she asks, sounding tired and a little too weak for his tastes. It will take a few days to get her back on her feet, he figures.

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand because it’s not really the important part. It doesn’t matter what he did, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

“I used to bring the light.” he tells her and he isn’t sure why. It isn’t what he came here to say. He isn’t sure what he came here to say, truth be told. Goodbye perhaps. “I used to shine brighter than all the other stars, did you know? That’s why they called me the morning star. I love the light. I think that’s why my father cast me out into darkness.”

Hell was cold and dark. He brought the fire but the flames there are dull and freezing. Nothing can dispatch the taint of Hell. Nothing.

“Lucifer…” she frowns, outstretching her hand.

What else can he do but take it?

“I think I am drawn to you because you are the brightest light I’ve seen in a very long time.” he confesses. “I miss flying amongst the stars and so He created you for me, because He knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

A moth to a flame, isn’t that what he used to think?

“I don’t understand.” she admits. “Doesn’t He create all lives? Why me specifically…”

“As if he cared…” he scoffs. “No. He lets you humans breed. It takes something special for him to send an angel and bless someone into a new life. And you… He created you for me, Chloe, there’s no other explanation that makes sense. To manipulate me. He plays a long game, you know… He knew I would find you eventually. He knew I would…” He stops and licks his lips because this is the hard part. The part he dreads. “This is the second time he makes me fall but this time I do not mind it so much.”

“Lucifer…” she breathes out, something like awe or pain in her voice. He isn’t sure which and he isn’t sure he wants to find out. If she had trouble accepting the divine thing, he doesn’t think she will take this any better.

“You were destined for me.” he insists because she needs to understand without any doubt. He won’t have a repeat of the devil fiasco. “Everything you are feeling for me… It was His plan all along. None of it is real.”

“It feels real.” she counters.

“It would.” he chuckles bitterly. “But where does that leave us?”

She studies him and he avoids her eyes.

“Do you mind it that much?” she asks quietly. “If it’s true… If He created me for you… Do you mind it that much?”

“Of course I bloody mind!” he snaps, a hit of fire flashing in his eyes. She doesn’t flinch away from it this time around though. But she looks sad and that he cannot bear. “I mind the trap, Chloe. I mind the manipulation. I don’t… I don’t mind you.”

She’s the best thing that has happened to him in a very, very long time.

She relaxes and squeezes his hand. “Maybe He was trying to do something nice for you, something to make you… happy.” She frowns, a small amused smile playing on her lips. “Assuming I make you happy.”

“You do.” he replies without a moment of hesitation. “You know you do.”

But he has his doubts about his father ever doing something nice for him.

“Then, maybe we just… We try to be happy together.” she suggests. “And… We can tackle everything else once I’m out of here. Your mom, the heaven thing…” She flashes him a small smile. “We can get through everything, Lucifer, we’re the best team.”

And they are. And so, instead of leaving quietly like a thief in the night as he planned, he remains in that chair and suffers the suffocating hug the spawn bestows upon him when she shows up with Maze the next morning.

°O°O°O°

They do get everything sorted eventually and his mother is sent to another universe for a new bing bang.

And they even manage to make it work between them relatively well in the meantime – he’s still confused by all the rules but she takes the time to explain them now.

So, of course, the whole victory night they’ve carefully planned by sending the spawn over to Detective Douche’s apartment is ruined by someone making a jump on him.

Waking up in a desert isn’t his idea of fun, it’s much too Moose-like for him – he didn’t like the guy even then. It takes him a few seconds to feel them behind him. The pain is mild, like sore muscles…

But the thrill…

The thrill…

He’s up there before he even pauses to think about how or why or who. He’s soaring high and low, testing the wings out, rejoicing in the wind in their feathers… Missing limbs finally recovered, he goes higher and higher until the sky darkens and he can twirl amongst the stars.

And he laughs.

Oh, he laughs…

He missed them, he missed their song and he gets lost in the brightness of them until another melody calls to him, a softer one, like the beating of a human heart. Chloe’s heart. His own morning star.

He follows it home.

He lets it save him.

Again and again.

#deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #thedeckerstarnetwork #let's wing it fic exchange #let's wing it #fic exchange #the devil sings so well stories #Let's Wing It! Fix Exchange

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johnegger42 · 8 years ago

Text

THE SECRET STORY NEVER TOLD

It’s been hidden from mankind forever and great lengths are still taken to keep it hidden from us. This is the story of a journey that something inside of your body makes every month. And once this happens to you, awareness, and comprehension are increased a thousand fold. This story has been hidden from you by myth, allegory, metaphor and deception. This is an esoteric truth and comes from very ancient wisdom. There’s a thing in your brain called the colostrum and modern science is still not to sure what the colostrum does. Sir Francis Crick once published an influential review proposing the colostrum as the seat of consciousness as he had discovered the truth of its existence. When a human child reaches about the age of 12, this colostrum produces an oil, a very sacred oil. In ancient Greece this oil was known as the Chrism, the Christos, or Ichthus, because they said it was oily and had a fishy smell. When the colostrum secretes the oil it makes a journey down your central nervous system, your spine and ultimately to the bottom portion of the spine, the sacrum. Most humans are born with 33 vertebrae and as they age the vertebrae start to fuse in the lower portion and form the sacrum and coccyx. Could the story of the fall of man come from the descending of the oil? As it settles in this sacred place, the sacral plexus, the five fused vertebra of your spine, it then begins its return journey, the ascension if you will. The oil must return up the 33 vertebrae, and while it’s making the journey, and before it reaches the 33rd and it crosses the vagus nerve. This amazing nerve, called the 10th cranial nerve, as there are 12, touches all the vital organs of the body. Damage to this nerve accounts for a lot of different diseases with in the body. This nerve can only be healed through chanting. Perhaps a reason chanting is so prevalent in your ancient religions? After it crosses the vagus nerve, it enters the hypothalamus.. Here the sacred oil is mixed with serotonin from the pituitary and with DMT from the pineal gland. And here in the hypothalamus, it sits for 2 1/2 days, just as the like sun does on December 22nd and arises December 25th. just as in the story of Jesus in the tomb, inside your body, the Christ, the chrism, the ickthos, the oil, the sacred secretion that comes from the colostrum and makes the journey up the 33. The Santa Claus(trum), that brings great gifts from the North Pole. Serotonin was known as milk and DMT was known as the honey, and hence the land of milk and honey, and combined they were known as the manna from heaven. The sacred oil is now transmuted into this new substance of the Christ within and then arrives at the very top, the crown and and touches the optic thalamus, which is esoterically known as the third eye. It is here where it is exploded into a thousand lights, and pure consciousness, enlightenment is reached. The ancient Egyptians called this the light of the world, as they understood its power. It feels like one is glowing and radiant. Everything in the body that was asleep is now totally awake. It’s an incredible experience that is truly indescribable. Some of our stories, celebrations and history are allegories about this journey, this wonderful, indescribable journey that happens inside you each month when your moon sign crosses the sun sign of your birth. Go back and re-read your holy books and stories and look for the allegory of this story. The ancients were able to live for thousands of years by preserving and conserving this sacred oil and transmuting it so that it reaches the optic thalamus. The oil has both physical regenerative and spiritual regenerative properties. This is the story of your fountain of youth and the true story of physical regeneration. What happens is when the oil reaches the optic thalamus is that new blood is generated in the body. And in order to regenerate and produce new blood, the oil must be raised to the optic thalamus where healing can occur. This sacred oil is extremely volatile and the ancients taught that if one could live a life of peace, harmony, and in balance with nature that they could save the oil for the whole month. But there are certain practices that are very detrimental to this oil, for instance over eating, creating an acidic body, alcohol and sex practiced at the wrong time, these would destroy the oil, which is known as eating from the tree of life. The ancients knew that once the oil was depleted because of poor living choices the fleshy organism dies. Death results from using up all of the oil. This is the sacred science of Kundalini and the third eye. If you are willing to embrace the discipline required to preserve the oil created within every single one of us, the Chrism which is born in the colostrum and makes the journey of the 33, then the universe will reward you with your spiritual gifts. These gifts are innate within us all, but we’ve lost our ability to access them. If you want to experience this holy journey, wait for the moon to be in your star sign, eat moderately, sit patiently in meditation, and don’t expect the universe to gift it to you, unless you’re willing to give up your television and climb out of your carnal mind. Abstain from sex during this time, and make sure your body is extremely alkaline, eat moderately. Exercise at this point as it helps your body to maintain an alkaline state. This is esoteric truth, and if you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim or a member of any other religion, you were taught a different story. You were taught that the Christ is outside of you. All religions teach that the savior is separate. Once you experience this illumination, you know the truth of your body and what it really is. I was given this gift and have chosen not to abuse it or seek material gain from it. I believe that if more of us knew this truth that we could overcome what is happening to our world and ourselves. This is the sacred secret which is hidden from all of humanity. And many entities that we bow to are guilty of keeping this hidden and keeping us in this illusion because they fear an empowered populace. This illusion , that has been created so that you will not become aware of your true power, is made up of your belief systems. You’ve gifted your power away to this illusion in order to empower parasites that feed on your emotional energy. These parasites are not of your frequency and vibration. But they are able to access this world through human controllers in your world that are themselves controlled by this parasite, they are just puppets. These humans are motivated by a hunger for power and physical riches that can only be satisfied by the dominance over others of their species. These puppets are creating a world that is one of survival and competition where everything is eating and being eaten, where the strong have the right to feed upon the weak. They do it for the love of money, sex, drugs and above all power over others. They are pedophiles, misogynists, rapists, liars, sociopaths and evil in a variety of different exposures. They are in positions of power over our money, the media, our food supply,our government, and the healthcare systems. They go to your churches, synagogues, mosques and other places of worship. In most cases you won’t readily recognize their nature. Some may be your employers, teachers, clergy, neighbors, and relatives. You will only know them by their actions and deeds, not their words. Most of us trust the person or institution that we’ve learned to give the power to: The doctor of medicine that prescribes the poison. The educator that teaches us the truth that they are taught to teach us. The politicians that serve the interests of the richest bidder. The newscaster that repeats the news instead of reporting it. The bankers that keep us in debt Our religious leaders that tell us of a God that is to be feared. The scientist that creates a miracle cure that makes you even more sick. The government that writes laws to keep us in bondage. We need to question every belief system we have. Question where it came from and how you came to believe it. Then ask yourself this, is it a belief system that empowers you or is it a belief system that enables another? A belief system that gives you a carrot and stick, or keeps you in fear is a system of imprisonment. There are two ways to escape this system that has been created to hold you in its grips. The first way is to wake up to the journey that the oil takes in your body each month, and awaken the Christ consciousness within you. With enlightenment, you will have all the knowledge you need, to banish this parasite from your life forever. The second way, is to live a life of empowerment by understanding how their belief systems have created somewhat of a matrix for you to live in that keeps you in a state of fear. Fear robs your spirit of power that you will need to transcend this frequency and get out of the endless loop of recycling lives. They cannot change or prevent the divinity of your Christ with in, but they can and do control your ego through the belief systems they currently have in place. These controllers invented the recycle system of your afterlife and reincarnation. Their greatest fear is that you will discover who you really are and become empowered and tell others. They wrote the stories that you have learned and believe in that are illusions. The world that has been created for you is all about power, not allowing you to know about your power and Christ within and them feeding and enriching themselves off of your fear. We have been within this manipulation for eons and it continues because they need our permission and we readily give it. They have given us through the ego, their mind, which is the mind set of the narcissist, sociopath and psychopath. They can tap into these faults through the electro-magnetics that surround us. So now you know, we are a wonderful, incredible body that has more potential than we give it. We are a mind that has been infected by an outside source and wishes to consume our entire being. We are a soul, that records every emotion, thought, happening of every existence within physicality. And we are also Consciousness, which is our True Self. There was no big bang and there was no beginning. Consciousness is the all, and contains the potentiality of everything. When Consciousness turned inward and became aware of itself, we became. Consciousness is the ocean and we are the drops. We are individuated units of consciousness, and are the True Self. This is the secret story never told.

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