#his constantly split skin and faint blue nails

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺. As Gale had stated himself, maintaining the orb is a delicate, and I do mean delicate, balance. By its nature, that rot-spilling thing branded within him hungers and feeds off all things Weave. However, it doesn't do to simply gorge it freely, and of course, starving it at all is out of the question. Before Elminster's intervention, in fact, Gale was perpetually gauging the depths of its hunger, consistently focused on its very fickle equilibrium and choosing carefully what artefacts to drain. Beside the blossom, however, that hair-thin margin is thrown right off kilter, and as the flowers stifle magic all around them, that means the closer Gale comes, the more emptied his orb. It throws him back considerably, hastening the severity of his body's failing. His blighted arm ruptures open, cracking from his shoulder to the tips of his nails, and in his throat, he tastes the stubbornness of tar-thick decay. All the while, the pain, the agony, is nigh on deafening. By all means, sussur blossoms don't simply stem Gale of all magic. Rather, these flowers send him hurdling back into whatever state he'd nursed in his early isolation. He feels like he's dying, on top of the crushing emptiness that leaves him cold, and he's every interest to keep a good distance away. With immediate physical effects, no one can wonder why.

[90slevi]

Stitches {Dabi x Reader}

TW: blood

Tired, out of breath, and in a lot of pain, you slumped your way into the hotel you were meeting Dabi in, your hand clutching your bleeding and wounded arm as you opened the door with your hip. At the counter was a middle-aged woman, her sharp blue eyes piercing through you as she filed her nails and looked like your average, bitchy movie receptionist. Grumbling quietly to yourself, she did nothing to help you, simply watching with eyebrows raised in some sort of disgust mixed with pity, but you weren't in the mood to argue. Your arm was bleeding badly, and your ankle was beginning to swell (from the pain, you assumed something bad had happened), which was why you were limping. Thank god Dabi had decided to get one of the rooms on the lower floor.

What'd happened? Well, you and Dabi had somehow got into a huge fight with two major villains you didn't recognise, and you'd seemingly lost. Dabi had gone over his limit, resulting in even more burns on his skin (if that was even possible) and almost knocked himself out, and you'd received more injuries than you'd like to admit. Thankfully, he constantly had a room booked just in case, and this hotel was known throughout the underbelly as a safe space for villains who needed it. Even if you didn't like this receptionist, you couldn't deny that you were grateful for what she and her husband were doing.

"Scar-boy is in room seven," she said bluntly, rolling her eyes as you muttered thanks. Then, she continued to file her nails and listen to trash, outdated music while you limped away, hoping Dabi was safe inside the room you shared.

Yeah, the receptionist was known to be pretty shitty, giving villains nicknames they most likely wouldn't like. Yours was Blood Bitch, a remark about your blood-manipulation quirk that you despised so much, and of course, Dabi's was Scar-boy. He didn't really care for it and ignored the red-haired woman as much as he could; although he did find it amusing when you pulled a clearly pissed-off expression.

"Room seven," you muttered to yourself, not caring for the small trail of blood you were making behind you. The carpet was already dirty and blood-stained, it wasn't as if you'd make a difference. Once you reached the door, you knocked three times, in the rhythm you and Dabi had coded, and the black-haired male opened the door. Thank god he was already there, because you didn't feel like fainting in the middle of the room and get found by some creepy guy or the maid.

"I was wondering when you'd finally get here. You took your time," he said sarcastically, and you stuck your finger up at him as he closed the door. You slumped down in one of the chairs, and you winced as you finally relieved your broken foot of walking. A shaky sigh left your lips as you glanced up at Dabi, who was walking around shirtless and in a pair of grey joggers. Scratches, cuts and already-forming bruises littered the softer skin, while the burnt areas looked even more damaged. You could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, and you wondered if he'd shower. You wanted him to so he'd feel better in the long run, but you knew how painful it was for him.

"You're bleeding," he said after a while, and you chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, no shit," you answered, pulling off your jacket and black v-neck. You and Dabi had been dating for about a year now, so you trusted him enough to see you with no shirt on. After all, he'd seen you fully naked on multiple occasions, so it didn't really matter. You watched as his eyes widened for a split second at the gaping wound on your arm, and he wandered over to where the first-aid box was. "God, I didn't realise it was that bad."

"Was that self-inflicted or...?" Dabi asked, opening up the box to reveal a stitching kit. The two of you couldn't go to a hospital, as the doctors would easily recognise you, and it was too far to go to an underground one or a villain healer, so the two of you often tended to your own wounds.

"A mix of both," you answered, cursing quietly at the sharp pain in your arm. Your quirk was blood manipulation, meaning you could harden it and use it as a weapon. Usually, you prefered using pig's blood or other animals that'd died, but in drastic situations, sometimes you had to... use your own. And as painful as it was, you weren't about to lose to a hero completely defenseless. "It appears the wound got bigger as I fought."

"Those bastards," Dabi muttered, putting a mask over his lower face as he organised the needle, thread, tweezers and wet cloth. You gulped as you watched him hold the tweezers, knowing that if there was any dirt in your wound, then he'd be using those to get rid of it. Physically cringing at the thought, you caught his attention. "Is anywhere else hurt?"

"I think I've done something to my ankle," you replied, and he shook his head. "What? It wasn't my fault!"

"I know," he said, preparing something to cool it down. "I'm just frustrated that you had to walk all the way here alone. Must've been painful."

"Yeah, it hurt like a bitch," you chuckled, tugging up your jeans and pulling off your shoes to reveal intense swelling around your foot. Grimacing, you went to stand to get a second cool washcloth, but Dabi pushed you back down in your seat. "Oi!"

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. "You're not going anywhere, Doll."

"For the last time, stop calling me that," you mumbled, a hint of pink appearing in your incredibly pale face. Due to the blood you'd lost, you were becoming rather pasty and light-headed, so Dabi knew he needed to act quickly before you passed out.

"You know you like it," he chuckled, quickly nipping into the bathroom to rinse two washclothes, one for your arm and the other for your ankle. "Well, you seem to like it when we fu-"

"Shut up, Dabi," you quickly interrupted, covering your eyes in embarrassment. Despite being a villain, you were still victim to Dabi's teasing, and he knew just how to get you flustered. It wasn't difficult, anyway. "You're such a pain in the ass sometimes."

"And so are you, so that makes it even," he said, walking back into the room and dragging a stool for you to rest your foot on while he fixed up your arm. Deep down, Dabi felt incredibly guilty for leaving you on your own. He hadn't meant to; the two of you had been seperated in the fight, and he'd managed to get away pretty quickly. If he'd known where you were, he'd have gone to help instantly, but Dabi had no idea where you were. So, he retreated to the hotel, assuming you were there, and decided to stay until you returned. Dabi was actually planning to go out looking for you, but then you arrived just as he was going to leave so he didn't need to. "Need something to bite down on?"

"I'll be fine," you replied, watching as he pressed the washcloth against your wound, cleaning the edges and pouring some clean water into it. It wasn't exactly the best treatment in the world, but it was the best he could do and would at least prevent serious infection. "When did you get in?"

"About an hour ago," he said, looking around for any debris that needed removing. And thankfully for the two of you, there was no need for the tweezers. "I burnt that hero pretty badly and managed to get away. I would've killed him, but three more heroes were coming my way and I didn't fancy going to jail tonight."

You giggled at his comment, only to wince again as he began stitching your arm up. Dabi hated hurting you and seeing you in pain, and he absolutely despised giving you stitches, but he knew he had to do it to make sure you got better. He'd hate to see you with permanent injuries that matched his, so he tried his best to help you out when needed (even though you were perfectly capable of looking after yourself).

"Did you kill your hero?" Dabi asked, hoping to distract you, and you shook your head. "Got away?"

"Not really," you replied, scratching the back of your neck as you took a gulp from some water Dabi had left out. "Backup was coming so I ran off. I climed over a fence and ended up twisting my ankle and... well, look at it."

"So it was your clumsiness that caused that," he said, and he recieved a playful punch to the head. "Doll, what have I said about nudging me when I'm doing stitches?"

"Sorry," you replied, only to recieve a small punch to the knee. He wasn't angry at you; he never was. He was just worried. "So... I assume you didn't get badly injured."

"My quirk is long-distance, so no," he said, pointing towards his left upper arm. "Although I think I pulled a muscle somewhere."

"I also think you need to cool off in the shower," you suggested, pressing a hand gently against his wrist. He ever-so-slightly winced, something you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking for it, and his skin felt red-hot to touch. "Dabi, you know I can come in with you if you need it."

"Your ankle is in no state for walking or standing, and your stitches can't get wet," he stated, his eyes focussed solely on your wound so he didn't have to make eye-contact. "I'll be fine."

"Dabi," you said softly, knowing that talking about his scars was a pretty sensitive topic for him. Even the smallest of movements were uncomfortable for him, and even though you'd insisted on visiting a healer to get himself back to normal, he constantly refused. It was upsetting to see him in pain so often, and although he'd insisted he was used to it by now, you knew he'd rather be in a different position. "Please don't lie to me."

He looked up at you, his eyes full of tiredness as he shook his head. You were the only one Dabi truly cared about. The League were friends, sure, but he definitely didn't care for them the same way he cared about you. Dabi knew you'd be much happier if he himself felt good, but he couldn't get rid of the scars. He wanted his father to know just how much pain he'd caused him, and he needed to stay hidden. Most of all, he didn't want to look like his disgrace of a dad. Not only were their quirks almost the same, but their eyes were too.

"I didn't lie," he answered eventually, after about a minute. "I know what you're thinking. You're going to ask me to go to a healer or something."

You sighed, looking away as he finished your stitches. As much as you loved Dabi with your whole heart, he was certainly difficult to date. You really wanted him to get better and not be in pain anymore, but... if he refused, then he refused. You couldn't even force him to, as he'd overpower you in a heartbeat.

"There, your arm's better," he said, standing up as he pulled off his mask and put everything away. You pouted at it, making sure not to poke it as he put a small bandage over the top. Infection wasn't the best thing to get as a villain. "How's your ankle feeling?"

"Not great," you replied, glancing over to see that the swelling had barely gone down. "Still painful."

"If you can, keep your leg up," he said, and you cocked your head only to feel his arms behind your back and underneath your thighs. "And don't let it hit anything."

With that, he effortlessly picked you up and lifted you over to the bed, letting you rest on something more comfortable. As much as you wanted to shower to get rid of the dried blood on your body, you were way too tired to do so and your ankle would get worse with any added pressure. Plus, it was unlikely Dabi was going to shower either, so you'd have to go in with him in the morning.

Dabi plopped himself down beside you with a sigh, making sure your foot was in a comfortable position with pillows surrounding it and the cold cloth on top. You smiled at his small acts of kindness and watched as he rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes.

"You're gonna sleep like a log tonight," you chuckled, and he nodded, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "To be honest, I will too."

"It'll be nice to sleep with you again," Dabi said softly, and you grinned. For the past week, Dabi hadn't spent much time with you, as he'd been busy with the League. It just sucked that the two of you met again in the middle of a fight. "I fucking missed you."

"I missed you too," you replied, nuzzling your face into his chest. Even the skin that wasn't purple was burning hot, and you were tempted to place the cold cloth on his stomach instead of your foot. "How was Shigaraki?"

"A pain in the goddamn ass," he complained, and you giggled, ready to hear a long rant about how weird, creepy and just plain annoying his leader was. "He just sat there for the longest time talking to himself about nonsence. He's more irritating than Toga sometimes, and she's just psycho."

You chuckled at his response, remembering when you met the blonde girl once and she'd tried to kill you. Ever since, Dabi had refused to let the two of you meet again.

"How's Jin?" you asked, and Dabi shrugged. You actually got along pretty well with Twice, as the two of you had known each other before you'd met with Dabi. You became a villain aged seventeen, and Twice was the one who took you in for a couple years until you got a place for yourself. Then, you'd met Dabi aged nineteen, and the two of you hit it off at an underground bar. It was only mere coincidence that the two of them ended up working for the same guy.

"He's alright. He asked about you quite a few times, so don't worry. He hasn't forgotten about you," Dabi answered, and you were so glad he wasn't jealous of your friendship with Twice. Even though he did get jealous sometimes, he knew for a fact that you were strictly friends with the guy and saw him as an older brother more than a boyfriend. "Toga also asked about you..."

"Oh god," you grinned, finding it funny that she supposedly 'in love' with you. "What did she say?"

"What do you think?" he asked, and you grimaced. Then, he looked out of the window. It'd gone very dark, and although there was no clock in the room, Dabi seemed to know the time (or he guessed). "It's midnight."

"Yeah, we need to get out of here as soon as," you answered, a small yawn escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, snuggling further into Dabi's side. "So... wake me up at nine or something."

"Yeah, as if you'll sleep that long," he chuckled, planting a small kiss on your forehead as the two of you slowly but surely fell asleep.

[glambitions-a]

just one bite.

original female character centric fanfiction | post descendants three | canon compliant | part one of one | rating : teen | warnings : spells, death, mentioned eating disorder (it never explicitly says ‘delilah has an eating disorder’ but you can definitely inference it) | word count : 2742 | part of the unhappily ever after collection | masterlist

prompt: “it would warm my ancient heart if you could accept this modest gift on your birthday.  just one bite... and a good fortune to the fairest of them all.” unhappily ever after collection

tags (open): @cherry-bxtch​​, @cosmosstarstudio​​, @go-sullivan​, @tacobacoyeet​

    she wraps a finger in a stray curl of her hair, it’s not black enough.  even with the yellow ribbon tied in dark brown waves it’s not enough.  she huffs and tugs it out, the ribbon floats daintily to the surface of her vanity (a grace delilah herself could never achieve) and she stares at it with jealousy.  she had tried so desperately to make herself light as a feather, her waist so petite it looks as if she had been squeezed into a thousand corsets.  her skin so pale her mother swears that she looks like death, and you can see the veins in her her wrists.  her friends had sworn they could see her ribs even through the sweaters she keeps over her.

    delilah sighs and sucks in her cheeks, and she almost has no skin to pull in between her teeth.  the rouge brush tickles her cheeks, but smiles give you wrinkle lines so she can’t afford a giggle to pass her rosy lips.  she had perfected the perfect smile, it was unnatural, sure, but it minimized wrinkles so it was okay with her.

     she sets down the brush delicately, presses her fingers to her cheeks anxiously, as if to get rid of the skin that had been raked by well-manicured nails several time before.  she was only thirteen, but she had become so vain so soon, and she had to.  her mother was only fourteen when she died.

    and dying certainly wasn’t on delilah’s to-do list but if it happened maybe she could be the picturesque princess asleep on a death bed of flowers.  all she wants is to be like her mother, people adore her.  she has tried everything, but yet she hadn’t yet reached the beauty of her mother yet.  well, she had tried everything but plastic surgery, but she was forbidden from that.

    she had asked once when she was younger, but her mother had nearly fainted at the question and her father had given her the stern and noble ‘you’re beautiful just the way you are’.  so she dutifully apologized and ran up to her room to sulk, as you do.  delilah had learned what questions to ask, like ‘how lovely is the weather today?’ or ‘where did you get that dress?’ she knew better than to ask silly things concerning literally anything else.  she was a princess, not a little girl.

    she cradles her head in her hands as she glared into the mirror.  delilah hates the way she looks, she’s not different enough to be pretty on her own, so people constantly compare her to her mother.  ‘you look just like your mother! a splitting image!’ and at first she beams and thanks them.  but then they tilt their heads and look harder at the practiced pinkish pout that doesn’t pass as red only slightly and the not quite ebony hair. ‘well, almost just like her.’  so she tried harder, she has to.

   at first she may have been pretty, but it wasn’t enough to be pretty, she had to be snow white. delilah had to be the kind of pretty that princes would risk their lives over.  even if the blue veins were very easily seen on her limbs, and the shadows under her eyes, and her lips had turned a sickly grey-pink, there was still something so delicate about her.  pretty, almost, like glass.

   and yeah, she had been taught to avoid apples like the plague but in secret she didn’t, not at all. the minute she heard princess audrey had been cursed by the daughter of maleficent (even by accident) delilah knew her time would come.  she had begun looking for things to take from strangers, spending more time in the woods and even volunteering to help the survivors from the isle of the lost just in case the evil queen should see an opportunity. 

   over the week, all she could think about was how she looked, that she needed to appear perfect at all times in case a terrible tragedy should occur.  delilah has scarcely eaten anything at all, and when she did eat she felt so sick to her stomach that she almost immediately coughed it back up.  some days, she could keep it down, but others she couldn’t.

   so here she was, seated at her vanity, clutching a lip tint with a deadly grip in her hand as she shakily traced it over her lips.  it’s supposed to make her lips rose red, but it’s too pink.  delilah purses her lips and sets it down, groaning.  she needed to look just like her mother, she wasn’t enough on her own after all.  the thirteen year old stood up, brushing off her pale yellow pleated skirt. 

   she adjusts the blue sweater on her shoulder, and pretends not to notice how dead she looks because it’s too big and keeps sliding off.  she might as well have no skin at all with the look of her bony limbs.  she practices her smile in the mirror before grabbing her bag to head off to school.

   it’s around four in the afternoon before she gets back to her awaiting parents, who are seated at the table oddly silent.  normally she’d catch them in post afternoon tea, where they would be discussing the weather, or how her mother’s career was doing. but today, they don’t even notice she arrives until she comes to next to them, because they were too wrapped up in their thoughts.

   she touches the teapot in the middle of the table, it’s cold.  their tiny cups are full of dark liquid, so she knows they have something to tell her, probably bad.  they never waste perfectly good tea.  

    “darling,” her mother sounds so disappointed, so concerned.  “sit down, please.” she grits her teeth behind closed lips.  she obeys of course, she has to be a good daughter, and a perfect princess.  “are you aware of what tomorrow is?”

    she shakes her head, and pretends not to notice the dread filled fingers pressed into his pale temple. “of course you don’t.”  her mother scolds him under her breath, but it’s too late.  if her kindhearted father is disappointed, she must’ve really forgotten something important.

    her mother purses her classic red as blood lips, seemingly preparing for her next words.  “it’s your birthday,” is what comes out first. “tomorrow’s your birthday.” she corrects almost immediately afterwards.  delilah almost hits herself, how could she forget her own birthday? her calendar was always correct one-hundred percent of the time.  she wouldn’t forget to plan a party, her own party nonetheless.

   she supposed it’s possible she didn’t mark it on purpose, after all the evil queen is loose, who knows what kind of havoc she could wreak on the birthday of a princess. (though that seemed much more maleficent’s style wasn’t it?)

   “oh, i completely forgot.”  that was true, she had forgotten, and she honestly doesn’t know how.  “with all of these tests... i’m so sorry, mother.”  paired with big guilt ridden eyes, she could get away from this without a scratch.  her eyes found her fiddling fingers in her lap.  if she could blow it off, she could go up to her room and do homework.  that wasn’t really what she wanted to do.  but she would do it to make her family proud.

    “it’s alright sweetheart, me and your father have a party planned.”  her breath caught in her throat.  she had been sort of distant with her friends lately, so a birthday party would be awkward and strange.  “it’s a quiet little garden party, but there will be quite a lot of people there, i suppose.” 

     she sucked in another breath, delilah could no way tell her mother she had been blowing off her friends to constantly pick at her insecurities and tiny flaws of her appearance, oh what would she say?  “that sounds so lovely, thank you!”  she walks over to delicately put her arms around her mother.

    her mother seemed to stiffen in her arms, “delilah honey, you look like you’ve let yourself go.” she almost flinches at her words.  she stands back up, and crosses her arms. “i can’t remember the last time you ate anything besides apples.”

    delilah almost curls in on herself to wallow in self pity, “i’m fine mother.” her tone turns cold, but she’s trying too hard not to cave and tell her mother how she feels, “thank you for the party, i’m going to go find something to wear.”

    and then she’s sitting in her closet, alone.  her phone is next to her foot, and for the first time in weeks it was plugged in and the screen was lit up with texts.  she looked over at it, it was the only thing she could see since she was completely concealed in the dark.

    delilah gnaws on her lip as she reaches for her phone, her fingers hovering over the keyboard it takes her a little bit to muster up the courage to ask the girl on the other side of the phone if she wanted to go shopping, she had some christmas money left over after all.

    to not press the send button was so very tempting, but she really didn’t want to be alone in her adventures of looking for something to wear so she pressed it.  and in true delilah style she immediately regretted it afterwards.  her head was buried in her arms atop her knees, and she really was starting to wish the party was cancelled.  if it was this hard for her to talk to one person, how hard would it be for her to be at a party.  and to make it even worse she would be the center of attention.

    she waited with her nerves filling up her own body, all from just from not speaking to anyone outside of school for a while.  the phone pings from where it sits and she picks it up, a sigh of relief flowing through her lungs as she read the words of agreement on the screen.

     it didn’t take long to decide on a time, and it was equally as quick to get to the mall (probably due to her mother’s love of the mall, so the castle was close to it) the girl she was with was the daughter of rapunzel, so she was good with coming up with what to do.

     the mall was fun, but it was over soon with delilah coming home with a navy blue and buttercup yellow dress that looked unnervingly similar to the one her mother wore, only shorter.  but delilah persisted that it was what she wanted.  the dress was now in her hands as she started to pick out other things to wear with it.  her birthday was on a saturday, and today was friday. anxiety stirred in her stomach thinking about the party, even though all she had to do was show up.

   the mary jane shoes at the bottom of her closet looked promising so she grabbed those and a pair of plain white socks with adorable little ruffles.  there was a little necklace with an apple charm that she layed out next to the dress also before deciding the outfit as done and hanging it up in front of her wardrobe.

   by the time her and her parents ate a silent dinner, all the worrying she had done had tired her out plenty.  so much so that she almost immediately fell asleep as soon as she got into bed.  even with how tired she was it was a miracle that the millions of thoughts in her head didn’t keep her up all night.

   the next morning she felt sick, and she tried to tell her mother that and snow white simply brushed her off with a perfectly perfect laugh.  okay, so she didn’t feel actually sick, but her stomach was twisting because she hadn’t hung out with anybody since forever.  and yeah, she did hang out with rapunzel’s daughter the other day but there wasn’t a lot of talking.  of course she turned down breakfast and although she didn’t miss the concerned look on her mother’s face, it was routine now so she didn���t care about it much anymore to be very honest.

     she slipped on the dress and shoes before carefully latching in the golden necklace, after all she’d had it since she was a baby and didn’t want to damage it or break it in any way.  her hands were practically shaking as she went over to the vanity.  delilah pretended that she was just doing her makeup, covering up her shadows like she normally did.  lips glossed red, cheeks brushed pale pink, it was normal.

   she was used to this by now, and she knew how to make it look like there was no effort put in.  a little extra sparkle on her eyelids made her feel like this was something new.  she curled her hair, tied a ribbon over her head like she normally did.  delilah adjusted herself in the mirror before leaving the room.  

   she stepped down the stairs quietly, delicate as she normally was, how she had to be.  she was thirteen, turned fourteen and yet delilah white knew how to look small and feel small in almost every way imaginable.  her shiny black shoes creaked on the stairs and she winced at the noise, even though a warm call of her name from downstairs immediately followed.

   her parents were awake and sitting at the table with their morning tea, as normal.  but the difference was that there was a little baby blue wrapped box on the table.  she smiled softly, before reminding herself of the wrinkles that could follow. when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she kissed her mother’s cheek as affectionately as possible.  “good morning, mother.”  her voice was honeyed, but her parents didn’t know that.

   “good morning dear.”  she kissed her father’s cheek as well before sitting at the seat the little box was placed in front of.  it couldn’t be bigger than a tissue box but still delilah felt a little warmth in her heart.  she trailed her fingers over the soft fabric covering the box.  her smile only widened as she felt the silky material.

   “is this for me?”  her voice was soft, maybe even childish, but the fact that she had forgotten her birthday had hit her hard enough so much so that she was surprised her parents remembered to get her a present.

    her parents nodded cheerfully in response, but just as she touched the ribbon to start to pull, the door rang. she smiled apologetically and told them she would get it.  delilah’s footsteps on the wooden floor seemed to echo in her eardrums.  a twinge in her chest led her to think that something bad could happen, but she ignored it.

   she opened the door and nearly gasped at the sight before her.  a fairly ugly old woman wrapped in a black cloak stood before her with a soft wrinkled smile. “hello dear.”  delilah nodded and forced out a quiet ‘hello’.

   her wrinkled hand stretched out to reveal a shiny red apple, the color of blood, the color of her mother’s lips. “it would warm my ancient heart if you could accept this modest gift on your birthday.” now, delilah wasn’t stupid.  she knew her mother’s fairytale forwards and backwards.  and in her heart she knew how this would end.  but all she could think about was fulfilling her mother’s legacy, how pretty she might look wrapped in a flowered deathbed.  

    she smiled gratefully and took it in her hands, trying to mask the shaking of her fingers.  she  didn’t need to be worried, right?  it was just a sweet old woman giving the princess a gift on her birthday.  delilah raised it up to her lips, the bottom of it touching the apple first.  only when her teeth just pushed open the skin of the fruit was when she heard the woman say something, her voice sounding younger and meaner. “just one bite... and a good fortune to the fairest of them all.”

     delilah didn’t even realize she had swallowed the bite that had made its way into her mouth until the room was spinning and her vision darkened, her mother calling her name and the woman cackling.  but even then she knew she was dead.

ʚĭɞ | if you want to be on my taglist, all you have to do is like this post.  hello darlings!  this is my story for the writing event i started for fifty followers. please share the collection linked before the cut of this piece, i really want to get some more writers on this!  i’ve been dreading writing this for some reason, but it feels good to get it out of my drafts!

[sol-korolevas]

someday we’ll meet again;

you remember meeting an android who told you that androids are gods among human. he told you androids are limitless – ageless. 

for a while, you thought it true that, perhaps, humans are the finite among the infinities. one dies but the other cannot; androids are limitless, indeed. but only for the most part. 

soon, you realize just how wrong you are. 

it starts with a warning from connor. “i think some of my storage files are missing.” there is an imminent worry in his voice as he grabs your hand and holds it close. ever since he became deviant, connor’s face is wrought in new emotions. 

you see desperation and urgency in them – most of all, however, is that he’s afraid. 

smiling, you place your free hand on top of his. not knowing the true extent of his issue, you tell him, “it’s alright, perhaps they’ll come back later.” 

maybe connor doesn’t want you to worry or he’s convinced somehow by your words, but he chooses to change subjects. 

you don’t notice the constant blank stares he gives when he’s obsessively running diagnostics. 

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

if only it’s that simple.

slowly you realize the incoming storm. 

“i should have over six hundred files of our memories together, but only a quarter of them still remain. hundreds of non-pertinent ones are gone too. ”

connor’s voice cracked as he told you this, eyes wild and desperate, constantly moving from one side to the other. he’s still running tests, attempting to back up as many files still stored in his program as possible. 

most of all–

he is trying to save you and your memories with him. 

“i don’t care for the unnecessary ones. but my memories with you, all of those good things i feel, they might–no, they will be–gone,” he’s panicking now, hands reaching up to grip your shoulders as he pulls you close. his face digs into the crook of your neck and you shudder. 

your mind suddenly goes blank, lost and terrified. “connor, it’s alright...we can make more memories, we can ask cyberlife–” you stop, remembering that cyberlife isn’t in connor’s life anymore. 

with connor being a one-of-a-kind android, civilian shops couldn’t fix him. not even other androids could fix him, not when it’s the former deviant hunter who needs saving. 

there is a crack in the silence where you feel connor’s body trembling. in the past, it had always been him who was strong. it’s only by a tragedy that you realize he’s not always so strong. 

it’s by a tragedy that you finally realize connor’s fragility and weakness. 

he’s a deviant–free from his creators. 

but at what cost?

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

the night is still.

connor remains fixed next to your nightstand, posture straight and stiff. he’s in sleep-mode, but normally he would be by your side, on your bed with you. tonight and the last couple of nights see him trying to maintain whatever storage files he has. 

this is the only option. seeing him so desperate like this splits open another wound in your heart. you couldn’t sleep as you watch him, your gaze lingering upon the faint yellow beat of his indicator. 

in movies, people often fill in missing chunks with words and gestures. walls filled with sticky notes, walks to cherished places, or even simple music that reminds them of who they are. 

with connor it’s not so simple. 

when his storage runs clean, he will not be the same android you know. it’s like a computer back to its factory setting. 

your hand grips the sheets until your nails sink into skin. 

you recall little things that he exhibited. the rigidness to his posture, the little light in his eyes sometimes waning away, or even his way of speaking. they were reminiscent of the connor you met before he became deviant. 

but then he lets slip and you see the connor you love. the touches, the gentle way he speaks your name, or the hushed cries for help that will never come. 

you don’t want to see him waste away like this. 

but it’s inevitable. 

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

one day, connor goes missing and the shock of it slowly turns into a cool acceptance. he’s not himself anymore, you understand. he’s not yours, you know that. he’s never yours indefinitely, but you can at least try. 

so you walk to places he can be, hoping that a little part of your connor is here. instead, you find him in front of the parking lot where the detroit police department once stood. 

he’s looking at it, indicator flashing yellow. 

“excuse me, are you looking for something?” you call to him as if he’s just a stranger who also happens to be an android. you recall the first time you met him, at the same spot, at the same time. 

how strange to be in the same position again.

he turns around just as his indicator bleeds into blue. “yes, i am looking for the detroit police department.” his voice is polite and clear, hands folding behind him while he assesses you. 

a stiff smile settles on your face as you take a step forward. “oh they moved to a new location, but i can show you where they are.” it almost feels like you are meeting him for the first time ever. 

but then you really look at him–and slowly you notice. 

there is a difference. 

“thank you, miss,” connor replies, dipping his down in a small nod. “and i am connor, the android sent by cyberlife.”

the difference is that you know who he is and who he isn’t. 

“i’m (name), just an ordinary civilian,” you tell him, laughing a little. 

the difference is that he’s your connor. not just another connor, but your connor. 

“a pleasure to meet you, miss(name).” 

“a pleasure too, connor.” 

the difference, you want to tell yourself, is that this can start all over for him. no matter how long, you’ll wait for him, for the connor you love. 

[splendidlyimperfect]

Sting and Rogue barely escape Sabertooth with their lives, and Sting turns to the only place he can think of to help - Fairy Tail. While they try to sort out their feelings and recover from the abuse Jiemma inflicted on them, Sting and Rogue must help the other guilds protect Fiore from their biggest threat yet - dragons.

Chapter Summary:  Sting fights Rogue's future self, and is conflicted between forgiveness and vengeance.

Chapters (9/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine Characters: Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Lucy Heartfilia, Wendy Marvell, Porlyusica (Fairy Tail), Makarov Dreyar, Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine, Future Rogue Cheney, Jiemma (Fairy Tail), Gajeel Redfox Additional Tags: Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Platonic Cuddling, Sign Language, Magic Fusion, Unison Raids, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 3 of what we choose to become

**Thank you for all your lovely comments! I know this is *super* angsty but there's a reason that "Major Character Death" isn't tagged and I promise that, however bleak it all looks right now, it has a happy ending. <3

-----

“You all need to be touching.”

Freed’s voice broke the haze of confusion and grief as Sting watched Natsu step away from Gray’s body. He refused to look at Sting and Rogue, instead moving to stand next to Wendy. When she reached out to him uncertainly, he jerked away, wrapping both arms around himself and staring at the ground.

“The spell will transfer a portion of everyone’s power to one of you,” Freed explained again for Natsu’s benefit, quickly drawing a rune in the air over Laxus’ chest. It glowed brightly for a moment before sinking into his skin. “After it’s over, whoever is chosen needs to get up there and try to…”

His voice trailed off and Sting felt Rogue squeeze his hand tightly.

“You have to destroy the gate.” Natsu’s voice was dull as he stared at the ground, nails digging into the palms of his hands. “It’s the only way to end it.”

Sting’s heart ached and he wanted so badly to reach out again, to push past Natsu’s pain and pull him close and tell him I’m sorry, I wish I could change things, if I could trade places with him I would.

Continue reading on AO3

“How?” Laxus’ voice interrupted Sting’s racing thoughts.

“The dragon,” Natsu said softly. He didn’t move as Freed stepped in front of him and started to draw the same rune in the air. “It’s big enough—if it falls on…”

He exhaled, as if those few words were all he had and anything else would cost him too much.

“Everyone ready?”

Sting pulled his gaze away from Natsu to see that the runes were complete, and each of the dragon slayers were glowing with a faint echo of their magic. Rogue’s fingers tightened around Sting’s and he jumped when he felt something brush against the back of his other hand – Gajeel.

Natsu kept his arms at his sides, gaze still vacant, but he didn’t pull away when Wendy and Laxus both rested their hands on his shoulders.

As soon as the circle was complete, a searing pain shot through Sting, tearing at his magic and bringing him to his knees. It burned – worse than the blistered skin on his forearms from Natsu’s flames, or the raw, red marks on his back from the dragon’s breath. A horrible, aching sound filled the air, and it took Sting a second to realize that it was him screaming.

It was all of them screaming.

The sound wrenched itself from Sting’s throat as he dropped to his knees, chest burning, hands gripping Gajeel and Rogue’s so tightly he could feel the ache in his bones. Each breath seared his lungs, ripped ragged breaths from him, dragged him further and further down into pain until—

It’s just pain. You know what to do.

Sting shook his head, gasping around the sensation that wound like fingers around his neck to choke him. I can’t, he thought, forcing himself to open his eyes. They need me. I have to make things right.

Wind whipped around the fountain, carrying pieces of debris through the air that tore at his skin and stung his eyes. Through the maelstrom of rubble, bits of magic sparked and leapt between them – bright colors and sparks and flames that merged into a center of prismatic light.

Leave. It’s just pain.

Then Natsu’s eyes met Sting’s across the circle, dark and so full of pain and regret, and Sting pushed the words away. I’m staying, he thought. I have to, even if it kills me.

The pain stopped.

Sting groaned, spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth from biting his tongue. The frantic screaming and whipping wind died away, and all that they were left with were quiet gasps and the sound of the war raging on in the background.

“Did it work?” Sting managed, letting go of Gajeel and Rogue’s hands and wiping at his face. He shook his head, blinking to clear his vision, and eventually realized that everyone was staring at him. “What?”

“It’s you,” Rogue said softly. Sting frowned, looking down at his hands. He was glowing, but instead of the usual holy white light, it was iridescent – sparking, constantly shifting and changing as he drew magic from the others.

“Whoa.” Sting stumbled back as another wave of magic hit him full force like a blow to the chest, and Rogue reached out to steady him.

“Are you okay?” Rogue’s brows furrowed in concern, but Sting nodded, taking a deep breath and getting his balance. His eyes widened as he watched the magic tear through the air, different colors siphoning from the other dragon slayer’s chests and merging into something deadly and beautiful before they crept under Sting’s skin.

He closed his eyes, tracing the lines of magic, separating them thread from thread until he could pick out whose was which. Rogue’s magic, already as familiar as Sting’s own, was easy to recognize, and it calmed the nervous thrumming of Sting’s heart as he made room for everyone else’s power.

Iron crept up his throat, sharp and bitter, while lightning raced across his skin like touching a live wire. The hair at the back of his neck ruffled in a quiet puff of wind, and something like poison burned, deep in his chest. Fire, fierce and hot, coursed through his veins until Sting was sure he would burn from the inside out, but it was suddenly tempered by—

Sting opened his eyes again, staring down at his hands. In between the other colors ran a thin, blue line that cooled everywhere the fire burned.  

Sting looked across the circle at Natsu, who was still staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Before Rogue could hold him back, Sting moved across the circle and grabbed Natsu’s shoulders, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

Natsu stiffened against him and Sting squeezed his eyes shut, certain he was going to have some new burn marks on his chest to match the ones on his arms, but the attack he was expecting never came. Instead, Natsu sagged against him, letting out an exhausted sob as they both sank to their knees.

“I’m sorry,” Sting whispered as Natsu gripped his shirt tightly with trembling hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“I h-hurt you… I’m…” Natsu’s words were thick with tears, choked out around the grief that surrounded them both.

“It’s okay,” Sting said, shaking his head and hugging Natsu tighter. “I can’t imagine… I’m so sorry. I wish I could change it.” Natsu shuddered, pressing his forehead to Sting’s shoulder and trying to breathe. They sat for a minute with their grief, and eventually Rogue joined them, running his hand up and down Natsu’s back as he cried.

“We don’t have much time,” Freed said gently. Sting looked up to see another man approaching the group – he looked vaguely familiar, with deep scars through one side of his face. “Mest can get you up there, and then…”

“Okay,” Sting managed. He turned back to Natsu and shifted until they were gripping each other’s forearms. “I have to…”

“Go,” Natsu said roughly, nodding and finally looking up at him and Rogue. “I know.” He exhaled shakily, glancing over at Lyon and then back to Sting. The look he gave Sting tore him apart. “For Gray?” Natsu whispered.

“For Gray,” Sting promised, squeezing Natsu’s arms gently. “I promise.”

~

Being teleported was so disorienting that Sting nearly fell off the dragon as soon as Mest dropped them off. Rogue, who had insisted on coming with him, caught his wrist before he could lose his footing completely. They both scrambled to the middle of the dragon’s back as it rumbled and shuddered beneath them. Wind rushed past them fast enough to draw tears from Sting’s eyes and he rubbed at his face before turning to Rogue and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind. Rogue nodded, squeezing Sting’s hand tightly. Sting pressed their foreheads together, taking a deep breath to ground himself, then turned toward the dragon’s head.

“C’mon,” he said, tugging on Rogue’s hand. “Stay behind me.”

They made their way over the jagged scales of the dragon’s back – it seemed oblivious to their presence, making no effort to shake them off. As they moved past its wings, the figure near the dragon’s head became clearer, and when it finally turned around, Sting’s heart sank.

It was Rogue, and it wasn’t.

“Who the hell are you?” Future Rogue snarled. Sting stared, chest tightening at the sight – Future Rogue was both darkness and light, split down the center with a strange tattoo running down one side of his face. Sting could feel his own magic there, mixed with an ugly echo of Rogue’s shadows, and the smell of it made him sick.

“It doesn’t matter,” Future Rogue shouted over the wind. “You can’t stop me. Even Natsu couldn’t touch me.” Thin beams of light and shadows curled between his fingers and he thrust his hand forward, palm toward them. When Sting easily deflected the attack, Future Rogue’s expression darkened.

“I’m not Natsu,” Sting said softly, exhaling as some of the magic was absorbed into his own. It sent an exhilarating rush through him, sparking under his fingertips as the other dragon slayer’s magic rose to meet it.

“How could you possibly—” Future Rogue stopped, eyes widening when Sting stepped closer. “Sting?” Something in his expression slipped, and for a second, he wasn’t a villain, just the scared boy Sting had always protected with his life.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Sting said, holding up both hands in surrender.

“I killed you,” Future Rogue said softly. Something dark flashed behind his eyes and he said it again, voice rough and jagged. “We killed you. We have your power now.”

Future Rogue’s hands lit up again – one with shadow, one with holy light – and he charged toward Sting, face twisted into a feral snarl. Both his blows bounced off the magic swirling around Sting, and Future Rogue staggered backward, hissing in anger.

“Stop,” Sting said desperately, looking back to see his own Rogue’s horrified expression as he watched his future self attempt to attack Sting again. Sting shook his head, pushing back against Future Rogue’s assault with a mix of heady magic that was both all his own and entirely something else.

“I can’t stop,” Future Rogue growled. “It’s already happened.”

“Why?” Sting asked, voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do!” Future Rogue threw himself forward again, this time breaking through and catching Sting across the forearm with a blast of shadow magic. “I have to be strong.”

The pain of Future Rogue’s attack was nothing compared to the grief that tore Sting apart at those words. “No,” he insisted, pushing forward and shaking his head. “You don’t—this isn’t strength.”

“It’s what he taught us,” Future Rogue hissed. “Only the strong survive, and the weak get beaten into the dirt. We’re not weak.”

“Being kind isn’t weakness,” Sting insisted, dodging another attack. “He was wrong, and he’s gone now. We found somewhere new, somewhere safe.”  

Future Rogue’s face was a mix of fury and despair as he charged at Sting again, screaming in frustration when the attack did nothing. “We could never be safe,” he snarled. “There was no escape, just pain, and I had to be strong, and…” He trailed off, and for a second time, Sting thought he caught a glimpse of his Rogue behind the angry set of Future Rogue’s jaw.

“Strong enough to stop her?”

Rogue’s quiet voice came from behind Sting, and when he stepped forward, Future Rogue’s froze. “Shut up,” he whispered, low and dangerous. Sting’s heart broke at his furious, terrified expression – the same look Sting had seen on Rogue’s face whenever he’d come back to the room and been too late to stop Lilith.

“We got out,” Rogue said gently, taking another step forward. “She can’t hurt us anymore. We have people who love us.”

“There was no love for me,” Future Rogue said, but his voice was weak and uncertain. “I had to… I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Sting said, taking another step forward. They were close enough to Future Rogue now that Sting could reach out and grab his arm, could pull him close like he had with Natsu and try to fix this.

But Natsu’s words echoed in his head. For Gray. Gray was dead because of Future Rogue, and Natsu was broken, and Sting had promised.

“It’s okay to not be the strongest,” Rogue said softly. He took another step closer to his future self, and the magic around Sting thrummed uncertainly. “This isn’t what you have to become.”

The expression on Future Rogue’s face shifted rapidly, and Sting caught a million different emotions – fear, confusion, anger, embarrassment. All the things Sting had felt when he’d fallen on his knees in front of Natsu and begged him to help save Rogue’s life. Future Rogue wasn’t just Rogue, he was Sting, too – all the broken pieces of them that hadn’t had anything to pull them together.

Fuck. Sting’s chest ached, torn between compassion and retribution. He looked over the side of the dragon and cursed when he realized they were getting dangerously close to the gate. If they were going to do this, it had to happen soon.

“Please,” he said, taking the chance and reaching out to grab Future Rogue’s wrist. “You can be more than this.”

A heavy, tense silence hung between them and for a second, hope flickered in Sting’s chest. Then Future Rogue snarled, shoving Sting back as a blast of energy swirled around him, a dangerous mix of dark and light.

“No, I can’t,” Future Rogue said as the eerie light cut harsh shadows across his face. “I have to destroy it all.”

Sting sighed, looking at Future Rogue sadly, then shook his head. “I can’t let you do that,” he said softly.

Before Future Rogue could respond, Sting pulled all the magic into him, narrowing each sharp burst of power until it fit in the palm of his hand. It coursed through his body, sharp and terrifying and the right kind of strong.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, then opened his hands and released the magic.

The force of the blast pushed him backward toward Rogue, who grabbed his shoulder and held him steady against the backlash of wind that whipped around them. A torrent of multicolored light rushed from his fingertips, tearing everything from him as it raced toward Future Rogue and exploded in a flash of brilliant, blinding light.

A piercing roar tore through the air and Sting quickly clapped his hands over his ears, wincing at the way the noise scraped through his mind. The dragon below them began to shift wildly, head thrashing back and forth as its connection with Future Rogue was presumably shattered.

Sting stumbled forward again, gritting his teeth and focusing all the dragon slayer’s magic into his hands again. It burned, now – too much power to fit into his body – and he let out a pained shout as he dropped down and slammed his fist into the dragon’s back.

“Sting!” Rogue’s hand pulled him back up, and Sting’s eyes flew open, looking over the edge of the dragon at the rapidly approaching ground. They were close to the gate, and a flicker of hope filled Sting’s chest. This was going to work. The crowd that was gathered in the square were shouting at each other, gesturing up at the sky and quickly clearing the area.

Sting shuddered as the magic that had been surrounding him was suddenly ripped from his body, tearing away and spiraling up into the air before streaming back down to the ground, presumably to the other dragon slayers. The sensation left Sting breathless and he gasped, clutching Rogue’s shirt tightly as he struggled to stay standing.

Rogue pulled him close, burying his face into Sting’s shoulder as the ground raced toward them. “Are you ready?”

Sting nodded. “I love you,” he whispered, pulling Rogue in for a desperate kiss before his stomach lurched and he was yanked into the familiar chill of the shadows.

[coffeeandcas]

To continue this? Or? It's gonna be super angsty, like Dean-Winchester-has-an-awful-past angsty. WDYT? Destiel AU, obviously.

“Six dollars? For coffee? Is that a joke?”

The girl, pigtailed and snub-nosed, stares at Dean in utter indignation as he holds out her decaf, sugar-free, no-foam monstrosity. It’s got so much fake caramel syrup in it that it barely even qualifies as coffee at this point and it definitely isn't worth six dollars but hey, he doesn't make the rules. Bored, Dean wiggles the paper cup at her.

“Yuh. Don't like it? There's a Starbucks across the road, go get diabetes there, instead.”

Affronted, the girl huffs and puffs at him while she digs in her purse and Dean dumps the coins in the cash register with an extremely fake, ‘Have a great day!’ before leaning back against the sink and rubbing the back of his neck. Outside the sun is shining but it's chilly and autumnal and red-brown leaves skitter and swirl along the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze and stopped in their journey by people’s boots and sneakers. It's warm in the coffee shop and he tugs restlessly at the deep V of his black t-shirt, leaving a smear of wet coffee grains on his collarbone. It's a rare moment when the shop is quiet, and he takes in their few customers listlessly. Two girls sit huddled together on their iPhones, giggling at something, wrapped up in scarves and mittens despite the indoor warmth. An Asian kid, Kevin he thinks his name is, is dozing off in front of his laptop and a pile of textbooks in the corner. A couple sit in silence, both staring out of the window with empty cups in front of them, tension pulling into faint lines at their mouths. And a cute guy with short, military-cut hair and pouty lips talks on his phone loudly, laughing as he talks about some woman named Anna. Dean rolls his eyes. One of his many, many pet peeves is hearing someone yack loudly on their cell phones in public. He turns away, washing his hands under too-hot water and wiping down the bar. He had averted his eyes from the father and son sitting near the door, the kid colouring in a picture energetically and the father ruffling his hair with a fond smile. The boy only looked about eight years old. He swallows bitterly and grits his teeth, muttering to himself. Only two hours left of his shift then Ruby will be here to take over from him and he can head home to catch up on Dr Sexy and maybe hit the gym.

The bell at the door signals someone’s arrival and Dean plasters on his usual fake smile, feeling it melt into a small, more natural one as he sees his customers. He even manages to ignore the flurry of leaves that have blown in with them. These two are regulars, coming in together most days, sometimes twice a day if it's cold and blustery like today. They're both blue-eyed and painfully handsome, and today wearing matching blue scarves; one of them is in a slightly ill-fitting tan trench and the other in a long wool thigh-skimming coat with a black beanie covering a shock of dark hair. They're twins, and the most identical twins Dean has ever seen. They're talking intensely about something as they approach the bar, one of them shaking his head and laughing, and their faces split into identical smiles as they see their barista.

“Dean! Hi!”

“Hello, Dean.”

And Dean’s lips incline just a tiny bit, the closest to a genuine smile he ever manages when it comes to customers. Or to most people, really. He doesn't exactly like these two; they just annoy him less than most people. They're… he has no other word for it. They're both sexy. Nice to look at. Some might say intimidating. They seem to walk with the kind of purpose that evades most people, like they're constantly on some sort of heaven-sent mission, and he's forever watching other customers follow them with their eyes whenever they leave with their coffee cups clutched in their hands.

“Hi.” He wipes his hands and tosses the towel. “The usual?”

“For me, yes. Please.” Tan trench-coat smiles at him, pulling a black leather wallet from his pocket. Black beanie is tapping his teeth wth a manicured fingernail and looking up at the board behind Dean’s head.

“You've got plenty of new drinks. Pumpkin spice season is always my favourite. Is there anything you recommend?”

“No. Are these to go?”

“I'm so glad I asked, thank you for your expertise.” Black beanie grins at him, displaying a row of flashing white teeth, and trench-coat elbows him.

“Jimmy, be nice. And choose your own drink. Yes please, Dean, both to go.”

He knows they're called Cas and Jimmy, and he knows they own Novak & Novak, an art gallery a block away, but he can never work out which twin is which. Normally he has to wait for one to say the other’s name, because firstly it feels rude to ask but secondly, he doesn't really care. They're Cas and Jimmy. Why should it matter to him which one is which?

“Fine, I'll have… a vanilla brûlée latte with foam and extra whip please, Dean-o. And a slice of carrot cake, or whatever that is.”

Jimmy smiles at him again and Dean’s teeth ache from the amount of sugar in the drink the man is requesting. Around Jimmy’s neck is slung a camera, a white and tan Olympus with matching strap, which he has to push aside to find his wallet in his pocket. Cas elbows him before he can pull it out.

“My treat. Your turn tomorrow. And what about you, Dean?” Cas’ smile is more reserved, almost shy, but his blue eyes twinkle as he turns back to the bar. Nonplussed, Dean just stares at him.

“What about me?”

“Can I buy you something? You look like you've had a long day.”

“Oh, gee, thanks pal.” Dean rings up their order, irritably. He hates being told he looks like shit. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself. And no. I don't want a coffee. I get them for free anyway.”

“Oh. Right. I…” Cas has gone pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Jimmy is staring at the floor, a lock of dark hair curling onto his forehead, and he looks like he's got his lips clamped tightly together to suppress a laugh. Or a giggle. Jimmy Novak looks like the type to giggle. “I apologise, Dean. I didn't mean to offend you-”

“Whatever.” He hands Cas his change and turns away. “Your drinks will be ready soon, gimme five.”

“Alright.” One of the twins responds, then Dean is sure he can hear whispering over his shoulder. Or hissing, more like. One twin berating the other about something. Their voices sound so alike he can't tell who's speaking, and he doesn't really give a shit anyway. He's used to being talked about. People have been talking behind his back ever since his thirteenth birthday, he's grown a thick enough skin that it doesn't bother him any more. He doesn't care what they're saying.

He slides Cas’ extra-shot latte across the bar to him, frowning when the other man offers a shy smile. Cas is possibly, maybe, potentially the more attractive of the two, at least in Dean’s eyes. He's got to know the twins a little since they moved to Vancouver last year, after Jimmy almost fell into the coffee shop with an exaggerated gasp about his need for caffeine, and in that time he's noticed a few subtle nuances about the men that make them different. They're so subtle, however, that most of the time he still can't tell them apart at a first glance. Jimmy is the more talkative of the two, and seems the more energetic. Cas is shyer and more studious, and has a few more fine lines at the corners of his eyes than his brother, lines which Dean notices now as he looks at him and immediately feels irritated with himself. Why has he even noticed? Stupid of him. Cas must be at least a decade older than him. Eight years, maybe.

He finishes Jimmy’s drink and hands it over, turning away abruptly before either of them can attempt a conversation with him. He isn't interested. He's tired, crankier than usual, and just wants to be left alone. Honestly, he feels like Shrek half the time, wanting to be left in peace in his own solitary life. But, annoyingly, people do keep insisting on talking to him.

“Well, bye Dean-o.” The nickname grates on him. Jimmy sips his drink thoughtfully then nods, apparently satisfied. “See you tomorrow, I'm sure!”

“I'm already looking forward to it!” Dean matches Jimmy’s cheerful tone with unconcealed sarcasm and both twins bark out identical laughs. Jimmy gives him a two-fingered wave and saunters off, fussing with his camera, while Cas lingers.

“Did you forget something?” Dean asks, blunt as ever, and Cas turns his blue eyes on him, eyes as clear as the ocean and for a split-second Dean is captivated. Then he coughs and looks away awkwardly.

“No. I just wondered… I just thought…”

Cas is tracing a swirl in the rustic oak bar top with a finger and Dean follows its path. Cas has nice hands, objectively. If he were interested in peoples hands, or in Cas, he would say they were nice. Strong. Artistic, if the dents in his knuckles are anything to go by. They look like they would be nice to hold, his fingertips smooth and his palms soft, nails short and well-kept but not groomed like Jimmy’s. Dean would think those things if, you know, he was interested in Cas at all. Which he isn't.

“If maybe you, uh,” Cas falters and stops and Dean has to resist drumming his fingers on the bar. The bell at the door rings again and a small gaggle of teenage girls come in, jostling each other out of their way as they approach, all clutching their phones and with a little too much make-up on for Dean’s tastes. Cas, oddly, goes beet red and seems to think better of whatever he was about to say.

“See you, Dean.”

“Uh, OK, bye…” He scowls, watching Cas walk away to join his brother by the door then they both leave in another flurry of leaves. The hell was that about? “Weirdo,” He mutters under his death then turns to the teenagers with his fake-happy smile plastered on his face.

“What can I get for you guys?”

[spirify]

Black Oath― CH. 1

Chapter 1  ― by. iReii  | Lu x Ciel

“Corrupt my mortals, I will give you my soul― the contract of black oath.”

BGM |  Haikyuu!! OST - Team Potential (Extended)

The boy sprinted with heavy pants as he scurried through pieces of broken edifice plastered with fresh blood. The cries of many villagers echoed loudly into his ear although he tried his best to ignore them. Innocent tears were constantly forming within his midnight blue colored eyes, and hopelessly they fell upon the villagers that are now in an eternal sleep, after experiencing the devastation. The boy glanced behind, only to take a glimpse of devilish horns and black fire burning through the intricate village once called home. As his gazed was focused on the background behind him, the boy clumsily tripped on fallen debris and helplessly fell upon. He raised himself up with the little force he has, only to have his palms painted with blood of his father. How desperately he wanted to cry in plea, while embracing his lifeless father within his arms, yet he had no time to lose. With two knees that has been scraped along the cobblestone, he ran and ran; until he faced a dead end. He glanced around with panic and found thrown away boxes along with trashes that were laying across the ground lazily. He swiftly grabbed the items near him and covered himself, the darkness of fear overwhelming his soul as he shivered in angst.

The boy’s heart was pounding rather furiously and beads of sweat was trickling down the side of his face in nervousness. He clenched his fist so tightly that his own nails were digging through his skin, blood slowly forming within his fingertips which was soon absorbed by his nails. He constantly prayed, for his family to be alive, for his friends to be alive, for his village to be alive. Yet the devastating sight of his dead father flew across his mind within that split second, and the boy couldn’t do anything except to let out silent desperation.

How long has it been? He thought, as he continued to shiver in fear as he closed his eyes in order to block the corruptions. Even before he could reanalyze his own thoughts, a hint of soft warmth embraced his cheek. As the warmth he wished for, the warmth he prayed for tickled his own skin, the boy slowly fluttered his eyes open. He glimpsed a silky, smooth white hair fluttering in the dusty wind, along with crystal blue eyes that shined in the void of darkness. He glanced up as he constantly blinked in order to clear his blurry vision, yet it was no use. Clumps of blood and dust have been collected on top of his eyelashes, clouding his eyesight as he desperately tried to clear his focus of the woman. She did not say anything, she did not show any emotion; the only expression the boy could acknowledge was the warmth of her hand as if was reassuring him. The boy closed his eyes, for how tired he was, and slowly the tenderness of her hands faded him to a peaceful sleep.

Sunshine peeked its way through the obstacles and made its ways on top of dark blue colored eyelashes, which was scrunched up due to sudden brightness. The midnight blue eyes that were covered by the clouds of eyelashes slowly revealed itself.

Ciel glanced about, then quickly came to a realization that he’s currently cuddled up in a sleeping bag, along with other members of the army that are in the same situation compared to Ciel. He let out a silent sigh and removed himself from the bag and folded it rather neatly and walked out of the room. The fresh air of crack of dawn welcomed the fair male as he inhaled deeply. With a deep exhale, he reflected back to just a mere year ago.

His entire family, no― his entire village have been swept by the devilish claws of the demons. The desperate plea of his friends and the sight of his dead father haunts him to every night as he always awake from nightmares, yet the ambitious feelings of revenge grows bigger and bigger within his soul. Then he remembers the mysterious woman with silky white hair, and with crystal clear eyes that seemed to shine its beauty past through the devastation. Who was she? He would wonder often times, yet no answers could be found. Years after the bloody event, he hadn’t spotted a single sight of her, but he knew, that she was not a mere illusion and that she was real, and she was the one that had helped him stand on his feet once again. Even he, does not know her exact existence. Is she human, or devil? Why was she there― in middle of a battle field? Those two were his main goals; to avenge and to find her. In order to achieve both of his goals, he knew for a fact that he had to grow stronger; joining the military that fights the demons was the only solution.

“Ready up, cadets,”

With those words, the young trainees in Demon Military Army raised their awarenesses and brushed off their sleepless exhaustion. Ciel grasped onto his dual gunblades and buckled them onto his side belt as he walked out of the room, as he always expects to fight a demon or to meet the woman; he always has to be alarmed and careful, not to make the tiniest mistake that will lose his chance of fulfilling his goals. He glanced down toward his hips, and the sun that has just rised shined its ways and reflected the true light of his dual gunblades. Gun and a blade, indeed it was a powerful weapon and that he is blessed with.

Before Ciel left on an embark to join the Demon Military Army, he sprinted along the fallen debris and dead bodies. For a  young boy who had just experienced traumatic fatalities of his loved ones, Ciel is considered to be courageous. Although he cried multiple shatters of tear, his screams did not echo throughout, instead, he would swallow the pain away. After passing the soulless body of his mother lying on the floor, he reached the basement of his house. Inside is the weapon that his father had kept away for years― he never knew why; perhaps it was for days like this. The dual gunblades, he picked up and with the weapon that contained the souls of his families, he seek avenge.

“Arms up,”

With the general’s alarming words, Ciel came back to his realization that he has entered the ancient battle ground. The intricate designs of the edifices are now piled upon each other, with dusts  that were collected along with overgrown plants embracing the broken puzzles that completes a building. From afar, Ciel heard hint of crows bickering, ready to snatch up any source of life within this ancient ground― but of course, not a single plant has bloomed within the bloody battlefield. He inspected further as he kept pace with rest of the army, yet somehow, this ancient ground seemed familiar and nostalgic. He caught a glimpse of a broken piece of door, which was painted in ivory and had intricate design. Then he saw a window, painted rich brown with two handles placed on the inside. Then the mixture of various gray colored cobblestone that rang loud and clear whenever a foot knocked on its surface. The copper colored roof that must have created a safe shelter for the villagers that once lived here. Then all of the puzzle pieces he had just glimpsed combined with one another to create the final picture― this ancient ground is his hometown. The place where he was given birth, the place where he created and defined his own morals, the place where he was part of a society, and the place where he said his last farewell.

“Cadet, don’t make us wait,”

The general’s voice echoed into Ciel’s ear as he realized that he had stopped his movement and was staring off into the ancient village while reminiscing his past. Ciel quickly bowed his head as apology and fastened his footsteps to catch up with rest of the army. The innocent memories of the past cannot interfere with his mission, for that will put him into a vulnerable situation and his goal will never be accomplished.

“Demons,”

The general said with a rather quiet, yet firm voice. Acknowledging his warning, the entire group of army glanced about as they perked their ears up in order to detect any signs of demons lurking from behind. Indeed, the general was sharp. Ciel could feel a dark aura lingering in the air, not too far but not too close. The sound of sharp, but faint footsteps could be heard if one listened carefully, and the shadows of the demons swept back and forth behind the dark alleys.

At that moment, the general yelled firmly―

“Attack!!!”

Placing one of his dual gun blade in the front and the other in the back, Ciel prepared for any sudden attacks by the demons. At last, the first step of avenging his family is bound to be happen, the place where his family died, is the place where he will fight.

All of a sudden, a demon lunged from the behind and quickly, Ciel swiped his movements to the left to dodge the piercing claws of the demon. He jumped back and aimed both of his dual gunblades  and shot out his first two bullets, cleanly killing the first attacker. He let out a quick sigh, the ancient battle ground will soon be plastered with blood once again― but this time, it will be the blood of the demons. Smile of triumph could be found under lips of the fighter and quickly he prepared for another attack ready to be lunged. Then at that moment, from the corners of his eyes, he saw a hint of long, silky white hair fluttering in the air. Without hesitation, he shifted his head with quick movements, but the sign of the white hair could not be found.

“At last… I’ve found you,”

He whispered.

A/N

this is my first lu x ciel fanfiction and i don’t have much knowledge about them, so this was totally out of my comfort zone! it’s kind of based on their actual lore with a little bit of differences that i added. lu is in altar of evil state and ciel is human. the story revolves around ciel and so lu won’t appear as that much. and there will be total of two chapters!! i hope you guys liked it, please leave a note! 

iReii’s fanfiction

[thecouncilofali]

First Big Meeting Part 1

“You’re late,” one of them says in almost a snarl, as I plop down in the chair at the head of the table.

I nod. “I know. I pushed things too far last night and couldn’t get to you, I was fighting sleep just to finish the small bit I had. But we’re taking care of this now.”

“Is this the getting to know you part?” one with a younger voice asked.

I shook my head. “As much as yes I want to-,” and then stopped, and thought. There’s a lot from yesterday I need to go over, but it may be easier to identify triggers and where I tend to not manage certain things if I work out names and faces first.

I feel that overwhelmed feeling of a rush of impulses hitting to do too much at once. Going through everyone would take more time to initiate, but it’s important in the long run.

I nod at the one to the left closest to me. “Name, age, pronouns, introduce yourself.”

He sighed, and leaned back. He’s in a black jacket, pulling at the seems and worn at the pockets and elbows, black skinny jeans and sneakers with holes at the toes. His short, dark hair greasy and unkempt, with skin acting up in agitated red patchy flakes around his nose and eyes, a few freckles unevenly splayed across his face. “I’m Josh, 14, he and him and all that, and I struggle with a lot of social paranoia, and sexism.” His foot taps against the table in agitation. “And anger issues. This feels like therapy.”

“It kind of is. What do you think of Tavi?” I ask him.

He looks away. “She’s ... nice. But she makes me uncomfortable.”

“Neil?”

He shook his head. “I ... know he’s there in reach to help. Feel like I’m constantly about to fuck up around the guy. Same with her.”

He wraps his arms tighter around himself and tries to sink back into his chair, his foot tapping against the table even more nervously.

I nod, and move onto the one next to him, one I’m familiar with. “Anne, go for it.”

“You already know me.”

“Everyone hides from each other, and from me, and you’ve been avoiding me lately. Go on.”

She sighed, her breathing nervous and aggressive and glaring at everyone at the table. Her skin has patches of scars, where her skin looks heavily wrinkled and dried out and discolored, along her arms, her ribs, the side of her face and along part of her mouth. She does her best to cover them with a purple hoodie, and flipping short, greasy, unevenly chopped brown hair over the side to cover the worst of it. You can see red scratch marks along the ones on her cheek and neck.

“I’m Anne. I’m 18. She, they. I’m angry and I don’t like talking to anyone.”

Her arms are tightly crossed over her chest as well, and she’s avoiding eye contact with me. She radiates guilt and paranoia, and she starts scratching at her neck again.

“Don’t scratch, you’ll agitate it more.”

She scoffed and tucked her arm back down.

I look to the next one, and he sits up excitedly. “I’m Joseph! I like costumes and stuff. And masks. And bags. And making things and dressing up? I like pretending to be other people it���s fun that way.” And then fidgeted. “And makes me feel better sometimes. Anyway I’m almost nine, and I’m a boy!”

His hair is in a greasy dirty blonde mop that falls into his eyes, a birds nest in the back. He has freckles splayed across his cheeks and one blue, one brown eye. It looks like he’s missing a couple teeth, and the rest are yellowed and damaged, and I feel most likely cavity riddled. He’s massively underweight with over-sized, bright colored clothing on. Even his shoes are too big for him.

I can’t help but smile a little, but it’s bittersweet. I know he shares the part of me that indulges in separating me from myself, and copy catting those around me when I get nervous. He’s associated with the part of me that over indulges in pretend and fantasy.

“I’m Gloria,” says the one next to him. “She, her, sixteen, and I’m better than all of you.” She said it with a glare, but her voice is quivering with nerves. Her hands are shaking. She’s under weight as well. Dressed in nicer clothing than most of them, but it’s stained, worn, and mismatched. She keeps a pink, feathered boa around her neck, blue eyes that match mine, and straight, shoulder length, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a too tight ponytail. You can tell there are patches where the hair is thinner than the rest. She pulls at her hair in stress. Poorly applied concealer covers pimples and blemishes on her skin, and it looks as if the rest of her make up was done while trembling.

I feel like she’s part of the eating disorder as well.

“Would you like anything to eat?” I ask. “Maybe an orange?”

She leans back and swallows hard, shaking her head, and the urge to gag increases with me. “N-no, I’m fine, thanks.”

There’s this feeling that this is enough people, enough problems, that to take on or learn about any others would be too much, be overwhelming, and I look to the masculine one sitting next to her.

“Name?” I ask, leaning forward.

He shook his head, and I swing my leg at him. “Name,” I say more sternly.

Several names flip through my head, as if he’s trying to pick one.

“What do you want to be called?” I try.

“... S-stan,” he says nervously. “I think.” And then shook his head, paused, and then softly, “Benjamin.”

“Age, pronouns, what’s going on with you.”

“Uhm... 14, he, them, I guess, and I panic a lot? I feel depressed a lot. Things overwhelm me a lot of the time and I have trouble doing, uh, anything. Feel kind of constantly angry at things.”

So depression. And giant mountains of self doubt, from how he feels. His hair is brown and greased as well, bags under his eyes. His eyes are nervous, hands pulling at the over-sized, thick black jacket, he wears. He’s wearing blue jeans a size too big and shoes that have all the traction worn off at the bottom.

“Pelly was down here.”

“Get her away.”

“Why was she down here?”

“She was too close?”

They all chime up in a nervous, anxiety riddled chorus.

“We live with her still. Let’s focus on getting out, not that she’s here. That’s a consequence we have to live with for awhile.”

Everyone’s tense but there’s nervous nodding in acknowledgement, and some are able to ease, the others are still paranoid.

“If she does anything to cross another line I’ll speak out.”

And they ease ever so slightly more.

I look at the one next to Benjamin, another kid, with headphones on.

“Wright,” he said. “My names Wright, I’m ten, I like music.” He thumbs over an old walkman from the early two thousands. “I’m stressed without it. Oh, and he, him, they, she,” and shrugged. “I’m all of them.”

His hair is slightly greased but he smells of soaps, his hair dyed copper with brown roots showing, like it hasn’t been maintained in two or three months, his clothes worn and wrinkled like they’ve been slept in, but they’re clean. Some of the seams are tearing, and the shirt is too small and the pants too big. He’s wearing a binder, one too small for him as well, and his nails are a wreck from stress picking, small sores on his arms and legs as well he tries to hide.

“What do you listen to?” I ask him.

“Mostly classical. Helps me focus. Pop if I need to cheer up,” and then shook his head. “That’s it.”

I look to the one next to him. “SARAFIA!-”

“What do you actually go by,” I ask immediately, dead staring.

“... Aimee,” she says quiter, shifting and staring at your lap. “I’m 14 but I wish I was 12 again. I like dress up. And I know I’m smarter than anyone else here,” she says, staring at the others across the table. “And I hate boys.”

She has unevenly applied make up I remember from when I was 7 or 8, out of those kid kits. A pink scrunchie, a white dress that’s been strained at the seams, stained, and slept in. Her hair is brown with faint blonde streaks, greasy with split ends, and she has scars like claw marks over her lip, down her arms, one in her back like someone tried to rip her shoulder blade out.

“Hate boys?” I ask plainly.

“There stupid, violent, and impulsive. They’re predators, all of them,” she spat out, crossing her arms and slamming back like a toddler in a fit. “They’ll act nice but the moment you trust them they’ll take advantage of you.”

“What do you think of Neil?”

“I wish he wasn’t here. The moment you think you’re friends again he’s going to stab you in the back for her.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT HE DOES.”

I shake my head. “He’s a lot of things. That isn’t one of them. What do you think of Tavi?”

“I don’t trust her. She’d throw us to the wolves in a moments notice the moment we let our guard down.”

“I’ve let my guard around her. It usually ends with talking and apologizing and actually having a good day.”

“I don’t. Trust. Her,” she glares, insistent.

So paranoia, superiority complex, insecurities covered up by hubris.

I glance at the last one at the table currently. “Name?” I ask softly.

They shook their head.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Jax,” they stated, sliding half under the table and fingering along the grooves in the wood of the table. “I’m seven but I feel older. I don’t like focusing on stressful things. I get distracted a lot. Prefer they, them.” There’s a pause, as they seem to get fixated on the grooves in the wood, before sitting up, blue eyes dead staring at me. “I like people, I like being by myself sometimes, I like enjoying things. But I feel tired a lot too.”

Their hair is at that bowl cut length that hits their eyes, but looks to be watched. Light brown with a hint of red, skin slightly darker than the others, as if they like going outside.

They nodded. “I like sitting outside and doing things, even when it’s hot out, just as long as I’m not burning, and with other people too.”

They pulled out a pink toy car I used to have and run it back and forth across the table, watching it. They feel overweight but malnourished, the clothes they’re wearing a size too small. They rub they’re eyes sleepily before fidgeting in the chair and continuing to run the car back and forth, in gentle, almost noiseless movements. They seem to keep their voice quiet. I’m aggressively remembering how I used to play alone as a kid.

“What do you think of Tavi?” I ask them.

“She’s really nice, and really pretty. But I feel like she gets angry sometimes when we don’t get things. Like we don’t care but we just don’t get things. I like her a lot though,” and then softly kicked their feet. “I’m excited for this week.”

“What about Neil?”

“He can be scary sometimes, but I like him. He’s super smart and he seems like a good person. I wanna be more like him sometimes. I like how he handles things.”

I nod. “Anything else?”

They stop moving, and think a moment. “I get stressed a lot. Like everything is stressful, and I don’t know why, but I just like enjoying things, even when I feel tired.”