#he looked way prettier with wings but if i wanted to add them i would have to erase 90% of scriabin and he came out so pretty to do that

[disposal-blueeee]

halloween thing i drew for an art trade with @cherry-207 ! she asked for edgar and scri dressed as angel and devil . you can see her part here !

edgar vargas belongs to jhonen vasquez

scriabin belongs to @zarla-s

[forever-rogue]

Ok so I don’t know if your requests are open, but I’m going to drop one in case… 😅

A Joel Miller x Reader story where Joel and Ellie arrive to Jackson. Could it be a moment like where Ellie saw *possibly* Dina? They could make eye contact and maybe he’s interested in her and wants to know more? Something along those lines hehe.. You can totally add more whether it be spicy or fluff! :)

AN | Please this is just the softest idea. Plus - wing woman Ellie! 🥰

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It happened so fast that he almost didn’t realize that anything had happened. 

He was trying to listen to Maria, really he was, but he found himself zoning out more than he wanted to. Admittedly it was a lot to take in all at once and he wasn’t sure what to think or where to look anymore. He hoped that Ellie would be able to catch him up later although he had his doubts; she seemed just as distracted. Well then - maybe things would be easy to pick up on.

But then it happened. He heard something about communes and vegetable gardens but when he looked ahead, time seemed to slow down and the voices around him were muffled and distant.

He saw you. It happened so fast that he must have imagined it. You caught his eye and offered him a sweet smile but as soon as he blinked, you were gone. 

It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. He was tired and in desperate need of a shower and nap; surely you were nothing more than a mirage. 

“Joel?” he snapped back into attention, finding Tommy, Maria, and Ellie all watching him curiously. His young charge raised an eyebrow, "everything okay?"

"Fine," he huffed indignantly, waving her off before the group continued to walk on. Maria was in front, back to explaining everything in detail as he and Ellie fell behind. She nudged his arm, silently conveying her question to him. They'd gotten to the point where they could easily communicate without words, "just a moment of distraction. Nothin' to worry about."

"I can find out what her name is," Joel almost stopped in his tracks at her sudden comment. This girl was way too observant - it was a blessing and a curse. His felt his entire being flush with warmth as he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, "you're even prettier when you blush!"

"I'm not - I'm not blushing," he hissed but he knew he was. His face felt like it was on fire, "Ellie."

"Fine," she held up her hands innocently putting on a sweet smile in an attempt to get him off her scent. She had a plan - she was already plotting on how to get the two of you to meet, "I won't say or do anything. I'll be quiet as a church mouse or whatever that old saying is."

"Good," despite his hesitation and suspicions, he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug, "good."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ellie Williams was a liar. A damned, dirty liar. But it was all out of affection and care for the man that had become her father figure.

He took good care of her and was always looking out for her best interests so for once she was going to return the favor. The man had been through a lot. He deserved some happiness too. 

But she had to work smart and be subtle, otherwise her plan would explode in her face.

The first step? Naturally, she had to find you and get your name. It should have been simple…but of course it wasn't. 

Jackson wasn't small but it wasn't that big either. There were more people in the community than she had bargained for and finding you again seemed an entirely impossible challenge. She'd managed a few fleeting glances at you and that was all she had to go.

After a few days of looking she'd almost given up hope. 

Until she saw you tending to a flock of loudly bawking chickens. Bingo.

She pretended to be fascinated by the chickens…although honestly she was amused by them, and came over to you.

"Look at all those chickens!" Despite her initial thought that she would remain calm and calculated, her excitement got the better of her.

"Look at all those chickens," you agreed as you smiled at her. It took her a moment to realize you were standing there and watching her until she made a small sound of acknowledgement.

"I'm Ellie," she could hear Joel in the back of her mind telling her to find her manners, "we just moved here."

"It's nice to officially meet you, Ellie," you offered her your name and held out your hand for her to shake, "welcome to Jackson."

"Thanks," she shook your hand gently and you could feel her watching you in the way that kids often did when they were trying to glean everything about you, "it's nice being here."

"It's always nice to have new people here," you grabbed a bucket of seed for the chickens and held it out to her, "Tommy's really excited to have his brother back."

"Joel!" she almost shouted as her eyes grew wide with embarrassment, "his name is Joel. He's my…Joel."

You laughed, a sound Ellie decided she liked and that Joel would like. You tossed some seed to the chicken and Ellie followed suit, watching amazed as the chickens started to peck away, "well, if either of you ever need anything or have any questions just let me know. I was new here too once and it can be a little overwhelming."

"Thank you," Ellie knew all about things becoming overwhelming. Everything had changed for her so quickly since she'd met Joel, "are you-"

But she was interrupted by the call of your name from the distance. She silently cursed Chad, or whatever his name was, for interrupting her little plan.

"I gotta go," you offered her an apologetic shrug, "see you around, Ellie! Don't be a stranger!"

Don't be a stranger. Oh, she would make sure of that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I know her name!” Ellie ran into the house, yelling, without even waiting to see if Joel was up. She found him in the kitchen, making breakfast for the two of them, an unreadable expression on his face, “the girl. I know her name.”

“Ellie,” he sighed softly, but there was an affectionate bloom in his chest towards the girl, “I told you not to meddle.”

“You didn’t say that,” she sat down at the table and helped herself to some of the fresh orange. He gave her that look and she shrugged sheepishly, “not specifically in those words.”

“You’re trouble, kid,” he sighed, affectionate though tired. He was a tired dad, “I’ll entertain you for just a moment. What’s her name then?”

The young girl softly whispered your name and oh. He liked the sound of it. Even from the brief glimpse he caught of you, he thought it suited you perfectly. He repeated it, testing it out on his tongue and deciding that he liked it. 

“Now you actually have to talk to her,” she was most pleased as Joel lightly scoffed at her, “you’re in love with her!”

Joel inhaled sharply and almost knocked the pan off the stove as he quickly turned around, “now just what are you talking about?”

“The look,” she shrugged lightly as if to say that it was all so obvious, “you had the look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The look of love at first sight or whatever,” she was now proceeding to shove some freshly baked bread into her mouth, “I’ve seen enough old movies and read enough books to know.”

“Well you must know something I don’t because there was no love at first sight,” right? Right. His hands were on his hips as he sighed at her, “that’s something made up for entertainment.”

“Whatever you say,” she made kissy noises at him and he cursed under his breath, “when you get married you can thank me. Trust me Joel, you had that look on your face."

“I had no look on my face,” this was ridiculous. She was ridiculous, “now eat your breakfast and get ready for school.”

“Joel-”

“Don’t make me ground you,” he waved the spatula at her but both of them had happy looks on their faces. It had been a long time since he had gotten to say those words. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this. Ellie, on the other hand, had never really had someone that loved her as he did, that was a real parental figure. She liked it too, “do you want bacon and eggs and pancakes?”

“Yes please,” the two of them exchanged a look before breaking into soft smiles. 

Yeah…this life was turning out to be pretty okay.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Maybe there was some small part of Joel that hoped that once he had learned your name that he would somehow magically start to run into you in other places. Like that one bit of information would lead to much more. 

Well, that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It was like the universe was somehow trying to keep the two of you apart. Every time he arrived somewhere, you were leaving, or vice versa. Every time he spotted you in a crowd and made his way over, you managed to disappear. It was like a horrible game of cat and mouse.

Maybe he just had to accept that he wasn’t meant to know you. Even if he hated the idea of that. 

But - somehow, magically or whatever - the day came when he was finally destined to meet you. 

And he couldn’t have been less prepared.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel was tending to his small flock of sheep, trying to clean out the dirt and muck out of their grazing area when he heard you. He was filthy; covered in sweat and dirt and probably smelling of shit. But there you were, pretty face and radiant smile waving happily at him. 

But damn if that smile didn’t make him want to melt.

“Joel!” oh. He was in trouble; deep, deep trouble. He tossed his shovel down, swallowing thickly before exchanging a look with Gertrude (his favorite sheep but he’d never admit it, he didn’t want any of the others to get upset). She seemed to know what he was thinking and baa’ed at him before nudging her nose against his leg. He nodded before making his way over to you, trying to keep his walk calm and cool and not like he was overly excited.

“H-hey,” he nearly choked on the singular word as he reached you, separated only by the fence. If he smelled or anything, you didn’t seem to mind, not balking in the slightest when he said your name, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you held out your hand and the poor man stared at it - so dainty and delicate compared to his - before shaking it. You laughed softly, sensing the nerves rolling off him, but in truth, you were nervous too, “after all this time I finally get to meet the infamous Joel Miller. It felt like the day would never come.”

“Y-you’ve been wanting to meet me?” there was no way; you were like an angel and he was anything but.. How could you have any interest in anything to do with him? 

“I have,” you confessed softly, “it seemed like every time I saw and wanted to say hi you were gone in the blink of an eye. I finally just broke down and asked Ellie where you were.”

“Me?” he repeated, pointing at himself and casting a look around as if to make sure you couldn’t possibly be talking about anyone else.

“Yes,” you laughed softly, and the sound went straight to his heart, “who else could I be talking about? Unless one of your sheep is also named Joel. Then I’d like to meet him too - actually I kind of just want to meet your sheep either way. They’re so cute!”

“Yeah?” his brain was so frazzled that somehow any coherent thought he had left seemed to have left his mind. You probably thought he was an idiot but you had some sort of magnetic pull that kept him firmly in your orbit. He didn’t want to leave it  - to ever leave your presence.

“Of course,” you thought it was endearing to see how nervous he became. Truthfully, you were just as nervous but managed to hold it together a little more, “listen, I’ve gotta go but do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner…tonight? With you?” alright, he was going to throw himself off a cliff. 

“Dinner tonight,” you confirmed, “my house is the one at the end of your straight - with the yellow shutters. See you at six?”

“Six, y-yeah, yes,” he finally gained back some of his confidence, “should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself,” you smiled sweetly, “and Ellie of course, if you’d like to invite her.”

“Sure,” yeah, he’d ask her but part of them hoped she’d say no. He loved her so much, but he really hoped she’d say no this one time, “see you later.”

“See you later, Joel,” and then you did the unthinkable. You leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. You gave him one last little smile before turning around to flounce away, “six o’clock, Miller!”

He felt like he was going to explode as he touched the spot on his cheek that had been blessed by your lips. 

Maybe Ellie hadn’t been totally wrong on the love at first sight thing. He was definitely feeling something; something he hadn’t felt in a long time. And he loved it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You met her finally,” Ellie looked most pleased with herself as soon as Joel walked in the door, “you’re welcome.”

“How’d you know?” he couldn’t even pretend to be grumpy as he looked at her in earnest. She shrugged innocently before sliding off her chair and going over to hug him; he warmed up and hugged her back without hesitation. 

“Your face,” she stated obviously, “it’s written all over your face. You look happy.”

“I met her,” he confirmed and Ellie squealed in delight. He couldn’t help but match her smile, “and she asked me - us - over for dinner.”

“Oh, you’re totally gonna marry her,” Joel opened and closed his mouth a few times, “but I’ll pass on dinner. I’m going to go over to Dina’s.”

“You knew she was going to ask, didn’t you?”

“Not explicitly,” Ellie shrugged, “but I had a feeling. So….you can go and have your dinner with your love.”

“Ellie,” no malice, all affection.

“You’ll be thanking me for this in a few years,” she insisted, tugging on her sweater and reaching for a backpack, “and I won’t mind if I get a brother or sister then either. Maybe both, who knows!”

“Ellie…” his face was bright red by now. 

“Love you!” she threw her arms around him quickly before running towards the door, “see you later - make good choices!”

“Kid…” he watched as she ran out the door and almost slammed it behind her in haste. 

He didn’t even know what to say. Maybe nothing needed to be said. 

All he knew was that for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the future. 

One that involved you.

[lynnslittlelife]

A Little Moment With Beelzebub

My favorites are literally the youngest three. Beel being my favorite, so I was especially excited for this one XD

(No one asked but I'm gonna say it anyways)

My favs from most to least favorite: Beel, Belphie, Asmo, Mammon, Lucifer, Satan, and Levi. (Don't get me wrong I love all of them, just some more than others XD)

So here's Beel's little moment with you ^~^

Word Count: 1,207

It was Beel’s day with you, and you were both excited. You cuddled together all night, so waking up in his arms with the knowledge of spending time together today was understandably making you restless. He wasn’t awake when you woke up which was perfect! You loved waking him up in fun ways, and he was always happy to be woken up by you. It warmed his heart to have your cute face be the first thing he sees in the morning. 

But you were feeling especially energetic, the little space mindset causing you to giggle uncontrollably, wondering what he planned for you today. You jumped up and down on the bed, shaking him awake. “Daddy! Daddy! It’s play time!” Landing on his chest, his chest pressed to yours and he slowly opened his eyes with a soft smile on his face. 

“Hi Cupcake.” He yawned, and sounded extremely groggy. It was also no surprise you were little, you tended to be a lot, and he loved every second he got to spend with you, little or big. “I have a fun idea for us today.” He said with a smile, wrapping his arms around you as he blew a raspberry on your neck. 

“Daaaaaddy!” You giggled and giggled, and laughed even louder when he sat up, taking you with him. He placed you effortlessly on his lap, and he kissed the top of your head. You were dying to know what he had planned, since it seemed like each of the brothers always had different ideas on cute moments with you. Though those ideas were also different depending on big or little headspace. 

“Let’s go!” He said, smiling along with you. He cradled you to his side using just one hand that wrapped around your back and under your thigh so you didn’t fall. Not like he’d ever allow that to happen. He used the other hand to open doors, and you rested your head on his neck. 

He took you to his and Belphie’s room, since you slept in the comfort of your own bed last night, and you were surprised to see a wide variety of paints and canvases. “Paint time?” It was exciting, you loved to draw when you were little, but didn’t use paint much. Mostly pencils and crayons, sometimes markers. “Set down!” You said, wiggling in his grasp. It was so fun thinking of all the painting you would get to do! 

“Ah, ah. There’s rules.” As he set you down, and walked towards the canvas. “We’re not using paint brushes. We’re using our fingers. But with that being said,” he leaned down and booped your nose with a smile, “No paint by your eyes, mouth, or ears. Be careful, and be sure to have fun.” While he was still leaning down, he kissed your forehead and let you get to work. 

You mixed colors, tried to draw the coolest little animal. It was your favorite animal! So it had to be perfect…or as close as you could get. It looked most like a stick figure, but the point of it was still there. You even decided to add wings, or more wings to it. Wings made everything prettier. You loved to see your daddies with their wings, even though some didn’t really have them most of the time. You tried to draw pretty black wings with your fingers, and just like that it was perfect. 

Beel had finished his drawing of a cheeseburger, before even the sight of it made him so hungry he couldn’t stand it. So when he walked into the other room to get food, you thought of a mischievous idea. Your drawing was done, but you wanted to play more with your daddy! He never got mad at you, so you were sure this wouldn’t be mean. 

You coated your hands with as much paint that would fit on them, and hid behind the door frame, just waiting for Beel to come back in. You couldn’t stop the giggles, but when you heard him approaching you tried to be as quiet as possible. This was a top secret mission, and you weren’t gonna fail no matter what! He walked closer, and closer, and before you knew it he was back in your room. 

“Cupcake? Where did you go?” He entered through the doorway and you struck. You rubbed your hands all over his back, arms, and legs, covering the spots with a variety of paints. “What?” He said confused as he turned and ended up seeing all the places on his body that now had paint on several places. He couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, and turned to face you. “I was wondering what you’d been plotting while I was gone.” 

“Got you daddy!” You laughed loudly and it only made him smile more. He took off his jacket and shirt, and he really should have expected what came next. You ran over to the paints, and he wasn’t fast enough to stop you since he was unprepared. But you ended up getting even more paint and chasing him around the room. Yes, chasing. 

Your hands were held out in front of you, and he jumped on the bed then off when you got too close. He was pretty fast, but he wasn’t really trying to get away from you. He pretended to be tired, and he plopped down on the floor as he panted, mimicking fatigue. He closed his eyes and played dead. 

So you grabbed the red paint, which ended up mixing a lot with the other colors, but it was overall pretty red. “Aha! I got you!” You splashed the red paint all over his chest, “Oh no! Daddy’s hurt! Gonna play doctor!” You pretended to put on a stethoscope and checked his heartbeat. “Nope. Daddy’s dead.” Resting your head on his chest was what you did next, and you could feel his breathing as he tried not to laugh. He was dead after all. 

Once you both got cleaned up, you tried to paint more. Beel looked at you with skeptical eyes when you took a few more steps away from the canvas, but he wouldn’t be surprised anymore! So it wasn’t as much fun. Either way though, you had so much fun with your daddy today. You were looking forward to the rest of the day, knowing it would consist of going to his favorite restaurant. 

No matter what, you knew how much your daddies loved you. All of them showed it in their own special way. You loved them just as much, and you were always happy to spend any time with them you could. One on one time was so special, but even if you were with more than one of them sometimes, or even all of them, they showed you their best sides. The ones that they only show to you. 

Your time with Beel today helped your mood so much, and he would be the first

to say it right back to you.  While you painted, he said praises about each of your paintings. 

“You’re really good at painting, Cupcake. I promise we’ll do it again soon.” 

And you knew he’d keep that promise. 

[soldmysoultootomeboys]

Obey Me Brothers Wedding HCS

Just some wedding headcanons for the boys bcuz i’m soft for them, Gn MC

Thinks about marrying Asmo => 😡💕💕

Lucifer

I can not stress how much this man would be a bridezilla

He’s probably the MOST high maintenance demon when it comes to this, even over Asmo

He gets so stressed over it too and when he's stressed he gets extremely snippy

It takes you knocking a little sense into him to get him back on track

He just wants your day to be perfect and with his brothers causing trouble it's hard to really focus on choosing a tablecloth

He won’t be any nicer to his brothers but he will try to avoid causing fights at this time simply because it's really important to him that ALL of his family is there. 

The night after proposing you find a beautiful envelope on white paper with gold trim in your room you realize it's a congratulation note from the celestial realm, presumably from the big man upstairs, it's still a heartstopping realization when you realize who your father in law technically is

Are you committing a sin marrying a fallen angel? Do you care?

It’s easier to ignore it than do anything else, although you do appreciate them registering for the coffee maker you had on your registry. You needed that. Mammon broke the last one.

Kindly begs asks you NOT to do anything crazy in the week leading up to it

Please MC his heart he's about to explode from stress please don't add to it, just for one week

Diavolo plans his bachelor party at the Fall with Barbatos. Invites you along and you have to explain how bachelor parties work

If it’s up to him the wedding will be all black with red accents eDgY mUcH?

At the altar he kisses you twice, first to show everyone that your his, the second time is just for you two, he hides you away from sight curling his black wings around you and holding you as close as he can bear

In the end it's a very happy celebration filled with good food, family, and friends

When you cut the cake feel free to smash a little bit in his face, this is your only chance, he'll be in too much of a good mood to retaliate...much

Mammon

Luxury luxury luxury

He wants solid gold altars, diamond encrusted bouquets, jewels imported from every corner of the world

He has so many plans (as well as a ridiculously long wedding registry)

But the moment you say you want anything he abandons them 

Whatever you want he wants, but if you wanted some diamonds too that would be great

He absolutely would be down for a wedding bouncy castle

He gets you the biggest diamond ring ever that he buys with his own money from a lot of shifts at Hell's kitchen and modelling gigs

He totally believes in the tradition of not seeing you until your wedding day but he also forgets so he walks in and as soon as he realizes you're getting ready he shuts his eyes and tries to run out. He'll only talk to you from behind the door. 

When he sees you walking down the aisle he falls in love all over again. And he feels like that a hundred different moments. It doesn't matter what you're doing, playing with your veil, wiping cake off the corner of your mouth, yawning, he loves you and loves that you’re his.

He could get married to you in a ditch and still be the happiest man in the world.

He's an absolute goofball and is smiling the entire time

The couple that during their wedding night end up jumping on the bed and having pillow fights while play wrestling

Levi

You really want to marry a gross otaku like him??? Why??

Not that he's complaining! He just doesn't get it. His brothers are so cool and Asmo is so much prettier than him and he doesn't have anything to offer.

It takes a lot of reassuring to convince that this is what you want to do

You two have this same conversation about a million times before the wedding. He just doesn't get why you actually like him. Once it finally sets in that this really is happening and it's not just some big joke he gets really into it and definitely puffs up around his brothers to show off

His first thought is a cosplay wedding and he'll beg for it to be Ruri-chan themed

Good luck getting Lucifer or any of his brothers to agree to dressing up, as funny as it may be

If you shoot that down it's pretty easy to convince him to do something else since mostly he's just excited to be with you

He still has a little Ruri pin on his suit collar and cufflinks

When you walk down the aisle he feels like he’s going to faint from nerves and when it’s time for vows he pulls out a huge list of all the reasons he loves you and why your his Henry, although about half of it compares things you’ve done to things in TSL

He only makes it through a quarter of the way before he gets embarrassed

When he lifts your veil he panics because your so pretty and he can’t handle it

You have to initiate the kiss and when you do he turns as red as a tomato

He tries to play it off but keep a strong arm around his waist unless he really does decide to pass out

He cools down once you guys are at the reception and gets especially excited the little custom made toppers of you two in cartoon form

Satan

He's a bridezilla but in the lightest sense of the word

He won't get upset over mix ups or even really wedding stuff like Asmo or Lucifer but his temper will be extremely fine during this time, especially when it comes to his brothers.

Throws an entire table through the window when Lucifer asks him if he knew where Mammon was

It’s a lot of stress to create the perfect wedding and he buries his nose in different books that can help him

He’s a bit of a perfectionist

The most classic and elegant wedding ever and he’d want to be involved in every step of the way

Very interested in your opinion and if it compares to human weddings

He flushes with pride whenever you compliment something he picked out

Includes casual literary references in his wedding but only so people who really know will realize

Wears a navy suit 

Asmo

Also a bridezilla and a petty one at that

There will be drama, there will be tears, there will be a part where he cries off his mascara because Andrealphus of the damned brought the white bouquets and he wanted the PINK ones. This is HIS day why is she trying to ruin it.

It’s a lot of work trying to keep the damage to a minimal

Part of the reason he gets so upset is because this is your day too and he wants it to be perfect. 

Prepare for a million dress rehearsals.

He wants to help pick out your outfit and makeup! But he also doesn't want to break human tradition...But he wants to help pick out your outfit and makeup so bad!!

If he manages to restrain himself he picks out the makeup artist and the stylizer because he knows what makeup you like and what looks best on your skin.

Most likely tho he'll want to see anyways and bugs you to let him in

You compromise by going shopping with him as he tries on a million dresses and suits

MC the suit on the right or the one on the left?

They both look exactly the same.

"...Left love." "That's exactly what I was thinking. I knew I could trust you to pick out the right answer!"

Even though he's very good at fashion your opinion matters a lot to him. Sure he could make himself look perfect but he wants to look perfect for YOU. He wants to be your version of perfect and if that means he picks the high cut dress instead of the low cut which flatters his waist better then he'll do it. For you.

He's the type to want to have all the spotlight on him so if you're walking down the aisle he's going to do it too! He does it first. HE says for the attention. In reality he wants to be able to see you the moment you step out the doors and down that hall.

Looks super perfect as he waits for you at the aisle but the moment you get married he starts ugly crying. He throws his veil back on so no one can see it but you just lift it up and kiss away his tears.

Even though it's a lot of work it's worth it to be with the demon you love...but if you shove cake in his face he'll seriously kill you, MC do you know how long this took?!!!!! :'(

Beel

He’s more than happy to do whatever you want

Whatever vision you have he's willing to make happen

He does his best but feels a little useless since keeps having to break for snacks

Wonders why you’d want to be with him when all he ever does it eat but he tries not to bring it up in case it would upset you

He honestly does have a lot of fun planning with you and his favorite part was when you got to taste test different cakes because he got to impress you by explaining all the little differences between each one

He ends up being in charge of everything food related and it helps him feel a bit better

Barbatos ends up cooking the dishes 

During the rehearsal he falls in love with you all over again and doesn’t want to let you go the entire time

He gets especially nervous during the month of the wedding

He starts stress eating, going through even more food than normal, but then he gets worried about fitting into his suit and starts working out even more than normal, which makes him hungry again. It’s a terrible cycle

Belphie manages to break him out of it by reminding Beel that you love him more than anyone else

Even though its his wedding he starts setting up just to get out some of his nervous tension until the others shoo him back inside

A huge 20 layer cake each tier a different flavor

He has his own personal cake that's even bigger than the other cake but he’s more than willing to share with you

You two do the cute bit where you smash cake in each others faces

Beel still eats it tho

As much as he loves his family he's so happy to be able to steal you away at the end

Belphie

Planning a wedding is sooo much work

He lets you choose whatever you want as long as you let him sleep

if it was up to him he'd want a small informal celebration with his family but if you want something bigger than he guesses it's fine. As long as he doesn't have to talk to anyone like Diavolo 

He uninvites Lucifer like three times, each time using extremely formal paper with beautiful cursive that must have taken hours. When Lucifer confronts him Belphie just says that it’s too late because he already gave away his seat. 

He only brings him back when you make him

He sleeps more than usual in the weeks leading up to the wedding. You think it’s because of the stress but in actuality he’s trying to save up his sleep so he’s more awake for the ceremony

As much as he may act like he doesn’t care, he really does want to marry you and it makes him happy to think that you’re going to be all his

Beel is obviously his best man and while Belphie waits for you to come down the aisle he leans against him to take a small nap. Or that's what he had planned. The moment the music starts he perks up and finds himself unable to even close his eyes, too fixated on the doors about to open. 

Feeds you the first bite of cake and then just...doesn't stop

He’s so in love with you all he can do is stare

Gives his slice of cake to Beel he'd much rather pay attention to you than eat

However he does smash a little in your face but it’s out of love <3

[kkusuka]

I have a cool request :3 Hawks, Eraserhead, Dabi, and (Idk of you do other characters like Bakugo) with an s/o that has a black barn owl quirk. She’s an intelligent, sweet, and quiet person since said owls act like that. In human form, she has large eyes for night vision and looks cute as hell,sharp talons when she flexes her hand, can flap her arms to make wings appear, can fully turn her head all the way around and tilt it upside down, and can chirp when excited or screech when pissed. She can turn into a giant owl and carry multiple people and can ram hella hard into people/walls to inflict damage. Owls may be cute but they can be scary as hell with their loud screech and when a shadow covers their eyes enough to look like black sockets.

I’d love head cannons of these guys reacting to her turning her head all the way around when they call her or when her eyes become black sockets when she becomes pissed enough

i love owls SO MUCH

and i write for literally any character lol

i had fun doing this one <3

Hawks

This is love at first sight, as he claims you “flew down from the heavens”

He immediately wanted to see anything and everything that you can do

From the first time he saw them, he was hypnotized by your wings

They were so beautiful

During the beginning of your relationship, he would make you fly along with him to do the most random things.

Apparently, a sleepy Hawks is a forgetful Hawks

So when he called your name to ask if you had any food for him, and you turned your head a whole 180, he screamed like a child

He thought he was having a bad dream where everyone was a demon, he was so panicked that he called Endeavor

It took 5 minutes for it to hit him, you had an owl quirk

Owls can do that, yeah you were swarmed with apologies for the next hour.

After that, he truly thought he knew everything about you and your quirk!

You couldn’t surprise him with anything!

Yes, you actually could, and he learned this when he watched you add one of your “closest”  friends argue

That was an entire experience of its own

He’ll be honest, seeing your eyes go completely black was kinda scary at first and the screeches you let out were hurting his ears at first

None of that compared to how hot he thought you looked, and knowing his Babybird had a backbone was even hotter ;)

Aizawa Shouta

You two probably were paired up for a rescue mission and hit it off almost instantly

I am a firm believer that is he liked cats, he likes the nocturnal bunch

It’s just how that works

He already thought you were totally impressive when you sprouted wings

But you looked even cooler caring 6 people to safety, on your first trip

After that, he was just “really curious” about what you could do

As in he wanted to get to know you better

After figuring out you could turn fully into an owl, he wanted to play a prank on class A

Hw would take you to class in owl form, and then in the middle of class, you would turn back!

The prank got a good scare out of most of the class, then Deku started with the questions, you were a pro hero after all

You even demonstrated how your head moves sound and how you use your talons without hurting civilians

Needless to day Tokoyami enjoyed it

Having an owl quirk, you didn't focus much of your time on combat, but you couldn't stand by while villains hurt innocent civilians

This was the first time not only Aizawa saw you pissed, but it was also almost everyone's first time seeing you pissed

And damn, you were terrifying

But you did prove yourself to be someone villains shouldn't mess with

And from then on, Aizawa couldn't wait to see everything else you could do <3

Dabi

He thought you were fucking cool

You had met on the street, where he was bleeding, so you flew him to your apartment and sewed him up

He interrogated you about your quirk for like 3 hours before trying to recruit you to the league, you really didn't have anything else to do so you agreed

And that began the reign of terror, you were powerful and you were “not that hard to look at”

And you were the perfect person that he could use to prank the other members of the LOV

Aka Shiggy

He didn't tell anyone what your quirk was, so when he brought you he had to sit next to Toga at the end of the bar

While he sat next to Shigaraki on the couch behind you

You can see where this is going right?

He called your name, made sure Shiggy was looking, and you freaked him the fuck out

He scREAMED-

He threw his game controller on the floor and looked away

So from then on Dabi was convinced you were perfect for him

He did anything he could to make you squeak and squeal, he never tells you but he thinks you sound so cute!

You were also his break-in buddy! The second he found out you could break down walls, the two of you were practically inseparable

Everything was going amazing!

Until he got badly injured in a bar fight with some random men, and that was the first time he had ever seen you so angry

You had grown your talons and your eyes were void of color, it was scary

Usually, he liked when you squealed but you just sounded so angry, the only thing that calms you down was promising that he wouldn’t do it EVER again

He’s just really obsessed with you at this point, so he isn't going to let you go anytime soon

(or ever)

Bakugo

He was yelling in the hallway, as usual, and he saw you turn your head to look at him

And he was really confused, like reallllllyyyy confused

And after questioning (threatening) other students about you, he decided that you were a threat to him becoming number one

And he couldn't have that, so he cornered you in a classroom after class one day, he hadn’t even said anything before he found himself unable to speak

Why?

1- you had let out the most adorable squeal he’d ever heard in his life

2- you were waaaay prettier up close then you were from afar, and even then you were petty

This guy was frozen for a minute before demanding your name and any known fact about your quirk.

This lead to an exchange of numbers and eventually a clearly romantic friendship

He was entranced by how your quirk, and just you in general

But this is Bakugo, he’s hot-headed and protective, basically, he treats you like a doll

This leads to arguments, and at that point, you were totally pissed at him!

You had shut him down!

He didn't want to say it but you looked kinda cute when you were angry, BUT HE WAS LISTENING TO YOU

And he did lighten up, but he still riles you up to see you like that, it makes him feel like his sweet little baby could make herself so scary

And that just makes him even more sure that you two are perfect for each other

[missorgana]

you shine, i'll shine for you

pairing: alina starkov/genya safin, background nina zenik/matthias helvar

fandom: shadow and bone (tv)

rating: general

word count: 5163

warning: referenced cheating, swearing

summary: Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?” (flower shop au)

(a fluffy au that’s been loooong underway !! inspired by this post, naturally. had a bit too much fun searching up flower meanings as well so... hope you enjoy!)

read on ao3

Genya believes flowers speak their own language.

They show love, adoration, and everything in between, and there’s a reason they’re used for most special occasions, she thinks; although a staple gift when you barely know someone, they’re also an invitation to get to know someone better.

Like Nina and Matthias. It didn’t surprise her in the least that he wanted to ask Nina out, alas, he asked Genya for help on the bouquet, since he just started. The look on her friend’s face when she told her about their fast date was too precious.

And naturally, this is why she opened her little flower shop in the first place. She loved the area, homely and cozy, the atmosphere and the residents.

She’s helped their clients with gifts for any situation you could think of; a last minute anniversary gift, flower arrangements for that big fairytale wedding, the perfect Mother’s Day bouquet, and the businessman getting flowers for his beloved sister’s grave touched her deeply.

Genya thought she’d seen it all, until today, where a young person her age rushes through the door and approaches her with a strange question, “What sort of flowers do you get to tell someone to go fuck themselves?”

She’s simply baffled by the request.

The client’s got restless hands and fire in their eyes, dark hair in a braided bun and wearing a baby blue dress, neck and ears dressed with gold jewelry and a matching septum piercing. They’re almost glowing in the late autumn sun, to be completely honest.

In fact, they’re already reaching for their purse, while Genya tries to work through her confusion and do her best - this is an assignment like any other, she reminds herself, this is her job.

“Oh, uh, depends on the occasion, really…” she starts, and since the customer in front of her curses themself as they find their wallet, the clear anger on their face intensifying, she figures she’ll need to keep her cool, “If I may ask?”

In customer service you’ll have to deal with rude clientele, God knows Genya has, and although this person in no way seems like  that type of person, she still keeps it a priority to not upset them anymore than someone else already has.

She smiles, giving them less of her staple customer service smile, more a hesitant smile because the client also sniffs, and wipes their eyes rather stubbornly before looking back at her.

They’re also more beautiful than sunflowers in bloom, that much is obvious. But someone’s hurt them, and it makes Genya’s heart ache for them with a stinging kind of certainty.

“Sure,” they reply, sniffling again, “My boyfriend’s cheated on me for the second time.”

Second time? Dear God.

Genya doesn’t even know this man, but she does know he’s an asshole, mind the language. She’s sure she must look shocked, because the client chuckles bitterly, clutching their wallet a bit tighter.

“I just need him to fuck off for good. It’s long overdue, really.”

She decides to smile again, nodding, hoping she’s conveying her sympathy right, “I understand.”

And since she gets a timid smile back, albeit still with clenched fists down their side, it makes Genya a little more sure of herself again. If the person wasn’t pretty before, they’re even prettier now. She mentally curses whoever this man is for making them this angry, and making them cry. No one deserves that, but especially not them, Genya thinks.

Luckily it’s a Monday, a slow day for flower sales, and they’re the only customer inside, so she’s reaching for her encyclopedia immediately.

“I do know a bit about flower meanings,” she explains to them, “It’s not common knowledge, but I got a few ideas.”

The client nods, satisfied, and their eyes turn a little less angry and more curious.

“What’s your budget?” she asks while flickering through the pages, and the person in front of her takes less than a second to answer, “The biggest you got, he- We were supposed to go to Paris, so I’ve been saving up. Got some money to blow.”

What a fucking douchebag. Again, excuse the language, but this really sounds like the sort of person who’s drink she would gladly spit in. She might be really excited for this bouquet, now. Serves him right.

Everything that jumps to her mind should be in stock, actually. Genya’s never had to look up negative meanings to the flowers before, admittedly, but she does find some scribbled notes in what appears to be Nina’s handwriting next to the black roses.  Revenge roses. Okay, maybe a bit too sinister, but she’ll keep them in mind.

She finds herself moving out behind the counter before she knows it, and when she picks up the first bunch she notices her client looking over her shoulder in an adorable kind of confusion, so Genya speaks up, “These are yellow carnations, they signal disappointment.”

They nod again, the small smile on their lips growing just an inch brighter. Their hands seem more relaxed, she finds herself noticing.

“Perfect,” they approve, “Is there a hate flower, you think?”

The bluntness no longer surprises her, and since the client huffs at themselves, Genya returns the smile with more certainty. Fair enough, she decides.

“Yes, surprisingly enough,” she chuckles, “Orange lilies. I also have foxglove for insincerity?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I thought so,” Genya likes this person, she decides, probably way more than she should for a complete stranger, but… can you blame her? 

She likes the guts it takes to make a bouquet like this, to be honest. And it’s like they keep getting prettier and prettier the more Genya looks at them, is that crazy? Probably. Matthias would roll his eyes at her, but she and Nina both know how cheesy he actually is, so whatever.

This client is also getting a hate bouquet for a soon-to-be-ex, though, so she’s real with herself, she can’t allow herself to get attached or anything. Would be unprofessional, regardless, but she can admire them anyway, right?

“What else, what else…” Genya wanders a bit more, her client following in tow, she’s got the centerpieces, but the white of this flower would add nicely to the overall look, “Meadowsweet! It, uh, it stands for uselessness.”

The person in front of her lights even more up at the suggestion. She’s thrilled, because honestly, not only helping them but also maybe, possibly impressing this client is suddenly very important to her.

“Alright, I think that’ll do nicely,” she finally tells them, writing the names and price ranges down on her notepad. “Unless you want to add some geraniums, too?” The customer looks at the sample she shows them, biting their lip in contemplation.

“It’s beautiful,” they confess.

“It is,” she agrees, “But it also signals stupidity.”

They laugh at that, a ringing sound like bells or… butterfly wings, maybe. This is just about making Genya’s whole week right now.

“Yeah, I need those.”

And so it’s decided, and she returns to her counter with the notes and shows the client the different bouquet sizes. She figures they might need a card, too, “I don’t have any ‘Fuck you’ cards, unfortunately. Will a blank one be alright?”

They nod, more eager than ever.

“Actually,” they’re running their finger over the sheet with the sizes before looking back at Genya again, “I know this is a big ask, but I was gonna leave the bouquet at his office. Do you think… we could, maybe, cover his desk in these flowers?”

Yet another suggestion that has her standing wide-eyed.

The client chuckles at themself again and fumbles a strand of hair behind their ear, “I’ll pay whatever it costs, I promise. If it’s even possible, that is.”

Genya considers this, and well, it’s definitely possible, they’ve got enough stock for it. The same thing as decorating a chapel for a wedding, sort of, but on a smaller scale. It’s doable.

“I do think my delivery guy can carry it, actually,” she replies, hoping Matthias won’t ask too many questions, but oh well, “We would need entry to the building, though-”

“I have the keys.”

“Oh.”

This person is well prepared. Genya loves it.

“It’s just really a matter of how many bouquets will be needed…” she’s thinking hard, an office cubicle is what she imagines the client is talking about, not too hard to fill up, realistically, “20? Will that be plenty?”

They full-on grin, “God, yes. Make it 22. I, uh, I got cash.”

And so it’s sorted, and a promise of scheduling the delivery for Wednesday, said soon-to-be-ex’s next work day, is settled. Matthias delivers the flowers a little before 8, the customer lets him in and they carry the load together, foolproof plan, Genya’s sure. “This is his number, Matthias Helvar, if you have any trouble, running late or getting into the building, whatever it may be.”

“Thank you so much for this, seriously,” they’re smiling almost from ear to ear, and honestly, she’s a little embarrassed that making this particular person as happy as they appear to be is making her feel so… warm? “This is perfect. I cannot wait to see his face. And walk away.”

It’s a funny sort of bonding experience, or feels like it, less than a transaction. 

Before the client leaves, Genya gets their contact information in return, and an excited wave as the doorbell rings them out. Alina Starkov, the card says, and she/they pronouns right underneath.

She wonders if she’ll ever see them again. She doubts it. But she hopes she’s wrong.

*

Genya does, in fact, see a particular client again, one that for some reason stays on her mind after the delivery is done and in the five weeks till she sees them again, embarrassingly enough.

Matthias didn’t ask a lot of questions, besides the wide eyes and then looking the happiest she’s seen him since Nina kissed him for the first time. He didn’t need convincing, to put it simply.

“Whoever this Alina is, they got some guts,” he laughed to her while they were packaging all those flowers for him, “Practically covered our expenses for the month.”

That’s true, it’s lovely, that pure luck that sometimes hits them like a flood.

She’s over the moon, but of course, she doesn’t mention the part of it being because of that person’s bright smile replacing dried tear stains, and how the change made Genya feel like she’s never done anything more important than making her happy. God, Safin, Nina is rubbing off on you.

The boy lets her know the delivery went smoothly, and that Alina thanked him profusely, but that’s as much as she knows before the bell rings on a late Thursday and Nina’s voice calls from the front of house and reaches to the back where Genya is currently cutting stems.

She dries off her hands in their signature lavender apron - credit to Nina for that, as well - you’d be surprised how dirty a day’s work can get, and Genya takes care not to ruin any of her many, many floral dresses. Yes, she wears florals only to work. Once again, sue her.

She’s not sure why her friend would need assistance, she rarely asks for it, yet, there she stands.

Alina Starkov gives her a smile once again, but it’s less timid today, in no way tearful, instead calm and curious. Like they’re happy to see her, almost.

“Genya! Hi!” she says, and she’s more than a little surprised, much like their first meeting. Did she ever introduce herself? “Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing, I, uh, I told Nina how grateful I am for your help with you-know-who. Wanted to thank you in person.”

That’s just way too adorable, isn’t it?

She feels her smile growing without even controlling it, and the brunette next to her is definitely looking like she wants to ask some questions ( many  questions), but she’ll have to wait, geez, Genya cannot be having a romance novel moment in her store of all places.

Realising she also has to collect herself while being in front of the client and her best friend, and not zone out because her inner hopeless romantic is firing up inside her, she decides to brush it off and try to act casual, somehow, “I’m just happy to help. I assume it went as planned, then?” “Better than planned, even. He’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life, I hope.”

Alina laughs, and Genya gets that warm flush inside her chest again. And out of the corner of her eye, Nina looks less curious and more just straight up smug. Damn her.

“I think Matthias is calling me,” is actually how Nina first speaks up, and while the client nods, like they’re away in thought, Genya sees right through her.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You didn’t?” her friend questions, tilting her head, already moving towards the door Genya just came through, “Oh, I did. Can’t leave him hanging, might be urgent.”

“Nina-”

“Back in a jiffy!”

She’s left alone with Alina. Which is fine, you know, they were alone when they first met, right- but listen, Genya is still very much thinking about the person saying her name and the realization that she is, of course, wearing a name tag hits simultaneously with another shock: she  remembered her name.

Logically, that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Gosh.

But she knows it’s not because it’s a shocking experience and more that a person who’s as beautiful as them is smiling at her and that they might just be the prettiest person she’s ever seen and that the thought of making her happy is making Genya happy, believe it or not. She doesn’t understand why this is different from any of her other experiences, but it is.

She hasn’t seen a smile like theirs before, that she knows. It makes her feel all strange and bubbly, like drinking champagne.

However, Alina is speaking up again, so Genya desperately needs to get out of her head.

“I was actually… uh, wondering if you’re maybe able to help me out again?” she starts, looking a tiny bit nervous, “If you’re not busy, that is, oh my God.”

And maybe Genya shakes her head way too quickly, but sue her, “Not at all!”

The client grins, the blush in their cheeks surely must be from the cold wind outside, and it just makes them prettier, if that’s even possible. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Now, she’s gotten this nickname before. Of course those times weren’t from Alina, and she makes sure to hide just how flustered she’s becoming, shaking her head and swinging her hand, “Stop it. I’ll try my best, heh.”

Alina clears her throat before continuing, “My best friend’s coming home, I haven’t seen him in over a year, and… Do you have, like, friendship flowers? I wanna surprise him at the airport.”

Once again, the person in front of her is just downright adorable. It’s almost frustrating.

Genya chuckles, because she doesn’t need the encyclopedia for this request, and easily makes her way over to the roses.

The client looks over the bouquet she picks up with the very same joy as their first meeting. “Yellow rose is  the friendship flower, actually! Usually put together with violets, but I can change it up if you want…?”

“No no no!” they hastily reply, already taking the offer of grabbing the bundle, looking down upon it with visible dimples and eyes shimmering with excitement, “They’re perfect. Mal’s gonna love them, I know it!”

“Ah, I hope so.”

She feels almost shy with all this flattery coming her way, especially from Alina, of course, and once more she thanks her just about five hundred times before hurrying out the shop, phone chiming in the distance.

Even after they’ve left, Genya still cannot believe they came back. And remembered her. Or like, specifically sought out her help, again. Huh.

Nina immediately peeks her head around the corner when the front door has shut, her face lit up like it’s Christmas Eve, “They seemed nice. And pretty.”

“Nina,” is all she can come up with, giving her best glare, while her best friend feigns innocence.

“Yes, Genya?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She sighs, “Just don’t.”

*

If Genya’s second encounter with Alina Starkov wasn’t surprising enough already, imagine her shock when she finds exactly this person entering her shop two months later. Events requiring flowers aren’t constant, which, again, is why she didn’t expect to see her ever again, but she’s not complaining, of course.

She’s working the counter when the door opening reveals Alina, their golden earrings present as always and her hair in two buns, wearing a cropped rainbow sweater and dungarees. Looking just as pretty as last time she saw them, oh God, that fluster’s coming right back.

Except she’s not alone this time. Alina’s got a taller stranger in tow, with curly hair, lip ring and pink floral shirt layered over possibly the most ridiculous graphic tee Genya’s ever laid her eyes upon.

Her recurring client waves when they spot her, heading straight to her, while their friend is almost spinning around in awe.

“Hello again,” Genya greets her, because fuck, she might just get excited over the mere sight of them. Meeting again. Is the universe trying to tell her something?

It’s an absurd thought that shouldn’t matter at all, get yourself together, she tells herself.

“Hi!” They seem even more excited than last time she saw them, and Genya wonders what the occasion could be before Alina continues, “How’ve you been?”

There’s that funny feeling again.

It’s kind of like a lump in her throat, this time, but still as bubbly and warm as before. It’s also just endearing for many different reasons, one being that she rarely gets customers twice, or thrice, and casual conversation is never as easy as theirs. She’s overthinking it, definitely.

“Busy, but good,” Genya tells her, and is about to return it, while remembering their companion, “You? And sorry, ah, I’m Genya.”

Alina’s eyes are like fireworks, almost, and she waves over her friend who’s entranced by the lilies. They’ve got a spring in their step as they make it over to them.

“This is Jesper,” they introduce them, and the tall stranger winks in greeting, “Jesper, this is Genya. I told him all about the shop, cause you’re like… the queen of flowers.”

Oh my God, why is she so sweet? It almost makes her feel embarrassed, the two of them looking at her as she imagines a blush rising just from the client’s words.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Right back at ya!” he replies, one hand in his pocket and another gesturing wildly in the air, “This is amazing, by the way. I see why Alina goes to you for stuff like this.”

Genya laughs, feeling strangely more comfortable and less nervous now. Still, she figures she should probably get to business, they wouldn’t have come here if they didn’t have a purchase in mind, right? As much as the compliments are much appreciated, Alina being the source of them is yet again making her slightly incapable of functioning normally. 

She can only hope she’s improved at hiding crushes since high school, because, well… that is what this is. Genya can’t really lie to herself anymore, or pretend it’s nothing.

It’s making her slightly breathless, this person appearing and reappearing in her life.

But she does need to get over it, because as she tells herself every time, Alina is a customer and she is a salesperson. Her life isn’t a rom-com, as tragic as that may be.

“I hope your friend liked the flowers,” she said, not even needing to wait for a response as they lit up again and confirmed, dimpled smile and all, “Can I help you with anything today?”

Alina nods and hooks her arm with Jesper, “You know it. Friends of ours just got engaged, we wanna have a, uh… tiny celebration for them.”

“By that we mean surprise the shit out of them,” he follows with no hesitation, and Genya and Alina laugh, in syncron. Alright, that’s also totally fine.

“I’m sure we can figure something out for that,” she tells them. She figures flower meanings are less necessary this time around, and when she spots the bottle of champagne and heart shaped box in the client’s tote bag, she decides on a simple question, “Well, red roses are the classic. Most romantic. Do they have any favorite flowers or colors, and such?”

Jesper seems to be squinting in concentration, and Alina bites their lip. It’s quite endearing.

But the client’s eyes widen, then, and they blurt out with only a beat difference, “Pink!”

It comes out as a half-yell, actually, judging by the sweet elderly woman from down the block jumping in the other end of the shop, and Matthias nearly dropping the bunch of tulips he’s carrying onto the back of his bike wagon. The two look awfully apologetic during it all.

“Inej’s favorite color,” Alina explains with an embarrassed giggle, ducking their head, “It’s pink.”

Genya nods, “I see. How about… pink and white lilies, then?”

Jesper seems to smile in approval. “I like that. See, I would’ve just gone with pink roses.”

She gives them a sample, which they both seem pleased with, she hopes so at least, while chuckling once more at his statement, “Could work as well. But these are popular for gifts, they symbolise admiration.”

Her (favorite) client scrunches her nose with as big a grin as hers, already made up their mind, “I think she’ll love them.” And Genya, of course, feels a massive honor in helping them. Again. She can’t believe Alina’s come back two times. Gosh, she’s thinking too much.

“I’ll write these up for you, then,” she tells them while they’re already following her to the counter. At the same time, Jesper’s got furrowed brows in a thinkful sort of face, and Genya doesn’t really know if this is directed to Alina or herself, nevertheless he wonders aloud, “Not sure what my favorite flower is. You got one, Alina?”

“Duh,” the shorter person answers, without hesitation, “Sunflower. Everyone’s got one, right?

Sunflower .

In her mind, nothing else has made as much sense as this. This was the flower she first associated her client with, what their beauty could only be compared with. They shine, so much it’s near blinding Genya, at this point. Yes, she knows it’s cheesy, but it’s only in her head, after all.

Genya realises this question, however, is very much meant for her, and so she answers while typing in their total, bouquet already wrapped up to go, “I think so, yeah. I think your favorite means a lot for you, as a person.”

The taller man seems to consider this.

Then, “I like daffodils.”

“They mean rebirth,” she tells him, “Good choice.”

He looks pleased by her explanation. Alina seems to be the one deep in thought now, though, in fact, they’ve already paid and got the bunch in hand, Jesper saluting Genya in goodbye when the client asks, “What’s your favorite?”

As many times before, they never cease to surprise her, do they?

“My favorite flowers?”

She nods.

“Magnolias,” Genya needs no time to consider this, it’s easy, “Perseverance.”

Alina’s got her wide grin again, but… it changes, a little bit. It’s almost secretive. Promising. Regardless, Genya doesn’t know what to do with her thoughts about it, or the client bidding them their own farewell with, “Till next time!”

She’s quite sure this person will be the death of her, sooner or later.

And as if they could read her mind, Nina and Matthias appear at her side, the man’s arms crossed and her best friend’s arm around his waist, both looking at Genya like they could somehow dig into her brain and know all her secrets. They’re so annoying sometimes. When they’re not adorable. Mostly annoying, though.

“What are you two looking at?” she asks them, and the couple exchange a look before Nina grins.

“They asked for your favorite flower,” she says, her boyfriend nodding in agreement. Genya doesn’t know what to say.

“I know.”

Matthias cocks a brow, “You do?”

She scoffs in disbelief at whatever game they have going on, “Yes?”

Her best friend sighs and puts her free on her shoulder. She tilts her head, “Matthias asked for my favorite before our first date.”

Genya frowns. “I know.”

Nina then chuckles, because they’re both weird and wonderful at the same time, apparently, “You’re impossible.”

“I know what you’re suggesting, Nin,” she then says, because come on, it’s obvious what they’re implying. And it’s bullshit. It was just a question, you know? It must’ve been. Curiosity, that’s all. “But  that  is impossible.”

And because Nina’s looking at her in disbelief, she tilts her head in return, and her friend gives up on the staring contest soon enough. “Whatever you say, babe.”

*

As Genya expected, although much to her disappointment, it seems she won’t see anymore of her beautiful client with raven hair and smile like the sun itself, tragically.

It’s her own fault, really, getting… a bit too attached. She’s fine!

Of course Nina and Matthias are right about her crush, she already knew this. And a month after their last meeting, she admitted defeat just so they could get off her ass about it. Now, though, her best friend looks at her with a sad smile sometimes, like she can sense the disappointment that Alina’s presence is missing entirely from the shop.

They don’t have anything requiring flowers, she didn’t expect them to, all the time. And like, asking for Genya’s favorite flower didn’t mean anything, as her friends kept insisting. They were having a conversation. Customer and shop owner.

Why does she miss her? God, Genya needs to get a grip. It’s just a bit annoying, because she doesn’t feel bubbly and light anymore without Alina Starkov, and she still loves her job,  of course , but maybe she does find herself a little bit jealous when the wedding season kicks in and the boutique is full of couples day in and day out, young and old, all looking at each other like no flower can compare to their love. It’s making her a little nauseous, not that she’ll ever admit it out loud.

Strangely enough, she does get a visit from a couple, a grumpy fellow and a woman with a soft smile, who never let go of each other’s hands while Genya sketched out ideas for the flower arrangement. They wanted geraniums. She somehow recalled her name: Inej Ghafa. And Kaz Brekker. Huh.

Matthias’ birthday passes, where Nina gets him cornflowers (of course), and a month later yet, a familiar face returns when Jesper stumbles in the door in excitement, eagerly purchasing a bouquet of irises for his boyfriend.

Even her mom’s in love, she tells her over the phone, and God, she’s happy for them all. Maybe Genya’s just been lonely too long.

She hadn’t even thought of dating in forever. Hadn’t thought of being single could possibly bore her, or tire her. Until, you know. Alina.

Whatever, whatever!

She’ll get over her stupid infatuation, eventually, she just needs to focus on her work, it was just a string of coindences, and once wedding season is over she’ll forget all about her favorite client who got away. Hopefully.

The universe has way, way different plans for her, though, apparently, because as she and Nina lock up for the evening, Matthias helping them carry the last load of a busy day even though this is technically his off-day (probably an excuse to be with his girlfriend even more, she suspects, but hey), Genya stops in her tracks in the parking lot.

The couple a few steps in front of her appear totally unfazed. They must know what’s going on.

And her suspicion is right, because Nina’s grinning from ear to ear when she looks back at her, “You okay, Gen?”

Genya blinks in disbelief.

Her car. It’s completely covered in… in  magnolias.  She can barely see any trace of her car, in fact, if it wasn’t for the lights blinking when she unlocked it.

What the hell is going on?

She’d had a rather normal day, busy but normal, and scheduled to drive back home to her mom for her birthday early tomorrow. But this is strange. Unreal. Not necessarily in a bad way, the flowers’ smell reaches her all the way over here, but just strange.

Matthias cocks his head and grabs Nina’s hand, “Aren’t you gonna look at your gift?”

“My… my gift?” she asks him, not sure what to say anymore. They definitely had a hand in this. “You already gave me gifts yesterday,” she tells them, dumbfounded.

Her best friend rolls her eyes, “It’s not from us, dummy.” “Who’s it from, then?”

“Shh! That’s a surprise.”

“Nina,” she warns, feeling the exhaustion take over her ever so quickly.

The brunette kisses her cheek and then tugs at her boyfriend’s arm towards her own car. Matthias winks. Screw them.

“Take a look!” they yell to her.

Well… okay then. Genya approaches her car slowly, only a little scared someone’ll jump out from the mountain of pink flowers and scare her half to death. Of course, this isn’t a prank, because her friends are bad at pranks, and the magnolias are so gorgeous she may be getting a little teary eyed.

These little ones reminded her to keep going, when she was at her lowest. It’s stupid, but she felt like she could overcome anything, learning the flower’s meaning and finding a blossom outside of her window back then, like a little reminder from the universe. That’s why they're her favorite. Perseverance.

Bugger, she should probably get started on digging her vehicle out from somewhere in there. Except… her eyes fall upon a little pink card, secured on the wiper. And on it, her name is written, in cursive, gold letters.

Her curiosity takes over, of course it bloody does, and she picks up the card immediately, and when she flips it over…

Is this a fever dream?

Happy early birthday, Genya Safin. Call me? Sincerest wishes (and apologies for the car, grand gesture), Alina Starkov.

This is most definitely a fever dream. Except the card is very real in her hands, and the smell of the magnolias embrace her like a warm hug, and her friends honk as they leave the lot, laughing audible even with the windows all the way up.

Alina’s phone number is written at the bottom, underlined and everything, with a tiny heart next to it.

A grand gesture. A grand romantic gesture, at that. Genya cannot for the life of her stop smiling, big and in shock and flushed and excitement flowing through her veins.

They remembered.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Five

ao3 - masterpost

hello, my dears. here's chapter five, without too much fanfare. enjoy<3

---

The morning of her first self-defense lesson with Cassian, Nesta awakes to a cool breeze blowing in the scent of roses from her open window.

"Good morning," Nesta says, smiling slightly. "I guess you liked my gift."

She had finished it yesterday, in the jewelry-making session. It had taken her the better part of the day. A sort of cover for the cracked, broken part of the walls the Illyrians had destroyed. Golden and gleaming and prettier than the beige paint around it, but complementing all the same.

And now the House, apparently, is showing her affection for it: a new rose bush outside of her room, fat flowers dangling down over the top of her window. A very pretty frame for her already spectacular view of the city.

The House gives her different clothes today, too. A fitted shirt, and a knee-length loose skirt, with leggings underneath. As close to pants as she'll wear. By Cassian's slight approving nod when she meets him after breakfast, he approves.

"We'll be starting on the roof," he says, in lieu of a greeting.

She nods once. She remembers hearing him, back in that awful first week here-goodness, but it's not yet been a full month since then, and it feels so long ago-hearing him up there, throwing knives around or whatever it was he did. She guesses she'll soon find out.

The crispness of the morning mountain air hits her in full force, but Cassian doesn't act like it fazes him at all. In fact, judging by the way his wings spread slightly wider, he likes it.

"All right," he says. "Let's begin."

The hour ticks by, slowing and speeding up depending on moments when Cassian touches her. There's none of his usual chatter or teasing; he's serious and unsmiling. The training ring is probably sacred to him.

Serious and unsmiling, but not discouraging. He's generous with his praise when she achieves his simple tasks-too generous, she thinks, but perhaps he has some ulterior motive.

Or perhaps, a small voice inside her head says, he's relieved you'll finally know how to defend yourself, and he means it.

It's not as daunting as it had seemed at first, this self defense. He's good for their agreement; this isn't training. He takes all her weaknesses and her proposed attacker's strengths into consideration and shows her how to maneuver past it all. How to cause an assailant-even one as big and strong as he is-to let her go when they grab her arms tightly in front, how to move her legs when she's caught in a chokehold, and how to break free when someone grabs her from behind.

"I guess no one will be able to pull onto your hair, though," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Keep your arms at your sides; you don't want them to get in the way of this one," he adds, mercifully changing the subject too quickly before he can notice her expression.

No one can pull on her hair now, that's the whole point. But they had, they had, rough enough that strands came out and she had no way to escape. What if she had known these tricks then? Would she have had a prayer? Would she still be human? Elain? And what of Father, would he still be alive? Or would it not have mattered; only delayed her certain torture and death, because she had been human, and they had been Fae, and in the end, that was all-

"Arms like this, Nesta," Cassian says, switching from mock-assailant to instructor as he gently tucks her arms against her sides, and drawing her out of her head to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on hers, his body behind her. His wings block out the wind, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him to her core. "Because you don't want them to get in the way of when you break out...and why else?"

"So I don't use them to hurt myself," she says, repeating his words from earlier.

"Right...good. Let's do this one again. One last time."

She takes a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't need to. He doesn't let her feel trapped.

"All right, I'm grabbing you now-good!"

For she is ready for him, this time. He wraps his arms around her from behind, his arms trapping hers at her elbows, and she instantly draws them in like he instructed. Without waiting for his prompting, she gathers her strength and throws her head upwards and backwards, like he had shown her, and then leaps away as his arms fly open.

"Good, Nesta!" he says, eyes shining as she turns around. He isn't hurt; he keeps moving away for this one so she doesn't do any real damage. "You would've hit his neck there...normally, I'd say go for the chin, but neck's really good...at that speed, with that force, really good..." He grins broadly at her, his first smile of the morning, and after an hour of being in instructor-Cassian's presence, she blinks at the easy switch.

"You did really well," he says, after handing her a glass of water. "Did you...how was it for you?"

She shrugs slightly. "All right." It wasn't fun. But it was hardly suffering. And the movements, following Cassian's instructions...a good way to keep herself focused.

"Would you...do you want to continue?" His voice is casual, but from the careful way he does not meet her eyes, she can tell he is tense.

"Yes," she says, trying to keep her voice casual too.

He brightens, and something inside her dims automatically. His...elation, relief, whatever this spark is, at seeing her agree to do this...it feels, somehow, as though she is doing something wrong. She is cheating or lying. She does not deserve this, is not worthy of his joy. Of him.

"It's not healthy to do workouts every day," he says, "especially...when you're in recovery."

When you're weak, he means. When one is ill and emaciated-even if she is getting better, and trying, it's not going to be enough-never enough-

"So I think...Mondays and Tuesdays...and Thursdays and Fridays? If you'd like to do this long term, I mean."

Nesta blinks. "How long-term?"

He shrugs. "Till you want to stop, I guess."

She purses her lips slightly. "Don't you have...I mean, will you be able to do this four times a week, indefinitely? Don't you have..." An occupation, she wants to say. Running the strongest military on their island, maybe one of the strongest in the world. "You don't have the time," she decides on instead.

He does it again. His deep hazel eyes latch onto hers and don't let her go. She doesn't have a prayer of looking away until he lets her. There's not enough self-defense lessons in the world for her to be strong enough to fight this off.

"I always have time for you, Nesta."

She shivers, and it doesn't have anything to do with the crisp wind under the weak October sun.

He moves his head, and lets her go.

"So tomorrow, then," he says.

"Tomorrow," she echoes. She doesn't stay to watch him fly off.

---

Nesta had done incredibly well. Spectacularly. And she had looked even better.

He had stayed up half the night before, wondering if she was going to show up in pants. She hadn't, but the skirt she had worn had gone only to her knees. The shortest he'd seen her in by far. And her black top...like a second skin. A healthier skin, almost normal. Not translucent any longer. Covering a softer body. More curves, like she used to have. Bones not protruding so much. Golden hair shining in the dim light, coiled and braided like a princess', like a queen's. She even has it up when she goes to sleep, he'd learned during her first week here. Does she ever wear it down? Only to bathe, probably. And what does she look like then, with this slight new weight, this perfect skin, this beautiful hair reaching he doesn't even know how far down...He'd only allowed himself a few moments of ogling her before violently shoving out all thoughts anywhere near the realm of lust from his mind. The training ring was not for this.

Feyre and Elain are beside themselves with happiness, as he knew they would be, when he tells them how it went.

"She agreed to more lessons," Feyre says in wonderment.

"It can only be a good thing," Elain says, tugging on a stray lock of hair.

"Yes," Feyre agrees. "But...maybe, considering...you know. Your history." She shoots him an apologetic look. "Maybe it'd be best if..."

Cassian's heart rate picks up. "You think someone else should teach her?" No, his instincts tell him. She had asked him. She wants him to do it.

But he knows he'll give in. If her sisters think it would be better...because it's her that matters. Not what he wants. What matters is her getting better.

Oh, but he knows he can be the person to help her. Or one of the people, at least. If she just lets him.

Mercifully, Feyre says, "No, no, not that. Just...maybe you could do with a chaperone? Azriel or-well, no, not Rhys. But maybe it would be good for Az to drop by occasionally...what do you think?"

"That's not a bad idea," he admits. A buffer. He could do with one.

"So, what are you teaching her, exactly?" Elain asks.

"Just some self defense. Breaking away from an assailant, today." But maybe, in time, he can convince her to do more. More general exercise, maybe even some offensive techniques. "There was something at the House," he adds. "On the wall where the Illyrians attacked."

"What?"

"This gold...thing. Covering the damage the Illyrians did to it." He clenches his jaw at the memory.

"I thought the House was magic now," Elain says. "Couldn't it have fixed itself up."

"Nesta made it," he says. "She told it she was going to fix it, so..."

The wall had been as fine as any other in the House, in any one of Rhys' homes, before the attack. Painted well, a warm beige, and decorated with any number of ornate pictures and mirrors and shelves for vases and whatnot. But now, the wall was white and bare but for the swirling metal covering the cracks and craters.

Cassian understands. If Nesta had made something for him, he'd want it to be the only thing people saw when they looked at him.

"She made something?" Feyre asks, eyes widening slightly.

"She did say she had that jewelery thing...she said she liked it."

"I never thought of Nesta as an artist before," Feyre says, quieter. "She never had any patience for painting when I showed her."

"Well, I'm sure she doesn't think of herself as an artist...I got the impression she liked it as a way to calm herself down."

"Do you think? What does she need calming down from? Is she-is she angry, do you think?"

Feyre and Elain continue to discuss Nesta and guess at her thoughts and motives while Cassian sits and desperately wishes he could only ask her.

---

Thalia asks to see her as soon as she's available, so Nesta tells Gwyn she'll see her after lunch and heads down to her office.

"Good morning," Thalia says, smiling up at her from her couch.

Nesta sits opposite her. "Hello."

"You're looking refreshed."

"I started...some self-defense. Just a little. With, um, Cassian." Does she know Cassian, Nesta wonders. Probably. He's the kind of person everyone knows.

"Really?" Thalia says, sounding impressed. "How wonderful!"

Nesta shrugs a little.

"Well, I think that comes at a perfect time, actually."

Nesta's eyes shoot up. "Why?" she asks, wary.

"I think I've settled on an idea to help you tackle your goals. I wanted to know what you think."

"All right," Nesta says, after a beat. "What is it?"

Thalia tilts her head back slightly, chin set. Oh, this should be good. "What do you think about keeping a log and schedule of trying new things?"

She sucks in her bottom lip before saying, "Trying new things? How does that help me with my goals?" It seems like Thalia is trying to push her own agenda over actually helping Nesta achieve hers.

"It'll get you in the habit of doing things you aren't used to," Thalia says, patient. "It'll keep you focused on something. It might bring new joys or interests into your life, perhaps personally, or perhaps by bonding with others. And it'll greatly increase your confidence and self-esteem."

Nesta blinks. "That's not one of my goals."

"I know, dear. It's one of mine."

Nesta looks down. "It's..." She forces herself to say the words she would normally just drown in inside her own mind. "Just hard to remember sometimes."

"What's hard to remember?" Gentle, not prodding.

She swallows hard. It sounds so stupid inside her head. How will it sound out loud? "That I'm actually supposed to...get better. Sometimes it feels like that's the wrong thing to do." She bites her tongue-she hadn't meant for that part to come out.

But Thalia never acts like what she's saying is pathetic, even if it is.

"How does it feel wrong?"

Nesta sighs. Not out of irritation over the question, just because she isn't quite sure how to answer. "It's...I don't know. Sometimes one just knows a thing is wrong."

"Hm," Thalia says. Considering, thoughtful. "Well, at any rate, your self-defense lesson today can count as your new thing for the day."

"Well-wait, for the day? You want me to do one new thing per day?"

Thalia's lip quirk. "How often did you think I was asking you?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe."

"I don't think so. Once a day, please. Don't forget to track them all. Write them down. Run along, now, Nesta, and if you could take these books with you? Thank you."

Gwyn finds her putting Thalia's books back on the fifth level. "So, how did it go with Thalia? And with your training session with Lord Cassian?"

Lord Cassian. She'll never get used to that. "News travels fast, I see," she says primly.

"You know it does. How did it go?"

"It went...all right."

"Which one?" Gwyn takes a book from Nesta's hands and puts it on a shelf over her head.

"Both of them. Actually, I think the lesson with Cassian went better," she says in surprise, after reflecting. "And it wasn't training. It was just some self-defense."

"Same difference. What happened with Thalia?"

"She's making me try one new thing a day."

"One per day? Every day?" Gwyn shudders. "I can't believe you go along with everything she says. All her meetings and exercises and now this self-defense...You must be four times as brave as I am, at least."

Nesta winces.

"What are you going to do?" Gwyn continues, either not noticing Nesta's discomfort or respectfully ignoring it. "For your new things, I mean."

"I don't know," Nesta says, weighing two books, as if debating between her options for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after. "I guess...try every fruit I haven't?" Gwyn laughs. "I don't know what she expects me to do."

"I'm sure you'll think of things. You're...you'll do better than the rest of us. You do better than the rest of us. It's so obvious, how much you want to live." She says it confidently, assuredly, her teal eyes set.

Nesta bites her lip. "I did really want to live," she says quietly. That night in Hybern. She had fought with everything she had. The whole way to the Cauldron, and even after, inside it. She hadn't stopped. "I...can't..."

"I know," Gwyn says, voice soft as Nesta's. "You can't remember why. It's all right. You will. I can tell."

Nesta blinks rapidly. She's not about to cry. She's not. She just...she doesn't know what she is.

"I can't believe it's not even noon," she mumbles.

Gwyn chuckles. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your day's hardly going to be a quiet one. Calliope wants you all afternoon."

She likes Calliope, generally, so that's not so awful. "For what?"

Gwyn shrugs. "Sorting through her papers, probably. Maybe she wants you as an assistant."

If Nesta gets assigned to a High Priestess, than she doesn't have to do these menial tasks anymore. Of course, there's no promise that the priestess she'll be assisting won't have her own miserable things for her to do...Merrill, Gwyn's priestess, is a royal pain, Nesta knows...

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Gwyn says. "Wearing your dress backwards or eating starfruit."

"Ha," Nesta says flatly.

Gwyn laughs once more before going, unbound copper hair flowing behind her.

She's wrong, Nesta knows, about her being braver than anyone else. About her being brave at all. All she's doing now is what other people are telling her. Go see Calliope in her office, Nesta. Come sit with Thalia on the third level, Nesta. Tell Clotho if you liked Daphne's lecture, Nesta. Simple motions, simple movements. Nothing brave about it.

"Now again on the left, Nesta. Good. Good."

It's Thursday morning, and Cassian is the one ordering her about. Sometimes she thinks he sounds like any one of the priestess, with how he talks to her in these lessons, which makes her feel...she isn't sure. It's odd, certainly. Considering all the ways they used to talk to each other. Barbed insults, right in the House, to the other end of the spectrum. The words that cycle in her head some nights, the newest among them being I always have time for you, Nesta...and, of course, intermittent praises from when she does well.

"Excellent. Keep your torso just like that...now with your arms just as I-yes!"

There's really not any bravery required, Nesta decides. Not when the priestesses are all eager to do anything that encourages the girls to, well, do anything, and not when Cassian is...himself. Even now that Azriel, the member of her sister's circle Nesta is wont to consider her favorite if only because he never talks to her, has started showing up for a few minutes every session. Even he, with his face more closed off than Amren's (back when they were on speaking terms), and those dark shadows of his...even he does not discourage her.

Their hour ends, and he watches her drink two glasses of water-discreetly, drinking some himself, too-before turning to leave.

"Um," she says, voice slightly louder than it needs to be.

He pauses. Turns. Waits.

She can't look away again-his eyes-but she has to say something, doesn't she? What was it she was going to say?

"I seem to be doing well," she blurts out. Then flushes crimson.

He grins. "You're doing very well, Nesta."

She smooths her skirt, as if that'll somehow help her regain composure. "What I mean is," she says, voice hopefully not wobbly, "these...lessons...seem to be doing me good."

His grin gets smaller, but his eyes grow soft. "I...am very glad to hear that."

"I mean they help me feel...better. I feel better. Stronger. And I don't get so distracted all the time. And I...don't think about drinking so much." That's true, she realizes. In fact, she hasn't wanted a drink since...Monday? Sunday? She can't even be sure.

Cassian inhales sharply. "Good," he says, rather faint. "That's...that's so good, Nesta."

"So I was wondering if maybe you thought that...because I thought...well, I-I don't know, but maybe..." Stammering, tripping over her own words, it's just-

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

She nearly gasps, the words playing in her mind so clear in his eyes it's almost as though she can hear him saying them aloud.

"I thought maybe some other girls would like to join. If you don't mind. Having some more of us."

Cassian blinks. "I...I don't. I don't mind at all. I think that's a great idea, actually."

"Well, I also thought," Nesta starts, encouraged, "that since, you know, you've wanted that female Illyrian legion for so long-" he blinks again, evidently unaware that she knows that-"maybe you could also see if some Illyrian girls wanted to join. Just to see if they have a taste for...any of this."

Cassian's mouth falls open slightly and his hand goes to his forehead. "I...can't believe I never thought of this myself, actually," he admits. "Self-defense as a sort of gateway...that's actually really fucking brilliant, Nesta."

She huffs a sound of amusement at his swearing; it's been so long since she's heard any curse, as the priestesses are all so pious and proper. He starts at the sound.

"Well," she says, ducking her head to busy herself with her skirt so he doesn't see her color again. "I have to go bathe and..."

"Oh, yeah. All right. Well...so Monday? With some other girls?"

"If they want," Nesta says. "I don't know if anyone will want..."

"Well, you just let them know. Maybe ask Clotho..."

"I will. And...will you go to that camp? Windhaven?"

"Windhaven?" he asks.

"I met a shopkeeper..."

"Emerie?"

"Oh," she says. "You know her."

"She's the only female shopkeeper," he says. "We've met."

"I talked to her a little. I think she might be interested. I think she has some friends who might like it, too."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I didn't know...I assumed-well, never mind. All right, Nesta. Goodbye, then. And great idea, really. And..." he trails off. She looks up to see him smiling. "You did really well. I mean it."

She nods, just once. But then she says, "Thank you."

She can't quite believe she said that. But judging by the way his grin widens enough to show all his teeth, it's something he's been waiting a while to hear.

[babyboyblasty]

CHAPTER 9:

In the end it was Mina who had to take one for the "greater good" and promise to delete /all/ (and it was a lot) of her girl Kacchan pictures in order for Bakugou to agree to let them doll him up for the mall. The pink skinned girl had pouted when Bakugou made the bargain but agreed nonetheless because to hell she was missing out on this once in a lifetime opportunity.

"You have to let us do /and/ dress you however we want though, okay? That's the deal" Uraraka reminded and Bakugou rolled his eyes with a 'tch', crossing his arms over his chest.

"As long as you don't make me look stupid, do what you want. Let's get this over with" Bakugou grumbled and the girls squealed. Mina and Hagakure immediately started digging through their combined pile of clothing they each took from their own closets and piled up on Bakugou's bed. Mina had a bunch of animal print and vibrant, loud clothing that just screamed 'look at me' while Hagakure's was a bit more simple but still very girly and cute. Bakugou was dreading what they were going to dress him in.

Kirishima waved goodbye to the girls and they all thanked him for helping them move their things to Bakugou's dorm. Not only were they dressing him but they also brought over their own things to get ready in his room too (they were dressing in their own rooms though). There were makeup bags on his desk, straighteners and curling wands plugged in as they helped do each other's hair, etc. It looked like a disaster zone as pinky and invisible girl dug through their things and carelessly threw them on the floor as they looked for what to put on Bakugou while simultaneously also looking for an outfit for themselves.

"I'll be doing your makeup, Bakugou-san. Do you have something in mind?" Momo smiled sweetly as she sat down in front of him, placing her makeup bag on her knees. Momo by no means considered herself a makeup guru but she did know a thing or two from watching videos and practicing on herself.

"Do whatever you think will look best on me" was all the blonde said and Momo gave him a nod. Based on his facial features already, Momo didn't need to do much. His skin was flawless already so she wouldn't need to do any spot treatments for acne or blemishes. Any eye bags were close to nonexistent too. Bakugou obviously took very good care of himself. All in all, Momo didn't think Bakugou even needed any makeup to appear stunning so something minimal just to make his best features pop out would be the way to go. Momo took a cute bunny headband to push his hair back and out of the way while she applied a sheer tinted moisturizer to his face. She started off with brows then moved on to a light pink/peach eyeshadow look with a small wing. Blush and a tinted lip balm for a coral wash of color was her next move. Cherry flavored. After that all that was left was mascara to make his lashes longer and fuller and a subtle highlighter for a dewy look. His makeup was kept to a minimum to make his natural beauty pop and if it was possible Bakugou looked even prettier than before.

"Wooow" Momo heard from behind her and turned to see Mina, Ochako, Jirou, and the rest of the girls looking over Momo's shoulder at Bakugou in awe. The blonde had his eyes closed since Momo had been applying a bit of highlighter on his lids so he opened them and looked at the girls with a raised eyebrow. For once Mina had nothing to say as she just appreciated the sight of her friend looking like an angel instead of an angry pomeranian for once.

"You did good, Yaomomo" Ochako broke the silence, one side of her head straightened while the other was still curved, the straightener still in her hand. They all agreed, each asking the black haired girl if she could do their makeup next. Momo blushed a bit under the praise of her friends and of course agreed to help them with their makeup.

Bakugou took out his phone to open the front camera and look at himself. He smirked a little. "Not bad, Ponytail" he looked up. Even he knew he looked good.

Momo smiled brightly. "There honestly wasn't much to do. You're already so pretty, Bakugou-san, so I only had to do a few things" she explained.

"Oi Blasty! Look what we have for you!" Mina and Hagakure both came forward with two articles of clothing. "Try them on!"

He took them. One was white and the other pink. "Fine" he mumbled, no other choice but to agree, and went into the bathroom attached to his dorm. He got undressed quickly out of his school uniform and put on what they picked out for him. The top was a white, layed, ruffled, off the shoulder crop top. The bottoms were a pair of high waisted, wide leg magenta shorts that sort of looked like a skirt if he kept his legs together. The combination wasn't bad and as he exited the bathroom, Mina gasped, putting her hands over her mouth like the drama queen she was.

"You look so good, Bakubabe!!! Here, I got these from my room just now. I think they'll pair well with that outfit" she smiled and grabbed some tan sandals with an ankle strap and a small heel. Bakugou took them and sat down to put them on. After that all they had to do was his hair. They didn't really do much but just brush it and add some product to make it fluffy and softer (which Bakugou definitely did not make a note of to remember and buy later). Hagakure spritzed him with a sweet smelling perfume and then he was done. By that point most of the girls had picked up their things and left to change clothing except for Mina who was changing in his bathroom since all her clothes were in his room already and Jirou who was already dressed looking like every girl's e-girl dream aesthetic.

Once she was done, Mina texted the class group chat to check if everyone was ready and that they'll be meeting in the common room in ten minutes so they can head over to the mall together. "We'll see you in a bit, Bakubabeeee" Mina waved him goodbye and she and Jirou left to their own rooms. Once they were gone Bakugou laid back in his bed to rest and mentally prepare himself for the rest of the day. After eight minutes he heard a knock and went up to answer it.

"Hey are you rea- oh" Kirishima's mouth snapped shut as he just stared down at Bakugou with red cheeks and wide eyes.

"Oh?" Bakugou tsked, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "That all you have to say?" The blonde was just joking but Kirishima immediately shook his head no.

"No! I mean- I.. you.. you look good. Very manly" he smiled nervously and Bakugou rolled his eyes with a snort. ‘Darn it’ Kirishima cursed himself for getting so awkward and not coming up with something better. It was like he was going back to his middle school self.

"Yeah whatever. Let's go, shitty hair" Bakugou grabbed his phone and room key card then locked the door behind him and started going to the elevator to go down to the common room with a strangely quiet Kirishima next to him. ‘What's up with him?’ he thought to himself.

Next to Bakugou, Kirishima's head was going a mile a minute. Every rom com movie he's ever watched with Mina was flashing through his mind right now and he kept imagining himself and his best buddy in the main characters' positions. Him picking Bakugou up by the waist, their hair moving in the wind while his open button up flew behind him like a cape. Him shielding Bakugou from the harsh sun while he enjoyed a popsicle snack (spicy mango is his favorite). Him tucking a flower behind Bakugou’s ear. Him kneeling down to buckle the strap on his sandal when it came loose. Glancing over at the blonde when they were in the elevator going down to the first floor, Kirishima smiled shyly but then looked away with a frown when he realized he was royally 100% screwed.

[word count: 1428]

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (7)

Con Artist AU. masterlist. 

Content Warning: swearing, PTSD, violence, sex

Before we get started here, you all need to know that Flawless will be going on a mini-hiatus. This chapter is the end of my original outline, and I need to spend some time planning out the next plot arc before I write the next chapter. 

(Also, shoutout to the lovely humans who translated the line in French. Y’all are the real MVPs.)

Anyway, this is it. The chapter you’ve all been waiting for. The heist. It feels so surreal to finally write it. As always, thank you for coming on this wild ride with me. ❤

*****

In the shadow of its brightly illuminated landmarks, Paris hummed to the tune of debauchery. 

Paparazzi gathered around the Louvre’s glass pyramid, waiting to capture a clear picture of a celebrity guest entering the afterparty. Riley shielded her face with her clutch as she walked in, careful to remain unidentifiable in the barrage of photos. The gold buttons on her emerald jacket-dress caught the warm light emanating from the pyramid and the bright camera flashes. She was well dressed, but not enough to stand out. Tonight, Riley needed to blend in. 

She ran a hand through her hair, making sure the loose curls covered her earpiece. For the sake of stealth, the team’s comms were skin color, but they were Nikki and Cage’s skin color, not Riley’s. 

Riley was half-tempted to throw her comms into one of the fountains out of spite. 

She was the last of the Five Eyes to arrive. They staggered their arrivals to avoid being associated with one another, as a precaution. Pulse thrumming in anticipation, Riley bounced on her toes slightly as she waited in line to check in. The Louvre security team meticulously checked each guest’s ID against the guest list; there would be no party crashers tonight. 

It had been all too easy for Riley to add the Five Eyes’ cover identities to the guest list a week ago. Now, she handed the stone-faced security guard a drivers’ license bearing her face and the name “Danika Jackson.” Returning her ID with a nod, the security guard stepped aside, allowing Riley to enter the party. 

Everyone is responsible for their own entrance and exit. That was her new rule. She got everyone’s names added to the guest list, but her assistance ended there. If someone ran into trouble, it was on them to bail themselves out. 

Riley had learned that rule from her mentor when she first dipped her toes into the world of two-faced schemes and nimble-fingered cons, but she never truly understood it—or saw the need to enforce it—until she felt the bite of handcuffs digging into her wrists. 

It was a mistake she’d never make again. 

Riley strolled through the hallway bearing massive Italian paintings, slowly making her way to the room containing the most overrated painting of all time—and the rendezvous point. 

The Mona Lisa room was empty aside from a blonde woman in a beaded, blood-red cocktail dress standing much too close to the glass-encased painting. Riley stood to the woman’s right and studied the painting as well. It was underwhelming. 

“You’d think the most beautiful woman in art would be wearing a prettier dress,” Nikki remarked.

Riley snorted, crossing her arms. “Says the woman who just bought a four-thousand-dollar cheetah print pantsuit.”

Nikki feigned offence. “You’re just jealous because you couldn’t pull it off. Anyway, quiz time. What year did da Vinci paint the Mona Lisa?” 

“1503,” Riley answered easily. “And the woman’s name is Lisa del Giocondo.” Nikki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What’s that look for?” 

“I didn’t think you actually listen when I talk about art.” 

Riley offered her friend a small smile. “I’m always listening to you.” The sound of heels clicking down the hall made them pause. When the coast was clear, Riley murmured, “Is everyone in position?”

“Yeah. Desi and Sam should be inside already, and Jill checked in a few guests in front of me.”

“How did that go?”

“Easy peasy.” Nikki glanced at Riley and softened her tone. “Are we sure Jill is ready for this?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we? Don’t forget, it was your idea to recruit her.”

Nikki turned back to the Mona Lisa. “You know, you really do suck at pep talks.” 

“Oh shut up.” Riley rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you want control room duty?” 

Nikki spared her a sideways glance. “I’ll do it. You did it last time.” Her second sentence hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the job gone horribly wrong. And a reminder of all the things they still hadn’t talked about. 

Riley brushed it aside. They could talk after they were each forty million dollars richer. 

Pulling a flash drive hidden inside an old lipstick tube out of her clutch, Riley instructed, “Plug this in, and it’ll do half the work for you.” 

“Thanks.” Nikki put the tube in her own purse. “See you on the other side.” 

“Don’t get caught.” 

“Don’t get caught,” Nikki parroted, and Riley strode down the hall toward the party.

She followed the pulsing music and the stream of guests to a room in the far corner of the museum, passing the employee door Nikki would sneak into along the way. Crossing the threshold, she couldn’t conceal her gasp. Riley had seen plenty of opulent rooms over the years, but the Galerie d’Apollon was something else entirely. Gold moulding framed the dozens of paintings covering the walls and the arched ceiling. Display cases containing the French Crown Jewels formed a line down the middle of the rectangular room. Despite the party’s couture dress code, the bedazzled guests looked entirely underdressed compared to the grandeur of the gallery.

She only let herself be awestruck for a few seconds before getting to work, marking the exits and security cameras. Riley didn’t like how deep the gallery was in the museum—and how far she would have to walk to make a clean escape with the jewels. 

She would be the one walking out with them. No one else. Riley had made that crystal clear during the team planning meeting a few days ago. 

Draped in black fabric, the case containing the designer jewelry sat in the middle of the gallery. A security guard stood by it, no doubt to ward off nosey guests wanting a sneak peek. 

A wave of nausea passed through her, reminding Riley that the closest thing to a substantial meal she’d eaten all day was the two pastries she ate a few hours ago. She slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, heading for the snack table. Jill was already there, gorging herself on bread and cheese. Eyes wide, the blonde froze as Riley sidled next to her, evidently thinking she was in trouble. 

But Riley simply reached for a piece of bread and asked, “Which cheese is the best?” 

Exhaling audibly, Jill pointed a manicured, light blue nail. “That one.” Riley tried it. Jill was right; it was delicious. 

“You ready, Blondie?” Riley asked, lowering her voice. “There’s no job unless you get this right.” 

Jill rolled her shoulders back, snarking, “No pressure or anything.” There was a bite to her words, one Riley noticed only came out when someone, namely her, pushed the blonde a little too far. 

“Sorry,” Riley said, and she meant it. “You can do this. Don’t second-guess yourself. Commit.” 

Jill merely nodded, swallowing another piece of cheese. 

Riley wandered off, not wanting to stay with Jill too long. With her back to a wall, she scanned the room in search of Desi and Cage. When she didn’t see them on her first sweep, Riley furrowed her brow. Where the hell were they? 

A bright laugh carried across the room—Cage. There you are, Riley thought. She spied her teammate enjoying the spotlight in the center of a group of models all cooing over Cage’s pale pink dress. It suited Cage, with its billowy sleeves and flowy skirt that hit just below her knees. Cage giggled again, putting her hand on a woman’s shoulder a little too boldly for the gesture to be casual. 

Predictably, Desi wasn’t far away, staring daggers at her shameless flirt of a girlfriend. 

Riley unmuted her comms. “Easy there, Des. It’s just an act.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she snapped. Even from a distance, Riley could see Desi’s tight grip on her champagne flute. 

Riley cooed, “So jealous.” 

The woman wrapped a proprietary arm around Cage, clearly welcome to the blonde’s advances, and Cage beamed at her. 

It was enough to push Desi over the edge. “Don’t forget whose bed you’re sleeping in tonight, Samantha,” she snarled. “And I don’t remember agreeing to share.” 

Cage excused herself from the group. “My love, did it ever occur to you that I’m making you jealous on purpose? Because we both know—”

Nikki cut her off, rescuing the team from whatever filthy thing was about to come out of Cage’s mouth. “Don’t be gross, you two.” Riley stifled a laugh. She and Nikki had been subjected to many things they didn’t want to hear over the years. This would hardly faze her now.

Focus. They needed to focus. 

Riley finally spotted the sharp-eyed assistant she noticed at the runway show. Always two steps behind the designer, the young woman obediently trailed him as he floated from group to group. The assistant finished her drink, setting it on the tray of a passing waiter, and strode toward the main hallway in this wing of the museum. 

“I think she’s going to the bathroom,” Jill said. “Do I follow her?” 

Snagging a drink of her own, Riley answered, “No. Bump into her when she comes back.” She watched Jill make her way toward the far side of the gallery, ready to intercept the assistant and steal her keys. 

Everything was going to plan. Jill just had to steal the keys, and then all they had to do was hurry up and wait for the big reveal. Eight o’clock, Riley was told upon arrival. The designer would commence his speech at eight, then reveal his masterpiece to the world. 

Riley checked her watch. Thirty more minutes. 

She knew she’d been standing in this spot for too long already, but Riley was loath to give up the relative safety of having a wall at her back. The twinge of fear she’d felt earlier at the runway show came raging to the surface, rooting her stiletto-clad feet in place. Leaving the wall meant having people in her blind spot. No one’s going to hurt me, Riley promised herself. This is a party, not a prison. 

Her legs felt like lead weights, but Riley forced herself to re-enter the crowd, one agonizing stride at a time. She made it as far as the nearest display case before she had to stop, and her eyes landed on a tiara resting in the center of the display. Countless tiny diamonds formed flowery swoops and swirls, with a handful of emeralds scattered between them, filling what would otherwise be empty spaces. In the center, the diamonds framed a large, round emerald, mimicking the shape of a flower. 

It was exactly what Riley would have stolen had the Five Eyes agreed to rob the Louvre itself, rather than this party. Maybe she’d come back for it, one day. 

Using the case as a pseudo-wall, Riley took a deep breath and re-scanned the room in search of Jill. Unsurprisingly, Jill was exactly where Riley had last seen her.

She kept an eye on the recruit, knowing Desi and Cage were doing the same. Riley was impressed; Jill had quickly figured out how to linger without being obvious she was waiting for something. Jill mindlessly pushed up her glasses—the only visible sign of her nerves—and the movement drew Riley’s attention. 

But not to Jill. 

To another blond head, far behind her. One Riley desperately hoped to never see again. 

“We have a problem,” Desi said. 

“I saw.” 

Nikki’s ex-boyfriend stalked into the gallery, a taller, older man at his heels like a shadow—the same men who chased Riley, Nikki, and Jill through the taco shop a few weeks ago. 

Fuck.

Ducking her head to avoid being spotted, Riley hissed, “Nik, get your ass to the control room and lock the door behind you. We’ve got company.” 

“Already here. Accessing system controls as we speak. Whoever designed the security system in this place should be fired, because this is ridiculously simple. I should’ve left it in French just to keep it interesting.” A pause. "Who's here? Wait. No. Let me guess. Interpol? The mob? That bitchy designer I once robbed point-blank?" 

"Your ex." 

"Oh."

"You didn't tell him about our dream job, did you?" The words came out a little too accusatory, but Riley didn't care. She needed to know. 

"No! Of course I didn't. He— Look, I don't know why he's here, and we can figure that out later. Right now, you need to keep him busy. He's smart, Riles. Maybe even smarter than you. Be careful." 

Riley scoffed. "Smarter than me? We'll see about that." 

"I'm serious, Riley." 

But Riley ignored her, instead giving instructions of her own. "Cage, you watch Jill. Des—" 

"I've got the big one." Classic Desi, never letting her finish a sentence and yet always knowing what she was going to say. The habit was obnoxious at first, but over time Riley learned to appreciate it. "See the bulge on his left side? He keeps touching it." Desi said. "He's armed." 

“He’s what?” Jill exclaimed. 

Chuckling, Desi said, “Now look at my left side. We match.” A small, terrified squeak was the only response. “Well, what did you think I meant when I told you I’m the team’s exfil specialist?” 

“Not that!” 

“And Nik’s ex?” Riley asked, redirecting the conversation. 

“Seems clean.” 

“He is,” Nikki confirmed. “Mac hates guns.” 

“You know,” Riley said, studying the larger of the two men, “The other one kind of looks like a guy who dated my mom once.” 

“Really?” Desi asked. “Think he’s the same guy?” 

Riley took a closer look. He was tall, with broad, muscled shoulders and a buzzed haircut, and considering how often he fidgeted with his tie, he didn’t get dressed up often. He smiled at a passing waitress. He had an open, friendly smile, which totally contrasted with the systematic way he scanned the room. “Nah.”

Jill squawked, “Wait! Are we really still going through with this? Didn’t it just get a whole lot harder?” 

“You say harder, I say more fun,” Cage said. “Just stick to the plan. You’ll be fine.” 

Jill, it seemed, wasn’t so easily reassured. “Am I the only one who sees this is a trap?” 

“It’s only a trap when you don’t know about it. When you do, it’s a challenge,” Riley said. 

“But what if the plan goes wrong? Then what?” 

At the same time, all four women answered, “Improvise.” 

Riley muted her comms as she approached Nikki’s ex; Jill didn’t need the added distraction. Help her, Riley pleaded with the universe. You owe me. 

Pushing her concerns about Jill to the back of her mind, Riley studied her target. There was a champagne flute in the spy’s hand, but he didn’t drink it—not even a sip—and his methodical gaze swept the room, no doubt making note of each guest and who they interacted with. 

He was cute, she had to admit. Definitely Nikki’s type. 

Purposefully not watching where she was going, Riley collided with him, narrowly avoiding sloshing his drink onto her shoes. She pretended to stumble, and his free hand caught her waist, ensuring Riley stayed upright. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Pardon me.” 

His hand left her side. Frowning, he asked, “Do I know you?” 

Don’t lie. Evade. Her former mentor taught her that. 

Riley smirked. “I bet you use that line on every beautiful woman you stumble into.” 

“Only when I’m too blown away to say something original.” He winked. 

Maybe this would be easier than Riley anticipated. “Care to wander the museum with me while you practice your next line?” 

“Normally I would, but I just got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking to start anything new.” 

So much for that plan. 

His honesty, however, was surprising. 

“Not even a little fun?” she goaded, but Nikki’s ex declined once more before excusing himself and vanishing into the crowd. 

At least Desi had better luck keeping the other spy occupied. She had him cornered, her body carefully angled to prevent him from seeing the slight bulge from the gun hidden in her dress. The plunging neckline had two purposes—easy access to the gun holstered at her side while providing a distracting view of her chest and intricate tattoos. It was just enough to snag wandering eyes and keep them focused on the front of her body, rather than the side. To the spy’s credit, his eyes remained pointedly fixed on Desi’s face. 

“Got the keys,” Jill announced. Perfect timing. 

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. “Good work, Blondie.” 

Now, all they had to do was wait.

*****

While the designer yammered some pretentious bullshit about fine jewelry as the centerpiece of fashion and art, Riley slowly pushed her way to the front of the crowd gathering for the reveal. A few feet away, Cage did the same. Across from them—closest to the still-covered jewelry display case—Desi and Jill took their places. None of them were particularly interested by the designer’s speech, but Nikki would be hanging on every word if she were here. 

The designer rambled on, explaining how particular pieces among the French Crown Jewels influenced the designs of his own work. It was awfully arrogant, Riley thought, comparing his own work to such timeless pieces. The longer he spoke, the more Riley disliked him and didn’t feel even an ounce of guilt for robbing him. 

Lingering on the edge of the crowd, Nikki’s ex and his partner seemed content to remain out of the way. For all Riley cared, they could stay there all night. 

The gallery lights flickered once. A few guests glanced up nervously, but the majority remained transfixed on the designer. 

Nikki’s voice crackled through the comms. “Everyone ready? Nod once if you are.” Riley nodded. One by one, so did everyone else. “Alrighty then. Lights out in five…”

Riley counted the number of paces between her and Cage—six. 

“Four…”

Paces from Cage to the jewelry case—eight. 

“Three…”

Paces from the case back to her original position—ten. 

Two…

Closing her eyes, Riley waited. 

“One.” 

Several women shrieked when the lights went out. 

Riley opened her eyes, and before they’d even adjusted to the dark, she strode toward Cage. Six steps. She collided with Cage, dropping her purse on the ground and taking Cage’s identical one, containing replicas of the necklace and earrings. 

Cage shouted that someone stole her purse, causing a scene. She’d chatted and flirted with enough people throughout the night for her voice to be easily recognized, and a murmur broke out among the agitated crowd, creating just enough background noise to cover the sound of Riley’s heels clicking on the floor. 

Eight steps to the back side of the jewelry display. Riley could just make out Jill and Desi unlocking the case with the assistant’s keys. She braced for an alarm to sound, but there was nothing. Atta girl, Nikki. 

Riley opened the purse. Carefully, Desi replaced the real jewels with the fakes, depositing the real ones inside Cage’s purse. 

Jill locked the case and replaced the cover, and Riley returned to her original position among the crowd. The designer and his assistant remained oblivious to what transpired behind them, even as Jill slipped the keys back into the assistant’s dress pocket.

“Lights on in three,” Nikki warned. 

Emergency lights flickered on, casting a harsh white light over the murmuring crowd. A man angrily questioned what happened, followed by a chorus of “Yeah, what he said!”s in a variety of languages. The assistant urged the crowd to remain calm, promising everything would be sorted out shortly. 

Riley looked over her shoulder, searching for Nikki’s ex. He was nowhere to be found. She narrowed her eyes, but with two hundred million dollars worth of jewelry in her hand, Riley decided she didn’t particularly care. 

The woman Cage flirted with the longest stepped forward, picking up the purse Riley had tossed near Cage’s feet. “Isn’t this your purse?” she asked Cage. 

Riley’s teammate feigned embarrassment, gracefully reclaiming the purse. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.” 

Just as an outraged Cage exclaimed the purse was empty, Riley melted into the dispersing crowd, slowly making her way toward the museum’s exit. That was the plan. She’d leave first, and once she escaped with the jewels, everyone else would exit as well. 

Riley retraced her steps, heels clicking on the hardwood flooring of the museum’s endless long hallways. She didn’t look at any of the art as she passed, not even a single glance. Art had always been more Nikki’s thing than hers. 

Weaving her way back to the exit, Riley prayed Nikki hadn’t missed any of the cameras. She was supposed to loop them all, allowing Riley to leave the museum unseen. But with each additional camera—some obvious, some not—Riley’s anxiety rose. 

Nikki knows what she’s doing, Riley reminded herself. She won’t let anything happen to me. 

Two years ago, that reassurance would’ve been enough. 

Now, her distrusting brain shot back, Are you sure? 

Riley didn’t dignify it with a response. 

Passing the museum’s security checkpoint, Riley smiled at a bored-looking security guard. “Vous partez déjà?” he asked. 

Riley hoped the security guard asked why she was leaving so soon. She never did get around to brushing up on her French. “Oui, I have a flight to catch.” Not a lie, although the flight wouldn’t take off until early tomorrow morning. 

The crisp night breeze prickled Riley’s bare skin. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. For the first time that night, Riley finally felt her body start to relax. The vast, empty plaza felt so much safer than the packed gallery. Still not safe enough to let her guard down, but safer. Riley slipped her hand into the purse, fingers closing around an earring. It was surprisingly heavy in her palm. 

Another flawless job. The Five Eyes were back in business. 

She was halfway across the plaza when Nikki started cursing, but Riley didn’t slow. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. The job was done. No turning back now. 

There was a distinct male voice in the background, but Riley couldn’t make out what he said. 

“What do you mean, ‘I had a feeling you’d be here’?” Nikki demanded. “We haven’t spoken in months, Mac, and I know you didn’t track me here on your own.” 

Her ex’s voice was nothing more than a low, indiscernible rumble. 

“What?” Nikki whispered, her voice breaking mid-word. 

As much as Riley wanted to know what he said, she kept walking. But that didn’t stop the others from hissing Nikki’s name, demanding to know what was going on. 

Nikki yelped, and then the male voice purred, loud and clear, “I know you’re listening, Riley. Why don’t we go on that little walk now?” 

With a cold laugh, Riley said, “In your fucking dreams.” How did he know her name? As far as she knew, Nikki never mentioned her. 

Still, she kept walking. Everyone is responsible for their own exit. No matter what. 

Riley muted her comms, and Nikki’s piercing shriek filled her ear. A muffled grunt followed.

Then nothing. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. 

“Riley, you need to come back,” Jill pleaded. “Nikki needs help.” 

She didn’t answer, clenching her jaw with the effort to keep silent. An airplane flew overhead, and Riley tracked its path across the sky. Every step brought Riley closer to her own flight home—and the freedom that entailed. Turning around now would only put that in jeopardy. 

But every step also took her away from her best friend. The woman she once believed she’d do anything for. 

Jill was overreacting, Riley reasoned. Nikki was more than capable of getting herself out of a bind. Riley lost track of the number of impossible situations she and Nikki had found themselves in over the years, and they always found a way to escape. 

“Sam is getting Jill out,” Desi said, slightly out of breath. “Riles, I don’t think I can get Nikki out on my own. Jill is right. You need to come back.” 

Riley faltered. If Desi thought there was a problem, then something must’ve gone really, really wrong. 

Maybe Jill wasn’t overreacting after all. 

“Des—” Cage started. “They opened the case.” 

“So?” 

“They know the jewels are fake. If Riley comes back, it won’t just be Nikki going to prison.” 

Prison. 

Riley didn’t think she was breathing. Heart thudding wildly, her stomach tied itself into knots, and her clothes became damp with sweat. The sense of safety she’d felt earlier was gone, and Riley fought the urge to run. Every little noise—traffic, pedestrian chatter, a siren in the distance—was coming for her, ready to drag her into some dark hole she’d never emerge from. 

Nothing was logical anymore, like the part of her brain capable of rational thought had gone to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to wake up, but it was no use. 

Run, while you still have the chance, her body screamed. 

Everyone is responsible for their own exit, her brain repeated. 

She needed to turn around. Nikki couldn’t go to prison. 

Two years ago, Riley had gone to prison in Nikki’s stead. She let herself be arrested to protect her friends. Her family. 

If Nikki went to prison now, then Riley’s sacrifice would be in vain. 

But Riley’s body refused to turn around. Her worst memories from prison flashed before her eyes—ones Riley desperately wanted to forget—like a cougar crouching in the shadows, waiting for the exact moment she was at her weakest to pounce. 

She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t go through that again. 

She wouldn’t survive it twice. 

“Riles,” Nikki pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are you?” 

Run, that voice in her head said. Don’t look back. 

Her steps were slower now, less sure. But Riley didn’t stop. She couldn’t. 

“I need you.” 

Save yourself, girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispered, but her comms were still muted. With a shaking hand, Riley unmuted them one last time. 

It’s better this way, the voice promised. You’ll see. 

It was all too easy to slip into the brutal, emotionless persona she’d built while in prison, the process having become instinct. It was necessary then, to keep her safe and alive. Now, it did the same, preventing Riley from making a mistake every cell in her body knew she wouldn’t come back from. 

In a cold, unflinching voice, Riley said, “Everyone is responsible for their own exit.” 

She threw her earpiece into a nearby fountain, and the click of her stilettos echoed in the night. 

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@macrileyedits / @hellishrose / @losingitovermacriley​ / @mylifequotesshowallofthem / @thecarrieonokay / @holbytlanna​ /

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

In the next chapter, the non-sensical fluff that adds nothing to the story starts.

***

Chapter 6

He should’ve known better! Mahal take him, he should have known better!

Obviously something like that would happen. No lapse could go unpunished; the only time in the last fifty years he did something solely for his pleasure, something like that happened.

Miss Bell and Gandalf’s Burglar were the same person.

He should’ve seen this coming from a mile away.

He was quite thankful to all the years he’d spent trying to build a thicker skin and a mask of stone to hide his emotions. Thorin had spent many years at court learning how to be a proper prince, and after that he’d always put a brave face for his people’s sake and pretended he couldn’t hear the whispers behind his back.

He’d needed all that experience, all that control and calm when he came face to face with Mistress Bluebell Baggins. It’d taken every ounce of self control not to react to her.

She was right there, in front of him. And what exactly was he to do now?

Thorin would’ve loved to say he had forgotten about her as soon as the door closed after her; that he hadn’t spared her a single thought since he’d left Bree behind, but he’d be lying.

He hadn’t thought about her fervently, like some love sick fool, but he had thought about her. Sometimes her memory would come to him from nowhere: he’d be sitting to eat and he’d remember her walking up to him; or he’d light up his pipe and remember the sound of her laughter. Other days he’d see something that reminded him of her: a stone that had a similar shade to the one of her eyes; hair of the same color…

He didn’t allow himself to linger on these thoughts; they were pointless and that way led to madness –but they came to him anyway.

And now she was here, right in front of him and she looked prettier than he remembered –or maybe he’d just tried to convince himself she wasn’t that pretty. Her riot of curls was haphazardly pulled to the top of her head, showing her elegant neck, and he remembered how soft it felt to the touch.

Then he bristled at the thought. He shouldn’t be thinking like that at all, he should focus on the problem at hand.

The journey.

As he looked at the hopeful, eager faces of his companions he felt like he’d -somehow -failed them all.

There would be no help from anywhere. The other lords could say whatever they wanted about this being their quest and nobody else’s, but he knew the truth: they didn’t think it was possible, they didn’t think he would succeed.

Even he wasn’t sure he could do it.

Almost a year ago, when Gandalf presented him with the idea, it seemed like the clouds had cleared the sky for the first time in years. He could see a sliver of sun and he could hope for… Something.

Now, looking at the faces around him -his nephews, old friends -he was scared of what he was asking of them.

Maybe it was too much. Perhaps he didn’t have the right to ask so much from all of them.

However, it was their home, their mountain; he would die before he let someone else take it from them. He told his kin the truth: they had no support, but they wouldn’t be the only ones interested in its riches.

They had to take Erebor back.

Then Gandalf gave him the key.

It was such a small thing -considering -but it was something. It suddenly made him feel like this was Fate, it was the right time and he had no choice but to do it.

And he would.

If the Burglar agreed to go.

Bofur had -very helpfully -described the dragon as “furnace with wings”, and she gave the contract back to Balin, before pulling Gandalf by his robes and locking them in a studio.

She looked floored.

“Little firecracker, ain’t she?” Bofur called with a grin.

He had no idea.

***

“A dragon, Gandalf? Really?”

“Now, Bluebell, my dear…”

“Don’t you start with that.” She rolled her eyes. “I cannot believe you. First, you tricked me into hosting this dinner…”

“Now, now…”

She continued, ignoring his interruption. “You bring thirteen dwarves into my house. Of course, I can take this, but still, a little warning would have been nice…”

“Bluebell…” The wizard tried again.

“And now there is a dragon? I have said I would not even go on this adventure of yours, and you failed to mention a dragon!” She accused him.

Gandalf gave her a fierce look, before straightening the most he could in such a cramped space. “You have been sitting quietly for far too long.” He decreed. “Tell me; when did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you? I remember a young Hobbit who always was running off in search of elves and the woods, who would stay out late, come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies.” Gandalf ignored her sigh and pressed on. “A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire. A Hobbit that would not be pressured into doing what everybody expected of her.”

Bluebell scoffed at him. “I cannot just go running off into the blue. I am a Baggins, of Bag End. And I have responsibilities here.” 

“You are also a Took.” Gandalf reminded her unnecessarily. “And the daughter of your mother.”

Bluebell sighed and pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Gandalf…”

“Let me show you something, my dear.” He asked, nodding towards the door.

Bluebell sighed one more time, but got up and followed him.

The dwarves had gathered in another room, she could smell the leaf they were smoking and could hear the humming, even before she crossed the door.

Thorin –the majestic, handsome, arrogant dwarf –was standing by her fireplace, a pipe in his hand, his eyes lost somewhere in the past…

And then he started to sing. 

“Far over the misty mountains cold 

To dungeons deep and caverns old…”

As the other voices joined in, and the dwarves stood, faces solemn and serious, Bluebell felt a shiver run down her spine. The longing in their voices was unlike the iron on their postures: they were hurting for a home, but they were willing to fight for it. They’d go with or without her, to fight against a dragon, in hopes of something more.

Once the song was over the silence reigned heavy, only broken by the sound of the wood creaking on the fireplace.

“I will go.” Bluebell said softly.

All the eyes turned to her immediately.

“Lass?” Balin called gently.

“I will go with you.” She repeated, this time firmer. “It will be an honor to join the company.”

Thorin was expressionless as he stared at her, Dwalin was frowning something fierce, but Balin seemed pleased enough. Kíli, Fíli, Bofur and Bombur seemed happy at least.

“Here is your contract to sign, lass.” Balin passed her the contract. “Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bell smiled at the kind old man. “One more thing… I believe you would like to leave here as fast as possible…”

“Aye.” Thorin cut her, and Bluebell ignored him.

“However, you probably need supplies as well.”

“Aye.” Balin was the one to confirm, curious to see where this was going.

“Well, I will be honest with you: Hobbits do not like outsiders.” She gave the polite dwarf an apologetic smile. “They are unlikely to trade with dwarves, and even if they do, they might charge you more.”

Now all of them were frowning.

“What are you suggesting, Mistress Baggins?” Thorin finally asked.

“Stay another day.” She offered. “I will make the orders tomorrow, and have them all delivered here until the end of the day, and then we can go. And…” She pressed, when he was about to open his mouth, “That not only gives me time to settle my business here, but it is quite clear you all have not seen each other in a while, so it also gives you time to plan better.”

Thorin took a deep breath, and Bluebell was starting to think he’d disagree with her just because he could. He looked at Balin and Dwalin, then at some of the others. He finally looked back at her and nodded. “We can do this.”

She sighed in relief.

Thorin observed the Halfling as she made her decision. He could admit she had more guts than he’d expected. The only question that remained was: would she still be this brave once it really started? Could this gentle creature, so used to the comforts of a home, really survive a journey like this?

Apparently, they would find out.

“I have a few rooms available.” She informed him. “I will let the doors open, so you can sort yourselves out. Also, I have some sheets if any of you need them.”

He nodded at her. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

“Sure, sure.” She smiled at him. “What kind of hobbit would I be if I was not a good host?” She didn’t seem to require an answer, as she bobbed a quick courtesy. “Good rest, Master Oakenshield, gentlemen. Let me know if you need anything.” She just turned and started to walk away.

Thorin watched as she left, his eyes somehow caught by the movement of her burgundy skirt. The material seemed amazingly soft.

Not like her skin would feel under your hands…

“I do not like this.” Dwalin grumbled, suddenly by his side.

“What exactly?” Thorin asked, even though he knew exactly what was going through his friend’s head.

“She is no warrior.” Dwalin grumbled. “She will be a liability.”

“Not all of us are.” Balin grumbled.

His brother glared at him. “Some of us are.” Dwalin insisted.

“Old warriors.” Balin observed.

Thorin put a hand on Dwalin’s shoulder. “We will see it done.” He told them. “I have already informed Gandalf that I could not guarantee her safety and would not be responsible for her fate.”

That seemed to mollify Dwalin minimally.

“Now rest, all of you.” Thorin told the company firmly. “We will not have many chances on the road.”

[jimlingss]

Worshipers of the Stars

Part of the Worshipers Series

➜ Words: 9.4k

➜ Genres: 90% Angst, 10% Fluff, God!AU

➜ Summary: The universe was created with four gods to rule and watch over it. But when you take the crown and become the god of all gods, what the future holds is something you never wanted to know.

The universe was once created by a woman who was awoken by her lonesome — a miracle in itself. It was an explosion that happened suddenly when all the things were slotted in the right places at the right time, a one in a billion chance encounter. But it happened and she was the first of her kind to open her eyes.   She had awareness and recognition of the empty oblivion in front of her, so in an attempt to lessen her loneliness, she created a home — a sanctuary that could watch over all other places, a Heaven. And in that Heaven, she created the gods to keep her company and care for the things she made once she passes.   First, she made Seokjin, God of the Sun.   “That’s me!” the god exclaims with cherub cheeks and bright eyes, stirring in the woman’s arms as she reads from her large storybook.   “That’s right,” she confirms with a matronly smile that exudes warmth in itself. “The one who helps nourish the living realm, who helps count the days that pass so that no one takes it for granted, that spreads the light for all to see. Also the one who is mischievous and likes to make trouble when no one’s watching.”   “I don’t make that much trouble,” the child whines with a pout, making the woman laugh heartily.   “Shush, Jin! Let her keep reading the story!”   “Fine.”   The woman continues on as her children gather closer together. “Then, the woman created Miyin, the Goddess of Dreams, to ensure her children would be able to rest well when they could, so they would not have to be restless and could have a place of peace in the chaos of the universe.”    The girl in question giggles when her name is mentioned, blushing from the attention bestowed upon her. The Creator softly smiles and affectionately brushes the long strands of her dark hair away from her face before she continues reading. “With her and to help light the night when The God of Sun is asleep and unable to protect those below, the God of the Moon, Yoongi was born. He who sheds light in the darkness, to help lead those astray back to their homes…”   She turns to the boy sitting across from her, a quiet expression but thoughtful underneath those cat-like eyes, and her smile only grows.   “What next? What next?!” Miyin rushes, unable to handle the suspense despite having heard this same story for years now.   “Be patient,” you murmur.   “Then, the most important god was created.” Her voice drops into a whisper, “Y/N, Goddess of Light and Life. The source of the God of Sun and Moon’s power. The force that makes the Goddess of Dreams’ dreams come alive. The mirror of the creator, the Ruler of all Rulers, the God of all. She would someday create more gods and help the world become a prettier, better place.”   This was your favourite part of the story. You loved to see the painted pictures on your page and know that you get to protect everyone else. It was an important job, one that you’re excited for, but Jin would say that it was your favourite part because it talked about you….   And that’s only a little true.   “Together, the four of them would be trusted to rule. They would live forever to look after the universe that was created by the woman who was no longer so lonely…”   “Live forever?” Seokjin pipes up, probably because he knows the story is ending and is trying to buy more time so he doesn’t have to sleep. Jin lolls his head back to your shoulder, looking up at the woman with the fond gaze. “Won’t that get boring?”   “Well, you’ll be reborn every once in a while, so you can start fresh and learn the meaning of what time is. Being able to die makes you learn what death is. And being reborn means you won’t take things for granted. Everyone must die someday, even I have to. Gods are no exception.”   “Then...when will we die?” you ask, blinking up at her.   “Not for a very long time,” she assures in a murmur, caressing your hair. Then she exhales and sits up straighter. “Alright, time for bed everyone! Everyone has to sleep too! No time like the present!”    “Awww,” Miyin whimpers and pouts. “Do I have to?! I’m not even tired!”   “Someday, you will wish you get to sleep as much as you do now.” The Creator peels back the covers of the bed as the sky becomes darkened, sun long fallen from the horizon — something Jin does each day before story time.   “What about Yoongi?” Miyin continues to sulk despite getting in right in the middle of you and Seokjin, three lumps inside the wool blanket and against the pillows. “He just woke up! That’s not fair!”   “He has to sleep too. Just at a different time,” she says gently and Miyin relents.   The Creator kisses the top of all your heads, wishing you a good night and she walks hand-in-hand with Yoongi, leaving the room and shutting the door.   Despite Miyin’s protests, she’s snoring within the next minute. While Seokjin tries to resist the urge of slumber with you, afraid that Miyin will mess with his dreams again and make him lift a bright pink sun, he, too, soon succumbs to the urge.   You, on the other hand, are still wide awake.   Your eyes pin out the glass windows and terrace doors, watching the silver moon slowly lift up and how its milky luminescence billows into the room. It lights up the entire world in the darkness.   If there was something that you liked more than your part in the storybook, it was the moon.   Quietly, you crawl out of the covers, away from Seokjin and Miyin who don’t even stir. Once your feet touch the soft carpet of the bedroom, you’re already creeping outside, shutting the door silently.   As you swiftly run along, your shadow follows you along the corridor walls. You know where he is, where he sits as he keeps the moon on the horizon. He could always leave, do other things like Jin does once the sun is already risen, but Yoongi once told you that there was nothing to do in the middle of the night, so that’s why he just sits in one spot, staring and waiting....   You sneak around the pillars of the palace, feet cold on the terrace floors, but you peek around the corner to see Yoongi bathed in the soft light. He’s glowing, skin luminous and shining. It’s moments like these you’re amazed at how pretty he is. Or what’s the word that the Creator once used? That word she used to describe the four of you…..beautiful.    You’re unable to stare at Yoongi for long. Not when a little moth lands on your nose.   It’s tiny, brown wings flapping and fluttering, tickling against your skin as if it were trying to kiss you. And you giggle, watching it float around your head and unable to be caught no matter how many times you jump and try to catch the creature in your hands—   “You’re supposed to be in bed.”   There’s a low timbre that vibrates in your ear and a grin spreads into your face.    Oops. You’ve been caught.   “Are you going to tell on me?” You approach with your arms behind your back, knowing full well that Yoongi would never. Seokjin and Miyin would be happy to get you in trouble, but never Yoongi. “I just wanted to keep you company. You’re lonely, right?”   “No, I’m not,” he murmurs and looks away.   You plop down beside him on the cold tile floor, shoulders and knees brushing, and you look out at the moon together.   It made you sad that you don’t get to play with Yoongi much. The only times you get to see him are two hours after dawn and two hours after dusk — right before he goes to bed and right after he’s woken up and it’s your turn to sleep.    You wish you got to spend more time with Yoongi or was awake when he was. Sometimes you wonder if he’s sad that everyone else is asleep. You’d be sad if you were him, if you didn’t have Jin or Miyin with you. Yoongi might be quieter than they are, but you like him more.    You like him the best.   “It’s pretty,” you whisper as you stare at the light with the pretty patterns, putting your head on his shoulder and feeling a bit sleepy.   The corner of Yoongi’s mouth pulls into a smile. “It’s because of you.”   “That’s not true. I need you to lift it. That’s the only way I can make it shine. Without you, there would be no moon, Yoongi.”   It’s the moon that you could look at — it doesn’t burn your eyes like the sun does. The moon is simpler, quieter than the blazing sunlight — but you think it deserves just as much recognition, if not more. And it’s a little different every time you look at it. You love the moon.   You love Yoongi.   “You do?” he asks after you tell him all the things you love about the moon, leaving out the last little part about loving him.    You told Miyin, Jin and the Creator you love them all the time. You’ve even told Yoongi before. But somehow, telling Yoongi when it’s just you and him here feels a bit different.   “Yeah! The sun’s always the same and it hurts to look at.” You quickly add, “Don’t tell Jin that.”   Yoongi giggles and turns to look at you resting on his shoulder. “I can change it, if you’d like.” Your eyes widen, head lifting and the Child of the Moon blinks several times towards the horizon.    Suddenly, the giant sphere in front of you shifts and morphs. The luminescence is almost blinding and the moonlight wash alters, becoming golden rather than milky and pale.   You gasp, sitting straight, wide awake again. “It looks like the sun now!”   A giant, gummy grin spreads into Yoongi’s face and he laughs at the way your jaw has dropped in amazement. In front of the two of you, the moon shines even brighter. It sparkles in the night.   //   The life you’ve lived so far is short — especially if the Creator tells you that you’re going to be reborn forever. And apparently forever is a really long time. But right now, you’re really happy to know what you’re supposed to do in this chaotic universe.    You’ve learnt that there are so many things, so many people you want to protect and it makes you’re glad that you have the power to. That one day you’re going to watch over everyone else. When that time comes, you’re going to make sure no one hurts Jin or Miyin or Yoongi.   You’ll do your best.   “And that’s all that’s important,” the Creator tells you as the two of you walk alongside each other down the hall. Her robes sweep the floor and you wonder if one day you will be as pretty and liked. “Someday you will rule all of Heaven and the universe and guide the other gods into a beautiful world.”   “You will also create many more gods and goddesses,” she hums. “Perhaps a Goddess of the Sky.”   Your brows furrow and your lips become lopsided. “What’s a sky?”   “Why, a place where Seokjin can truly shine and help the people that will be below.” The woman smiles as her mind begins to conjure up new ideas, and you wonder if someday you will be able to be as creative as she is. “Perhaps a God for the Seasons, so the Earth may prosper, change, and alter to keep them from being bored. We should also give them more water too, so they have a way to quench their thirst. And maybe a God of the Underworld, so once people pass, they have a place of peace to stay at.”   She sighs wistfully. “There are many gods yet to be created. Too little time for me.”   You look up at her, feeling scared at the thought of her gone. “What happens when I don’t know what to do or who to make?”   “You will know,” she tells you with such assurance. It comforts your worries and eases your fear. “When the time comes, you will know. And Seokjin, Miyin and Yoongi will always be at your side to help.”   “Always?”   “Always.” She smiles and stops, crouching down to delicately push a strand of hair behind your ear. “Someday, Miyin will accompany your side. Your right hand will be Seokjin, and Yoongi will be your husband. It is my plan and I plan to never leave you by your lonesome as I had been.”   At your young age, you don’t truly understand what each word means, but you can comprehend the feeling of warmth she conveys. A smile spreads into your face and you nod.   Right then and there, there is a sharp call of your name.   You whirl your head over to see the three of them at the end of the hall, Seokjin waving you over with Miyin calling you again to come play with them. Yoongi stands by them, wearing the brightest of grins and it makes the inside of your chest tickle.   You glance over your shoulder and the Creator gestures the permission you need to run off.    She watches with a smile as the four of you sprint, giggles filling the spaces of Heaven. Her optimism and certainty of a beautiful world relieves the burden of her own worries. She feels at peace, knowing that you will take care of her creations.

When the world was built, four gods were made with it. They were contrived to watch over the lands and protect one another, and for the first two decades of their first lifetime, the universe was truly wonderful. It was simple, happiness spreading across the world with the innocence of the gods untainted. They had yet to learn about greed and pride, wrath and envy.   Yet it was not a golden age — not when many gods were yet to be born, when Heaven was still empty and merely a foundation of what it was to become. But it was paradise. A dreamland.   Only, dreams never lasted long.

There had been a shift, a change.   One you knew you didn’t feel alone. The sunlight dimmed and then the moon was lifting, covering it completely — something you would one day learn to know as a solar eclipse. But it was the first time in history that the horizon was blackened during day, where you felt the light within you tremble and the universe bled with darkness. The fabric of the world was being swept from underneath you, consciousness vibrating around your mind.    Time was finally running out.   “What’s going on?!” Miyin’s footsteps quicken down the hall, her robes hanging loose from her frame and fluttering behind her. There was a thin ring of light from outside, an outline of where the sun wasn’t covered by the moon, but it barely provided any light.    “It’s happening,” you tell her, forming an orb of light within your hands and flicking them towards the candles on the walls. They flare and gleam, dimmer than you’ve ever seen. “Get Yoongi and Seokjin.”   “I’m already here.”    The husky voice you’ve been waiting for sounds behind you and you find the young god already striding over with a firm gaze. His orbs are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, fluffy strands contrasting against his sharp features, cat-like eyes staring back at yours. His black robes swish behind him along with your servant girl at his heels, fear taking hold of her expression.   “I didn’t lift the moon,” he says.   You nod. “I know.”   The two of you immediately turn down the hall towards the largest room while Miyin sprints in the other direction to call Seokjin. You dismiss the young servant girl and she takes a bow, staying behind when this was a matter pertaining to the gods alone.   Once you push the doors open, you find the Creator lying in her bed. The covers are pushed to her waist as she lays with her head on her pillow, eyes barely open.    Immediately, you rush to her side and grab hold of her hand. “You are unwell.”   “I have been unwell for a while, child,” she wheezes with heavy breath, clasping your hand back in a weak grasp. Yet, the corner of her mouth still lifts. Her hair had gotten gray, colour lost in her features, wrinkles lined around her face. In your naiveté, you had not paid attention to these things, not when it was so gradual. “My ti..me is end...ing….”   “There must be something we can do.”   The doors slam open and the room fills with immediate warmth. But Seokjin’s hair isn’t as vibrantly gold as what you’re used to seeing. It doesn’t glisten and his pink lips are losing its hue.   “There has to be something you can do,” Seokjin declares in distress as Miyin quickly follows behind him and shuts the doors. “You are the Goddess of Light and Life—”   “I know what I am,” you snap back at him. “You need not remind me.”    “Is there something you can do?” A calm voice cuts through the panic and you find Yoongi seated next to the Creator, placing a hand on her shoulder to perhaps comfort her.   “I can feel her life force leaving her. I might be able to gather it and contain it with her being again, but I don’t know how much time that’ll give.”   “It’s still better than nothing,” Miyin cries out, but then suddenly the Creator shakes her head and the four of you quiet down to listen to her croaking murmurs.   “N...o...don’t do that and don’t argue.”   Miyin sobs, her tears streaking down her face. “But—”   “Death is inevitable. I provide nothing for you now and if I lived another day, I would provide nothing then. My time….is over.” She looks over to each of you gathered around her, the gods she had manifested carefully and a soft smile graces her features. “You are all grown and ….will...survive….this world will...prosper...I feel comforted over that.”    Her chest heaves and she gasps shallowly. “Y/N’s...coronation will happen tomorrow—”   “No,” you spit, unable to bear the thought of ruling over Heaven immediately after her death without mourning beforehand. “I can’t do something like that.”   “You will,” she whispers in reassurance. “You will do as I say. Heaven...cannot be without a ruler….and Yoongi…”   “Yes?” He comes closer as her gaze flickers over to him.   “You will marry...Y/N...Seokjin will become the...right hand...and Miyin by her side….it is my plan,” she says, the dying wish put on her lips — one she had spoken about many times. But you know this is the last.    The Goddess of Dreams beside you begins to sob harder, Seokjin looking away and unable to bear the moment. Yoongi remains in his place and your hand on her tightens, feeling her life fading.    The Creator smiles for the final time. “I...harbour no...regrets…”   You can see it — her soul is white. It shimmers, brighter than what you’ve ever witnessed before. More so than the sun itself or what you’ve ever manifested in your hands. It fills the room, blinding your eyes and you know you’re the only one who can see it.    It floats as choked sobs break through your throat, her hand slipping out of yours. Around you, Seokjin’s warmth ceases, Yoongi’s skin doesn’t shine and Miyin’s wailing becomes deafening.   Then her soul fades above her body. You don’t try to grab it — don’t try anything that was against her last will. You watch as it dissolves, vanishing after a moment like it was never there.    Suddenly, a force brushes against your cheeks, kissing through your hair and robes, like a breeze manifested from nowhere. It swells throughout the universe.   Seokjin’s warmth returns, his hair golden once more and lips pink. Yoongi’s skin shines again and the moon on the horizon falls, allowing the sunlight to spread across the lands once more. Your own strength restores itself, but what you’re still left with is devastation and grief.   Miyin sobs within her hands. Yoongi slumps and Seokjin cries with you.   It will never be the same again — and that knowledge lay heavy on your shoulders.   //   The sun has fallen early today, an hour or so, and you cannot blame Seokjin. But that meant Yoongi had to lift the moon over the horizon earlier.    You stare out your glass window to find the moon smaller than usual, dimmer than what you’ve always known to be a bright glow. Perhaps some nights, the moon might not be needed outside — it will have to be something you discuss with Yoongi after your coronation tomorrow.   “Your Highness, be at ease. The Creator always said she was happy,” your servant says as she gently brushes through your hair at the vanity. She is pretty, long hair and soft smile, even with her eyes and nose reddened from crying. She has been at your side for years now, to aid you in small matters, but she has always proven helpful and her sincerity is touching.   Despite being innocent and young, her tender nurturing reminds you of the Creator.   “Yes, she did.” You manage a smile, finding appreciation in her attempts to console you. “Don’t worry. I won’t grieve for long. There are many things that need to be done and I out of all the gods must remain strong. I must protect them now.”   You stand on your feet and she follows you, helping you untuck the covers of your bed. “Are you worried about your coronation tomorrow?” she asks in a murmur.   You hesitate, not sure if honesty is warranted.    But you decide not to confide in her. You must remain steadfast and firm. You are to become the god of all gods, rulers of all rulers. There should not be a weakness within you. The foundation of the world lies in your hands and you must be strong if you are to allow this universe to prosper.   “Nonsense. This is my purpose. My responsibility. Why would I fear something that I was created for.”   She nods and bows her head once you’ve gotten settled. “You are wise and courageous, Your Highness. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. Is there anything else you would like from me?”   You are about to dismiss her, but then your eyes stray out the windows. There is a pull within you, a childlike urge to go see Yoongi and keep him company. But you are exhausted, grieving, and unlike your words, you do not have the strength to find him.   Yet, you cannot bear the thought of Yoongi being alone on the cold terrace.    “Please, go see the God of the Moon. Make sure….he is well. Keep him company.”   “I understand.” She dips her head again, a promise to obey your word.   Then you are left in silence, succumbing to a moment of peace through slumber with the terror of what it means to wear the crown of Heaven. And in your sleep, you are ignorant to how the moon begins to glimmer moments later and becomes that much brighter.   //   The preparations are finished. It was faster than you had thought was possible and now the moment has arrived. The servants and advisors are gathered in the throne room, waiting patiently for your arrival. But you linger at the entrance, unable to garner the courage that is needed to step forward.   “You look stunning.”   You turn around, grabbing fistfuls of your golden and white layered robes that ruffle out with sparkles that catch the sunlight high on the horizon. Your hair is fixed into place by tens of pins at the back of your hair, but still spilled over into curls. “I look better than usual, don’t I?”   “You don’t look bad on the usual day.” Yoongi smiles softly, sleepiness hinted in his features.   He’s dressed in black robes that fades into a milky shade at the hem that reminds you of the moon’s luminescence itself. His black hair is ruffled, shagging over his forehead. As dignified as the two of you look, it’s still a bittersweet moment knowing that this attire is only worn on such an occasion.    You grin, lifting your arms with much effort. The sleeves drag with every movement. “It’s heavy.”   “The ceremony won’t last long,” he promises and his voice quiets, expression becoming more solemn. “Are you nervous?”   “Why would I be?” Your chin lifts and your back straightens. “I’m the Great Goddess of Light and Life. This is my sole purpose and all I’ve ever wanted.”   But instead of the respect that you expect to gain, Yoongi is visibly amused. He’s silent and you quirk a brow until he finally murmurs— “You know you don’t have to lie to me.”   Part of you wants to object to his claim. A Goddess like you doesn’t need to make up lies to feign bravery, but he knows you too well for you to scrape by with yet another fib. The pair of you have been together your entire lives after all.   So you concede, allowing him into your mind. “None of us have had time to grieve yet. I…..don’t know what to do, Yoongi.”    “I don’t know how to guide and protect everyone and rule this place. The Creator had a plan for us, but I don’t know how to follow through with it.” You turn around, unable to bear looking at his expression if it will be one of disappointment. Of all gods, you were the one who was supposed to know what to do next. You are what everyone looks to. But you are utterly lost.   “You will.” A tender hand squeezes comfortingly at your shoulder and you twirl around to meet Yoongi’s earnest gaze searching yours. “We’ll be there with you, Y/N. Seokjin, Miyin and I. You aren’t alone.”   “I know.” If there was one thing you were glad for, it was the fact that you aren’t by yourself and Yoongi being here at this moment was proof of that. “Thank you.”   You take his arm and the God of the Moon guides you to the throne room. The two of you walk together and when the servants catch sight of you, they dip their heads and open the doors.   The room is decorated for celebration, golden ribbons wrapping the marble pillars and the carpet beneath your feet rolled out. The servants are gathered together, reverent in their posture while the advisor of the late Creator, an old dwarf, is in the middle.    Seokjin smiles, standing on the right side of the throne in his own golden robes and his hands folded together. Miyin is to the left, the corner of her reddened lips gently quirked at the sight of you and her brother. Rather than the rowdiness that filled the palace when the four of you were still children, the ceremony is silent, many faces watching and staring at you.   You keep your head held high, eyes pinned forward, breath steady in your chest. This is what you’ve practiced for, what your sole purpose is. It is your right and your responsibility. You will serve and protect until the end of eternity itself. This universe will prosper till its dawn.   Yoongi lets you go once you’ve made it to the end of the path and he moves beside his sister while you kneel. All the other servants follow suit, bowing as you are.   It will be the only time a god ever kneels.   “Goddess of Light and Life, mirror of the Creator who stitched this universe together and created the Sun and the Moon. Y/N, the very source of our birth and warmth, you have come today to accept the throne, to become the god among all gods, the queen among all queens, ruler of all rulers. You will protect everything beneath and above Heaven, and watch over the sinners and blessed. Do you swear to take this oath?”   “I swear.”   The old dwarf continues reading from the scroll. “Will you solemnly promise to never abandon your people and to the utmost of your power maintain the strength and foundation of Heaven?”   “I solemnly promise to do so.”   “Then with this power, you will be blessed with the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition,” he reads. It is the last present the Creator has given to you, one you had not expected. “You will take these endowments to become the carrier of all knowledge, to know past, present, and future. You will know all, what has become and what will become. Do you vow to take this and use the knowledge for your best judgment in the protection of all living creations?”   “I vow to do so.”   “Then stand and accept your place in this chaotic universe.”   You rise to your feet, glancing at Yoongi who smiles warmly.   A breath leaves your lungs and you approach the throne, swiftly turning and brushing out your robes. You take a seat and grasp the armrests — the chair is colder than you expected, but you don’t dwell.    You’re close. One second more and the ceremony will be over.   The aged dwarf approaches with the crown, dainty and golden. It is simple, but brightly shimmers like the sunlight yet somehow softly glows like the moonlight too. He smiles and you take it from his hands to place on your own head.   And the moment it lays there, when the metal finds its place on top of your crown, the crowd erupt into cheers and song, rejoicing for their benevolent leader.   But you do not hear them.   Your eyes become blinded. Your breath hitches.    The gifts of clairvoyance and precognition strikes you, rendering you breathless.   Fire. You can see fire, hear the shrieks of mortals crying out for their families and loved ones. It is deafening — the screams of men beseeching mercy, only to be slaughtered, the sobbing of children who have their mothers assaulted in front of them. It is overwhelming. The intense smell of iron, the scent of blood. The burnt land that you stand in, the homes reduced to ash, the gray clouds covering the sun and sky and bring upon the darkness you cannot dispel away.   “No, please, let me go!” — “Stop!” — “Mommy! Where are you?!”   You see a boy’s head decapitated, another relishing in the death. A baby that cries until it’s silenced when a spear punctures through them. Lovers ripped apart and mutilated.   The wonderful world you have sworn to protect — the green grass and flowers, rivers and rolling hills, the laughter and giggles. It doesn’t exist. You have failed. And there is nothing that can change it.   The world is on fire.   You see more flashes — within one millisecond, you have known past, present, and future. You see a paradise of smiles and warmth. But you also see an empty Heaven, a desolate place that has become darkened with gods who have abandoned their people. You see the people at peace and prosperity, but also see ruin and cruelty, those who are vicious without remorse.   And you see an explosion. A man’s irises glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. Specks of shimmer all around him as he wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart.   You cry aloud.   Seokjin, Yoongi and Miyin at once turn at the sound and they witness you fall off your throne.   //   There’s a roaring crash.    The servant girl pulls herself away from the God of the Moon once she hears the commotion, her eyes swimming with surprise and worry. The god is also alarmed and the two of them don’t hesitate to rush down the hall, pushing your doors open.   “Y-Your Majesty!” Your servant cries out, running towards you, but you shove her away and she winces when the back of her head slams against the wall. Yoongi grabs hold of her, making sure she is uninjured, and you pay no mind to the pair of them.   Objects on your vanity are shoved to the floor with the sweep of your arms, the chair thrown over on the ground, your bedroom is wrecked as you pull on the curtains.   “Don’t touch me!” you scream wildly at the top of your lungs. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!”   “Get out!” you repeat when they remain there, blood-curdling at the back of your throat.   You never once look at Yoongi in the eyes.   Fire. Destruction. Crashing and burning.   “What’s going on?!” A stern voice calls out at the ruckus. Miyin stands at the doorway motionlessly, eyes laying on how you’re losing your mind and she watches in horror.   An explosion. Splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam. A love never returned.   The Goddess of Dreams approaches within three strides, swiftly moving past her brother. Her expression is rigid and authoritative, but her embrace is gentle when she takes you in her arms.    You protest, whimpering and sputtering, but Miyin never lets you go and with one squeeze, a mesmerizing incantation leaving her lips, you are falling asleep in her arms, rescued from your own madness.   It goes quiet and she turns around, distress evident in her features. “Call Seokjin.”   //   They are murmuring silently as you are fast asleep in your bed, but you are not ignorant to their conversation when you know past, present, and future. Your current unconsciousness is merely a fleeting sanctuary, a place of temporary peace in the land of dreams that Miyin has stitched together.   “I saw it.” Miyin muffles her sobbing behind her hand. “I saw her dreams and they were — awful. Atrocious. I….”   “And these are visions of the future?” Seokjin asks, concern taking hold of him.   “I don’t know.” The Goddess of Dreams shrugs hopelessly. “They might be.”   “Then what did you see?” the God of Sun persists, both curious and anxious.   She shakes her head. “Fire. Screaming. A—And people dying….I can’t….”   Yoongi puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “You don’t have to say anymore.” He looks towards Seokjin. “We have more pressing issues than whatever may happen in the future.”   “We need to know if this...destruction can be prevented or if it’s inevitable.”   “How can you still concern yourself with that?!” Miyin’s voice is shrill, distressed. “When Y/N is going mad, the future is what your worries are about?”   “Without Y/N, Heaven will fall before the destruction even comes,” he says, glancing at you in deep slumber. “It’s still forming. New gods are being created. We can’t put Y/N to sleep at every moment.”   “Then what do we do?” She asks the two gods, at a complete loss. It’s clear that you are being tormented and she doesn’t know how to help. But suddenly a thought comes across her mind and she turns to her brother.   “Talk to her, Yoongi,” Miyin pleads, knowing full well that you have always been closest to him. “She’s always listened to you.”   “She hasn’t spoken a word to me since her coronation,” he reveals in a murmur, making the other two even more troubled at the change.    It goes silent.    The gods are helpless.   //   Their efforts are futile — akin to a tree that provides shade during a violent thunderstorm or a single blanket given during a vicious blizzard. The comfortings given do little for you, not when they are ignorant and you are cursed with this knowledge. Words do not solve wars, they only prevent them. And you cannot prevent what is to come.   But there are still things you must say before time becomes too late — before you completely succumb to hysteria, so you gather yourself with your last remnants of sanity.   And the door opens before Miyin can knock on it.    You knew she was coming. You were waiting for her.   “Good morning, Your Majesty.” The Goddess smiles at the sight of you up and about, but you can tell it is forced. The friend she has made long ago is different from the god she sees in front of her. “I wanted to ask if—”   “You don’t need to tread carefully with me, Miyin.”    Her parted lips close and you shut the door after she enters. “Your room is still a mess,” she quips with a smile, perhaps to lighten the tension lingering in the atmosphere that is suffocating. “Do you need me to call the servant later?”   “No. I do not want to see her.” You take your seat, motioning for her to do the same. “You don’t need to preface yourself, Miyin. You came to speak to me, so do so without your hesitation.”   The Goddess of Dreams swallows hard and takes your hand. “I cannot say I understand what you are going through, but I have seen it. I have seen your dreams and I have seen the horrors the universe will be put through. But there is nothing that you, Seokjin, Yoongi and I can’t overcome”   “There are many things,” you murmur. “You just don’t know them yet.”   “Then tell us about it and we….we will shoulder your burdens.”   “If I told you, that would only bring forth more devastation. Trying to prevent the inevitable only causes the repercussions to be stronger.”   “Surely there is nothing out of the power of the Goddess of Light and Life, of the God of Sun, of the God of Moon, of the Goddess of Dreams. We are meant to rule over all—”   You withdraw your hand away from her, diverting your vision elsewhere. “I let you in here not for you to console me, Miyin, but for me to warn you.”   “Warn me?” She is taken aback, eyes widened.   “We are sisters, not my blood but by bond, so I owe you at least this much. The Creator had spoken about forging a God where those humans can lay to rest.” Your words are a prophecy, one she takes for granted. “He will come to exist someday soon. Human souls cannot wander the land forever, they must have a place to rest, but it will cost your happiness.”   “Let him be born.” A tiny smile graces her features, gaze sympathetic and not at all terrified. But you already knew this would be her reaction. She’s oblivious to what will come. If she knew, she would not be so courageous. “I will survive.”   “He will damn you into eternal darkness.”   “Then let him,” Miyin says. “If this was the Creator’s plans, then I will follow.”   “None of this was her plan,” you bitterly mutter. “She didn’t know the future, not like I do. If she did….she would’ve never made any of this. She would’ve made it all vanish with her death.”   “Y/N….”   “Even if I tried to avoid it, it will happen. I am helpless. As are you.” You look into her eyes. “This is my warning to you.”   “I am not afraid,” Miyin tells you sternly. “Even if you tell me an unborn god will bring darkness upon me, I will not live in fear. No god should ever live in fear.”   You remain silent. It makes her distressed, knowing her words have little effect. But you know that righteousness and pride will only serve the purpose of the inevitable destruction.   //   The God of Sun is childish, playful, and argumentative. He sulks and whines, doesn’t like to share and is haughty over petty matters. Seokjin retains his youth and a lighthearted demeanor that others are unsure if they can take sincerely. The golden-haired man in his extravagant robes enjoys making mischief, finds amusement in using his wit to underhand others, but it is never out of malice as it is for his entertainment.   Out of the four of you, it seemed like Seokjin has grown up the least.   Yet, you know now that underneath his immature and childlike disposition is marble yet to be sculpted. Jin is perceptive and the underestimation of others only serves to his advantage. His greed to maintain the glory of Heaven will someday be the strength to uphold it. He is intelligent, especially because he does not flaunt it and would prefer to use narcissism to hide intentions.   Seokjin is many things, but he is not foolish.   You come to him before he seeks you out.   “Yoongi will be upset if you make the sun fall sooner than it is supposed to.”   “Y/N.” He whirls around, coy smile playing at his features. Of all entities, Jin was the only one who did not treat you any differently. It reminds you of a time long ago when you did not wear the crown, when you did not know what you do now.    A time of ignorance you impossibly wish you could return to.   “But of course, you know that. You won’t be the one waking him up after all. You’ll call a servant.”   “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed resting?” he asks, halting the movement of his hands that was bringing the sun down.   “I thought I would save you the walk of having to come to me. Miyin has insisted that you spoke to me, correct?”   Seokjin grins boyishly. “You really are the all knowing god now, aren’t you?”   The nonchalance is a front. You know Seokjin worries silently, that his doubts lie between his sentences. He is merely persuading you to be at ease rather than confronting you directly about his numerous questions. He consoles you through indifference, as if nothing has changed.   “To know isn’t to understand, Seokjin. I wouldn’t wish this upon you or anyone. You should never want to be an all knowing god.”   His lips fall into a straight line and he approaches with his arms behind him, the sun piercing through his backside. The light shines but it is hardly warm. “What will happen to Heaven, Y/N?”   “It will recover as all things do, but not without facing calamity and making sacrifices.”   “And what will happen to you?” he asks in a softer tone, brows furrowing.   “It doesn’t matter.”   “Tell me what happens, Y/N.” The God of Sun’s voice is firm and demanding. “Miyin told us that there was fire and destruction. It’s a war, isn’t it? Between the mortals? Where are the gods then? Tell me everything that you know.”   “If I tell you, Heaven will never find prosperity. There will never be a golden age. Not only will the mortals cease to exist, but the gods will no longer have their place in this universe.” You shake your head. “I cannot tell you what you truly want to know.”   “How can that be? We are the Great Gods of this world. Nothing….nothing could destroy us.”   You gaze at him, your eyes connected. You’re aware that he knows — that beneath the nonsensical dignity, it is possible. It’s possible that Heaven will be saved.   “You would make a better ruler than I would,” you murmur, much to his astonishment. “Someday, you will become very wise and mature.”   “I do not wish to be the ruler,” Seokjin says immediately and his face scrunches, finding the thought of responsibilities burdensome and distasteful.    For the first time in a while, the corner of your mouth quirks. You reach out to him, sleeves falling back until your palms cradle his cheeks. Your touch is tender and you guide him forward until your foreheads are pressed together.   Your eyes flutter shut. “With my name known, allow your soul to take this blessing of mine.” It is a symbolic gesture, one made with endearment that you both know well after the Creator has given you many blessings during her lifetime.   After you draw away from him, Jin gazes at you. “What did you bless me with?”   “The stars.”   His plump lips become lopsided, brows knitting together into a frown. “What are the stars?”   “They are suns, like you, but farther away. Glimmering specks that fill the night to keep the moon company. They cannot be reached or touched, but they can still watch over you, always.”   “They sound beautiful,” he murmurs, entranced. “Will they be your first creation?”   “Yes.” You look towards the sky. “They will be.”   //   The moon hangs in the sky, shedding light in the darkness to help lead those astray back to their homes. The silver colour lights up the entire world that is blanketed in darkness.   You know you’re foolish for still cherishing this sight, for savouring this temporary serenity. But still, you wrap your arms around you and step out onto the cold terrace to bathe in the soft light.   A moth with tiny, brown wings descends towards you. It flaps and flutters, tickling against your skin before floating around, right out of reach. You watch for a moment and then you feel his presence behind you.   If you turned around, you would see him glow in his milky moonlight. He would be ethereal with his soft and sleepy features, ruffled black hair. His eyes would stare back into yours and you would come to realize again just how beautiful Yoongi is.   But you are too scared to face him.   “Don’t come.”   Yoongi stops. He comes to a stand still.   You don’t turn around, merely allowing a sigh to leave your lips. “Will I ever be able to look at the moon without you coming to me? Or better yet….perhaps it would be better if some nights there were no moon at all.”   “Why have you been pushing me away?” His husky timbre cuts through the air, a question that you have too many answers to, but ones you never wanted to say.   Still, you know what the future holds. You know you’ll have to say it, to provide him the explanation that will end up burdening him forevermore.    So you shut your eyes and brace yourself, gathering the courage to turn around to face the god who has long owned your heart.   “You don’t love me.”   Yoongi is taken aback, eyes pierced into yours. His mouth parts, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You already know. “You will never love me. You’ve given your affection to my servant girl and you are a fool for it, Yoongi. She will not be reborn. She will only live with you for a blink in the lifetimes we have left, but you have chosen her.”   The God of the Moon does not utter a word. He is unable to deny these accusations.    “But even with her gone, you will never love me while for the rest of eternity, I will.”   You can see past, present, future — a responsibility you must bear. But of all the devastation you have witnessed, of all the pain you have felt, what still hurts most is knowing that your feelings for Yoongi will never be returned.   The moment you were crowned and the gifts were given to you, you saw your eternity in an instant. The knowledge came barrelling at you without remorse, striking your very being. You have seen your fate and his.   From this lifetime to the next — now and in twenty millenniums, even if Yoongi marries you and becomes your husband, he will see you as a companion. He will see you as a friend. And you will always want him as a lover.   You will never have all of Yoongi no matter how much you wish. No matter how powerful you become. No matter what title you hold. You are eternally lonely. A mirror of the lonely Creator, but unable to fill the void that collapses your soul.   You will have Yoongi’s presence, but never his mind and soul.   “I still care about you.” His tone is low, calm and collected. “You are important to me, Y/N. You always will be.”   “But it will never be enough!”   The god doesn’t know what to say. He simply wears an expression of guilt and pity that aches your heart, one you have seen in visions, one you have grown to detest. And tears begin to shed down your cheeks. The droplets are golden lights, shimmering like beads of liquid gold or fireflies falling. They are not as bright as the moon but more numerous and they drip onto the terrace, lighting up the night.    The words hiss out of you, ugly and revolting. “I will never be enough for you.”   “Y/N….” Yoongi calls out and approaches.   “It would be better if no one knew the future,” your voice booms across the land, wrapping around the God of the Moon, your betrothed, and your unrequited love. “It would be better if no one knew like I knew.”   Your skin gleams brightly, glittering like the sunlight and glowing like the moon. The wind suddenly brushes through Yoongi’s hair and the sheer force pulls him back from getting to you. “Y/N!”   You gaze at him with softened eyes, relishing in this sight. Your voice ricochets throughout the universe. “Stay on the moon, Yoongi. Be in solitude. Feel the loneliness that I would have felt for an eternity that never ends.”   The man’s irises are glazed over in the colour of obsidian, his skin bathed in the milky moonlight and making him glow. You stare at him and then to the darkened horizon, knowing the days that are yet to come, the years of misery and where the world will turn to ruin, the helplessness that will drive you insane.   And you succumb to weakness.   The lights seem to spill from inside of you. It pierces through your skin. It tears it apart. It overflows at the seams.    “Y/N!” Yoongi screams in terror and a smile lifts on your features.   You are not Y/N, the Goddess of Light and Life, ruler of all rulers, god of all gods.   You are Y/N, the Goddess of Stars and Loneliness.   “Please,” the god begs, head shaking, hands trembling — he is the God of Moon you will always adore and keep close to your heart. “Don’t go.”   “Let me go,” you murmur gently and begin disintegrating into specks of lights that shimmer all around him. Yoongi falls onto his knees, grasping at the small particles to no avail.   Seokjin and Miyin run out from inside, awoken by the shaking of the ground, by the stirring they feel inside of them. But they can’t look at you.    The night is seared with light as if the sun itself had risen.   “Take the crown, Seokjin.” You smile at him and look towards the sky, taking the gifts of clairvoyance and precognition with you to spare those from the future. Your power of life begins to bleed into the world as well, morphing into a natural force. “I do not wish to be reborn.”   “Y/N!”   The God of Sun shields his eyes away. The Goddess of Dreams is sobbing, trying to reach you. And Yoongi stays in his spot motionlessly, on his knees, ignoring the pain of your radiant aura.    His eyes connect to yours and you smile at him before imploding into a million lights. Yoongi watches as the lights float upwards, becoming splotches in the night horizon that glitter and gleam.

[Present Day]   He looks up at the sky — it’s a clear night where he can see the infinite void of darkness and wonder. But while the inky canopy is an endless abyss, it is decorated with tiny freckles of sparkles. The longer he stares, the more that appears.    They are twinkling pinpricks of light in the sky, some golden and others silver. They cannot be reached or touched, but always watch over the rest of the universe.    The stars accompany the moon, so that it isn’t so lonely.   The man with dark hair and obsidian eyes leans against the terrace railings of his empty palace. His pupils connect the constellations together, drawing lines between them to see the shapes.   But then a little moth serves as his distraction. It’s a tiny thing with brown wings flapping and fluttering. It floats in front of him and he watches before extending his arms to capture the creature in his hand. But then the God of the Moon uncurls his fingers, letting it go.   “What do the stars say today?”   A familiar voice sounds behind him, one he has known for eleven lifetimes now. A smooth timbre that has made many decisions and spoken to many great beings.    Seokjin joins his side, looking out at the sky with a small smile. His question is still unanswered, but it is not uncommon for the God of Sun to ask him about this. After all, in the entire universe, Yoongi has become the best at reading the stars.   “The constellations are shifting. There will be challenges ahead.”   Yoongi continues, “The stars are always melancholic. History doesn’t repeat but it rhymes. There will always be pain and suffering.”   “But there is also hope.” Seokjin stares at his old friend’s profile, lips graced with a small smile. “And the sun always rises after the night.”   There have been many changes since the birth of the four original gods. More gods have come about and the mortals have multiplied even more so. The world is still chaotic — the fire and destruction you had spoken about, like a prophecy, had been fulfilled. The calamity was indeed brought upon Heaven but it had survived.    He’s not sure how long peace will be kept, but Yoongi has learnt that it is within the moment that matters most.   The two of them have gotten old, or at least it feels that way. But Yoongi is glad he is able to be reborn and refresh himself, allowing sorrow and wrath to fade away in cycles. And while you have become a distant memory for him after nearly a millennium, Yoongi doesn’t think he’ll ever forget about you.   Not the way you used to hold his hand when you kept him company on nights he brought the moon out. Not the way you always took to his side. Not the warmth that you gave to him.    Yoongi lets the guilt sit upon his shoulders.   The bittersweet memories of you keep him grounded.   “Do you think she’s watching us?”   “Yeah.” Seokjin sighs wistfully. “I do.”   The corners of his mouth quirk. “She must think we’re still idiots, huh?”   The warm god chuckles, hands behind his back. “Probably. I don’t think she’s ever stopped watching over us, Yoongi.”   The two gods smile, bantering back and forth noisily. It’s the loudest Yoongi’s palace ever gets considering the God of Sun is always rowdy and boisterous. He often ruins the calm atmosphere that the God of the Moon creates, but the occasional company isn’t undesired. It reminds Yoongi of the olden days, during simpler times. Except they have become more mature and wise, just like you have said.   Seokjin yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He bids farewell and turns to return to his extravagant palace. But Yoongi stops him before he can vanish back to Heaven.    “Do you think...she knows?”   Yoongi asks while staring out at the stars, wondering if you know about his regret. His remorse, about how he still cares, about how he remembers you the most out of the three of them that are left.   The God of Sun smiles. “I do.”   Yoongi is left at his lonesome, gazing at the constellations.    The moth floats and flutters in front of him. After a moment, it lies on his cheek as if it were giving a soft kiss and then it flies away into the bright night.

[illfoandillfie]

27 with ben, but even though it's a one time thing hes still sweet

27. Your one chance with a celebrity

thanks darl! i knew someone was gonna rec this one (and actually i got another anon ask for it as well) so i’m glad you’re all on the same track as me.

~~~

“Should I go and talk to him” You asked your group offriends, trying not to stare at the cute blond who’d been looking at youmoments before.

“Yes, what the fuck kind of question is that? It’s Peterfucking Beale.”

“Did you see him in that Xmen movie? Played the one with thewings. Christ, he is cut.”

“Looks good in leather too.”

They burst out into a fit of giggles as you rolled your eyesand tried to get them back on track.

“What’s his actual name?”

“Starts with a B I think,”

“You’re absolutely no help, the lot of you. Alright, see youtomorrow, I’m gonna go fuck a movie star.”

That set them off laughing again as you downed the last ofyour drink and made your way over to the bar, leaning against it so your arsestuck out.

“Another pint, cheers mate, and whatever the lady’s having.”

You smiled at the blond, “Thank you, that’s so sweet. I’mY/N, by the way.”

“Ben,” he said smiling back.

“And what brings you out tonight, Ben?” you asked, touchinghis arm softly.

“Just got back from overseas so I’m out with a few mates tocelebrate,” he indicated a group of similarly aged guys nearby. What about you,”

“Girls night out. Technically not meant to be fraternisingwith the enemy so don’t tell them I’m talking to you.”

“You wanna head somewhere else so they don’t see?”

“Sounds like a plan,”

Before you knew it Ben had you outside and in the back of acab headed towards his place. You’d normally make a guy work a little bitharder to get you alone but when else would you get the chance to shag acelebrity. This was an opportunity that could not be missed. And there was noquestion that that’s where things were heading. He was polite and sweet andtalked to you about anything else, but you saw his eyes drift to your cleavage acouple of times and his hand rested on your thigh.

It didn’t take long once he got you inside. Almost thesecond the door was shut he had you pressed against it, lips firm against yours.You let out a giggle as the realisation of what was happening hit you but thatdidn’t deter him from his quest to get your clothes off. You lost your shoes inthe hall and your dress was almost completely unzipped by the time you reachedhis bedroom, his shirt long since discarded and his fly undone. He shut thedoor behind you and you let your dress fall to the floor.

“Fuck you’re fit.

“Says you,”

He laughed at that and kissed you again, backing you upuntil you reached the bed. Once you were on it he took his pants off, leavingyou to quickly unhook your bra and add it to the once clean floor. You made toshimmy your knickers off too, but he stopped you.

“Let me,” he said with a wink, kneeling between your legsand grabbing the material with both hands. Slower than you’d have liked he drewthem down your legs, letting out a groan as soon as he saw you fully exposed.If you hadn’t wanted him before you certainly did now, the combination of how goodhe sounded and the way he was looking at you making your cunt throb.

“Do you mind if I,” he nodded towards your pussy.

“Go ahead,” you said half surprised he’d offer to go down onyou, a total stranger, and half surprised he’d ask permission.

He didn’t need any more encouragement than that, pushingyour thighs open wider and leaning in to lick along your slit. You head droppedback, the air rushing from your lungs, as he settled into you, first justtongue and lips but then adding his fingers, twisting his wrist, adjusting hisangle until he found the spot that made you cry out.

“Such pretty sounds. Bet you sound even prettier cumming.”

He soon found out, fingers pumping into you and hummingaround your clit. You didn’t bother trying to keep your moans quiet as he keptyour high going until you whined from sensitivity and pushed him away.

“Shit,” you said softly, only making Ben laugh.

“Take your time, love,”

“Gotta get my breath back if I’m gonna return the favour,”you laughed.

“Well, I wasn’t going to assume but yeah, it’d help.”

You shook your head a little wondering which stars had alignedto get you into Ben’s bed that night. You’d definitely have to tell the girlsabout it tomorrow.

[annhellsing]

Fleurs du Mal

notes: if i had half a brain cell i’d stagger this shit but you guys know me and i fucking don’t. so the results of my coffee-fuelled write-a-thon last night are being posted at the break of day. enjoy!! rating: explicit, my dudes!! here there be smut!! pairing: homare arisugawa / reader word count: 2,437

Your love, who does not know he is your love, waits patiently before the mirror. 

It’s a bit difficult to understand how he could not know he is loved, really. You undo his tie with all the fondness and familiarity that practice implies. This is not the first time you’ve done this for him, dressed him down to reveal his softer parts. Nor shall it be the last.

All is rather silent but for the ticking of the clock. His grandmother’s record playing Vivaldi’s Autumn has run its course. Neither of you speak at first, content inexplicably with one another’s company to the point that no words are needed.

Homare likes very much when you do this, even if he does not yet know the reason. He likes to imagine that it’s because he’s loved, but working up the courage to confess such a thing is much easier on paper.

Conversation never plagues him so, but you have proven to consistently defy his expectations. He very much cares about what you think of him. And though he is utterly correct, he does often wonder if the mutual dalliances enjoyed on slow afternoons are being misinterpreted on his part.

It stays his tongue in the worst way possible, for you similarly lack the ability to define your relationship. So, you take his clothes off slowly with playful and flirtatious intent. Yet neither of you can admit as much until the act begins.

“With the way that you dress and undress me, I feel a little bit like your doll,” Homare comments, good-natured in tone even as his stomach does flips. Butterflies roost in his chest, not his gut. There is where his words reside, choked and stifled by the flock of delicate wings making his chest flutter uncomfortably.

He wants to say he likes being your doll, could he please be your doll forever? But he does not.

The spell is broken, it seems. You look up at him with soft, loving eyes who’s emotion he is certain he reads incorrectly. You smile at Homare, taking in the beauty of his face and wishing that now were the time for kisses. You’re sparse with them, not wanting to drive him to discomfort with your emotions.

“Mm, you’re prettier than any Barbie,” you tell him, relying on teasing to alleviate how tight your own rib cage is.

His tie’s been cast aside. Your fingers work open buttons without pausing to explore his skin underneath. Homare is fair and beautiful, smooth and clean. He might appreciate comparisons to a lily or a rose, but your resolve wavers when he smiles back. And your compliments die on your tongue.

“I care very little for my appearance,” he begins. You can believe that, at least. “I prefer compliments directed at the mind— ah!”

He cries out for you’ve come to the bottom of his shirt and untucked it from his waistband. You press your hand to his lower stomach, drawing your palm up his chest and feeling with a confidence that you can’t voice. 

“Softer, too,” you mumble, unable to say anything more. Homare’s smile returns quickly, with a fox-like tilt that emboldens you just a bit. He seems pleased, if still surprised with the attention.

“You can thank Azuma for that, he was quite transparent about his skincare routine,” Homare adds. Your shoulders shake with a quiet laugh.

“That’s nice of him,” you say. Your hands move of their own accord, pulling him a little closer by the thin taper of his waist. Homare turns towards the mirror. You take up the place behind him, drawing his back against your warm chest.

You explore, as soft and careful as any lover. And yet he is still quite sad about the fact that the two of you are not in love. He reaches behind, holding your hips but allowing you a moment to touch and feel at your leisure.

“I quite agree,” he chimes, settling in for the long haul of touches meant to heat the blood. He’s already stirring in more ways than one, fighting back small and contented noises on the basis of pride. 

With you, Homare is gripped by a phantom desire to expound your virtues and profess the depth of his emotions. But a pride that does not belong to him rattles his ability to do so. It belongs to his past, he suspects, to one woman in particular who was easily able to destroy him.

Of course, he does not recognize this behaviour as destructive at all. Only honest. You have been left with the pieces of his heart she scattered. He only hopes it’s some time before you cut yourself on them.

But you touch him like he is not broken glass, indeed as if he were not broken at all. Your clever fingers undo the button in his dress pants, making him stiffen up in anticipation in more ways than one.

You coax relaxation from his slight frame once again with patience. However, he still finds it difficult to breathe as you dip your hand into the front of his trousers.

Surprised by what you find, your eyebrows lift. That smile comes back, just as fox-like as his while you feel beneath his boxers.

“Did Azuma show you how to take care of what’s down here, too?” you ask. That impish smile of yours burns in the mirror. Homare feels very exposed, even with his shirt hanging only part way open and his trousers still preserving his modesty.

He understands your joke enough to give a short laugh, the sound somewhat strained, but does not retreat. You take to stroking the skin around his half-hard length, which is fast approaching fully erect under such careful attention.

Homare gives a strangled sigh as you explore, your hand cupping his balls and giving a soft squeeze. He’s mostly smooth to the touch. You set your head on his shoulder, content to feel.

“That was a bit of experimentation on my part,” he admits, turning to look at you. He gives the end of your nose a gentle peck. Unable to keep himself still any more, his hand falls to your wrist. His grip is loose and unhurried. He doesn’t want you to stop, exactly.

But the tightness of his fingers increases a bit when you brush somewhere not sensitive, but painful. Your expression shifts to one of concern.

“Poor thing, you nicked yourself,” you say. You retreat from the source of pain but do not fully remove your hand.

“There is a reason I am not in the sciences, my flower,” Homare smiles still at you, hoping that his mishap with the razor won’t put you off. He’s aching for you now, his lower belly now a mess of writhing anxiety and glorious heat.

“Ask me if you want help with any further experiments, angel,” you say, offering up a soft kiss immediately following. He sighs again, as you return to your former occupation with even more care not to hurt him further.

“Your enthusiasm is rather exciting,” he says. His voice takes on a rather unexpected, sultry tone. You lift an eyebrow. “I do hope a few minor flesh wounds won’t chase you off.”

“You look ravishing, Homare. Where else have I to go that’s half as interesting?” and he has no answer to such a question. He supposes, had you any idea of his true nature, you might find elsewhere to spend your time.

But as it stands, you return to him time and time again. 

Rather, he returns to you. His family home is a little lonely, and has been ever since his grandmother passed. But you look after his parents when they have need, and after Aeriel when she does. 

It’s almost shameful to Homare that his love’s picked you because his dog decided you were good at heart. But he looks at your smiling face in the mirror, at the way you dip your head to kiss his neck and he knows you’d find no shame at all in that. You’d likely be flattered.

Of course, if you didn’t spurn his affections wholesale. He would understand that entirely. But as it stands, you’ve neither asked for such things nor voiced any true feelings you may harbour. He is more than content with this passionate, if infrequent affair as it is. At least this way you’ll stay with him.

“You’re very clever to realize that you stand in the presence of a poetic genius,” he muses. “Very few know to appreciate my company, muse.” You bite down very softly on his neck, pulling from him a quiet mewl. In his ear, you whisper,

“Tonight, I think you’re the muse,” and the shiver that runs up his spine is nothing short of wanton. You grip him on two fronts, putting a hand both to his throat and around the base of his cock. Homare stiffens and then sighs.

You apply no pressure to either, you simply hold him as he is with his back to your chest. While he can admit that the two areas you’ve sought out are quite delicate, he’s glad to an extent that you did not think to take him by the heart. At least, not literally.

“Will you come to bed?” you ask, “Or shall I see what other secrets you’re keeping underneath your trousers.”

“Take me,” he whispers, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck when your lips find his shoulder. Your hand leaves his throat, moving down his chest before falling to his side.

You entwine your fingers with his and remove your other hand from his trousers. Homare is turned around and guided towards the mess of pillows and quilt at the centre of his parent’s guest room.

He sits, looking almost in a daze. You’re still mostly dressed as well, but when you guide his hands up your thighs and to the waistband of your underwear, Homare understands. He plays a moment with the soft, elastic lace. His thin fingers touch your thighs with a reverence best reserved for church. 

“Don’t tease me, muse,” you whisper to him, “that’s my job.” Leaning in, you take another, fragile kiss. Homare decides to be petulant, biting gently at your lip and seizing forward all of a sudden so that he might still have your lips on his.

You indulge, doting and gentle as always while your hands push into his bright locks of hair. Homare seems hesitant to take your panties off, moving his hands over the roundness of your hips and the outward press of your pelvic bone. Over the fabric, he makes a show out of exploring your mound.

Your hand grips the hair at the back of his head when it becomes obvious he’s dragging his feet. It’s only ever for the sake of irking you, and the reaction is one he favourably courts.

“My, my, my, never in all my years have I met a woman with such impatience,” he exclaims, “and not to mention so lacking in a sense of humour.”

“Oh, I have a sense of humour,” you say, “wouldn’t it be funny indeed to make my own fun without any help from yourself?”

Homare is quite glad that his ego is feeling rather strong today. Such teasing holds no bite. But still, as if to turn the thought from your mind he begins to slide your panties down your thighs.

“That’s better,” you say, “I do love you.”

His hands still.

Those eyes, red and so often full of sly emotion go wide as dinner plates. Homare looks stricken for a second, as if you’ve said something truly awful as opposed to a confession. He stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

“You love me?” he asks, his voice now more like a croak than its previous, sultry invitations. Slowly, you nod.

“I---” you start. You close your mouth. It was a mistake to so freely give it up, but the sentiment is truthful. You do love him very much. “Have I never told you?”

“I thought---” Homare begins, but the second half of his sentences dies. “Come, kiss me again. I have been denied that for far too long.”

“Only because you stay away for ages,” you reply, settling back into the familiar territory of breathless kisses. You touch your lips to his, bending down to reach his new height.

You crawl into his lap and his big, thin hands support you. The kissing comes and does not ebb, every time you try to pull away to speak he hauls you back in for more. It’s almost like he’s looking for something between your lips, the courage to speak his own truth.

It comes on swift after you push him onto his back. Homare falls with you on top of him, caught up in the sound of your heady laugh as you shift and hold yourself above him.

“I love you, too,” he starts very suddenly, lifting his head so that you are near enough for comfort. “Never doubt I love, my flower.”

“Mm, really?” you ask, though your tone still holds that gentle teasing that so sets him at ease. Homare doubts you are trying to name him liar, you place both of his hands on entirely scandalous locations. You fiddle with his trousers to try and press towards unity.

He’ll allow it, the both of you have been bubbling with unrequited tension for far too long.

“I love you in so many ways that they cannot be counted,” he insists, “though since I am poet I shall no doubt have to try---”

You dip your head, taking another kiss.

“I’ll count mine for you,” you say, “my reasons number in the thousands.”

“Flatterer,” he scolds, though the criticism holds no malice.

“Hypocrite!” you exclaim, tossing your head back and laughing over him like you belong nowhere else. Homare grips your hips and prays you can think of nowhere better to sit. “Your poems hold truths aplenty but you speak too highly of me in most of them.”

“Never,” he says, his lips finding the center of your sternum with the intent to kiss through your skin. If he focuses, he can hear the perfect beat of your fond heart. “I could never find the words to speak higher of you than what you’ve earned.”

“Write that down, Homare,” you playfully urge. But your hand moves somewhere dangerous yet again, making him moan and driving all thoughts of poetry from his mind. He’s nearly-incoherent when you add, “But not right this minute. I have things to do presently.”

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

bro if u have time would u consider big brother gabe hanging out with little cas and pranking the other angels or smth?

"...and he's been so much more annoying than usual," Gabriel waves his hands emphatically as he speaks. "So yeah. We've got to stick it to Michael. You know what I'm saying?" He ends his seventy-three-day rant with that - you see, time was weirder back then - because apparently that's something that's always been said at the end of rants.

Castiel looks up at his brother, from where he was looking up at a tree - wondering about how much prettier it'd be if there were tiny yellow moving-creatures amidst the leaves.

"Yes." He decides to go with, in response to Gabriel's rhetoric, since he hasn't actually been listening to him.

He just tends to agree when Gabriel offers to whisk him off to The Garden, in spite of the sixty-to-eighty day rant he's going to be subjected to, because he likes that everything around is of the color green.

And anyways, he trusts himself to wing it - get it? - if Gabriel asks any questions. Like right now.

Apparently it's the right thing to say again, because Gabriel smiles satisfiedly. "So before I tell you what we'll be doing, do you have any ideas, kiddo?"

The word 'kid' hadn't been thought of yet, so it was astonishing that Gabriel had already nickname-ified it, but then that's something he'd always been good at.

Castiel reasons that his answering-instincts telling him to say 'pink', for some reason, are wrong for like the first time, and hence he shakes his head.

"Well, too bad." Gabriel announces cheerfully in a voice which doesn't hold a single note of feeling bad, in any way at all. "Here's what we're doing, okay? You're going to pretend there's something wrong with your wings. Word's going to spread and Michael's going to come check, and while he's away, I'll just take something from him that seems important."

For a change, Castiel had been listening, so he had a question. "What's important to Michael?"

"I'm working on it." Said the golden-winged Archangel, who wasn't working on it at all.

He too, like the black-feathered fledgling, was going to wing it.

*

Castiel is dropped off at his to-be garrison - though right now, for they're yet to be 10,000, it functions as a nursery. Nobody seems overly excited that he's back - just as nobody had been concerned that he was gone.

Everyone knew Gabriel had a fondness for monologues and this particular little brother.

"Break a leg." Gabriel whispers to Castiel, who develops a squint at this. All 4367 of his eyes squint together and for a moment, it seems like they're wounds of battles, and not eyeslits.

"Wasn't I supposed to break a wing -"

But Gabriel is already gone.

Castiel shrugs, and keeps on walking for he wants to get as close to the Host as possible, so that he does come flying for sure when he hears Castiel - until he's pounced upon by another fledgling, the same height and number-of-eyes as him.

"Cassie!" Balthazar beams. "How did it go?"

"Gabriel doesn't like Lucifer, Raphael, or Michael." Castiel summarizes, and he thinks he's done a great job of it.

"Cool." Balthazar doesn't really care about it - he's just being polite to his friend. In fact, he hasn't cared much for Gabriel ever since the archangel singled out Castiel for the trips to The Garden. Once when Balthazar had offered his own name, Gabriel had declined, saying that Castiel was more interesting. In short, Balthazar couldn't wait to grow up and get a personality.

He was planning to hate a lot of stuffs.

(But he did like Castiel.)

"Do you know of any little, yellow-y creatures in Father's plan?" Castiel asks his friend, earnestly.

"Joshua might."

"I'm going to go ask him after I've informed Michael my wing hurts." Castiel declares happily, and resumes walking towards the Host.

Balthazar skips after him. "Your wing?"

"It's broken."

"Where?"

Castiel thinks about it. "I think it's the basal phalanx." He pays attention when Anna talks about wings, because he hopes to fly like Gabriel someday. Or better. But probably not, because however hard he may try, he's always going to be smaller.

(Hehe.)

"Why do you want to tell Michael?" Balthazar asks ahead, still not entirely convinced.

Castiel frowns. Why does he, indeed?

"He'll just make a huge deal of it and scold you for being careless." Balthazar says, and he's right. Castiel isn't doing the convincing anymore, as much as he's been getting convinced. "If it hurts, Anna's been developing healing grace." Balthazar adds, because he's nice like that.

"Okay." Castiel agrees. A fledgling of few words.

He was never too passionate about Gabriel's plan either - and he's sure Gabriel won't really care. He never does, and Castiel likes that about him. Plus, they need to go check on the status of small, ochre-yellow creatures.

"Let's get Uriel and we'll go to Joshua!" Balthazar grins, and they set off in the opposite direction from the Host.

(Eventually turns out that such creatures do exist - and are to be called Bees. Castiel's happy enough for the rest of the decade. Maybe 4367 eyes aren't a few too less for him to see that he's supposed to feel guilty for bailing on Gabriel.)

*

Meanwhile, Gabriel tiptoes dramatically into The Host from the side entrance - the back door is pseudo-eternally blocked by Lucifer, though no one knows what he does there, and only the archangels dare to joke amongst themselves that he's planning to rebel. Gabriel reaches Michael's room and before he can take in the very few items around, his eyes fall on his brother.

"What are you doing here, brother?" Michael asks calmly, because he likes to stay in character.

"I'm - looking for Luci." Gabriel blurts, blanking out.

Michael nods. "Did you check the back entrance?"

"Ahh." Gabriel sings, pretending to be mortified. "Silly me, you know what I'm saying? I'll be on my way, then." Gabriel claps his wings, to fly out of his brother's sight promptly. "See you later."

He reasons something went wrong for his little accomplice, until he picks him up for a six-to-eight decade talk again and Castiel confesses he'd been scared. Only smally mentions the bees.

"...but it's okay. I think I'm backing the right horse, still." Gabriel rolls his eyes, after he's done whining for about forty nine years. Again, horses haven't yet come into being, so idioms involving them haven't either, but Gabriel has his ways.

"I'm sorry." Castiel has the courtesy to mumble.

"You'll make me proud some other time." Gabriel beams at him cheerily, for a second time. "Or like, the very next time - and if you don't, I'm going to have to make Balthazar my favorite. Ever since he's founded the Harp-Hate club, I've just had high hopes for his future."

Castiel nods distractedly. He's picturing the bees.

"I don't have anything against harps, though. I mean, not my favorite - not when there's horns and kazoos around, but like, I can play a mean harp. So obviously, I like them."

Castiel continues to pretend he's been listening, and answers luckily with a, "Of course."

Gabriel goes on, completely satisfied.

*

Billions of years later, Gabriel's settled in front of the television with a pack of licorice, when a voice booms across Angel Radio.

"Dean Winchester is Saved!"

He smirks, and leans back on the couch, feeling proud of himself. The one thing he'd noticed on Michael's desk when searching for important things, had been a book - with calligraphic text on the cover.

The very first binder.

'The Righteous Man Plans (Vol. 1): How To Get Him To Say Yes.'

And now Castiel - clearly, Gabriel's apprentice, had gone and claimed his soul in Hell. It doesn't get more dramatic than that.

"Nicely done, kiddo."

[lizord-lord]

(I AM!!! NOT DEAD!!! I STILL!!! WRITE!! Or at least I like to think I do. I got stuck on multiple parts of this chapter, and just buckled down and finished it last night, and it ended up being the longest chapter yet, not to mention entirely fucking over my outline. Hopefully more updates will come sooner, but given..everything about me, don’t count on it. But I am SUPER excited to bring you this chapter, so enjoy!! And thank you to @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2​ for beta reading/ feeding my tiny gremlin ego.)

Ships: Royality

Word count: 6,585

Summary: Patton’s always believed there’s more the the world than meets the eye. Or at least-meets others’ eyes..his own have always seen glimpses of shimmer in the bushes, colors in the breeze, movement in the shadows.It was only distant hope-until a day of exploration in the woods led him to become acquainted with a pair of Fae twins. They call themselves Truth and Lies… But does he really know which is which?

Warnings: brief body image issues, sympathetic deceit

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Will O’ The Wisp, Chapter Three

I say you intrigue me, bright as you are

Work was torture. Not because Patton disliked his job-far from it, he enjoyed watching people splash color onto cups and plates and little figurines.  And even working at the kiln wasn’t too bad-though hot, but it was summer in Florida, so that wasn’t too much of an issue. He was pretty used to the heat at this point. It being summer, of course, there were more customers, which meant more hectic days, but this specific establishment was run by a very nice lady named Via who believed in the workplace being a friendly environment for all involved. And her wife Esther always brought donuts on Wednesdays, so there was that too. Even if Patton had stopped partaking lately. So overall, it was a pretty nice job. 

No, Patton’s suffering was not at all employment-based, but rather, patience-based. How was he supposed to just stand around doing normal person work when he, Patton, just a few hours ago, had met faeries?? It was taking all of his self-control to not bounce on his toes and begin to gush on about that magnificent experience to every one of his coworkers and the customers to boot!

Luckily, he managed not to. Roman might share his joy when they both got home, but the general populous wouldn’t, and Patton knew that they wouldn’t, and furthermore he did not want all his work friends thinking he was crazy. Heck, half of them already thought he was for refusing Esther’s donuts! Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite the same thing. 

Nevertheless, by some very human miracle, he managed to make it through the day with only the occasional comment about how he had more energy than normal. Which was fine. He managed to be his usual outgoing self without too much suspicious activity up until clock-out, where he ditched his uniform as quickly as possible and hopped on his brand new baby pink bike with so much gusto that he very nearly fell flat on his face. In fact he likely would have, had Elliot not also decided to bike to work today. They caught him just in time, tugging him back to his feet by the shoulders. In an effort to play off his near-death (okay, maybe not quite that bad) Patton laughed, but he was sure that between his face and hair, he looked entirely the same color.

“Thanks,” he said, slightly breathless. Elliot rolled their eyes, but there was a fond smile on their face. “Yeah, no problem Patt. Pretty sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t want you faceplanting into the pavement.” “Oh for sure- if you hadn’t been there I would have been Splatt-on!”

Patton beamed as Elliot sighed.

“Take it back, you can perish on the floor for all I care.” “Aw, C’mon, it’s not that-” “Nope.” They held up a hand, face deadpan. Patton only giggled. “I am not letting you get a combo in there. How’s the new place?” “Oh!” Puns forgotten (much to the very sun’s relief) Patton brightened, brushing a few stray curls out of his eyes.

“It’s lovely! Even moving in was a blast, it’s just so...homey, y’know? Like something out of a storybook. And the woods! There’s this forest out back you see, and it has the most beautiful little stream, and the trees are huge, and- oh gosh you won’t believe this-”

He caught himself just in time. No! Bad Patton! God, was his mouth really that big? He just couldn’t wait, he’d had this massive revelation bottled up inside all day, and he’d almost been that careless? “What?” “Oh-” thinking quickly, Patton swung his leg back up onto his bike and made a bit of show of being careful to buy himself another two seconds. “I found this strawberry patch! Yeah, maybe I’ll pick some and Ro and I can make strawberry shortcake this weekend!”

Phew. Elliot tilted their head, clearly interested, but didn’t add anything until Patton was done putting on his helmet. “Sounds like a fun time. I won’t keep you any longer- I’ve been late to too many shifts already, now you get back to your man!” They laughed good-naturedly and gave a small wave as they headed inside the shop, and Patton grinned back over his shoulder before taking off down the road.

                                                           *

“Oh there you are my sunlight, my world is golden and warm again!” Patton laughed at his boyfriend’s dramatic, but routine greeting. And on par with that routine, he shut the door, dropped his keys in the little dish that they had put on the windowsill nest to the door, and let Roman sweep him into his strong arms, giggling as they kissed with way more passion necessary for people who had only been apart for about eight hours. If there was any perk to not have or be visiting Virgil constantly, it was that he wasn’t there to loudly call them gross and chuck a pillow, stuffed animal, blanket, comic book, magazine, tissue box, or on one occasion of extreme sleep-deprivation, his cat SV- at their faces.

They separated eventually, both giggling, and Roman set Patton down with a slight “oof.”

“Roman you won’t believe what I saw in the woods today!! Faeries Roman, I met real faeries!!”

The words spilled out of Patton’s mouth before anything else-even a hello, nearly squealing the last words in his pure excitement. 

He felt Roman’s hands go still in his, a look of pure shock spreading over his boyfriend’s face. An expression that soon morphed from shock to disbelief, then hope, and then an excitement so strong that Patton was sure that, if they were cartoon characters, his eyes would have turned into stars. Patton laughed, and then Roman laughed, and they gripped each other’s hands tight- and before long they were dancing like children in a little ring, laughing and squealing, because faeries were real and they lived in their backyard!!!

“Tell me everything!!” Roman exclaimed breathlessly once they had finally run out of energy and stopped the gleeful dance, and Patton nodded wildly, grinning so hard it hurt his cheeks as he dragged Roman to the couch, bouncing on the white cushion in his poorly-contained joy.

“Okay so- after you left I hung around a bit, and then I got bored, so I headed out to the woods y’know? It wasn’t really as fun without you at first, so I ended up back by that tree we saw last time. Beautiful tree, I think it looked even prettier in the morning! Oh- but anyway I think I fell asleep for a bit- and then I was hearing these voices, so I stood up and turned around- and when I did- faeries!!”

“How many?” Roman asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling, “How big were they? Did they have wings? Were they butterfly wings or like- insect wings? Or petals? What were they like?” Patton shook his head quickly, but the smile never left his face. “No, no wings- they were actually your height I think, maybe taller? But they were beautiful Roman, the way they moved- they were like dancers, or acrobats..it was amazing. But they talked to me, and we introduced ourselves- I’ll tell Virgil not to worry, I didn’t give my full name- but they’re called Truth and Lies, and they’re brothers! Well, sorta..they’re cursed you see- well, I think- Truth can only tell the truth and Lies can only lie, so they talk a little weird, and sometimes it’s just wind? Anyway- they said I could see them again tomorrow!!”

And just like that, Roman deflated.

“...I have a shift tomorrow..” he moaned, sparkle fading from his eyes like a puppy who had just had its favorite treat thrown in the trash. “Oh. Well-” Patton quickly squeezed his hands, worry flashing over his face- oh dear, in his excitement he’d forgotten, “Don’t worry- if they’re okay with meeting up tomorrow I’m sure they’ll be okay with showing up on Friday, right?”

“..right.” 

“I’ll tell them you want to meet them okay? They’re really friendly, I’m sure they’ll be okay with it! Plus, who wouldn’t want to meet such a charming prince?” Smiling, Patton leaned in to nuzzle Roman’s nose, which caused his boyfriend to let out a high-pitched squeal. And then a bout of giggles, which Patton soon found himself mirroring as Roman’s hands cupped his round cheeks and he began to pepper kisses over every single freckle. And then finally, his mouth landed on Patton’s, and the kisses turned from feather-light and playful to slow and sweet. By the time they separated, the immediate concern had been forgotten, and somehow Patton had ended up on Roman’s lap. Neither of them minded this, however. 

In fact, for a few minutes they just sat there in the light of the sun streaming through the window, with Roman’s arms slung around Patton’s middle- until Roman’s stomach rumbled.

“So….Chinese tonight, Rosebud?” he suggested- then pouted when Patton frowned and firmly shook his head. It wasn’t dinnertime quite yet, but Patton was hungry too, and with their slightly uncoordinated work schedules, he and Roman often ended up eating early, so food was something to be thinking about. However, despite his enjoyment for Chinese takeout, a more disciplined part of Patton’s brain rejected the suggestion.

“No, we had pizza last night Ro- and I made waffles this morning! We should get something healthier, at least make something ourselves?”

“Oh, alright, fine,” Roman sighed, though he was milking the disappointment a bit. “How about...enchiladas?”

Patton smiled conspiratorially at that, then rose from the couch and turned, trading out the expression for his most over-the-top stern look, placing his hands on his hips to really sell the bit. “Are you going to going to spill the sauce all over the counter and then draw a dog with it instead of cleaning it up again, young man?” “Nooooo?” Roman laughed, putting on his best “innocent face”, which made him laugh, and then Patton laughed, and Roman jumped up from the couch and took Patton’s hand, tugging him towards the kitchen. “I promise, no enchilada sauce masterpieces on the counter!”

The enchiladas went without incident (well, except for Patton dropping a bowl on the floor, but nothing was spilled and nothing broke, so it was fine) and soon the couple was seated together at the table, happily eating. It was well into the evening now, and Roman had been recounting work stories. Mostly bitching about this one lady who had come in with her seven-year-old son (which was fine as long as he didn’t break anything) and upon Roman coming up to her to ask if she was finding everything she needed, glared at him, covered her son’s eyes, and backed out of the store as if he was some ghoul asking if he could eat her child’s heart rather than a store employee just doing his job. Patton was listening intently and offering his full support in the rant, and Roman had just started to list all the other times people had been horrified to see a man in makeup working at a beauty store- when the doorbell rang.

That was odd. They weren’t expecting anyone, Virgil wasn’t the type to show up out of the blue and for that matter- neither were most of their friends. It could be the mailman, but that was unlikely, so that really didn’t leave much. Then again, after this morning, the oddness of the doorbell ringing when no one was expected seemed like nothing. Nevertheless, Patton quickly pushed back his chair and stood, Roman following, and opened the door.

Before them stood a friendly-looking man in perhaps his late thirties or early forties, with pinkish-purple hair and a tan sweater. He looked a tad surprised that they’d answered the door, but waved, then held out a hand to shake.

“Heyo! So you’re our guests for the summer, hm? Nice to meet you, I’m Emile Picani.”

“Oh!” This must be one of their neighbors. Patton took his hand and shook it, then offered a large smile and stepped back slightly.

“Sorry, we weren’t really expecting any visitors- I’m Patton Sanders, and this-” “Roman Prince, delighted to make your acquaintance.”  Patton rolled his eyes playfully at the little bow his boyfriend offered their neighbor before taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“My boyfriend,” Patton finished with a sigh, slightly relieved at the way Emile laughed at said boyfriend’s antics. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Oh no, I just wanted to say hello, I shouldn’t be intruding-” “Nonsense!” Roman proclaimed. “We were just finishing up dinner, and it’s always good to get to know your neighbors, right?” “Well..if you’re alright with it, I suppose.” 

He stepped inside and Roman closed the door behind him. Patton quickly excused himself to clean up their dinner dishes, and before long they were all seated in the little living room area, Roman and Patton together on the couch and Emile in a white wicker rocking chair.

“So where are you two coming from?” Emile asked.

“Oh, not far,” Roman replied. “I’ve been around, but my family moved to Portsmount city when I was sixteen, and dear Patton has lived there all his life.” “That’s right! I’d always really wanted to see some country, so we figured rather than renting a place together we could try somewhere a little more rural for the summer and..y’know, see how we liked it!” “Aww, how sweet,” chuckled Emile “Though I wouldn’t call our little spot of town country really.” “Well it’s pretty close to me!”

“Fair. Suppose I’m kind of the same myself in a way- I’ve lived here all my life. Makes the commute a bit of a pain, but the view is worth it.” “You have?” Roman asked, leaning forward a bit with interest. “Got any stories to tell?”

He was grinning slightly, and Emile laughed again, though it was a bit high-pitched.

“Oh, plenty, but if I recounted all of them we’d be here all night. Maybe I can humor you another time?” “Of course,” Patton replied. “Plus, most of them aren’t really the town’s, if that’s what you’re after. Dare I say it’s not really too eventful a place, but it’s pretty darn homey.”

“Seems that way..” Patton’s voice trailed off almost dreamily, but his eyes sparkled- not an eventful place? He’d never heard anything less true.

“So what do you two do?”

“Well I, am an actor!” Roman proclaimed, puffing out his chest slightly, “But in between shows I’m just a Sephora cast member for now.” “An actor? My my, that’s wonderful! Though I can’t say I’m surprised, you definitely have the attitude.” Roman beamed at the compliment, while Emile turned his sights on Patton. “And what about you?” “Oh, I work at Color Me Mine.” “Color Me Mine?” he tilted his head, confused, “Can’t say I’ve heard of that place.” Patton just waved a hand, unbothered. Most people didn’t know where he worked. “It’s a shop where people can come and paint their own ceramics- bowls, plates, figurines-that sort of thing.” “Creative types then?” “Mhm!” Emile pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well our little spot is going to be lucky to have you then! I’m a therapist myself. Shame I can’t have my office out here, I think a natural environment can really help clear the mind and make sessions easier. But it’s obviously too far.”

“You can say that again,” Roman snorted. “Our friend Virgil still lives in the city and most of his texts so far have been asking if we’re dead. I’m only half-certain that he’s joking…” “I’m sure we’ll get him out here for a visit sooner or later,” Patton assured.   

“Sounds like you’ve got a mom friend experiencing empty nest syndrome,” Emile joked, and they all laughed.

“Virge means well, he’s just a bit uh..” Patton rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, Ro and I can be a bit crazy when left alone, he’s normally kinda a voice of reason for us.” “Ah, I see.”

“Speaking of friends,” Patton began, eager to keep the conversation flowing- he liked Emile, wanted to keep speaking with him. “Have you got any around here?” Emile let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “No, not around here. There aren’t really too many people here anyway- not on the edge of the country at least. Most of the people I know live up in Vaybury proper.” 

Vaybury was the actual town they were staying in- well, technically. Houses trickled off once you got out of the main area of town, and the house Roman and Patton were staying in was on Becker Street, pretty much the last real street before you hit real country, and there were only about six or seven houses on it. Some of them weren’t even occupied. So what Emile said made sense, though it disappointed Patton somewhat.

Their chatting continued for another ten minutes or so, pleasantries and enjoyable-if shallow, small talk, before Emile announced he was grateful for their hospitality and happy to make their acquaintance, but he should be getting back home. But of course, Patton being Patton and Emile seeming to have similar traits of good-natured talkativeness, they had ended up continuing the conversation with Emile leaning by the doorway. Roman had just finished up telling the story of all the hoops they’d had to jump through to even be able to see this place, and Patton picked up right when he finished with their first impressions.

“You can see why we picked this place,” Patton laughed, gesturing to the rosebud wallpaper. It was very 1950s, but when Roman saw it he had picked Patton up and teased him about how he was all over the house already- and Patton had giggled and blushed as pink as the little flowers themselves. But he didn’t reiterate that part to Emile, it seemed a bit too personal. “It’s just beautiful, and the view is gorgeous- I know it seems a bit silly but it was kind of the home I always pictured living in as a child..” he ducked his head slightly, brushing vermillion curls from his eyes, but their neighbor smiled along with him.

“You can see why I just had to insist,” Roman said with a large smile, wrapping his arms around Patton’s middle and making him squeak, “My dear sunlight was shining like his namesake when we finally got here- not to mention on our walk in the woods! Though I doubt I was much better,” he chuckled, “That forest is just magical, is it not? I swear I was certain we’d come across Rapunzel’s tower any minute!” But Emile frowned at that statement.

“You...went into the woods? For how long?” “Oh, only an hour or so,” Roman responded, waving a hand, “At least when I was there anyway-Patton was telling me all about his adventure this morning as soon as I got home!”

“You went alone into the forest?” 

Patton nodded- and for a moment he was afraid Emile would be angry- or that there was some terrible danger there that the fey hadn’t warned him of..but Emile only looked concerned. He sighed, pushing horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “I...wouldn’t do that if I were you. The fringes are usually fine, but the deeper you go- well, there are wild boar in there. Not a good place for visitors, or locals for that matter.” He shook his head and placed one hand on the door frame, stepping out into the evening sun.

Roman and Patton shared a glance, and after a moment Patton stepped out of his boyfriend’s arms and offered the concerned man a small smile.

“We’ll keep that in mind- thank you. And it was great meeting you!” “You too,” Emile replied, giving them one last friendly nod, before he stepped down the path and Patton closed the door behind him.

They stood in those positions, staring at the door, until Roman voiced what was going through both of their heads. “...Do you think he knows?” “I...I don’t know.” Patton’s voice was quiet, his gaze cast to the floor. “He could.” “Perhaps you could ask them tomorrow?” “Oh- yeah, I can.” 

There was a moment of silence. “I’m sure it’s nothing though,” Patton assured. But only the air would relax at the words, because though both of them nodded, neither of them would really take the comment to heart.

                                                             *

It rained the next morning. Not a light drizzle either, but the heavy summer rain- Patton left the house swaddled in a bright blue raincoat, his hands shoved in his pockets. It felt better once he got into the woods, but the branches would often bow under the weight of the rainwater and dump hundreds of drops down onto is head. Despite his hood, by the time Patton reached the clearing the fey had appeared in, his red curls were plastered to his face and his glasses were completely fogged over.

He honestly wasn’t sure if Truth and Lies would appear today, with this weather...but he wasn’t going to assume anything. The massive oak that stood proud in the center of the clearing, to Patton’s relief, was tall, dense, and wide enough that it didn’t seem to be showering the ground with droplets, so Patton found a relatively dry root to perch on and pushed back his hood, shaking the water from his hair like a puppy.

He unzipped the raincoat too, just enough so that he could use the hem of his faded pink shirt to clean away the moisture from his glasses and slip them back on- and then jolted backwards in shock, smacking his head against the trunk of the oak and letting out a yelp of pain, for there were the two faeries, hanging from a branch by their knees and twisted together like a butterfly’s cocoon, both pairs of eyes staring straight at him.

“Oh, Patton!” 

With his eyes closed, he couldn’t be sure as to whose petal-soft fingertips lifted up his chin before sliding around to feel among his wet curls for any sort of bump on the back of his head, but judging by the silky tone, it was Lies. “We don’t offer any apologies for startling you so..that looked comfortable.” Definitely Lies. Patton opened his eyes, still seeing flecks of sparkle at the edge of his vision- ow, that was going to swell most likely- to see the green fey only inches from his face, with Truth just a little farther away, his hands placed on the root right next to Patton’s right thigh and leaning  over his shoulder. Instantly, Patton’s cheeks flushed, and he let out another squeak, this time one of embarrassment. 

“No! No it’s okay, just a little bump- clumsy me really, not your fault, it happens all the time!” “Are you certain?” Patton’s nodded vigorously, and to his relief the two moved back a bit, sitting down on a raised root opposite him. Not that he minded their presence, it just...it surprised him, and despite his friendly nature having such fantastical creatures only inches from his nose- it just- it was scary! Not because he was scared of them, of course, it just...it felt like they were looking right through him.

“Well...that’s good. We almost thought you wouldn’t come. What with the rain and all. I find most humans prefer not to go out in such weather.” “Oh- I wouldn’t miss it!” Patton quickly exclaimed, “I mean, sure the rain’s kind of a pain, but that’s why I have a coat!” “That’s good,” Truth smiled, “We’re glad you’re here.”

“Of course- what was I going to do, watch TV instead of meeting with faeries?” The notion was ridiculous- Patton laughed, and the two fey added their musical giggling to the mix of sound. Patton felt a spark of pride for getting them to laugh.

“True, true, but you must remember that of course not everyone is willing to accept our existence.”

“Right.” Patton..he felt bad for those people. Those who refused to accept there might be childlike wonders in the world..maybe he got called immature or gullible for his willingness to accept the fantastical- but that was fine. Their loss.

“So..Patton.” He was jolted out of his musings by Lies’s smooth voice, and looked up, to see the green fey tapping his glimmering cheek.

“What do you think of that tour?” “Tour? Oh-OH!” Patton flushed, embarrassed at his absentmindedness, “Of the woods?” “No.” “Um...well, I don’t really think I should. Don’t want to lose track of time, y’know?” They just blinked.

Patton shifted on the damp root, suddenly self conscious, and looking for a subject change- when he remembered the conversations of the previous evening.

“Nevermind- actually, I kind of wanted to ask you two something?” “Of course,” replied Truth, leaning forward a smidge as both tilted their heads. Patton brushed a hand through his wet curls, trying to push them back into something that made him look a little less like a drowned poodle.

“Well..Roman really wants to meet you, but he couldn’t actually come today- but he’s free on Friday...so if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I was kind of hoping maybe we could meet then too? So he could meet you?” The words came out in a bit of a rush, and when Patton looked up almost sheepishly, he was met with the sight of the two fey sharing another one of their odd looks. 

“That sounds terrible Patton..” Lies said with a smile, after a moment of that silent discussion, “Was that all?” “Ye- no! No, there was actually one other thing..” bringing up Emile felt..more invasive. But he’d promised Roman he’d ask..and he was horribly curious himself.

“Our..new neighbor came over last night. He’s really nice- but it kind of ended on a..not-so-good note. He warned us to stay out of the woods.” “Well of course, none of the humans who’ve settled here find themselves afraid of the forest,” Lies dismissed, waving a hand and leaning onto Truth’s shoulder. Judging by the blue fey’s expression (hard to read as it was) he didn’t seem to think this anything important either. “...Well yeah- but you know, we were just a little worried that he knew something- you don’t know an Emile, do you?” He felt a bit bad, possibly giving out part of someone else’s name..but it’s not like he could just describe him right? They had to have seen so many people.

“Emile?” Truth frowned, tapping his delicate fingers on Lies’s knee, “No, I don’t remember any human by that name in recent years..” “I definitely remember him.”

Patton felt his shoulders relax slightly- and a laugh escaped his throat. “Of course- I knew it was probably silly, but I just wanted to check.” “Of course, cautiousness pays off well.”

“You sound like Virgil,” Patton chuckled. Well, Virgil would have phrased it more like “People can call you paranoid, but they won’t be laughing when you’re stocked for the apocalypse and they aren't.”

He missed Virgil..

“Well then Virgil must be immensely intelligent,” Lies commented, holding out one hand in front of his face, observing his nails- and Patton almost frowned. Lies’s odd opposite-speak was a bit hard to adjust to, true, but Patton caught on quick- and he swore the fey had just called his friend stupid! “Hey, he’s n-” But Patton was cut off by the sound of Lies’s laughter as Truth, his face pinched with offense, pushed the green fey off of the root and onto the slightly muddy grass. Lies let out a shriek, his laughter turning to something of disgust as he leapt to his feet and quickly brushed the mud from leaflike skin. And Patton suddenly felt immensely silly for jumping to conclusions, as he realized that Lies was in fact, taunting his brother. But he also didn’t really blame himself- years of going to bat for his friend had conditioned him to be very protective. And that was a good thing!

He found himself muffling a giggle with one hand, then almost jumped as he suddenly felt a body press against his side. Quickly turning his head, he realized that Lies had slid onto the root next to him instead of his brother, and wrapped his arms around Patton’s left arm, tucking in close. It sent Patton’s cheeks absolutely ablaze, his laughter dying in his throat (along with any other sounds he might consider trying to make) but the fey didn’t even seem to notice, instead flashing a wide smirk at Truth.

“Well, if you’re going to be that way, maybe I’ll just make sure to share this one..” “As if you wouldn’t have been caught in your own web centuries ago without me,” Truth sniffed. “Well excuse me for refusing to have any fun at all..” Lies drawled, letting go of Patton’s arm only to drape himself over his lap, slinging one slender arm around Patton’s shoulders to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Warm tingles spread down his spine, and Patton shivered. He almost felt like he couldn’t move, or speak. He didn’t want to disturb the delicate scene.

“Now who’s groping the poor thing?” “Hm? What do you mean?”

It was then Patton realized that the two were indeed aware that he was still there- and probably even his reactions to their actions..which made him hide his hands in his face in order to cover up a blush that probably made every freckle on his face stand out like seeds in a watermelon. “No-it’s um-” god he couldn’t even get a word out “fiNE it’s fine I don’t really mind.” Lies laughed- and leaned up to press a delicate kiss to Patton’s temple before sliding off his lap. Patton went absolutely rigid, and by the time his thoughts calmed down he realized the green fey had perched himself back on the branch over Truth’s head, dangling one arm and one leg over like it was a perfectly soft sofa and not a cylinder of wet, rough bark.

“Now now Patton, remember, obvious lies aren’t my job.”

He had the feeling he was supposed to laugh at that, but as he was currently engrossed in trying to function like an actual person who wasn’t a tomato in a raincoat and could speak words, it was a bit difficult.

“I apologize for him…” Truth sighed, brushing a droplet of water off of one of the cobalt spots on his cheek.

“No- no, it’s really fine I mean it,” Patton managed to get out, though he did end the sentence with a very awkward high-pitched giggle that he would rather have avoided. He kicked his legs a little in an effort to distract himself.

“Hm...you said your “boyfriend” couldn’t accompany you today- why is that?” “Oh, he has work. His shift is a lot earlier than mine,” Patton explained quickly, grateful for a subject change. He received no answer immediately, but did notice Truth tilt his head thoughtfully, and heard Lies let out a scoff from his place languishing on the branch. “Work. I didn’t think humans would have gotten over such a notion by now, of course I suppose it wasn’t vital a time ago..but now you seem to do it just for boredom!”

...Patton couldn’t honestly argue too much there. He might be an optimistic soul who, while having a very strict moral compass, didn’t like to dwell too much on the terrible things about the world he couldn’t do anything about as a single person, but you couldn’t live around Virgil without being fully educated as to the sins of capitalism and the emptiness of what most people were brainwashed to believe was “necessary” work in order to earn the basic right to live.

“Yeah..it’s a..thing.”

“What does he do anyway? You’ve all gotten past farming right?” Truth asked a bit boredly, tracing a pattern on the root with his finger. Patton pursed his lips, trying to figure out how to explain it all.

“Well...I mean no, a lot of people still farm since we need food, but thanks to technology most people have other jobs. Roman um...well he works at Sephora, which is a store that sells makeup, which is like- facepaint! Yeah, humans paint colors on their face to make themselves look different.” “Oh how despicable!” Lies exclaimed- a little to Patton’s surprise, considering the...well not disinterest, he wouldn’t call it that, but general..detachment, that the two fey had expressed so far. “What?” “Oh, it’s just so awful to hear you’re finally taking some enjoyment in your little lives,” Lies said with a smile- and Patton felt his own lips curl up too, the faerie almost seemed to glow when he grinned, despite the cloudy sky and tree shading the three of them. “Humans in the past were just so interesting, not scared of their own shadows and not a single hour of the day spent working!” ….Honestly, Patton could...see that. He wouldn’t want to live a few hundred years ago, even if it was some alternate universe where there wasn’t any of the admittedly awful social norms..he’d feel trapped. Trapped in one role, in one or two places, with little ability to know what else was out there or meet new and interesting people unless he dedicated decades to traveling. He wouldn’t quite call the humans of the past “scared of their own shadows” as opposed to “superstitious” but here he was talking to a pair of faeries so...that assumption could be wrong. In fact it probably was. Goodness, he was still having revelations!

“....tton?” “Huh?” Patton’s head snapped up in surprise- and immediately felt something soft against the back of his skull. He quickly realized it was Truth’s’ hand, and then came the embarrassing realization that he had almost bashed his head into the tree again. His cheeks flushed, also because he had just realized he had gotten lost in thought while being spoken to. “Oh-thanks..” “Of course, we wouldn’t want you to hurt your head again.” “Are you alright?” “Of course!” Patton scooted forward, a bit away from the tree that the back of his head seemed so very fond of at the moment. “Sorry, I just..got a little lost in thought there. Again. How very..root of me!” He giggled, tapping the twisting root he and Truth were sitting on, and felt a little bit of pride in his chest as he noticed Lies’s lips quirk up again. “I wouldn’t say that’s a clever bit of word play.” “You think so?” “Of course not.” “..Gee, thanks..” Patton dipped his head a little, feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Normally people just laughed (or groaned, but oftentimes it was really the same thing with puns) not acknowledge the little joke. “You’re a real sap, aren’t you Lies?” And there were the reactions he was used to- a musical laugh from Lies, and an agonized groan from Truth. “Please don’t encourage him…” “Come now Truth, his jokes aren’t darling..when will you learn to humor people?” “When doing so doesn’t result in being subjected to terribly constructed wordplay,” Truth responded flatly. “Plus, flattery is your job.” “Oh yes, and that’s why you’re the favorite.” “Excuse me?” “Face it, no one knows I’m the better seedling.” “It is likely they only say that so you don’t throw a tantrum.” Lies gasped, a look of exaggerated hurt flashing over his pointed face as he drew his hands to his chest protectively- and in that moment, the two of them so much resembled Virgil and Roman- one responding to goads with dry wit, the other teasing but reacting with “horror” when the words were turned back on him, that Patton was unable to stop himself from bursting into laughter. “..Pardon?” “It’s- oh, it’s-” Patton let out another bout of laughter at seeing the expression crossing the face of the two faeries, and by the time he stopped, his face was still glowing with mirth.

“You just- you argue just like Virgil and Roman!” “...We do?” Truth’s voice was...actually surprised. And a little confused. It was the first time in the hours he’d spent with them that Patton was actually certain that he knew what was going on in the fey’s head. “Yes! They bicker just like brothers sometimes, it’s adorable!” He got no response. Truth and Lies simply glanced at each other, but Patton was too full of glee to feel embarrassed at the silence. “..Say, do you think we’ll ever meet this Virgil?” asked Truth, and Patton briskly answered. “I’d like you to- but it probably won’t happen. I mean, he lives in the city, and it’s about an hour away when there isn’t traffic..and Virge really doesn’t like driving in traffic. So if he does visit it won’t be often- and…” his smile dropped, “Well, no offense, but Virgil isn’t really..well, he probably wouldn’t feel too comfortable around you two.” “...I see.”

Lies’ response felt..wrong, to Patton. But thankfully, he was saved from delving further into that awkward topic by the sound of Night Owl. Not the actual bird of course, though it was dim out due to the rain it was still late morning, there wouldn’t be any owls about- but the sound of the alarm Patton had set to remind him when he had to start heading home to get to work on time.

“What was that?”

“Just my alarm,” Patton responded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning off the alarm, sliding off the root and onto the damp grass. He noticed the way Truth and Lies leaned towards him and the phone- no doubt curious, but as much as he’d like to explain, he really had to get going. Especially considering that he might get lost on the way back.

“...An alarm,” Truth repeated, and Patton nodded.

“Yeah, it’s a noise I set to play so I remember to do certain things- like, I need to go right now, for my job.”

“Oh, must you?” Asked Lies, with a tone of voice that could only be described as a whine as he slid from the branch and wrapped his arms around Patton’s waist- which made him squeak as his face was pressed into the faerie’s chest.

“Can’t you stay just a little longer?”

“....No, I’m sorry, I really have to go,” Patton insisted, very gently squirming out of the fey’s grip and ignoring his pout. “But I’ll see you on Friday, right?”

“Right,” Lies sighed, and Patton heard the soft sound of feet touching down onto grass, turning to see Truth had stood from the root, and was smiling gently.

“Right. And we are so looking forward to meeting your partner.”

He placed a kiss on Patton’s forehead- and though Patton did not squeak this time, he did blush and giggle. He turned, zipped up his raincoat and pulled his hood up over his damp hair, still smiling.

“Goodbye!”

“Goodbye,” the fey chorused, but when Patton turned back around to wave, they were gone.

Well, that seemed to be their way. So he waved anyway at the empty glade and turned around, marching off through the woods and savoring the smell of damp leaves and wood.

Tags: @patton-croc-agenda @why-things-go-boom @tawnyevergreen @jynxlovesluck @towersandmyrtles @notveryglittery @per-seph-o-nee @definitely-a-plant @starryfirefliesbloggo @karmels-stuff @impatentpending @the-parentheticals @chinesewaffles2 @whatwashernameagain @em-be-lievable @theincediblesulk @xx-fandom-potato-xx

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[leovevo]

featuring: @cindyeggers​​  mentions of: @rhcdesx​​, @romanwalsh​​, @rileyyxkim​​, @marcodiangelo​​, @sureivan​

the video starts with leo arranging the camera, before flopping on the couch. leo: "konnichiwassup, guys! welcome back to my channel! today, we'll be doing a q&a with a very special guest." he waggles his eyebrows at the camera before gesturing for cindy to seat on the spot next to him, "welcome, welcome!"

cindy: literally jumps onto the couch, throwing up double peace signs, "sup y'all! i'm arizona blues of... can i say it on your channel? i don't wanna get you demonetized." she makes a jerk-off motion instead, "this is the only clue you're gonna get."

leo: nodding, leo turned to the camera with a knowing look, "she is, like me, a content creator, and if you've been on other streaming websites besides youtube, then you definitely know her. so, before we get into the main course..." he grabs the makeup kit from the coffee table in front of them, "to make this q&a a wee more interesting, i'll be putting makeup on ari and make her look even prettier while we answer your questions!"

cindy: "hell yeah bro fuck me up," she says excitedly, turning towards leo as a good little canvas. "so what kind of look are we going for today?"

leo: "something glamorous, obviously. maybe a glittery, pink look?" he rummaged through the bag, face instantly scrunching up. "the fuck is this? where do i start?"

cindy: "you're asking the wrong person, broseph. good luck," she says as she grabs a random product and tries to figure out what it's supposed to do. at least it's shiny. "anyways, while leo mua here figures this shit out, should we just get into the first question - what's the number one thing you want to do at the resort?"

leo: "i'm sure we have to start with foundation. but your skin's clear enough, and i don't want to choose the wrong shade." he pulls out a brow pencil. "okay, we can start with your eyebrows." he scooted closer to cindy, uncapping the pencil and beginning to... well, thicken cindy's brows (rather roughly). "eat. eat loads. and just bask in the sunlight 'cause i don't get much of that anymore. how about you?"

cindy: “so what you’re saying is that my brows suck,” she teases, but she sits still and lets him do his thing. “i was gonna say troll people but honestly, i’m gonna tag along with you on that. food is the answer.”

leo: once he was finished, he pulls away to examine his work. alright, they looked fine. just... a little thicker than usual. "like, we're staying in bougie-ass houses, and we get to do whatever we want. it's the life." he tosses the brow pencil back in the bag, before pulling out a random palette and some brushes. "next question! do you see a future with anyone on the sloth?"

cindy: "it's the shit," she concurs, oblivious to her new thicc brows. "uh, this sounds like it's asking me if i want to like, get married and have babies with someone. which, nah i'm good. but i'm gonna take my bromance with ivan to the grave. and i'm also gonna harass kieran forever."

leo: "the question is too ambiguous, so i'm going to worm my way around it. i'd really like to grow old with roman, kieran, and riley." he silently motions for cindy to close her eyes, before experimentally skimming a hot pink shade across her lids. it was pigmented as fuck. leo grits his teeth. "d...don't know what i'd do without them."

cindy: "god you're such a coward," she tells him, her eyes closed while he undoubtedly stains her poor eyelids for life. still blissfully unaware. "that's cute though, i can respect that... why do you sound all weird though? are you gonna cry?" she blindly reaches out and starts touching his face to check.

leo: he gingerly attempts to tone down the colour with his thumb, only smudging it and making it worse. "yea, no, there was just, uh, fallout from the palette." inwardly panicking, leo dabs on a darker shade (red) to her eyelids. oh no. ohhhh no. she looked like a cirque du soleil cast member... only with... shitty makeup. "third!" deciding not to ruin the look any further, he sets the palette down, reaching for the eyeliner. maybe he can salvage it with a classic wing. "do you believe in forgiveness?"

cindy: "what kinda philosophy shit is this," she says with a confused huff, no longer able to ignore leo's frantic smudging, "what's going on? what are you doing to my face?"

leo: "you're not allowed to look until i'm finished!" he retorted, "i'll do your eyeliner now. come on. answer the question."

cindy: "that's like the least comforting thing i've ever heard," she replies, but she lets it go because... if nothing else, it's probably good for the views, "i guess i do believe in forgiveness? like, if we're being real i've needed it sometimes so, yeah? but i also think it's fair to just snip snip, cut people out of your life so. depends. i don't fucking know, leo."

leo: this was a difficult question, but he was so focused on trying to draw a good wing that he couldn't sugarcoat his answer. despite so, his hands were trembling. he hopes cindy doesn't snip snip, cut him out of her life for fucking her face up. "i think it's important." he whispered, eyes narrowing in concentration. "i just suck at forgiving."

cindy: "i get you," she nods in agreement, realizing too late what she's done. despite all of leo's efforts, her movement sends the eyeliner out of its path and up towards her forehead, "shit i'm sorry.”

leo: at the disruption, he lets out a scream, "NOOOOOOOO!" was it ideal to throw a tantrum in front of the camera? not exactly. but he had been doing SO well! "wwwwhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

cindy: "I'M SORRY," she yells, grabbing a concealer from the kit, "can't you just like... paint this over it? it's fine, look..." without grabbing a mirror (because the rules forbid it) and with absolutely no idea what she's doing, she starts applying concealer in arbitrary areas.

leo: "no! NO!" leo shrieked, taking the concealer away because now she was getting concealer in her eyebrows, which he had worked so hard on! "no, no. sit there and relax," he insisted, "it's fine. we're fine. you're fine. let's move on." all leo had to do was to slap some lipstick on cindy's face and finish the job before it could get any messier. he grabs a random shade—all of them looked similar and started to apply it on cindy's lips. "who is the one person you would kick out from the sloth? wait, we already answered this question in your video, which i am not allowed to link down below because... well, of reasons..."

cindy: tries to answer but because leo is putting lipstick on her, it's more of a series of sounds than words. when he finishes, she purses her lips, "i think we did but... fuck it, i'd also kick out that victoria girl just to see what she'd do about it."

leo: "she'd kill you, probably. i'd still kick marco out. we're almost done with the makeup," he laughs nervously. the lipstick looked clean enough, though. thank god. "i'm gonna finish it off with some o' these," he raised up a blusher, "and, uh, i'll..." he trailed off, smearing it slowly across her cheeks. cindy looked like a straight-up clown. "last question: you are about to get into a fight, what song comes on as your soundtrack?"

cindy: "i've never felt more beautiful," she says, but only because she's the only person who has no idea what he's done to her face. "shit this is the easiest one. it's clearly gotta be that one that goes like..." she starts singing horribly off-key, "i don't give a damn about my reputation. the one from the tournament scene in shrek 1."

leo: "okay, okay, that's valid," leo laughed out, putting all of the makeup back in the kit and stowing it away. "mine would be the walmart fight song." he could feel his palms getting sweaty, "okay. uh." he slid the mirror towards cindy. "feel free to... take a peek at your look of the day."

cindy: "also a valid choice," cindy agrees as she grabs the mirror and comes face to face with her new clown self, "how did you even achieve this look? i look like shit leo." she looks at leo, then at the camera with a mix of amusement and true horror. "by the way," she adds to the camera, "we didn't tell you guys but.... i said i'd wear this for the rest of the day."

leo: relieved that cindy took her spankin' new look rather well, he visibly relaxed. "you're still smokin' hot, don't worry," he pinched her cheek, accidentally getting some blush on his fingers. "shit. well!" he looks at the camera, giving a thumbs up. "aaaaand that wraps up our q&a, thank you for humouring me—us, miss ari! anything else to add before we head off to the mall?"

cindy: "uhh, like and subscribe or whatever," she mumbles as she grabs the eyeliner and meticulously sketches out a penis on leo's cheek, "50,000 likes and leo will eat a live octopus." leo: "arigathanks for watching, everyone," he said, staying still for cindy. "check out mtv's sloth in paradise—as well as my channel—for more content!" cindy: "yeah check us out or else," she throws another round of peace signs and gets off the couch, "later dickface."