#he is there in da eye making a similar expression

[gertritude-art]

mom, can you come pick me up? i'm not sick. i just don't want to be here anymore.

[astrophileous]

if reader is bug, their son is little bug and their daughter is little bug, what is derek's bug related nickname? or is he disappointed about not having one?

OKAY I personally think Derek's usually fine over not having a bug-related nickname (after all, he's the one who came up with them for his lil family 🥺) but I just imagined a scenario that wouldn't be ooc for him to feel jealous of not having a similar nickname and I hope this is to your liking <3

Love Bugs Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

It was bound to happen.

With how often Derek dropped the sweet nickname for you every single day, you knew that it was only a matter of time before it was bound to happen.

But that didn't mean you weren't absolutely floored when it happened for the first time.

"Bah."

Derek's eyes caught yours from across the room. "Did she just--"

"Bah. Bah."

In front of you, your daughter stood on wobbly legs. Your face was the exact twin of Derek's stunned expression as you saw your daughter pointing her fingers towards you and said--for the nth time that afternoon--a word that made your brain reduce into a mush.

"Bah."

"Is she--" your voice caught around a disbelieving chuckle, "--is she saying Bug?"

As if confirming your suspicion, your daughter took hold of your hand before pressing it to her face. "Bah."

Derek was laughing as he crossed the room. He picked up his daughter and lifted her in the air, earning a series of delighted giggles from the 1-year-old.

"My smart baby. Who's a smart baby? Yes, you are!" Derek cooed.

"We're gonna have to explain to people why our daughter's first word is Bug." You laughed as you watched your husband smother your daughter in kisses.

"Well, we can just tell everyone that we have the smartest 1-year-old in the world. Isn't that right, Baby Bug?"

"Bah."

For the next few weeks, your daughter's adorable murmurs of bah became the new constant in your home. She started learning to use the word as a means to attract your attention. But it wasn't the only thing that your daughter had managed to learn.

"Lil bah."

"That's right, baby!" Your son clapped his hands ecstatically, his sister mirroring him with an exhilarated grin. "I'm Little Bug. Good job!"

You followed the interaction between the two from the couch, a permanent smile on your lips. Derek was lying with his head on your lap when you heard him sigh.

"You okay, Mister?"

"I'm the only one she's still refusing to call."

The pout Derek had on his face nearly made you chuckle, and you probably would have done it if you didn't know just how devastating the whole thing was for him.

"You should take it as a compliment," you said instead, trying to put a balm on his wounded heart. "She only said Bug as her first word because she listens to you so much. She just wants to mirror everything you do, hun."

Derek exhaled another long breath. "Should I find myself a bug-related nickname just so she would call me?"

You snorted. "Like what? Mr. Bugkeeper?"

Derek pinched your thigh. "Very funny. I'm hurt and all you do is make fun."

That last statement of his actually made you laugh. Derek proceeded to grumble something under his breath, but you were too busy trying to keep your bellowing laughter under control to pay attention to it.

From across the room, your daughter suddenly stood on her chubby little feet before staggering over to where you and Derek were lounging on the couch while your son continued to play with his toys.

"Bah," your daughter said once she had reached you.

"Hi, baby."

"Bah." She proceeded to turn towards Derek after that, tracing the features on her father's face with exploratory fingers and a cute curiosity in her eyes. "Bah?"

"That's not Bug, baby," you told her. "That's Dada. Can you say Dada?"

She stared blankly at your face in response.

"Say Dada," Derek encouraged. "Come on, Baby Bug. Say I love you, Dada!"

Your daughter blinked and tilted her head to the side.

Derek sighed in disappointment. "This is hopeless. She's never gonna--"

"Da."

You and Derek both froze in shock.

"Da." Your daughter grabbed a hold of Derek's cheeks. "Da. Wuv yu."

You didn't think you ever saw Derek sit up so fast in his life.

"Baby Bug." Your husband's voice was laden with bewilderment. "Can you say that again, sweetheart? Say that again for Dada?"

"Da. Wuv yu."

The laughter that rumbled from Derek's chest spoke of the greatest joy you had ever seen radiating from a person. He picked your daughter up in his embrace, spinning her around until the baby shrieked in glee.

"I told you it would happen, Mr. Bugkeeper," you said around your own jubilant laughter.

If it were any other day, Derek would have given you a side eye over the ludicrous nickname. But at that moment, Derek couldn't find it in his bones to care.

After all, his daughter had just told him that she loved him for the first time.

[ipetite69]

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

rafe trying to impress his latina hispanic gf

"so, amor, what's the surprise?" you naively ask rafe as you both enter a café.

rafe had planned a trip to visit your native country and let you reconnect with your roots. he was utterly thrilled to finally get to know your family, the culture, the interesting traditions you always talked about, and the streets that saw you grow up and become the gorgeous, kind of woman he had always wanted to marry someday.

what you had failed to notice is that rafe had been practicing his spanish for months just to impress you during this trip. apart from the phrases and words your had daily engraved on his brain, he had done his previous research online on other typical and casual expressions that could be useful during your stay. he was not perfect at it, but he definitely had the determination.

"i'll just order some coffee for both of us." he says while giving you a mischievous look, making you immediately squint at him. oh boy.

turning to the cashier in a determined way he asks, "¿me das dos tazas de café, por favor?"

you smile at him as you realize what the "surprise" was. after he pays and you both sit down to wait on your drinks, you grab his hand and give it a little squeeze endearingly. "mi vida, you learned spanish?"

"yep, just for you, mami." he winks at you, making you blush slightly. every time you thought you couldn't fall more in love with rafe, he pulled out stuff like this randomly.

"listen to this..." he adds and thinks for a second before finally saying: "¡tu caballo se ve muy bonito!"

you stifle a giggle, trying not to embarrass him at his little but adorable mistake. "so, my horse is beautiful, huh?" you cannot contain yourself anymore and your burst out laughing before answering.

"what? no! i wanted to say your hair looks beautiful..." he scratches the nape of his neck.

"amor, 'caballo' is horse. the word you're looking for is 'cabello'. similar but not the same."

"alright, alright, let me try again." he goes closer to you so as to whisper into your ear and says: "te voy a comer enterita esta noche... (gonna eat you whole tonight)" he smiles at you smugly as he waits for you to process the words in your head. if you were already flustered, you definitely look like a tomato right now.

"rafe! you cannot say shit like that in public, you pervert." you roll your eyes and then he steals a peck from you.

"you know you love it when i speak to you like that, mami."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ༻ 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

(A/n) ➳ Going over this, I just now realize how similar it is to the first episode of House of the Dragon and I apologize for that! Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Take care of yourselves and take a break, eat a snack, drink some water!!

Word Count ➳ 2.7k

Content Warnings ➳ 3rd, P.O.V, violence, blood, injury, mentions the Doom of Valyria, mentions of death…

AWOIAF Masterlist

The sun set hours ago… Lake-town was cold enough during the day and when the sun came down, it felt like a winter storm.

Bard was preparing to set off to collect fish again. He hated leaving for so long and coming home for a day or two, it broke his heart whenever he had to tell his children he was leaving again.

Bard climbed the wooden planks and up to the rooftop where his young son, Bain, sat. He leaned back, his head up towards the sky with widened eyes.

“Come Bain, it’s cold.” Bard said, his arms resting on the rooftop. “It’s time for bed.”

Bain turned to his father. “Da, is the dragon gonna come for us? Like the one in the stories you told us?”

Bard hopped onto the rooftop, kneeling to his son. “No, son. The dragon sleeps within Erebor. It has for a hundred years.”

But Bain pointed to the sky. “But there’s one.”

Bard followed his finger and squinted. He felt his heart drop when he saw the shadowy figure soaring through the sky. He could barely make out the size or his wingspan.

A gasp left his lips as he grabbed his son’s shoulders. “Go, go inside.” He demanded, pushing him. But his eyes remained on the dragon. “Quickly now.”

Watching him take a couple of laps around the Lonely Mountains. His heart raced, was the dragon trying to tempt Smaug? He followed his son inside, trying to remain calm for his children.

He didn’t see the dragon descend towards Mirkwood.

The dragon flapped his wings as he touched the ground, sending out a cloud of dust, twigs, and leaves out of his way.

The dragon grumbled as the guards surrounded him. “Rȳbās.” His rider told him, taking off the leather belts that held her to the saddle. “Lykirī.”

The dragon bent his neck, allowing the rider to dismount. She smiled rather widely, running her hands along his scaly neck and to his head.

She placed her hand under his eye, seeing her reflection in his eye. She laughed as her dragon rumbled under her touch, she placed her forehead onto his skin, closing her eyes, humming a soft tune.

Tauriel approached her with a stern expression. Usually, she would happily greet her but considering that nobody was supposed to be leaving Mirkwood, let alone at midnight, she was frustrated.

“The King does not like repeating himself.” Tauriel warned her, coming close even if the dragon seemed to be displeased. “No one is allowed to leave unless granted.”

She pulled back from her dragon and turned to face her, the smile still on her face. “Aegar is more than big enough to saddle two. I know how much you love the sky.”

Taruiel shook her head in disappointment. “Come, the King wishes to speak to you.” She walked with some of the guards, two waiting for her.

She sighed and followed her, leaving Aegar to lay and rest.

She may have been here her entire life, but the Kingdom of Mirkwood never ceased to amaze her. They have been friends for her entire life as Tauriel was the one who taught her how to use a bow from a young age.

They walked arm in arm through the halls of Mirkwood. Tauriel found herself unable to contain her laughter and smile.

“It is difficult to understand you.” Tauriel giggled. “Do you take pleasure in seeing all of us scramble to locate you?”

(Y/n) grinned sheepishly. “Admit it. You wish to ride a dragon.”

“I believe I’m content with seeing you fly.”

“Your loss.” She pushed her lightly. “So tell me, how angry is he?”

(Y/n) then pulled her arm back as they approached the throne room, Thranduil sat there, observing a jewel in his hands.

Tauriel took her leave but not before looking back at her, her smile had faded but she remained calm. Tauriel left before Thranduil could say anything else to her.

“(Y/n).” Thranduil’s voice was calm yet assertive. But there was an edge of frustration. “You know how I feel about these reckless flights of yours. And to venture out without my permission, disappointing.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, her gaze focused on the floor. “Forgive me, My Lord.” She replied. “Yet you don’t allow me to go flying with your permission.”

Thranduil sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You must remember there are dangers out there, worse than what Aegar poses. You dare fly close to Erebor? Are you asking to battle with Smaug? A dragon three or more times larger than Aegar. He may be a dragon but you are not.”

(Y/n) straightened, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Aegar is strong, he is loyal. I wouldn’t dare use him as a weapon.”

“The time is coming, (Y/n). You are a formidable soldier, you two make quite a team.” Thranduil admitted. But with a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Take a bath, you stink of dragon.”

It has been several days since Thranduil warned (Y/n). His words lingered in her head.

She shouldn’t have to feel frustrated with him, afterall, he was the one to find the items left behind by your family.

There were many things gifted to her when she was old enough to read. Books of her great- great- something grandfather’s handwriting, it was worn, some words difficult to read.

Before she even learned of High Valyrian, she thought the words were a remembrance of her home or maybe her family. But no.

It was far from it. A warning.

Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.

A dragon is not a slave.

She managed to grasp her forebear’s language with some help but she wouldn’t say she mastered the tongue of High Valyrian. Rather, she knew the basics.

It was noon, the sun casting a warm glow over the wooden yard. (Y/n) focused on fastening the leather straps to the saddle, she had a feeling that it was becoming loose.

Aegar laid comfortably on the ground, snoring.

Legolas leaned against a nearby tree, watching her and noticing the furrowed brow that she had for nearly an hour.

“Something is on your mind.” Legolas commented. “Speak, looking bothered does not suit you.”

(Y/n) paused, her fingers picking at the old and peeling leather. “It is nothing.” Offering a smile.

But Legolas saw through her smile, he could see it in her eyes. “You forget I know you, I knew you from the start… You’re worried that once Aegar is old enough, you’ll be forgotten.”

She sighed, tying the leather back into the saddle. “I only worry for Tauriel. The King does not respect her enough.”

“You worry too much, you need to place some of it on yourself and Aegar.” Legolas stepped forward. “You have earned your place here.”

“I have no place here. My home is gone and I’m an outsider, I’m no elf. If I had not appeared with my dragon, Thranduil would’ve sent me away.” She explained, standing to her feet as she observed the saddle.

Legolas was ready to push that idea out of her head. He had no idea she thought of herself so lowly. He grabbed her arm.

Tauriel suddenly appeared. “There’s trouble.” She announced tension in her voice. “The King has ordered another nest to get rid of.”

(Y/n) pulled her arm back. “Aegar!” She shouted, waking him up from his slumber. “Iōrās.”

Aegar stood on his feet, stretching his wings. She grabbed the ropes to mount him.

“(Y/n), wait,” Tauriel grabbed her hand. “The King has requested you stay behind.”

(Y/n) frowned and scoffed. “It would be easier if Aegar-”

But she could see it in Tauriel’s eyes, Thranduil was going to keep her and her dragon here. “A dense forest with a large dragon?” Tauriel laid it out for her. “He fears the damage it could cause. Aegar could not maneuver properly in those woods.”

“Alright.” She muttered, stepping away from Aegar. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) watched them go, annoyed and saddened. She longed to be by their side, joining them in a fight.

Thranduil was going to make her wait and watch. He was going to make her feel like a burden. His way was punishment.

(Y/n) watched from the corner, watching as each dwarf was pushed into a cell. Their complaints were falling on death’s ears.

She stepped out from the shadows and towards Legolas’s direction, wanting to know where the dwarves came from.

“What do you know of dragons, girl?” The dwarf’s voice was gruff, laced with bitterness as he eyed the dragon sigils embroidered into her clothing. “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

(Y/n) eyed him as well, realizing who the dwarf in the cell was. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield? Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Thorin’s fists clenched around the iron bars. “You have yet to answer my question.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in amazement. “I cannot believe it. I’ve-”

“(Y/n)! Dina!” Legolas commanded her to come. “Get away from the dwarf.”

With that, she walked away, leaving no room for Thorin or (Y/n) to say anything.

“Must you speak to them?” Legolas sneered, following you down the steps. “What reason do you have?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the infamous Thorin Oakenshield. It was not disappointing.”

“...Is it?”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile on her lips. “Yes. If what they say is true… If they reclaim the mountain, I would love to see the glory of Erebor.”

Legolas froze in his steps. “I am beginning to wonder where your allegiance lies.”

“What makes you wonder that?”

“...Go, I need to report to the King.”

She rolled her eyes, asking herself if her curiosity made Legolas or anyone else question her loyalty.

Of course, her loyalty lies with Thranduil, he saved her and took a human and a dragon in. A human not from this world.

The sun had begun to set when (Y/n) stood at Thorin’s cell. “Might I ask you something?” She began, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wary. “What is it? Dragon rider?”

“If you had no memories of the kingdom or its riches, would you still fight to reclaim it?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “For it is not the gold or treasures that drive me, but the honor and memory of my kin who were lost. To reclaim Erebor is to honor their memory, to give those who wish for their home.”

He stepped closer to the bars as he spoke his words, loudly enough for the rest of the Company to hear. He spoke with bravery and pride, not a single ounce of shame in them.

(Y/n) listened to his words closely. It made her think of her own home, the writing of the book could not describe the doom correctly.

Only a dream, unsure if it came true…

(Y/n) became lost in her thoughts, she began to speak aloud. “I wonder…” She uttered. “What it would be to see Valyria, to walk the streets, see the dragons fly into the sky with my people on its back. I wonder if any Targaryens remain.”

She sighed, sitting down on the steps. “I wonder if the dream was true and the doom of my home was correct.”

Thorin, still irate from the encounter from earlier but genuinely curious about her side of dragons, sat as well. “Was it taken?”

“It was destroyed. A Targaryen had a dream, D… Daenys had a dream. She had foresaw the destruction. But I have no way to know if it was true, I do not know if Valyria still stands or if any Targaryens remain to rule the skies.”

(Y/n) looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to remember how Valyria was described. “To be home. I would give my life just to see it.”

“…May you find your way home, dragon rider… And safely.”

It was a chaotic scene. The dwarves and Bilbo found themselves stuck in wine barrels but their path down the rough rivers were blocked by the portcullis.

Kili’s cry was loudly heard as he fell back, clutching his leg that the Morgul arrow stuck out of.

“Kili.”

Thorin felt his heart sink, hearing his nephew’s cries as he was unable to do anything.

Legolas, Tauriel, and the other Elves fought against Blog and his party.

The Orcs were relentless, fighting to the point until their bodies gave out and welcomed death.

Arrows flew into their bodies, daggers stabbed into their hearts or heads.

Kili’s eyes shut tightly, hissing loudly as he attempted to get back up.

His eyes opened and widened, his eyelids fluttering as the pain was flowing throughout his body… He could see a dragon flying… A dragon?

He could make out the dragon’s silhouette against the sunlight, circling the river before he saw him make a dive. He could hear him roar, loudly.

Tauriel’s eyes immediately shot to the sky, Aegar’s body casting a shadow over the river.

Aegar descended from the sky and landed into the river, his landing sending waves that splashed anyone close.

Thorin couldn’t see Aegar but the sound of his roar was enough to send chills down his back. He looked back and saw the rest of his Company staring up at the dragon.

(Y/n) swiftly unchained herself from the saddle, her feet hitting the ground. She drew her sword, cutting down the Orc coming towards Kili.

She took a quick glance around and estimated the amount of Orcs, she could hear another group coming.

Aegar let out another roar, lunging forward and his massive jaws snapped shut on the nearest orc, easily crushing him into two pieces.

He exhaled a quick stream of flame at the incoming group, the Orcs screaming as they threw themselves into the river.

The Orc swung his ax at her, she ducked and cut his leg, making him kneel with a shriek. She pierced his head with force, making sure he was dead.

She continued to cut through the Orcs with Aegar protecting her, coming down on an Orc that nearly came down on her.

“Tauriel!” She shouted as she tossed one of her daggers past Tauriel’s head.

She grabbed the dagger lodged into the Orc’s chest to stab it once more before using it on another, she tossed it back and (Y/n) caught it.

She heard Kili loudly groan once again, Thorin’s Company were sitting ducks in those barrels and they could only do so much with little to no weapons.

That’s when she noticed why the Company was just floating. The portcullis was shut. It must’ve been why Kili wasn’t in his barrel and why he was on the ground, holding his knee.

(Y/n) dodged another Orc’s attack, managing to move behind him. She grabbed his head and slid her blade across his neck, she then let him fall to the ground.

She came to Kili’s side. “Now’s your chance!” She stated, crossing blades with another. “Go! Before they outnumber us all!”

Kili managed to conjure whatever strength he had left and grabbed the lever, opening the portcullis, and allowing the Company to escape.

“Kili!” His brother cried out, watching Kili slump to the ground once again but push himself into the barrel.

Kili felt and heard the arrow snap, sending another wave of agony throughout his weakening body.

(Y/n) watched as one-by-one, the Company fell into the water and their barrels carried them through the rough stream.

She turned back the Orcs, immediately impaling one Orc coming down on an Elf, and used her dagger to finish the job.

She looked up at Legolas drawing another arrow. “Secure Mirkwood.” He ordered. “Worry about damages later.”

Legolas ran off, following the Orcs that were focused on the Company, Tauriel was behind him.

She rushed to Aegar, she climbed onto Aegar who lowered his neck, allowing her to quickly settle herself.

“Sōvēs!” Aegar began to run, flapping his wings a couple of times before taking off.

(Y/n) directed him towards the gates, wanting to spread the word first. Thorin looks back into the sky, watching Aegar and noticing (Y/n) upon his back.

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

Taglist ➳ @mrsdurin , @marsmallow433 , @oneiratxxia10 ,

[generalsdiary]

flowers... for me?

gn!reader x Dan Heng

warnings: none

word count: under 1k

a/n: i read somewhere that men only receive flowers at their funeral- while this ain’t that sad nor referenced to that, it made me think of how dan heng would react to getting flowers ^^, not beta read we miss firefly in this house

description: you gift flowers to him, sweet tooth-rotting fluff

„flowers“ you extend your hands, handing over the beautiful bouquet to him. „yes. I can see. they look fresh, healthy. T- hm... tulips, I believe? I'll have to check in the data bank.“ he graciously turns around tapping on a small screen in the archive. „yes I think those are tulips. I am not as acquainted as you are with Earth's specimen, so apologies for taking a moment.“

you smile, he must be oblivious. with hands still outstretched you softly call out his name, „Dan Heng. they're for you.“ there's a pause. he slowly turns back around to face you. „flowers? for... me?“ you nod. „there's a custom to gift one's significant other with gifts and or flowers.“ smiling brightly at the stoic man with a neutral expression which to you translates that he is flustered. „I see. well then, I grow more accustomed to such traditions of this planet you cherish each day.“ his fingers caress against yours as he takes the bouquet in his hands. „…thank you“

„you should put them in a vase and add some sugar in the water so they last long, and perhaps cut the stem diagonally, they will take water in better that way.“ adorably you give him directions on how to take care of it. „please, I know how to take care of plants and similar species.“ he sighs softly and closes his eyes for a moment. “any particular reason behind this kind of flowers? aren’t roses the most popular Earth’s flower?” “they are. I chose tulips, red tulips because of their meaning. but, also, you could try searching for the meaning or what they symbolize- I don’t have to tell you~” you smirk, taking a small step back, teasing the poor man. he sighs, reaching out with his free hand to delicately take your hand in his, “tell me. it is obvious you wish so”, his lips press soft kisses over your knuckles and fingers while you answer. “among other things, they mean eternal, forever-lasting love.” his lips freeze for a moment, hovering over your hand, the faintest blush covers his cheeks. he blinks a few times, and after gaining his composure he gazes at the flowers, “I didn’t take you for the romantic type”, moving his gaze at you. “it’s hard to not be a romantic with someone as gentle and patient as you.” you just seem to be out for his heart today, he glances away. between feeling flustered and happy he is reminded of how in love with you he is.

your hand cups his cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone, nudging him ever so slightly with soft moves to look back at you. “you might want to press one flower between the pages of a book, to preserve it.” he nods, “yes, that is a pleasant idea. in that cause, one flower shall be preserved.” he picks out a tulip, pulling it out of the bouquet, and brings it to your lips, “may I request…?” he quietly, almost like he is shy in this bold action, asks. your lips move against the soft petals, careful to not create a crease on the fragile flower. to your surprise, Dan Heng also moves, his lips meeting the petals on the opposite side of the same flower, his cyan eyes making unmoving eye contact with you, making your heart skip a beat.

the intimate moment passes, yet it leaves a warm atmosphere behind it. Dan Heng sets the single tulip aside, eyes lingering on it and his fingers move along the stem. in his mind, he is appreciating the flower, and in your eyes, those fingers are moving a bit seductively, you almost want to call him out on flirting in such a coy nature. your mind begins to imagine how those fingers would feel on your cheek, caressing in the same gentle way, and your eyes close at the comforting image.

you feel a hand on your cheek, caressing gently, “are you alright?” Dan Heng wonders, you appeared to have wandered off in your head. you open your eyes and meet his. the sight and the feeling of his touch fill you with a sense of joy, peace, and contentment. “I love you.” the words come out easily, you say them like it is the most natural thing in the world. he smiles, looking down at the flowers in his other hand, and looks back up at you. “I love you too.”

his gaze is filled with love and loyalty to you only, so when he talks the words seem to blow past the both of you as your focus is on each other, “I’ll have to ask Pom-Pom about a vase then.” “they will be more than happy to help out, I’m certain” you know how Pom-Pom is excited to be needed and they will probably be overjoyed to have such a sweet request. you depart your lips to say how he had you jealous over a flower but the words die down in your throat as you two don’t break eye contact, you smile. it is a personal, romantic moment, belonging only to you two. he blinks, smiling as well, surprisingly he also states something similar to your thoughts- which is quite unlike him, “you had me jealous over a flower. kissing it so… gingerly.” Dan Heng chuckles dryly. “will you kiss me as tenderly as it?” he makes a simple hushed plea.

“always” you move closer, your nose brushing past his, making your lips meet. and you could swear they feel softer than the tulip’s petals and taste sweeter than the flower’s nectar.

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

Antique Beauty (Be A Doll Oneshot)

Not canon to the AU! Anyway.

CW: Manipulation, mind control, disassociation, loss of sense of self, delusions, lover obsession, mental breakdowns, Vox being Vox, AU typical events

I think that’s all. Let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: Vox finds an antique doll that is strikingly similar to you, so he buys it and gives it to you as a gift. You see this as an oddly touching gesture, and make it a point to keep the doll around or nearby at nearly all hours of the day, to show your appreciation. This new toy has an unforeseen impact, though. As time goes on, Vox continues to use the trigger phrase on you, and you begin to lose touch with reality. You see yourself as a literal doll, just like the one he got you, and you begin to act as such.

In the heart of Pentagram City, amidst the hustle and bustle of the demon-filled streets, Vox found himself wandering through the labyrinthine aisles of an antique shop. His crimson eyes gleamed with interest as he perused the eclectic collection of curiosities, searching for the perfect gift for you, his significant other.

His gaze landed on a striking antique doll, its porcelain features delicately painted and its attire reminiscent of a bygone era. What caught Vox's attention, however, was the uncanny resemblance the doll bore to you. The same delicate features, the same captivating gaze—it was as if the doll had been crafted in your image.

While Vox usually hated anything that was too reminiscent of the past, he was willing to make an exception for you. He preferred change, and didn’t like to linger on the past nor anything made during the time, he’d rather focus on the present or the future. But, this doll was exactly like you, in practically every sense. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get his favorite doll a doll that looked exactly like them.

Without hesitation, Vox purchased the doll, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he imagined your reaction. With the doll cradled in his arms, Vox made his way back to the sleek confines of his penthouse apartment, anticipation bubbling within him like a dormant volcano awaiting eruption.

As he entered the opulent living space, Vox was greeted by the sight of you, engrossed in a book by the flickering light of a nearby candle. There were plenty of lights, windows, and far more reasonable ways to read, but for some reason, this is what you preferred. Vox vaguely rembered you mentioning your love of simpler things like candles, gardening, crafting, and writing poetry. He thought it was somewhat trivial, especially when it wasn’t even necessary. Why would you do something like grow your own flowers when you could just buy some? It made no sense to him. He thought the time could be better spent working or inventing or doing something to do with change. Your preference for this seemed too repetitive and stagnant for him, too quiet and simple. He didn’t like it, but he was willing to indulge you. You were his favorite doll, after all. Your eyes flicked up to glance at him, curiosity evident.

“Darling,” Vox purred, his tinged with excitement as it echoed through the spacious room, “I have a surprise for you.”

Your eyes brightened with even more curiosity as you regarded Vox with a quizzical expression. “A surprise?” You echoed, setting the book aside and rising to your feet to meet Vox’s gaze.

With a flourish, Vox presented the doll to you, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes. “Ta-da! For you, my doll,” he declared, with a grin. He looked rather proud of himself.

Your breath caught in your throat as you beheld the doll, your eyes widening in astonishment. Its porcelain features bore a striking resemblance to your own, a doll that bore an uncanny resemblance to you? Anyone else would have been unsettled, but you weren’t. In fact, you were oddly touched by the gesture.

Its porcelain visage was strikingly similar to yours, from the gentle curve of the cheeks to the arch of the eyebrows. Dressed in a vintage gown of satin and lace, the doll exuded an aura of elegance and charm that seemed to captivate you. From the hair to the eyes to the soft curve of the lips, you were enchanted by it. You reached out a hand to touch its delicate cheek, a sense of wonder washing over you like a tidal wave.

“Oh, Vox,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “it’s… it’s beautiful.”

Vox beamed with pride at your reaction, his chest swelling with a sense of satisfaction. “I’m glad you like it, doll,” he said softly.

You smiled and gave him a hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “I love it! I love you,” you said with a grin. You sat back down on the couch and went back to looking at the doll, still in awe.

As you continued to admire the doll, Vox couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth wash over him. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that spoke volumes of his affection for you. Or, rather, what he thought to be affection. It was a twisted sort, really. He thought of you as his very own little doll, just like the one he’d just gifted you, except you were alive. He enjoyed playing with you, pulling your strings, puppeting you around… he loved you, yes, but in the same way a child loves their toys. He’d be careful to never let you break, though. He cared for you too much for that- he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he lost his favorite little doll. As he watched you admire the antique doll he’d just gifted you, he knew he’d made the right choice. It was the perfect thing to placate you, keep you distracted and happy for the time being.

It started innocently enough, with Vox using his hypnotic abilities on you during mundane tasks. "Be a doll," he would murmur softly, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. And with each command, your movements became more fluid, more doll-like, as if you were a marionette dancing to Vox's tune. You’d seek solace in the antique doll he’d gifted you, a reminder that he wasn’t all that cruel, but a doll couldn’t fix everything.

As days turned into weeks and weeks into months, you found yourself ensnared in a web of Vox's making, each passing moment pulling them deeper into the labyrinth of his desires.

You’d be reading with Vox in his study, surrounded by shelves full of books. Quietly reading, happy and content. Vox would lean back in his seat, a smirk on his face. “Be a doll and get me that book on the top shelf,” he’d say, smug. Your eyes would glaze over as you rose from your seat, moving with a sort of fluid grace as you wordlessly get the book and give it to Vox. He’d smile and give you a kiss. “You truly are an obedient little doll.”

It didn’t matter where you were.

It could be late at night, both of you in Vox’s bedroom, Vox in bed and you only just walking in. “Be a doll and come here,” he’d say with a predatory smile and low but commanding voice. You’d falter for a moment then obey, crossing the room to stand in front of him. He’d point to the floor and you’d sink to your knees, at his feet, staring up at him helplessly. “Such a good little doll, always eager to please,” he’d say, running his fingers through your hair.

It could easily happen in public, too.

You’d be attending a lavish gala, Vox standing out in his striking tailored suit, you at his side, fidgeting nervously. He’d lean in close and whisper in your ear, “Be a doll and smile for our guests, won’t you?” And your lips would twitch into a forced smile, your expression wooden and devoid of any true emotion as you plaster on a facade of cheerfulness. “That’s it, doll. Show everyone how much of a nice, obedient little thing you are for me,” he’d say, tightening his grip on your arm. “Show them you belong to me.”

The doll couldn’t stop Vox, but it provided a source of comfort. It was a reminder of how nice he could be.

Your fondness for the doll only seemed to grow. You began to carry it with you wherever you went, treating it as if it were a cherished companion. Vox would watch with amusement as you start to dress in clothes similar to those worn by the doll, your wardrobe gradually transforming to match its vintage style.

You’d stand before the mirror in your bedroom, clad in a delicate lace dress that hugged your figure. You’d tilt your head to the side, studying your reflection with an unnerving intensity. Slowly, you!d raise their hand to your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with delicate fingertips.

Vox would enter the room, his eyes alight with anticipation as he would observe your movements. "Ah, my doll, you look positively radiant," he’d murmur, his voice smooth as velvet. "Such a beautiful little thing."

You’d turn to him, a serene smile gracing your lips, pleased with yourself for earning his praise. It was usually few and far between. "Thank you, Vox," you’d reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel... different, somehow. Like I'm not quite myself anymore."

Vox would step closer, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "That's because you're becoming exactly what you were always meant to be," he’d say, his tone almost reverent. "My perfect little doll."

To Vox's delight, your behavior also began to shift. You moved with a grace and poise reminiscent of the doll, your expressions serene and tranquil. It was as if you had become entranced by the doll's presence, adopting its mannerisms and demeanor as your own. Little did he know, it was because as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you found yourself slipping further and further into a hazy fog of compliance and confusion. Vox's relentless use of the trigger phrase had begun to take its toll, eroding away at your sense of self with each passing command.

In moments of quiet solitude, you found yourself seeking solace in the antique doll that Vox had gifted you. You would sit for hours, cradling the doll in your arms, its porcelain features a stark reflection of your own. With trembling fingers, you would brush the doll's hair and dress it in delicate finery, whispering words of comfort and affection as if it were a living being. Tonight was one of those nights.

As the world outside grows quiet, you sat alone in the dimly lit room, cradling the antique doll in your arms. You stroked its porcelain face with gentle fingers, your touch reverent and tender.

"I wish I could be like you," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "So serene, so perfect. No worries, no fears. Just... blissful ignorance."

Vox enters the room, his eyes dark and hungry as he surveys the scene before him. "You already are like her," he says, his voice almost soft. Almost caring. Almost. "You're my little doll, and nothing could ever change that."

You look up at him, your eyes wide and unblinking, like those of a porcelain doll. "I know, Vox," you reply, your voice hollow and empty. "I belong to you. I’m yours.”

The doll provided more comfort than Vox did.

Sometimes you would even find yourself engaging in childlike play, pretending that the doll could feel and respond to your touch. You would make it laugh and smile, pouring all of your pent-up longing and loneliness into the tiny figure in your hands, hoping against hope that somehow, some way, the doll would bring you the comfort and companionship you so desperately craved.

Alone in your room, you’d sit on the edge of your bed, a sense of unease gnawing at your insides. You’d clutch the antique doll tightly to your chest, seeking solace in its familiar presence. But no matter how hard you’d try, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that lingers within you.

Vox's voice echoed in your mind, his command to "be a doll" ringing like a relentless refrain. With each passing day, it became harder to distinguish between reality and illusion, between your own thoughts and Vox's whispered commands.

Tears would stream down your cheeks as you’d clutch the doll tighter, your chest constricted with a suffocating sense of dread. "I can't do this anymore," you’d whisper to yourself, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

In a moment of desperation, you’d hurl the doll across the room, watching as it crashes against the wall with a hollow thud. But instead of feeling relief, you’d be overcome with a profound sense of loss, as if a part of yourself had been torn away.

The line between reality and fantasy began to blur for you. You would catch glimpses of yourself in the mirror and see not a person staring back at you, but a doll with glassy eyes and porcelain skin. You would hear Vox's voice echoing in your mind, commanding you to "be a doll" and obey without question.

Alone in your room, you’d sit huddled in the corner, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you’d clutch your head in agony. Images flash before your eyes, fragmented memories twisted and distorted by Vox's relentless influence.

"I can't escape," you’d whisper to yourself, your voice a desperate plea for salvation. But no matter how hard you’d try, you couldn’t break free from the chains that bound you to Vox's will.

In a moment of ‘clarity’, you’d reach out for the antique doll, your fingers trembling as you trace its delicate features. "Help me," you’d whisper, your voice barely audible over the roar of your own despair.

But the doll would remain silent, its glass eyes staring back at you emptily. Offering no comfort. You’d be left alone with the realization that you were stuck in this endless nightmare of your own making, with no escape.

With each passing day, you felt yourself slipping further away from who you once were, lost in a sea of Vox's control and manipulation. And as you gazed into the unblinking eyes of the antique doll, you couldn't help but wonder if you were truly any different. Perhaps, in the end, you were nothing more than Vox's plaything, a doll to be toyed with at his whim.

As time passed, your sense of self seemed to fade away completely, replaced by a serene acceptance of your role as Vox's little doll. You no longer spoke or acted like your former self, your personality and individuality erased by the allure of being a perfect little doll.

No longer did you question Vox's orders or assert your own desires. Instead, you moved through your days with the mechanical precision of a well-oiled machine, your actions dictated by Vox's whims and desires. It was as if you were merely a puppet, dancing on strings pulled by Vox's invisible hand.

And as he watched you, now little more than a porcelain doll come to life, Vox knew that he had finally achieved the ultimate conquest—possession of you, in your entirety.

For Vox, it was a dream come true. With your transformation complete, he felt a sense of absolute control and dominance unlike anything he had experienced before. You had become his perfect, obedient doll, ready to fulfill his every desire without question or hesitation.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

hey hey :) saw that ur requests are open again and i want to ask u if u could write for dead or faust from LOC with a male or trans male reader.if u comfortable with it even smut?the rest is up to u:) if u dont write for them at the moment feel free to ignore my ask.have a nice day <3

-wolf Anon🐺

Dead - A boyfriend like Satan

warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, tiny make out session, use of Y/n , m reader

masterlist

Info : Thanks for the request anon and I hope you have fun reading. I also have already done a littel thing for a male reader with Dead THIS maybe you wanna take a look.

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything, it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

°Two artists, worshippers of evil and friends of blood and death had met at one of the band's many parties. While Dead was about to get a beer, he saw the unknown man sneaking through the kitchen. At first he thought it was another drunk or on drugs. But no, when he stood in the doorway and saw the unknown man scurrying through the kitchen with a fly swatter.

°Watching him a little he saw that the unknown had a small vial with him and apparently filled it with the dead insects from the house. ,,What are you doing?" the blond asked and smirked as the person he was talking to seemed not to have even heard him before turning to him and showing him the jar with the dead insects.

°Y/n thought he was going to give him the same grief as everyone else and walk away, but the blond didn't, instead he grinned and looked at the different animals carefully. ,,Nice collection" Daed said and couldn't help but feel the need to show him his own collection. He saw that the other had a proud look in his eyes before Dead grabbed two beers and was able to be social for the first time.

°As he handed him the beer and made a move to follow him. ,,You know, I have a similar collection, but with slightly larger animals," he said as they walked up the stairs and into the room. Dead saw the other's eyes widen slightly, but not in shock or fear. It seemed to be the perception of an artist. Something that made the blond strangely happy and satisfied.

°Y/n walked through the room running over the various larger dead animals feeling the fur underneath and the cold. It was kind of pretty in its own way and white. Its insects could only be touched carefully but Deads. It was pleasant. ,,They are really pretty" he said and Dead lowered his gaze, not wanting the unknown to see his touched smile.

But what they didn't know was that this was only the beginning of their relationship.

°Since they met at the party and in their madness they stayed together in art, they also started to dance with each other. Much to the laughter of the others who thought it was a joke. But the two of them seemed to feel that their dead hearts were beating for each other. Since the party they met more and more often whenever they had time.

°Initially with a pretext but at some point it was more and more out of love. Neither of them spoke of it, but at the latest when Y/n found his heart collapsed and covered in blood in the bathroom and held him in his arms, stroked his back and held him close to him as his lips gently kissed Dead's head. Then they both knew that it was more than friendship between them.

°The kiss had brought them both back to life and Y/n helped Dead up again and again. The blonde in return gave his faithful friend pictures and animals, it was his way of expressing thanks and love. No matter what the others said initially still made fun. But after Dead threatened to leave the band, they stopped accepting Y/n gradually and he got an honorary place as a stage designer where he could also use his Dead insects and Dead's animals.

°The looks and comments stopped when Euronymus and Hellhammer came into the living room of the den and found the two boys in a make out session. The blonde had bent over his friend and slowly started kissing his naked torso while leaving small cuts on the skin with his knife, which seemed to turn them on even more.

°,,All right...let's go again" the black-haired man had mumbled as the two of them had pulled backwards with a confused, shocked look and closed the door. Which caused the two lovers to laugh before Y/n pulled the blonde back into a kiss. The sex between them was not missed.

°It was a couple straight from hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @raewritesfiction , @kiwiiicandiii

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I’ve spent the past few days eating up all the Yves content I could find on your blog he’s just so perfect oh my god??? I don’t know how to put it but he sounds like the type who’d always have the best posture and the way he walks would feel feathery.

I did not see this question from the gazillion asks I read but if something similar has been asked before you can ignore this.

How would Yves be with an artist reader who mostly has time for him but completely becomes detached for hours or sometimes days while working on a drawing? Sorry if it’s too specific you can go with different scenarios too.

Also sorry if I randomly drop a fanart of him one of these days

oh man i would be honoured to receive a fanart of yves and hell yea i love yves thanks for reading thru the madness, yea hed like walk so fluidly n shit its like unreal

but anyways getting to da meat:

He would be happy if you have a lot of time to spare for him. Yves would never take a single second for granted and he will cherish every moment with you.

Through his observation and your own assurance, he is secure in the relationship. So he wouldn't mind you disappearing into your room for days on end to complete an art piece. He will let himself in to provide you your meals or do parallel work; he will bring his laptop over and do his own thing while you do yours.

There is an invisible timer that dictates when you should go to the bathroom, eat, rest, or sleep. If you're cooperative when he greets you with a kiss and reminds you to come to bed, eat dinner or to relieve yourself after an entire day of not visiting the toilet once, he will continue to use that method. He doesn't mind having to babysit you for ages, Yves actually likes it.

He would take pictures of your progress. When you start to think that your work looks horrendous, Yves will show you the photos of your earlier stages. Praising you for how far you've come, telling you that he personally thinks it's beautiful. But he is in no way a pure 'yes man', it depends on your goals. If you want to create photorealistic paintings or drawings, he will provide the best constructive criticism on how to improve your proportions. You can simply describe what you want to create, Yves could be your muse if you want him to. He is willing to stay in a singular, muscle-straining pose for hours if you ask him to. Or, he could gather reference materials for you. Yves does have a strong background in photography too. No concept is too absurd for him to capture or even sketch.

However, if you react negatively to his reminders, such as harshly shoving him away or screaming at him to leave you alone, Yves will be resorting to reality bending. Depending on how much you hurt him, he will either make you cry 'on your own' by manipulating you into thinking that your work is terrible no matter what you do. You can't accuse him of saying derogatory remarks, because he wasn't even in the room. You shooed him out earlier.

He messes with the lighting to make your artwork 'ugly' in your eyes. Yves toggles with the humidifier or dehumidifier to make it harder to work with your art medium. The temperature in Yves's studio either seems to be sweltering or freezing. But the thermostat says otherwise. Either way, you can't create in these atrocious conditions. So you give up and retire for the day.

Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, but if you pay closer attention, you will start to feel upset over your artwork every three hours. Specifically, 12pm, 3pm, 6pm, and inevitably give up by 10pm. You would only have the urge to continue after enjoying breakfast with him past 7am. Strange, don't you think?

During your breaks, you would automatically seek Yves out for lunch, tea time, and dinner. He will not visit if you express your extreme displeasure with his presence while you work, Yves gives you the 'freedom' to choose to meet him in his office. He is always there if you need him.

Regardless, in the end, you will never fail to appreciate your own work no matter how tough the journey was. Yves ensures that you know your creation is valuable. He is supportive of your passion and is willing to finance any and all of your essential (and nonessential) materials. You could even ask him for advice, unlocking a previous chapter of his life where he used to paint under a pseudonym, for the wealthy, the enthusiastic, and the eccentric. Best to keep your mind open and not undermine him in anything, or else you might miss out on fascinating Yves lore. He wouldn't bring these up on his own if you never asked. It's always a good thing to learn from someone much older than you are.

Your jaw would be on the floor if you knew that his old canvases were now retailing for billions of dollars at auctions. But he deems it unnecessary for you to learn of that, all you need to know is Yves can draw human hands wonderfully and accurately in any pose, in under five minutes with no reference.

[dawneternal]

Take the World in Your Hands | Eris x Elain | One

Summary: Eris's brothers catch wind of his proposal to Nesta. They plan to find and deliver her to their father as a gift, surely winning his favor. Their plan takes a turn when they kidnap the wrong Archeron sister and Eris finds her in the Autumn Court dungeon.

all aboard the crack ship???

do I agree with the ethics of sleeping with your brother's mate? Not personally. Did I trigger my own morality OCD by writing this? Maybe a little. Was it worth it? Who knows.

Warnings: blood, wounds, eventual smut. 18+

Ao3 link / Masterlist

There was nowhere to go.

Elain turned around in a circle, one hand clutched to her chest as if it would calm her heartbeat. But the panic kept rising, numbing her fingers, freezing her feet to the ground.

The image had come into her mind not five minutes ago, the urgency with which it unfurled immediately set her heartbeat racing. Three flames danced toward her, traveling through the dark. There was something brutish and wicked about them. They were tracking her. She didn't know how, but she could feel it. They knew exactly where she was.

She had stood from her spot in the garden, thoughts whirling as she tried to figure out what to do. There was no one here. She was completely alone at the River House. She reached out in her mind to see if anyone would hear, but she felt nothing. No one.

Notging should be able to winnow to the River House, right? She had heard Feyre say so before? Perhaps she should go inside then, maybe search for a weapon. If only she could get her body to respond and move.

Time ran out. Three huge redheaded men appeared before her, grinning like wolves. The scent of decaying leaves and crisp air clung to them, stinging Elain's nose.

Even if she could have cleared her mind to make a decision, there was no time. One of them lunged and grabbed her, another pressing a cloth to her face as she struggled. She felt the familiar tug of winnowing, and then the entire world disappeared.

Footsteps echoed through the hall.

Elain pulled her knees up to her chest as they grew louder. She tucked her head into her folded arms and shivered. The brutes who had kidnapped her had returned several times to jeer at her, throwing bits of moldy bread as if she were a caged animal they wanted to rile. Every taunt held a promise of what was to come, their delight growing as the color drained from Elain's face. Apparently, she was to be a gift to the High Lord.

These footsteps were not as heavy as theirs had been, but the idea of a new bully was almost worse than those three returning. Perhaps it was the High Lord coming to claim his prize. The iron gate of her cell rattled as someone placed a hand on it and heaved a deep sigh.

"Did they hurt you?" A smooth voice met Elain's ears, but she did not look up.

Another sigh, and then, "You're the High Lady's other sister, yes?"

Elain lifts her head at this, brows furrowed. The face before her was similar to her captors. The same copper hair, cunning amber eyes, and smattering of freckles. But the curve of this man's jaw and the sweep of his cheekbones conveyed an elegance the others had not possessed. There was something delicate and cruel about his beauty, whereas the others had been simple brutes through and through.

Elain only stared at him, filling her red-rimmed eyes with as much ferocity as she could muster. She thought of her sister's steely silver gaze and attempted to channel it into her own. The man held her gaze and studied her, his expression unchanging.

"I'll return in a few hours," He said, when it became clear she was not going to speak, "I'll need to come up with some sort of diversion. If anyone comes to see you, do not tell them I was here."

Then he was gone, those echoing footsteps disappearing back down the dark stone hall. As the metal door shut behind him with a clang, she finally placed him.

It was Eris, the one who had danced with Nesta in the Court of Nightmares. His demeanor and dark clothing fit in well with the stone city, but his shimmering hair and flaming eyes were the brightest thing there. Too bright to belong. It had stuck in her memory.

So it was the Vanserra brothers who had kidnapped her. They had been the flames in the dark. Was it a cruel trick for Eris to visit and pretend to care?

Elain curled up on the cold floor, wrapping her arms around herself, and waited.

Elain heard nothing to indicate that Eris had returned. She was jolted from her sleep by metal rattling against the gate.

She jumped to her feet, barely making out the figure before her in the dim light. Eris was cursing under his breath, clutching his side.

"Take it," he snapped, thrusting his hand through the bars, "Hurry. I can't do it."

Elain stumbled forward and reached for it, shuddering as she found his dripping hand. He pressed a key into her palm, slick with blood.

Fingers cold and trembling, she stuck her hand through the bars and found the keyhole. A chorus of shouting began in the distance.

"Hurry," Eris hissed, followed by a grunt of pain. The blood made the key slippery and it took her a moment to get it to turn.

"I'm trying," Elain sobbed as the rabble became louder. Closer. The key clicked and turned.

As soon as the door had swung open wide enough for his arm to reach through, he grabbed her wrist and pulled.

And then they were falling through the world.

They landed in the snow, surrounded by darkness. Elain stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning around her. Then she became aware of Eris kneeling beside her, still grasping her wrist as he stained the snow around him with crimson.

"The cabin," He rasped, releasing his grip.

Only then did Elain notice the cabin before them. Lush pine trees filled the space around it, branches heavy with snowdrifts. It was silent here, save for the wind howling above the trees and the heavy breathing of her rescuer.

She waded through the snow and found the door to the cabin unlocked. Eris crawled after her, letting out a grunt of pain, and collapsed just inside the door. Elain closed the door and bolted it, then kneeled beside him.

A fire was already roaring in the hearth, warming the room. She could finally see her companion fully, laying on his back, chest heaving. The light made visible all of the cuts and blooming bruises across his face and shoulders. His face was pale, a drop of blood trickling from his parted lips. Eyes closed tight as both hands clutched at the red spot at his side. His hands covered the bulk of the wound, but the rips and stains of his jacket poked out around his fingers.

"What happened?" She asked softly, brows furrowing.

"My brothers found me," He gritted out, "Ash Wood and faebane."

"Stay still and I'll help you, Eris," She pressed down on his shoulder in attempt to still his writhing.

"You know my name?" His eyes opened, resting on hers. Something fluttered in Elain's chest.

"I've seen you before," Elain looked away from his intense gaze, eyes sweeping through the cabin.

"And you trust me?" He grunted, then shut his eyes tight, mouth twisting in pain.

"You rescued me." Elain shrugged. She stood and began searching for supplies.

The furniture here was weathered and well used, and knick-knacks and decorations dotted the space. She found clean towels in the kitchen and a first aid kit in the wash room.

Returning with her supplies, she knelt beside him once more and began to lift his hands from the wound. He resisted, trying to keep his hands clutched there.

"Let me see, Eris," She said. He relaxed as she said his name, letting her lift his wrists and press a towel into his hands. He gripped it tight as she inspected the wound.

"Tell me your name," He said, the words strained.

"You don't know the names of the High Lady's sisters?" She teased, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I need to take off your jacket."

"I can't sit up," Every other breath was a gasp.

"I'll cut it then."

Elain grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit and cut away the thick jacket, beads scattering as the thread was severed. She peeled back the layers and cut away his shirt. The fabric was so soaked with blood it fell to the floor with a wet splat.

The wound, near his bottommost rib, still bled but it was not as deep as it could be. Whoever tried to stab him had not been successful. Though it did seem the tip of the knife had been twisted, tearing the flesh around it. Elain could not help but wonder what the attacker looked like after Eris had finished with them.

"I know Feyre and Nesta," Eris grunted as she applied pressure with a clean towel. Elain's eyes skimmed over the numerous scars across his muscled abdomen. Some were still pink and healing.

"And Elain," She murmured, "Your brothers did this?"

Eris did not answer. Silence settled between them as Elain packed his wound with gauze and secured a bandage over it. Then she scrubbed as much of the blood away as she could, gently taking his hands and wiping each one clean.

He looked at her again, briefly, then did a double take. His brows furrowed, jaw clenching, as he brought his fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone to examine its severity.

"Which one of them did this?" He growled.

"That was me," Elain said, cringing at the cold feel of blood on her skin. "I lost my balance trying to look through the cell door."

"Don't lie," He gritted out.

"I'm not," Elain pleaded, reaching for a new towel to press against his injury. Fresh blood seeped from it. "Please calm down."

Eris was searching her body for other injuries. He found the bruise around her bicep, yellow splotches where a strong hand had gripped her too tightly.

"Tell me which one of them did it," Eris snarled, though his vision was moving in and out of focus.

"The tallest one," Elain said to appease him, gathering new gauze and bandages with her other hand, keeping the pressure on his ribs. "Stop moving, Eris."

"I will kill all of them," He continued grumbling, trying to raise himself up on his elbows.

"Open," Elain commanded, pressing her thumb against his bottom lip, ignoring the smear of red she left. He glowered at her and tried to fight her touch, but he was weak and tired and Elain won out, dropping the pill into his mouth. Bitterness and the taste of his own blood covered his tongue and he scowled. Elain held his mouth closed with the back of her hand, keeping him from spitting out the medicine.

Immediately, sleep was pulling him away. He tried to fight that too, forcing his vision to focus on Elain as she worked over him. But he couldn't resist whatever she had given him and his consciousness fell away.

[edosianorchids901]

Plausible Deniability

For @book-omens-week Day 5: human connections

“What are you doing here?”

“Hmm?” Crowley looked up from his latest acquisition. Aziraphale stood in the doorway, wearing a vaguely accusing expression. “Oh, hi. I’m buying a painting. Well, not actually a painting. Cartoon.”

He held up the drawing. Aziraphale studied it for a moment, then glanced to the very unconscious human slumped forward across the table. “You look as though you’re outdrinking Leonardo da Vinci.”

“I mean yeah, there is that. That too, anyway.” Crowley grinned. “Humans, eh? Can’t keep up with supernatural entities very well. They’re kinda fragile.”

“They are, at that. Quite clever though, sometimes.” Aziraphale helped himself to a piece of cheese off Leonardo’s plate. “I presume you’re attempting to corrupt him?”

“Nh, mostly I was just…” Crowley waded through the boggy memory of his last several hours. “I told him about helicopters.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You really ought to stop doing that sort of thing, you dreadful old serpent.” He said the term with so much fondness that Crowley smiled. “Humans get themselves in enough trouble without you talking them into creating technology that they’re really not ready for.”

“Eh, I don’t think they’ll be able to make working ones yet. Besides, he’s already got some sketches of similar thingies.” Crowley gestured vaguely to Leonardo’s journals, some of which sat open on the table. “And anyway, what’re you doing here? I’m pretty sure he’s not the pious type.”

“Not so much, no. But he is fascinating, isn’t he? So innovative.” Aziraphale beamed at the thoroughly unconscious human. “I may have, er, wriggled my way into his good graces so I could get a peek at those notebooks.”

Crowley snorted. “‘Course you did.”

“And I suppose you’re here for entirely non self-serving reason?” Aziraphale asked tartly as he stole another piece of cheese. “Simply to give him ideas?”

“I said, I’m buying a drawing.” Holding the drawing up again for emphasis, Crowley grinned.

That definitely wasn’t the only reason, though. Crowley liked people, even if he didn’t really befriend them, and it was nice to connect with them. No human connections lasted long, of course. Humans had painfully short lives, and sometimes Crowley got melancholy about that.

He pushed any melancholy aside and gestured to the chair beside him. “You could sit down, y’know. Might as well sit if you’re gonna eat all of his food.”

“I’m not eating all of his food!” Aziraphale protested while stacking some sort of little sweet cakes on a plate. “He has plenty of food. And wine.”

“True.” Crowley watched Aziraphale fondly as the angel finished loading up his plate and acquired a jug of wine. “Are you gonna read his journals while he’s asleep?”

“Perish the thought.” Aziraphale cast a longing glance at the journals before pouring wine. “Well, I might just read the open pages, but it would be very rude to go further without permission.”

Crowley smiled, leaning back in his chair as Aziraphale devoured half of Leonardo’s food. “Gosh, you can’t possibly be rude.”

Crowley had also eaten and drank a lot—albeit at Leonardo’s invitation—and it was making him sleepy. He kicked his legs up on the table and closed his eyes, letting himself sink into a near doze. Not quite a full doze, though. His body would be seriously pissed off at him if he slept in this position, and spending the next few days limping around didn’t sound fun.

He apparently dozed a little more than he’d planned, though. He awoke to a gentle tap on his arm. “Crowley? Are you awake?”

“Hmm? Oh. Hi, yeah, awake now.” He shifted into a normal position and rubbed his eyes, bleary. Aziraphale, surrounded by Leonardo’s journals, beamed at him. “Oh wow, you did decide to read those, eh?”

“Er.” Aziraphale gave him a guilty look, then took a healthy swig of wine. “Not at all. Merely, um, looked through them.”

Crowley laughed, couldn’t help it, then stood. “Right, so. Are you done yet?”

“I am.” Aziraphale stood too. “Shall we?”

“Yup.” Crowley eyed the wine, then downed another glass of it before picking up his cartoon. “For plausible deniability,” he explained to Aziraphale, who had been giving him a you’ve had enough to drink look.

“Plausible deniability for what?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley grabbed his hand. “This.”

Aziraphale sputtered slightly, but didn’t argue. A smile crept onto his face, and he let Crowley pull him out of Leonardo’s studio and into the narrow street outside.

Night had fallen solidly now, stars sparkling overhead. The darkness brought cooler temperatures and a gentle breeze, enough that Crowley shivered. This wasn’t the kind of weather that made him feel like basking on a rooftop, unlike the heat of the afternoon.

But Aziraphale’s skin was warm against his, plump hand soft in his grasp. They walked together hand in hand through Florence’s narrow streets under the night sky. Connecting with humans for a bit was fun, sure. But there was nothing like strolling hand-in-hand with Aziraphale, their conversations similarly wandering from topic to topic. It was one of the pleasures of the world, and a pleasure that Crowley enjoyed immensely.

[fgfluidity]

pincera (part 1)

Summary: pincera- Latin, 'cup-bearer, one who mixes drinks' || Damien and the lessons he learns from his friends, with the catalyst of alcohol.

Pairings: Damien/DA, Celine/Mark, Celine/Will

Tags: Alcohol, Bootlegging, Adultery, WWI, Fights, implied Overserving, Abusive Parents, Autistic!Seer!DA

thank you all for your patience- this will have several parts and then a sequel that is planned, so thank you for your Continued patience kdfshdjk

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

@opprose @statictay @volbeast @otterlyinluv @flerpdederp (and if anyone else wants to be tagged lmk!)

Alcohol had been in Damien’s life since his childhood-- in his family, for generations.

It could be an alarming thought, but it’s a lot more innocent than it may seem at first glance; he didn’t start drinking until his university days, and not really in excess. At least, not to excess outside of a party.

His father was the mayor for some time. First, he was a councilman-- a path Damien finds uncomfortably similar to his own, years later-- but a politician all the same. Politicians and alcohol go together since time immemorial, and in a much more tolerable way than any of their other vices, to an extent; after all, a bit of social lubricant helps to turn over potential voters as much as a winning smile and the perfectly crafted sentence.

Damien had a skill for it-- part practice, part innate ability, and part grueling training from his father on social graces and charisma-- but his father was good. Sickeningly so.

His father’s charisma only extended so far, of course, and his parties were awash with the stuff, even before Damien became aware of much more than the noise downstairs. It helped to keep people merry, and keeping him in office through their votes and donations kept them rather pleased, in turn. A strange symbiosis, yes, but effective.

Even once he knew that these weren’t simple get togethers, he and his sister sat cloistered in their rooms under the close watch of their nanny, listening close as the band played on, the dull roar of a bunch of adults talking politics. It tapered off eventually, but he couldn’t deny he was curious about the goings-on.

(He was never brave enough to venture down on his own, not with the risk of his father’s wrath looming like a dark cloud. If anyone found them out, a pair of eight-year-olds slipping through the crowd to cause who knew what kind of mischief…

Celine held no such fear, it seemed, as she marched right to him one night, eyes hard as flint and determined. “Nanny’s asleep,” she’d said, reaching out for his arm. “We’re going to go steal some snacks.”

The fear kept him from enjoying the first snack, some piece off a crudite tray that carved the vegetables so to render them unrecognizable; after a few more pieces, and no Father waiting for him when he glanced back over his shoulder, the knots in his shoulders began to loosen.

The food was good, but the champagne they managed to swipe from an inattentive waiter dried his tongue more than a day in the sun. Celine wasn’t so expressive in her distaste, but she’s the one who dumped the rest of the glass into the ficus in the corner.)

He wasn’t sure he would ever be quite so brave as to sneak alcohol again, but university changed things. He was on his own, no father or even mother to watch his every move, the freedom of adulthood calling him just as much as the chance to properly socialize. After all, he’d need to make some good connections if he wanted to follow his dreams, and what better than a college party to do just that?

It seemed like a good idea, at least, until he woke to his alarm clock drilling into his head, the sun itself seemingly on a mission to burn his eyes out of their sockets. His mouth tasted like rot, and sitting up made the room swoop dangerously.

What a day to try and sit and write his midterms. If his friends noticed at all, they had to have chalked it up to late study sessions, because word never got back to his parents about his drinking. If anyone had said anything to his family…

Thankfully, there were few questions, and those that remained were explained away easily enough. A few dropped points were just… the new difficulty getting to him.

He didn’t stop drinking after that, but at the very least he got smarter about it-- never before a planned test, never before returning home, and always chased with plenty of cool water. It spared him the worst of the pains-- eventually, most if not all of the pains-- and kept his grades high enough to be above suspicion.

His friend, the lightweight, was never so lucky, but he was happy to stick around and tend them while they were miserable.

The relationship matured as he did, through his underclass graduation and his graduate’s. Drinking didn’t vanish entirely, no, but he was too busy to drink quite so much at these social gatherings, and the interest was shifting from getting as drunk as possible to relax, and more towards alcohol as a concept.

No, it wasn’t an obsession, but it was a fascination. These elixirs held such power, taking commerce and politics by storm, capable of enrapturing scores of people before they realized, taking their higher function and suppressing it. A simple potion-- really a poison-- taken so regularly, all in the name of purported social grace and amusement.

Incredible.

He studied composition, creation, and set up small stations in his basement to experiment.

A station for beers, both hoppy and malted, provided lightly bubbly and yeasty drinks-- not the most to his taste, but rather easy, comparatively.

Next came meads, wines-- fermented juices, fruit under the right conditions creating something much more complex. They were a little better, whether from experience or more to his taste. His friend favored these tiny bottles, sweet and flavorful.

It’s ironic, in some way, that the day he bottled his first attempt at a vodka was the day that ‘U.S. Is Voted Dry’ graced the front page of the paper lying on his front porch.

Obviously, he hadn’t been in agreement. Excess gave way to trouble, sure, but the mere existence of the stuff wasn’t a sin in his eyes; besides, he had full notebooks of notes, ideas, further experiments. Why should he give up his mostly-harmless hobby for a bunch of people he hardly agreed with at the best of times?

He kept his work in the cellar, where it always was; literal underground work wasn’t likely to bring him under any suspicion, and his status as a newly-minted councilman with sights on mayorship didn’t hurt his efforts to remain secret. With his reputation-- and to his chagrin, his pedigree-- no one would imagine him breaking the law, of all people.

He kept his head down, working on his pet project now and then as his duties drew him a bit further every day-- not enough to quit the endeavor all together, but cutting down on his output. Even then, anything he didn’t keep to test, or have a tiny glass of after a rough night, went straight down the drain.

Then, one day, Mark came to him.

“They stopped supplying my parties,” he said, blowing in like an errant wind, the door nearly slamming into the wall behind it from the force of his entrance. “Can you make brandy?”

Damien looked over the back of his chair, eyes wide. He had an open-door policy for Mark, among a few others, but… he couldn’t have really been asking what he imagined he’d heard. “Excuse me?”

Mark huffed, sweeping further into his home and only stopping a spare moment to tug off his shoes. “Your floors will be fine,” he grumbled, finally coming around to him in the living room. “Can you make brandy? Or vodka? Gin? Rum? Hell, I’d even take a bottle of your mead, if you haven’t already given it to--”

“Mark, what makes you think I make any alcohol, let alone keep it any longer?” He set down his book, resigned to the fact that he may not finish it this evening as he’d planned. “Didn’t you read the papers? Prohibition’s been in effect for a few weeks.”

“Damien.” Mark gave him his ‘suitably unimpressed’ stare. “You can fool everyone you like about your hobbies-- everyone except your nearest and dearest.”

“You are my nearest and dearest?”

The look shifted from unimpressed to withering. “I know you brew it. You never stopped, and you’re still brewing it. Will you give me some of it? I’ll pay you.”

That was the thing about Mark-- he never gave up, not once he caught the scent. A bit like a bloodhound, really, or a shark; talented as he may have been, he got every last bit of his prestige through that determination.

A bit of guile and ruthlessness didn’t hurt him much, either.

Damien sighed, reaching up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. It only just lessened the throbbing pain. “You’ll get it out of me one way or another. I have a mead I was experimenting with… would that happen to suffice?”

Mark grinned.

His order was small, really, hardly more than a favor: that single bottle of mead, as quickly as he could make it taste nice. It didn’t need to be especially fancy, nor specially flavored during his aging process. It just needed to be enough alcohol to supply a toast among fellow actors, celebrating a job well done and a brutal schedule finally coming to an end. As Damien had done much the same after long debates, he let it go. “It’s a gift,” he said, as an excited Mark reached into his pockets. “Congratulations on your film, and all. Besides-- it’s just one bottle.”

That’s all it seemed to be for a short while-- a one-off deal to help celebrate his friend’s blooming career. Then, scant weeks before the mead would be aged to his liking…

Well, he really needed this one done, Damien. A few bottles, for some producers; if he was ever to get his new script off the ground, he must have some friends willing to hand over capital. A brown spirit would be best, something really fine and old and expensive-- he was willing to pay.

Never mind that those brown spirits need years of aging, and never mind that he wasn’t trying to either get arrested or blow the roof off of his own home due to the buildup of fumes in the basement. Especially never mind that Mark, himself, is independently wealthy from his fame, with his sprawling home as proof.

“I can do you an orange brandy,” he’d said, instead. “It’s not going to be aged at all, but they’ll like it for after dinner. Just give me your oranges.”

Eau de vie doesn’t take years, thankfully, and with the amount of orange trees covering Mark’s estate… he had his bottles just in time to impress.

Of course, Damien kept his distillers going, because once is a favor, but twice, and so soon, is the start of a pattern. Mark found a source, and Damien knew better than to expect he’d let go so soon.

By the time Mark showed up with an invitation to poker and a burning question on his lips, he’d already bottled up some more brandy, a bottle of gin, some vodka. “You were going to ask,” he said, world-weary as Mark looked over the bottles with delight. “I thought I’d be prepared.”

All this being said, he didn’t really mind bringing along alcohol to those poker nights. He could enjoy the fruits of his labor and good company besides, let loose after the still-worthwhile grind of council busywork; even after he stopped-- which was a police matter and the single stain on his pristine reputation, and not something he liked recounting-- he still provided the drink in some way, whether sourcing out others in the same underground industry or serving the drinks, themselves.

Learning the balance of spirits wasn’t easy, but it came along with something unexpectedly: learning that they told a story, the story of whomever drank them. Certain people gravitated towards flavors, styles, presentations, all as particular and distinct as their fashion choices, their other preferences.

If he wanted to learn about his friends, about anyone, all he had to do was watch them drink.

[quillomens]

Book Omens Week Day 3: Historical

I'm catching up since I thought the week was cancelled. Haha. I THINK I'll have day 4 up today, though! It continues from this one.

Summary: The first time they got married was only a few hundred years after the Garden. It wouldn't be the last.

HERE ON AO3

Over the next few days, watch out for: ancient Sumer! The Round Table! Leo da Vinci! Piracy! Two Very Lazy Immortal Beings! Paperwork!

----

Sixty years and some change after their second unfortunate meeting, Crowley happened upon the angel while prowling a sort of  cave-village puttering along in Mesopotamia.   

He didn’t panic this time.  He’d been sent to the settlement because an angel was there, so he hadn’t been quite so startled this time around.  He also slinked up slowly, watching (and tongue twitching beyond his lips every now and then), which helped his reptile brain report, “This is that Eastern Gate fellow.”   

So instead of panic and discorporation, Crowley was able to slide up, smooth and cool, and say, “How’s it going there, oh, Angel of the Lord?” 

The angel jumped, which was very gratifying.  About time an angel was nervous about him.  

The angel’s currently dark brows drew together before his expression cleared.  “Crawly?” he asked, and then, before Crowley could correct him, “No, it’s Crowley, isn’t it?” 

Crowley was gratified again.  “It is.  And you’re Aziraphale.”  He tried to sound casual.  Maybe he’d asked around.  Maybe he just knew things.   

Aziraphale turned his eyes back to the foul-smelling but good natured mortals as they went about their business.  The two of them were visible, not not…noticeable.  Nothing interesting here, please go on about you pre-historical business.  “It’s been some time.” 

“’Bout 60 years.”  Crowley had spent nine of them doing punishment paperwork and other, less enjoyable, things for so quickly wasting a corporation.  But the last fifty hadn’t been so bad, back on earth.  He was finding Earth highly preferable to hell, and didn’t understand why most demons bellyached about assignments on the first floor (so to speak). “What brings you here?  Spreading a little miracle or three?  Light of grace and all that good stuff?” 

“Observing, mostly.  I’m rather between assignments at the moment.”  The angel glanced over.  “You?” 

“Oh, sent here to kill you, I reckon.” 

One brow rose alone this time.  The gray-blue eyes were a little incongruous with his current coloring, but who was Crowley to point out glass houses?  “Oh?  And how are you planning to do that?  Another epic bout of clumsiness.” 

Crowley probably should have scowled, but found himself grinning instead.  Not bad! Most angels were painfully boring.  ….At that, so were most demons.  “Maybe.  Want to stand near a handy fire for me?”   

The angel made a show of considering it before settling on, “No, I think not.  I don’t need any more paperwork or nasty notes.” 

Crowley would (pretend to) kill for a nasty note.  Bet there were no boils and papercuts in heaven.  

“Ah, well.  Guess I’ll just slink downstairs then.” 

Crowley didn’t move.  They kept standing there, side by side.   

“Did you know,” Aziraphale said after several minutes of oddly comfortable silence, “that they’ve started little pairing ceremonies?” 

Crowley shot him a look.  “What now?” 

“Well, you know how some of the animals pair off for life?  And others don’t?  Humans are similar, yes?  Some pair off, like Adam and Eve, others don’t.” 

“Rrrrright.”  Crowley scratched at a flea trying to set up house in the long fall of his hair.  “Hell’s undecided on that one.  Seems to fit with a sort of heavenly chastity on one side, but the way two people can make each other miserable?  Full marks.” 

The angel gave him a censorious frown.  Crowley spread his hands with demonic innocence, as if to say, “Above my pay grade, good sir.”   

Had the movement been invented and imbued with meaning at the time, Aziraphale would have rolled his eyes.  As it was, he just said, “Well, be that as it may, they’ve created this little ritual for it, and it’s rather sweet.” 

A minor miracle caused every flea in the vicinity to go up in tiny flames.  

“Ritual?  What, skulls and blood and feet of newts?”  Crowley tried to look pleased, though the whole concept actually made him a bit queasy.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that “feather of demon” or “eye of serpent” would one day be popular for these “little rituals” of the humans’.   

“No, no, nothing so disturbing.  Just a sort of speech and a promise.”   

“Oh.”  Crowley wrinkled his nose.  He was fond of a good nose wrinkle these days.  Couldn’t pull that off as a snake.  “Sounds boring.” 

“It’s sweet!” Aziraphale argued.  He looked decidedly put-out, as if the opinion of this semi-random demon was of some importance in his angelic brain.  Then he clearly came to a decision and, without so much as a “Mary may I?” wrapped his hand about Crowley’s wrist and pulled him into the bustle of humanity. 

Crowley should have protested, maybe popped a little hellfire, but he was so surprised by being touched without an intent to cause pain (it had been so long) that he shamedly just let his enemy drag him on.  

They stopped in front of a woman – older, heavy set, stripes on her stomach and gray in her hair.  She wore little in the heat, but she had several necklaces of shell and bone, painted with red clay, that were unique among the humans.  Someone of importance, then?   

She clearly recognized the angel and greeted him with a smile and a fair approximation of his name.   

“Hello,” he said back, his smile warm but his voice officious.  “Lovely to see you again.”   

“It was only this morning,” she said, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that Crowley wholeheartedly approved of.  “I’m not so old as all that.” 

“Of course not!  You’re a lovely young woman.”  Crowley shot Aziraphale a look.  He thought perhaps the angel was being sincere.  Still figuring out aging, was he?   

The human chuckled warmly. “Now then, young charmer, what do you require my help with?”  

“I would like you to show the pairing ceremony,” Aziraphale motioned to Crowley, “to my,” he stopped a moment, frowning.  Crowley watched with some amusement. My enemy was hardly the way to introduce someone without causing suspicion.  After a beat, he settled on, “companion.” 

The human’s eyebrows rose in a riot of wrinkles.  “The pairing ceremony?” 

“Yes.  I told him it’s quite lovely, but he has his doubts.” 

Dark eyes glanced between them.  “I hardly think it is appropriate to perform the ceremony for someone who isn’t certain.” 

“Oh, I’m certain enough,” Crowley drawled.  Clearly it existed, since they were talking about it. 

The old woman eyed them again, gaze assessing.  Then she raised her shoulders dismissively – he'd seen that a few times now, wasn’t entirely certain what it meant to them – clapped her chapped hands, and said, “Might as well!” in a cheerful voice.  

Aziraphale gave Crowley a smug look.  Crowley stared at him, annoyingly unblinking.   

(Later, Crowley would miss those early days, when his eyes hardly merited comment.  The woman had looked at them, of course, but passed on readily.) 

The woman motioned to a young man, who jogged off to gather a few supplies.  She chatted easily with Aziraphale as they waited, and offered a handful of figs to them both.  Aziraphale took them immediately.  Crowley was more hesitant, but gave in when Aziraphale bit into one with clear enjoyment.   

And here he thought angels didn’t eat. 

They were so delicious (he hadn’t properly had figs; they were sweeter than he  that the boy was painting a stripe of clay on his forehead before he realized they’d started.   

“Wait-” he started to say, but the woman shushed him and Aziraphale sent him a look for interrupting.  He fell silent, listening to the simple words.  The gist was all about support – looking out for the other person, working to keep the other person safe, providing comfort. 

It was lovely, though he was loathe to admit it.  A nice idea, having someone to depend on and spend time with.  He couldn’t remember much about heaven, but hell certainly wasn’t known for its comradery.   Shame it wasn’t real- 

The woman took his hand and placed it on top of the angel’s.   

Crowley jumped as if burned – expecting, really, to be burned, that was the rumor – and saw Aziraphale flinch as well.  But. 

Nothing happened. 

The skin was unusually soft, given angels didn’t work, but beyond that, it was just a hand.   

Their eyes met briefly, yellow to gray. 

“And may you protect each other until the end of your days,” the woman said, taking their two hands in her strong, leathery ones.   

Crowley saw, in Aziraphale’s eyes, the moment the angel realized what he had. 

This was not a demonstration. 

It was a ceremony. 

He couldn’t help it.  Crowley threw his head back and laughed, startling the woman, the demon, and several people in the vicinity with the underlying hiss he hadn’t learned to control yet.  It was an inhuman laugh, and an inhuman smile, and the angel frowned at him, but he couldn’t help it.  It wasn’t real, not truly.  They weren’t human, and human ceremonies didn’t mean anything in heaven or hell, but- 

An angel bound to a demon just to make a point? 

Hilarious! 

Aziraphale sighed deeply, the old woman barked a laugh (“It’s unusual, but some people react like this,” she assured Aziraphale gently as he looked like he might throw up if his corporation would let him), and Crowley grinned, broad and toothy and wild.   

(As long as hell didn’t know, as long as hell never found out, he should be just fine.) 

@book-omens-week

[etherealacoustic]

Lifeless Eyes pt. 2

Pairing - Wolfstar x daughter!OC, Fred Weasley x OC!

Summary - Nova Lupin-Black comes home for the Easter holidays and her parents are in for a shock.

Warnings - crying, breakdown, mental exhaustion.

There's going to be another part of this, it'll be out soon as well!

Link for pt. 1 here

Link for pt.3 here

Remus Lupin tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the Hogwarts Express to arrive. He had been standing there along with Molly and Arthur, excited to see his daughter after months.

A smile grew on his face as he heard the familiar sound and the train finally stopped and hoards of students scurried out immediately.

His eyes wandered around swiftly as he searched for someone with sandy-brown curls similar to his own, and two tall red-heads who accompanied his daughter.

The smile faded slightly at not seeing Nova even after more than half of the students were already out. She was always the one to exit the train faster.

"There they are!" Molly said with a broad grin and he turned to see Fred and George walking toward them.

Remus looked around excitedly after spotting the twins, knowing she would be somewhere near the two.

But he couldn't see her anywhere even with his great eyesight. He frowned and looked quizzically at Fred, motioning with his hand on the whereabouts of Nova but the boy just shot him a sad look and pointed towards the train.

His frown deepened at the vague and strange reply but it was quickly replaced with a bright grin at seeing a familiar figure finally walk out.

She had the hood of her black hoodie on and when she pulled it down, Remus' heart sank and he felt it being shattered into pieces.

He couldn't believe she was his daughter. His Nova. It can't be.

His smile fell as quickly as it had come and in its place was a shocked, agonizing expression.

The first thing he noticed was her face, it had lost all of its colour and was sickly pale compared to her healthy tanned one from before.

Her grey eyes, instead of having the mischievous glint like her Da were now cold and sunken. Terrible circles underlined them, suggesting a lack of proper sleep and rest.

Remus' heart was breaking more and more as he started picking up every change that had taken place.

Her shoulders were hunched over a little, as though burdened by the weight of the entire world. He immediately thought it to be due to studies and something else he couldn't quite understand yet.

The only thing similar was the all-black clothes she wore, but even they seemed so sullen and down.

His lips were pressed together as he saw Harry walking next to her, the boy being in a bad state too. He watched Nova lifting her head to scan the crowd in search of him, but he couldn't even raise his hand to indicate his position.

He was too shocked at seeing the figure of those two.

Looking up, she finally spotted him and they made eye contact. He felt his heart lighten at seeing a smile spread across her weary face.

He let out an involuntary smile too as she ran towards him as fast as she could while keeping a hold on her luggage as well.

"Pa," she grinned once she was near enough and his lips stretched wide. Him not failing to notice the slight lifeless tone in her voice.

Nova wasted no time in jumping on him, making him stagger a little as he laughed. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, as though afraid that he'll disappear and she would have to go back again. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, taking in every bit of comfort provided by his form and breathing in relief at the familiar solace.

The soft material of his fuzzy sweater brushed against her cheek and she abruptly felt her throat tighten. She swallowed to get rid of the burning sensation that was getting more intense with every passing second.

"It's okay," Remus whispered as he rubbed her back. "It's alright".

Despite not knowing the reason for her shaken-up state, he somehow managed to calm her down. He told her it was okay and she believed him just like that.

"I missed you so much!" She exclaimed in a much more lively voice.

"I missed you too," he said and took the trolley from her hand before the two joined the Weasleys.

"She's looking better already," Fred muttered to his brother who nodded brightly. "Ready to go home, love?" He asked her.

A grin was seen on Nova's face, it wasn't matching her usual one, but it was at least some start. "Definitely".

So everyone took hold of each other and together, they all disapparated to appear on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place.

"Yeah just push me around like a bloody toy why don't you?" Ron scowled at George who was purposefully hitting his little brother.

"Shush it, Ronniekins," Ginny smirked, pointing at Molly who made a silencing motion with her fingers.

The door opened and in stepped everyone, their banter dying out as the air was drowned in silence.

"Where's Da?" Nova asked her father as she searched around the hallway and in the rooms hurriedly.

Remus chuckled softly at her eagerness, "He's in the kitchen. Hopefully, the room will be as it previously was and not broken or burned down".

"Wonderful faith you have in your husband don't you, Remus Lupin?" Sirius Black's voice called out and there he was, leaning against the doorway with his classic smirk.

"Da," Nova sighed at seeing him and rushed over towards him.

Remus' smile fell as he watched Sirius' eyes scan their daughter. He saw the shocked and troubled look in Sirius' eyes as he took in her disturbed and frazzled image.

Sirius was so lost in his thoughts, aghast about the apparent change in his daughter that he didn't even notice her hugging him. He quickly wrapped his arms around her after registering her doing the same and held her right, while also sharing a worried look with Remus over her head.

"Missed you, Dad," Nova whispered and did not attempt to pull away. While Remus gave her a sense of comfort and serenity, being in her Da's arms made her feel secure and guarded by everything.

"Ditto, darling," Sirius found the words and responded, gently squeezing her before pulling away to take a closer look at his daughter's face.

His heart felt heavy and he managed to give her a huge smile to let her know how happy he was to have her back. And he was, he was glad that she was home but was also a little uneasy at seeing the grim differences.

She gave him another small smile before dragging her trunk and swiftly darting into her room. Not giving anyone else a second glance as she disappeared.

Sirius walked over to Remus, his expression filled with anguish. "What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know," Remus muttered back in a quiet voice. "Something is seriously going wrong".

Sirius was about to say something when he caught sight of Fred and beckoned the twin over.

"What's wrong with Nova?" Sirius questioned as he placed his hands on Fred's shoulder. There was some sort of desperation in his voice.

The young man looked down with a miserable face and sighed, "It's been like this for the last two or three weeks. We've all been trying to get her to talk, but she wouldn't even open her mouth. She's hollow, a shadow of herself, as good as a ghost".

"Is someone giving her trouble?" Remus asked with a slightly stern tone.

Fred hesitated, he had promised Nova that he would not tell her Dads about anything. But he couldn't leave them without any answer, he could see very well that they were broken themselves.

"I don't know exactly, there are many things and as I said, she refuses to speak about them. Sometimes she gets stressed because of her studies, or we thought so. But it's something else too, something she's not telling us".

Remus and Sirius shared a worried look, both of them thinking continuously about the possible reasons.

"I think you two are the only ones who can bring her back," George interrupted and stepped beside his brother. "Me, Fred, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Katie, Lee; everyone has tried".

"She smiled for the first time today, you know?" Fred whispered and the two older men felt even more saddened.

"Yeah," said George with a small chuckle. "Almost after a whole month".

"We'll talk to her," Sirius nodded frantically as though trying to reassure himself.

"But don't rush her," suggested Fred. "Take it at her pace. She will lash out at you or maybe even block you away".

"Don't worry, we'll handle it," Remus gave them a small smile and they left.

The couple was left in silence now. The grey-eyed man looked at his husband, taking notice of all the worry lines on his face. He walked over to Remus and wrapped his arms around the other's torso, burying his face in the comfy material of the sweater.

Remus released a deep breath and he too reciprocated the actions, holding the other tight. "We'll talk to her after dinner," he spoke quietly.

Sirius nodded but then looked up, his eyes filled with tears and shining silver.

If there was one thing that scared him the most, it was always regarding his daughter. He couldn't bear to watch his little star struggle like that.

"I'm worried, we're not gonna lose her are we?"

"Hey," Remus whispered and cupped his cheeks. "We're not losing her, love. She's just not in a right mindset. We'll talk to her, yeah? She's gonna be fine, completely fine. We'll have our Nova back in no time, okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled and leaned forward to gently kiss Remus slowly, passionately. As though they had all the time in the world.

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

The two entered the kitchen and smiled at the chaos that was currently happening, their lips twitching at the house feeling lively once again.

Remus' eyes scanned the crowd and just as he was about to sit down, he noticed Nova was missing.

"I'll get her," Sirius voiced his thoughts and he nodded, though his forehead had a crease of concern.

Sirius silently walked up the stairs and knocked on Nova's door, hearing frantic shuffling from inside.

The door opened seconds later to reveal her standing there wearing an over-sized hoodie that belonged to Remus and he smiled softly.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah 'course," she said and stepped aside as he walked in and gave the room a brief scan, noticing it being strangely clean and organized.

Nova sat cross-legged on her bed and picked up a random book, pretending to read because she was no way interested in a conversation.

"They're all playing downstairs, don't feel like joining them?" He questioned gently, making sure he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

"Nah," she shook her head. "Not in the mood. Just tired actually".

He nodded, fully knowing that every sentence she uttered was a lie.

"I missed you," he then continued. "Me and Rem, we missed you a lot this time. Couldn't wait for the holidays".

"I missed you too, Da. A lot," she murmured and Sirius knew this was completely genuine, filled with more feelings. "Wanted to be here with you and Pa as soon as possible".

He shifted closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, instantly noticing how her grip seemed much tighter, as though- as though she was afraid that he was going away.

He didn't say another word, being silent the entire time and Nova was thankful for that.

She then turned and wrapped both of her arms around his torso as best as she could while still sitting and buried her face in his shoulder.

He heard her let out a deep breath and he tightened his hold, rubbing her back as he kissed her head.

He then pulled away after a moment, much to her reluctance.

Sirius gently placed his hand on her cheeks to make sure she was looking at him, much like he had done when she was younger.

"Nov, what's the matter? What happened at school?" He asked as softly as he could muster.

He saw the way her silver eyes darkened and narrowed at the mention of Hogwarts, saw the way her eyebrows furrowed and how her jaw clenched.

"As usual, Da," she replied with a brave smile. "Just drama, gossips, pranks, laughter. The usual stuff".

"Like I'm going to believe that," he said with a slight scoff and the door opened as Remus stepped in.

Nova's heart took up its speed as she realised what they were doing, they were going to question her. She couldn't avoid them now.

Her face took on a panicked expression as she looked at Remus, but he just offered her a kind and gentle smile and sat to her left.

"Do you really think we haven't noticed it, darling?" Sirius asked with an understanding look.

"It's not just you, Star. We've seen the others as well," said Remus.

"No no," Nova shook her head and gave a small laugh. "Nothing's happening. Harry, Ron and Hermione are just stressed because of their O.W.L.s".

Sirius heaved a sigh and looked at Remus, communicating silently.

"Hey," Remus whispered and gathered her attention. He took her left hand in his, holding it as he normally would and Nova's insides burned as though her body was being set on fire.

She put her entire self-control in not whipping her hand back this instant and instead focused her mind somewhere else. But his fingers unknowingly brushed against the cut and despite it being covered by her sleeve, it stung like hell.

She bit her lip hard, holding the smooth flesh in between her razor-sharp teeth to contain the slightest reaction.

But she couldn't hold on anymore and without being suspicious, she slowly extracted her hand back from his grasp. "Let's go have dinner, I'm hungry".

"Don't do this," Sirius frowned deeply, not wanting to let this topic go.

"We just wanna help, love. You can talk to us you know that right?" Remus inquired and she nodded.

"I know that, Pa! The only thing, there's nothing to talk about".

"Nova," he said massaging his temple and sighing. Not angry, of course not. He would never be mad over this, just a little impatient.

"I DON'T WANNA TALK!" She yelled out, losing her cool at last.

Despite the door of the room being closed, they still heard the silence that fell downstairs. They had clearly heard the shout.

"DON'T YOU GET IT? I DON'T WANT TO TALK!"

"Hey now," Sirius said quickly and took hold of her arms. "No need to get all violent, Lion. It's okay, it's fine".

"I don't wanna talk," she now mumbled. The fire extinguished to form cold ashes. "Please," she whispered and her eyes glossed over.

"Alright no issue, not at all," Remus smiled at her. "It's okay, darling. You don't have to talk. But you gotta understand our side too, yeah? We're worried, we're bloody scared, Nov. You don't know the state of my heart when I saw you on the platform today".

"And your friends?" Sirius continued softly. "They're scared beyond belief. They think they're losing you, they think the Nova they know is gone, and she would never come back".

"I know that," Nova muttered and glared daggers at the floor, keeping her eyes from tearing up again. "But I'm okay, Da. I'm fine".

"Are you though?"

A simple sentence, a simple three word sentence and that was all it took for her throat to burn with a newfound intensity.

She swallowed deeply, a shaky breath followed soon and her heartbeat went out of control. The world around her started spinning and she felt her head going crazy with everything.

Conversations, comments, and thoughts echoed in her mind. Torturing and punishing her cruelly. Testing her it seemed, as to how far exactly were her limits. As to how much she can handle, before it was too much?

But this was it, this was too much now.

She couldn't handle it anymore and in a split second, hot tears streamed down her face as she gasped and inhaled, unable to control herself.

And before she knew it, a pair of arms were wrapped carefully around her vulnerable frame.

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

[azureaqua]

Oh my, She did it again! (a.k.a Ikevamp artbreeder edits this time - Pt. 2)

Yup, here we go, Part 2! Let's resume!

↓

Part 1 here, if you missed it!

• Leonardo da Vinci

(I admit I was worried about him, when I started. I couldn't convert his avatar into a semi-realistic guy in my head immediately, so I was unsure. But I went with it, kind of mindlessly and just enjoyed the ride. And it worked! I think he got that mature, older-man look! A relaxed but piercing stare at the same time, and a laid-back expression! His hair is nothing like the game design but you know... I don't hate the extra curls. ;))

• Comte de Saint-Germain

(This is my take on him. It's not so good, not so bad, it's something... But I know I'll never be able to live down @redweed 's edit of him, that I saw once, it was utter perfection. He didn't even got the exact hair color, and its shape has a life of its own. Sorry, Comte. I went for and older, more mature look for him too, like Leo, since the dude's an ancient vampire, so might as well add some age to his gentlemanly features. Maybe his stare is a bit harsh? Not as welcoming and gentle, but a decent try from me!)

• Jean d'Arc

(Again, that one guy with the eyepatch. But this time I didn't struggle that much when drawing it on after. Yeah, I also edited his hair... The other picture is the actual portrait I achieved in artbreeder, minus the eye color. His hair was impossible to do - for me at least -, so I didn't even try. Like with Comte. I went more for the hair color, instead. It's decent, I like his blank and stone-faced stare. And I like how the hair and eyepatch drawing came out! He looks nice!)

• Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

(He was one of the first — IF NOT the first that I completed. I don't remember. His features overall seem a bit strange and a bit possessed, with this eye color. His hair is a tad bit longer than in the game, but I'm actually surprised and happy that I could keep the pure white and it doesn't fade into a grayish color midway, just at the neck area, where it's darker anyway, due to shadows and overlapping lol. I'm satisfied with it! He's a bit grumpy but isn't he always like that?)

• William Shakespeare

(I admit, I kind of forgot about him, and I realized in the last minute that he's missing. Sorry, Shakes. He was similar to Leonardo, couldn't really imagine him right away, but as I searched and just went with it, it came out nice in the end! I went for a gentle look and longer hair, but damn— this time his hair came out really long XD. It looks like he has a long ponytail that reaches his shoulders, and it's a big unhinged, but it's okay since Will is unhinged too, sometimes. Even his mismatched eyes look nice, I like him!)

• Vlad

(I REALLY wanted to go for that soft and pure smile he usually wears! But he also has strong features; a long, firm jaw and nicely curved mouth, so it took a while. But I achieved what I wanted! And in the end, his hair came out good too! By that time, I didn't even pay that much attention to hairstyles. But he looks decent nonetheless, in my opinion. I kind of messed up with his eye color, but nvm. He has that sweet, pure but adult-like, mature look at the same time.)

• Johann Georg Faust

(Okay, OKAY. Everyone calm down! Don't lose control, I know he looks really good! XD. No, but for real, I didn't even spent that much time on him — with editing on glasses and all. AND HE CAME OUT LIKE THIS. AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO'S IN LOVE?? Be my husband, Faust. I was interested in him so far too, but NOW. Although the shape of his glasses are kinda off, you can see the general idea. I drew on his ear cuff and the small chain attached to it, connecting it with his specs, and edited his eyes, but I didn't even need to touch his hair! He just looks sooo good. And his strict, ruthless expression is one to die for too!)

• Charles-Henri Sanson

(I wanted to make him soft, but not as soft as Vincent. And I wanted to add difference in his features too, of course. I unintentionally made his hair this curly, but it makes him cuter in my opinion. I wanted a semi-smiling, gentle expression on him. I didn't draw his earrings on, and his eyes don't pop as much as in the art. But he's precious, isn't he?)

Yay, another one of the Ikemen games is done!

(Now I need to make one for the Sengoku guys, right? Well, who knows, my page is pretty messed up now in artbreeder lol.)

Overall I'm really satisfied with the whole gang, they look really nice!

And the realistic filter helped them a lot! <3

[am-i-late-to-this08]

BROKEN GLASS pt 3

Darkiplier x DA reader

Warnings: swearing

You were right, even though it was three hours long, it was entertaining. Dark brought you up on what was happening when you got confused. And despite there different personalities they all had one similar goal, to bring down mark. It confused you because last you knew mark was dead. Dark stayed mostly silent to you after that, like he didn't want to say something he might regret. More than once you caught dark staring at you,only to look away once you noticed. Finally you were brought up and introduced to everyone else, you were asked some questions about your past. When you became uncomfortable with the questions dark noticed and asked you to sit back down. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur.

After the meeting dark took you to a simple looking Chinese restaurant down the street from the office. You noticed his skin changed from monochrome gray to a normal skin tone and the blue and red etchings disappeared, along with the buzzing in your ears that you didn't notice until it was gone. Both of you were seated by your waitress and given menus. "So, what do you think of this?" He asked from behind the menu. " You're going to have to specify, the restaurant or your lack of personality?" You replied, he scoffed."I ment the world. You do realize you're going to have to live like this, right?" You looked up at him. For only a moment he looked like you remembered, tan, dark hair, suit, dark brown eyes and a smile tugging on his lips. But only for a moment, his eyes were lighter, his skin paler and no smile."Yes,I do." You answered. "Good, if you said no than we might have a problem." He looked back to his menu.

Dinner went without a hitch, to your surprise. Once both of you left the restaurant the sun had already set and a cool breeze drifted by, making you shudder. "You want my jacket?" Dark asked. "I'm fine." You snap. "Well you don't look fine." He replied. You turned to face him. "Than stop looking." His face goes blank. "Why are you always so stubborn? I'm trying to be nice here." He snarled." Why? Why, after what you did? Do you expect me to just forgive you?" You croaked, a pain starting in your temples."That's not my point." The pain in your temples growing more painful. "Than what is it? I told you don't make me your pawn, and what are you doing? Making me your fucking pawn!" You shouted. He reached out his hand and touched your shoulder. "Listen-" He started, but before he could finish the throbbing in your temples spread through your entire body. All you saw was white for a moment then you saw yourself. You saw your own body in front of you through his eyes, darks eyes. Just like it started the throbbing from your temples spread through you with a white flash. The experience lasted only a few seconds but it felt like minute's. You glanced at dark, wearing the same surprised expression you were. "How. Did. You. Do. That?" He asked slowly, his voice cracking slightly. You simply shook your head in amazement and shock." I don't- I don't know." You stammered. And without another word you shuffle back to the flat.

I'm working up to the part I'm most excited for @thereturnofthem @captain-solemn-titty

[custardcrazy]

“You’re gonna have to sit still if you don’t want me to get any of this stuff on your face,” chided Eddie, after you shifted a little on the stool. 

His hair was tied up in a loose bun, a few locks of it escaping and framing his face quite nicely. Though he wasn’t so focused on it for now, instead on applying the bleach to your hair in sections. You sat in front of the bathroom mirror, watching yourself and him in the reflection. 

Eddie was making sure to be gentle, and kept checking in now and then, asking things like “am I pulling too hard?” or “is that alright?” Since he was used to just throwing caution to the wind when it came to his own hair. Even though he knew he was being careful already, better safe than sorry. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. 

If he did, even accidentally, he’d claimed that he’d “die out of intense sorrow”. You highly doubted that, though the intense sorrow part might’ve been true. 

Eddie worked pretty efficiently, and throughout the somewhat boring process of applying the bleach, he managed to entertain you by retelling the last night’s DND campaign that you weren’t present for. Usually, you’d at least watch, or participate, depending on how you felt, so you were glad to hear him recap it. 

Especially because he did all the voices. Eddie had always been an excellent storyteller. 

Once all the bleach was all done, and your hair was covered, it was off to the living room to maybe watch a movie or two while the bleach did its thing. Eddie let you choose, and now and then he checked how your hair was holding up, to make sure nothing was going horribly wrong. 

“I don’t think you’d look good bald.” He said, poking your cheek after re-covering your hair. 

Finally, you headed back to the bathroom to wash out the bleach, and dry your hair. You did this part yourself. 

By the time you had finished up and styled your hair the way you liked it, Eddie was still seated on the couch, bouncing his leg idly as he waited. His eyes were fixed on the television. His hair had slipped even more out of the bun in disarray, but it didn’t seem like he was paying too much attention to it. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, he looked up. 

You smiled at him, raising your chin. “Ta-da. You like?” 

For a moment, he just stared, mouth slightly agape, before seemingly shaking himself back to the present and snapping it shut. 

“Get over here, you fool,” Eddie said, wildly gesturing to himself. 

The moment you sat down, his arms were wrapped around you, and he was pressing kisses to your face. You giggled, and he drew away a little, expression similar to yours. 

“You -- look -- so -- good,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss to your cheek, your forehead, your temple, your jawline. “God, you’re the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen, y’know that?” His hands were running through your hair, and even though it was the slightest bit wet from earlier, he didn’t seem to care. 

“You’re biased,” you said, though you felt your face flushing. 

“Gladly,” replied Eddie, grinning. “Why didn’t you bleach your hair sooner?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you were interrupted quite quickly as he kissed you again.