#i tried to give off the idea of empty spaces where wings were and bloody stumps where they were ripped out

[roxyandelsewhere]

Angels’ trueforms in their most memorable moments [21/?] - Hael

Prints now up in inprnt.

[veryreallyfuckinbad]

FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 4

TW: strong language

You tried your best to fall asleep, you were exhausted. Sleep didn’t come easy; especially not after being on your own for as long as you were. Any shut eye was interrupted by the smallest noise- leaves rustling, water dripping from trees, the gentle flapping of a bird’s wings. Every single noise made you jolt up, ready to pounce on anything that tried to come close to you. You were so used to being alone, with no backup, nobody to look out for you, nobody to care for you that spending the night at a safe place felt strange.

You rolled to your side with a heavy sigh. Your eyes hurt and you were sure you had some horrifying eyebags, too. The sleeping bag felt a little too soft, unlike the hard surface of your tent that you’ve grown so accustomed to, you haven’t laid in a sleeping bag since ‘the shit hit the fan’, as you called it. It seemed more appropriate than calling it ‘the apocalypse’, maybe because you never imagined the apocalypse to be so goddamn ugly, bloody and smelly.

You decided to sit up, knowing that you won’t fall asleep anytime soon. You knew that Jake was outside, but you didn’t know exactly what he was doing. You guessed he was running around camp or went to the forest to hang out- it was his first home, after all. He always came back to you by morning though, so you never worried. You suddenly heard the crackling of a fire and poked your head out your tent- it was Daryl. As soon as your head peeked out of the entrance of your tent, you felt Jake brush his snout against your cheek. He couldn’t sleep either, but didn’t leave to run around. He sat in front of your tent like a guardian, watching Daryl’s every move. You chuckled quietly, trying not to alert the man by the fire of your presence just yet. You studied him- his back was facing you, the wings on his leather vest were clearly visible. He was much bigger than you were- in every sense of the word. Taller, broader, heavier; in other words he was deadly to you, physically speaking. The man was like a puzzle, you couldn’t figure him out. He was watching you for God knows how long and you never even noticed, left you a gift, convinced Rick to take you in, yet he never spoke to you unless you were the one to engage conversation. He seemed rough around the edges but had a strange tenderness to him, and from what you’ve heard from the group, you were the only one to see it.

Deciding to stand up, you stretched a little and made your way over to him and decided to speak first, as not to startle him. “Hey”

His head whipped around to look at you and simply nodded in response, his dark hair falling over his icy eyes. He stared at you, waiting for you to say something else.

“Mind if I join? I can’t sleep” you kneeled next to Jake and gave the foxes’ head a small pat, awaiting Daryl’s response. He looked into your eyes but quickly shifted his gaze on something else and hummed in response. You smiled and took a seat on the opposite side of the small campfire, deciding it’s best to let him have his space. A few minutes of silence passed, you were sure Daryl didn’t mind it but sitting across from him and staring at the fire, occasionally looking up at him felt a bit uncomfortable to you. You cleared your throat and noticed his gaze shift from the fire to you.

“Not to seem ungrateful or anything” you began with a nervous chuckle, “but why did you help me out? Not just in the forest, yesterday too. You helped convince Rick to let me stay.” You grabbed a stick and poked the fire causing embers to fly up into the dark sky. Both you and Daryl took notice of Jake jumping up and trying to catch one in his mouth before it disappeared. Daryl let out a small snort that was gone before you could take it in- it was a completely new sound.

“Didn’t want him to go” he motioned to the fox with a tiny smirk, causing you to giggle. He cleared his throat and continued, which surprised you- this was your first real conversation, even if it was just about Jake. “He do any tricks?”

“Yeah, a couple actually. He can bite your face off if you keep treating him like a dog,” you gave him a playful smile, he returned the favor and mumbled something along the lines of ‘lil’ bastard’ and you went on “or my personal favorite. You got an empty can?” He looked at you with confusion, raising his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he picked up an empty can of beans from the grass behind the log he was sitting on and threw it to you. You caught it and placed it on the damp grass near your foot, in front of Jake. He instantly put his snout inside, getting stuck.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Mother Nature’s perfect killing machine” you announced in between chuckles and heard Daryl snort again. He smiled and shook his head while you took the can off Jake’s face. “And before you ask, I have no idea why he does that” you added while ruffling his fur lovingly. Before long, silence fell between you once again, but it was more comfortable this time. You didn’t expect any more conversation from the man- you were surprised with how much you got already, anyway. He looked at you, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the flames. Daryl’s expression was unreadable, it frustrated you that you couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and spoke up.

“Who ‘ere you with before us?” his low voice now sounded more gravelly than usual, he didn’t look at you. Your breath caught in your throat- you have never spoken to anyone about your previous group. Just now, you realized how much you missed them. If it weren’t for Jake and the others, you wouldn’t be where you were right now. They were the ones who taught you to survive, the ones who took you in when all seemed hopeless, they were family. They were family and when you were attacked, you didn’t even fight, you just ran. You realized your eyes were tearing up and looked at the man with nothing but shame, guilt and despair. He couldn’t see you like this, you didn’t want him to pity you or look at you differently, so you stood up. His eyes followed you, he shook his head gently to get the hair out of his face. He glanced at you apologetically, thinking he must’ve done or said something wrong. He didn’t realize you weren’t ready to open up yet.

“Alright” you chuckled sadly, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject, “It’s late, you’d better go to sleep. Jake and I will take watch”

Daryl gently shook his head and eyed you, the pressure of his gaze being much for you in that moment. You turned your back to him and pretended to look up at the star-filled sky. In reality, you tried to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. You didn’t realize that opening up would be so difficult. Deciding its best to hide from the man for the time being, you stepped into your tent. Daryl saw you fumble and shuffle inside, he couldn’t believe that you actually complied. His attention turned back to the fire, he picked up a stick from the ground and began poking the burning wood with it before his head shot up when he heard you step out of the tent with something under your arm- it was too dark to make out what it was. You stepped towards Daryl and sat beside him, your eyes now red and puffy but dry. Wordlessly, you placed the item you were holding in his lap- your sleeping bag. Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and gently touched the soft makeshift mattress with his fingers.

“Can’t sleep on it, it’s too soft for me” you looked at him, hoping he would understand. You saw something change in his eyes when the words left your mouth, like the light he had while joking with you earlier died out completely. Your mouth turned into a thin line, trying your best to give him a smile but you were sure it came out more like a sad-puppy-look than a friendly grin. Enough was enough, you were just making him pity you more. You were an enigma to him- like a puzzle piece from a completely different box. Despite going through the unimaginable, things that you couldn’t even share with him, you never failed to give him that damn smile. The smile that made him wonder whether rescuing you was a good idea- you were dangerous. Not literally, Daryl knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt him. The way you made him feel was dangerous but most of all, it was completely new and utterly confusing. You were like an elusive animal; afraid only when you absolutely needed to be, defensive yet so trusting, so warm and it frustrated him. He could usually read people like open books, but you were the only exception.

You stood up and didn’t miss the way Daryl’s eyes flickering between your face and the sleeping bag in his lap. Jake followed you to the tent, but you stilled before you entered.

“Goodnight, Daryl”

You woke up to Jake’s squeaks and growls coming from outside your tent, growling as you sat up and stretched. Your eyes landed on a small roll right outside of your tent- your sleeping bag. A heavy sigh left your mouth, but you couldn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Stubborn asshole”, you didn’t even notice the smile forming on your face while you cursed Daryl out. You crouched, trying to get out of the tent and almost falling over in the process. The damn thing was small. Once you managed to get out, Jake greeted you, jumping up and standing on his hind legs, his front paws resting on your stomach. You leaned down to press him into yourself gently. “Good morning to you, too. C’mon, let’s go say hi to everyone else.”

When you made your way to the group’s campground, Glenn, Dale, Carl and Maggie walked up to you to greet you while the rest said their hello’s from their seats. You were happy to see them, glad they didn’t disappear overnight. Shit. Last night’s conversation with Daryl hit you harder than you’d thought. The group was having breakfast around a campfire- theirs was much bigger than the one Daryl made. You stared at them, wondering whether you should join. Jake sniffed the air and made it clear he smelled the meat cooking over the fire.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at us or are you gonna join?” Glenn chuckled and bumped Maggie’s shoulder with his own, “Seriously, it’s kinda creepy.”

You apologized and offered them a sheepish smile while taking a seat in between Carl and Maggie. Everyone looked up at you from time to time, which you brushed off- they were probably just curious about Jake, who sat in the space between you and Carl. Maybe they were worried he would attack Carl?

“Alright, what’s up? Now you guys are the ones being creepy.” If you had to take one more weird look, you’d probably die. Or bury yourself underground.

“You’re uh…” Rick began and fumbled over his own words, “there’s a working shower in the house.” Great, Rick. He pointed it out in front of everyone. You were about to get mad but you took a look at yourself for the first time in forever, examining your clothes- they were covered in dirt and grime, not to mention that your face and arms had dried blood all over them.

“Patricia can wash your clothes!” Maggie chimed in, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that fell upon the group. “Eat something and go wash up, I’ll get you some of my clothes for the time being”

You were perfectly content with waiting for Patricia to wash your clothes, hell, you didn’t mind washing them yourself but decided to take the offer- it was a luxury, after all.

Dale cleared his throat and handed you a paper plate with two pieces of meat on it. You thanked him with a smile and gratefully took the food. Without thinking, you grabbed the larger piece and gave it to Jake, watching as he carefully took it from your hand with his teeth while you began chewing your own piece. The taste was familiar, you’ve eaten that meat before. Was it…

“Squirrel?” you asked and noticed Rick staring at you. Dale simply nodded and looked at you with nothing but confusion painted on his face. You were being stared at again. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What did I do now?”

“I’m pretty sure both of those were for you” Rick smirked and you dipped your head. You couldn’t imagine eating and not sharing it with Jake.

“He’s hungrier than I am” you reassured him with a grin and pat the fox between his ears. Suddenly, something hit you. There’s only one person who can catch squirrels in this group and he wasn’t there.

“Where’s Daryl? There’s no squirrel without Daryl.” It was a joke, but you couldn’t help but worry about him. He was up all night and he went out, he must’ve been exhausted. Maggie smirked and tried to suppress a snort but didn’t manage to. You weren’t sure whether she was laughing at your joke or at how worried you were, but decided to believe it was the former.

“He’s out looking for Sophia, he should be back soon.” Lori tried to sound reassuring but it didn’t make you worry any less. You tried your best not to show your anxiety, the group probably didn’t know why you’d be worried about him. They were asleep while he took watch, making sure everyone was safe.

“I’m going on a run later today. You wanna join?” Maggie asked, kneeling in front of you. You felt Jake tense at how close she got. You didn’t expect it- they trusted you instantly, while they had no reason to. You couldn’t believe it, but you quickly accepted the offer.

Once you finished your meal, you headed to the house to take your fist shower since the apocalypse began. Of course there was the occasional bath in a river or lake but nothing could compete with a warm shower, with soap too. Maggie led you to the bathroom and smiled at you before you shut the door.

“New clothes will be right outside the door on the floor!” her voice was muffled through the closed door. You shouted back a quick ‘thank you!’ before you were about to step in the shower, but something stopped you. A mirror. You looked in the reflection and didn’t recognize the person staring back at you. Your once lively eyes were now sunken down. Your cheekbones were more visible and your hair was matted and tangled. You found a brush in one of the drawers and began combing it out as quickly as you could- the shower couldn’t come soon enough. Once you were done working on your hair, you stepped into the cold, ceramic bathtub and smiled as you turned the tap and felt warm water wash over you. It was an incredible feeling- the blood and gore washing off your skin, cleansing you of the horrors outside of the farm. You ran your hands along your once smooth skin- it was now bumpy and covered with scars. They were nothing but reminders of the battles you’ve won. The pleasant smell of raspberry-scented soap filled your lungs. It was sweet and reminded you of the world before everything fell apart; sweet and tender, but stung like hell if it got into your eyes.

You closed your eyes and simply enjoyed the moment. It felt purifying. All of the pain, sorrow and grief washing off you and disappearing in the drain. The only thing the warm water couldn’t wash off was the moss that grew on your heart, almost engulfing it whole. Love was a tricky thing, it always was, but in this world it was even worse. You were unable to bring yourself to open up to the group about who you were with before, even about your pitiful life before the ‘shit hit the fan’. You didn’t want to think about your disgusting past relationships, the men you were with being the reason as to why you flinched and ducked whenever someone raised their hand at you or touched you without announcing themselves first. You only allowed yourself to cry in moments like these- alone and comfortable, always afraid of people seeing you cry. Perhaps that’s why you and Jake bonded almost instantly- your hearts were covered in moss.

You quickly opened the bathroom door and dragged your new clothes in. It was a nice outfit; a black tank top and a pair of jeans that was cut with scissors to be knee-length, along with a well-fitted black leather jacket. A smile crept up on your face when you saw yourself in the foggy mirror- you at least resembled your old self now.

Maggie was already waiting for you on the porch, sitting on the steps and smiled at you when you emerged from the door.

“Ya ready to go?” her head swung toward you while she pushed herself up from the steps, standing up. You nodded in response but quickly stiffened, remembering something,

“Can he come along?” you motioned towards Jake, who was standing by your side. Maggie shifted, her eyes flickering between you and your fox companion. She was clearly unsure and she had every reason to be- it was a wild animal. But that wild animal was insistent on following you and making sure you were okay; you did the same for him.

“We’re gonna go on horses, though.” She looked at you sheepishly and awaited your response

“That’s perfect, actually! He could use a good run” you kneeled down next to Jake, who instantly began pacing around you, brushing his fiery fur against you. “Sure has a lot of pent up energy”

You couldn’t remember the last time you rode a horse- it was long before the apocalypse even began. The animal was big, if it decided to buck you off- it would. Thankfully, you were good with animals. The horse seemed calm as it walked beside Maggie’s. It was exceptionally quiet for a while. The only sounds echoing through the empty streets of the abandoned countryside town was the rhythmic hitting of hooves against the hard concrete. Jake trotted along, not needing to run as you weren’t going fast. He clearly enjoyed going out on runs, he was the most adventurous fox you’ve ever met. The only fox you’ve ever met, actually, but you were sure other foxes weren’t this energetic or upbeat. The only weapon you carried was a hunting knife that you borrowed from Rick, who refused to let you go without any way of protecting yourself. Your goal was a small grocery store that was boarded up, which meant it probably wasn’t looted yet. Maggie clearing her throat brought you back from your thoughts.

“So, what’s up with you and Daryl?” she chimed cheerfully. You almost fell off the horse, but quickly composed yourself . What in the hell did she mean? Instead of answering her question, you decided to retort,

“What’s up with you and Glenn, huh?” you sent her a wink and noticed her roll her eyes with a small smile. There definitely was something going on with the two- they came in a bundle. If Maggie was doing laundry, Glenn suddenly decided to help her out. If Glenn was taking watch, Maggie magically appeared near him within minutes.

“Oh, c’mon.” She dismissed your question. Fair, you did the same to her. “If any of us tried to set up camp near the one and only Dixon we’d probably get an arrow in the ass” she laughed and you smiled, but still didn’t understand. If what she was saying was true- why did he let you set your tent up next to his? “Not to mention, he watched you for how long? A week?”

You couldn’t help but let out a throaty chuckle. Daryl was one confusing man.

“Yeah, that one was creepy as shit” you said, giggling like a schoolgirl and looking down, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

The store was mostly clear of walkers, say for a couple squished together in a bathroom. You and Maggie swiftly took care of them and began looting the store. It was quite intact, with the majority of supplies untouched. You swiped as many cans as you could off the shelves, letting them drop in your duffle bag. Once you packed as much food as you could, you decided to take a look around the remaining aisles. There wasn’t anything of interest- some long expired lotions, condoms and sunglasses. You were about to leave the store with Maggie when you saw something in the corner of your eye. A sketchbook. You smiled a toothy grin and looked at Jake who was busy sniffing every shelf he came across. Quickly shoving the sketchbook in your already-full bag, you bumped Maggie’s shoulder with your own to signal her that you’re ready to leave.

The ride home was pleasant and the scenery was quite beautiful. The sky was turning a pinkish-orange color, the setting sun began giving everything an incredible orange glow. Everything looked more alive, even the abandoned stores and houses. Jake’s fur, which usually looked fiery, now looked like it was ablaze- he looked like a living flame.

When you arrived at the farm, the sky still had that beautiful glow to it. The farm looked like something out of a fairytale. You hopped off your horse and gave it a pat, leading it to the stables with Maggie. Once the horses were in place, you turned to Maggie.

“What did you mean? Earlier, about Daryl?” you stuttered, unsure if you should be asking the question.

“What I mean, (Y/N),” she put a hand on your shoulder and smiled at you brightly. It wasn’t the same smile she gave you when she asked about Daryl on the way to the store- this one was warm, inviting, yet still playful. Quickly, it turned into a smirk, “Daryl isn’t exactly easy to seduce”

What? Seducing Daryl was the last thing on your mind- all you wanted was someone you could trust, someone who would understand you. That person just so happened to be him- maybe because he was the one to save you, maybe because you were both like wild animals, maybe because he liked Jake. You smirked at that last thought and shook your head.

“Maggie” you looked deep into her eyes, placing both of your hands on her shoulders, “Even if I wanted to, I’m about as seductive as a cabbage” Maggie let out an unflattering snort and playfully hit your arm with her fist. You were unsure what to make of the exchange- did you really seem like all you wanted was flirting with Daryl? Just because he let his walls down a little for you didn’t mean anything. He probably felt comfortable around you because he saw how you were in the forest and felt like he knew you already; you can tell a lot about a person solely by their actions, afterall.

“Do I really seem like I just want to get in his pants?” you sighed and looked down in genuine sadness. You just needed a friend. When Maggie noticed how serious you got, her eyes dropped and her voice suddenly became soft, just above a whisper.

“I was kidding, I’m sorry.” She smiled a sad, uncertain smile and went on, “He just acts different around you, that’s all.” Her words made you think. You didn’t know how exactly he acted around others. Of course, he respected Rick and could be an asshole to the group from time to time, but how different could he be around you? This man gave you a headache, no matter how much time you spent thinking about what he’s thinking, you could never guess.

You nodded at Maggie and made your way out of the barn- you needed some fresh air. Deciding it was best to stay away from others to think, you headed to the only place you could think of- the very campfire you were sitting by with Daryl last night. Once you took a seat on a log, you stared into space, your hand stroking Jake’s fur from time to time. Maggie’s words echoed in your head, like someone shouted inside a tunnel, the echo repeating itself constantly. Maybe you should give the man space, maybe you shouldn’t get too close. Last time you did that, people died. All you wanted to know was what was behind those steel-blue eyes. You also decided to apologize to him for last night; he probably didn’t care much but you still felt guilty for brushing him off like that. Suddenly, Jake shot up and turned around, standing still and not moving an inch. Your head whipped back to see what spooked him so bad and saw the very man that you were thinking about. He was covered in small cuts and bruises, probably from running through thorn-covered bushes. His gaze was soft, friendly. Exactly like the one you saw last night when you so casually conversed with him. You stood up, about to say hello, about to apologize. You had to hold yourself back from hugging him- you were glad he made it back in one piece. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it when he kneeled and began shuffling around in his backpack, clearly looking for something. He wasn’t sure whether he should say something or not, maybe he should apologize for prying yesterday. He was definitely not a people person. Deciding it’s best to just let his action speak for him, he pulled out a familiar item out his backpack. Was it-

“Found yer knife. Apology for yesterday” He looked at you with that undecipherable look he had. You were baffled- what was he apologizing for?

“What the hell? Thank you so much!” you took the knife from his hands, “I was about to apologize myself. Sorry for brushing you off like that.” You smiled at him and, deciding to be brave, hit his arm with your fist gently. “Did you cut yourself so bad with my knife?” you gestured towards the many cuts on his face and the ones on his hands and arms, “Thought you were good with blades” You smirked at him. He scoffed and hopped over the log you were previously sat on and took a seat.

“Ya can bet ‘m better than ya"

----

taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Come Home

Prompts: Omg ur twins series has given me the seratonin I didn’t know I needed ;-; love ur fics!!! can I request maybe a one shot where Merlin confronts hunith about his birth parents, and they have a wholesome talk about it? Also bonus points for Merlin coming to terms with the fact that uther is his father and Morgana is his half sister (everyone notices now that they share similar features) - anon

ahhhh i loved the second installment of the twin series, the ending makes me yearn for more no matter how much i reread it *prompt idea* brotherly love pleaseeee, you've built so much hype 😭 some overprotective arthur over his younger brother, maybe some asshole noble treating merlin like shit because he grew up peasant, a merlin-arthur talk about feelings and new revelations, merlin-morgana-arthur talk (maybe?) take as long as you want really, no pressure i know it'll be worth it but a bit longer third installment please 💘 - anon

I have a very simple request oh ruler of the angst town. You've been graciously filling the stomachs of the Sanders Sides fandom but the Merlin fandom requests one thing: More, please, oh good lord. Thank you - alittletoo-obsessed

SO MANY OF YOU WERE SCREAMING FOR A PART THREE SO HERE YOU GO

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none, babes.

Pairings: it's found family hours

Word Count: 4574

The twins come home.

After a long, long time, the twins come home.

For Arthur, home is that empty space just over his shoulder, always there when he turns absentmindedly to talk to someone he never thought he’d see again. Home is someone to curl up with when the nights get cold and lonely, dark hair brushing under the tip of his nose as he wraps them in his arms. Home is someone else to see what’s happening, to stand as a silent vow of I’m here, I see you, I’m with you, I’ve got you.

For Merlin, home is someone who knows he’s not crazy, who catches him when he flies too high on the wings of his magic. Home is someone who wraps firm, solid arms around him, smelling of slightly spiced fruit and afternoon sun. Home is the space the magic curls about, searching for something to hold onto like an anchor as the world spins faster, faster, faster.

They leave the hall where Uther still sits, thunderstruck on his hollow throne, back to Arthur’s chambers. They don’t part when they get inside, stumbling across the room to the bed, somewhere they can sit and look and look at each other where there is no one else can see. Arthur reaches out to run his hand through Merlin’s hair.

“I always thought your hair would be dark,” he mumbles, losing himself in the way his fingers card through the strands. “Just had a feeling.”

“Mum’s hair was never dark enough to be mine.” Merlin closes his eyes as he feels Arthur’s hand go through it. “And—and Balinor, he—he wasn’t the right magic.”

Arthur’s hand stills. “Balinor was your father?”

“He was married to Hunith, he—but—“

Arthur’s arms are suddenly around him, warm and perfect and real and it feels like something else slots into place. Arthur’s breath warms the top of his head and Merlin feels his fingertips start to buzz.

“I’m sorry,” he realizes Arthur’s saying, “I didn’t—if I’d’ve known, I would’ve—“

They will come to find that they don’t need words. Merlin just buries his nose in the crook of Arthur’s neck and breathes in the smell of home.

“I kept the blanket I was taken in,” he mumbles, “and it smelled like this.”

“Like—like me?”

Merlin nods. “Fruit. Sunlight. Warm.”

“Warm doesn’t have a smell, Merlin.”

“Sure it does.”

“What does it smell like, then?”

“Warm! You don’t explain what apples smell like, they just smell like apple.”

“Sure you can, they smell tart, a little sweet, but it’s a thin smell, it’s not rich.”

“Where and why do you know how to describe smells so well?”

“Morgana went through an alchemy phase, dragged me into being her test subject.”

Merlin snorts, nuzzling deeper into Arthur’s warmth. “I imagine you reeked of an awful assortment of perfumes.”

“Oh, it was an excellent way to get out of court duty.”

They laugh together. Then Merlin quiets, burying his nose in the smell of home and willing his magic to help him come up with something.

“…it’s barely noticeable,” he says quietly, “but it’s…it’s there. It’s slightly, um, it smells a bit like old leather, or old wood, but it’s…it’s earthier.”

Arthur’s quiet for a moment, then Merlin feels his head turn and bury into Merlin’s hair.

“I always thought you’d be colder.” His arms tighten slightly, as if he can feel how Merlin’s magic is trying to pull him closer—and hey, maybe he can. “I—you used to get really strong on winter nights. I used to imagine that you’d—you’d be cold and it was my job to keep you warm and if you were warm, you’d—you’d stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Merlin says immediately, “I’ll stay.”

“You’d better.”

For Arthur, it’s finally seeing that figure sprinting ahead of him, goading him to chase faster and faster. It’s hearing about how cruel bullies were and sternly promising that if anyone ever tries anything like that again, he’ll kick their arse. It’s hearing a mumbles admission of crying while angry and promising that he’ll never judge Merlin for crying, not when he’s here to protect him.

For Merlin, it’s his magic finally having both of them to wrap its blanket around, someone else to hold him firmly when it can’t do the job itself. It’s hearing about how lonely life as a prince can be and vowing that he’s just going to sit next to Arthur and damn all the customs. It’s hearing about the cruelty of a king that didn’t know how to be a father first and muttering that Uther would see what the bloody hell he was doing wrong.

It’s home.

——————————————

News that Uther has another son spreads like a sickness in the castle. Servants whisper that the long-lost boy has returned, that the curse of the dead queen has lifted because her son is back, that finally, finally, Uther will stop the hell-path he’s wrought upon the kingdom.

Servants whisper that the nobles won’t like this. That they’re sick of having to put up with Arthur already, that if there’s another son, they’ll have another obstacle in their path.

Some nobles are clever.

They know that if Uther has a peasant son, he’ll have to make the boy a noble or denounce him completely. Or, and this is not a very likely option, he’ll have to accept that he has one royal son and one peasant son.

Some nobles aren’t clever.

They think that if Uther has another son, it doesn’t matter.

The nobles that know the knights know that they won’t be able to get within ten feet of Merlin. Many of them don’t want to. They’re not quite sure what position Merlin holds in court, but it’s not a manservant’s. They know that the boy who came to Camelot and managed to get the prince to shut up for once is a good one. Some of them hold the opinion that if Uther is what he made his son into, he might actually listen to the boy as well.

The nobles that don’t know the knights are stupid.

One such noble decides that it doesn’t matter whether or not the boy is of royal blood, the king hasn’t claimed him, and thus he is still a peasant.

He decides, in his infinite wisdom, to humiliate the boy by dousing him with wine for forgetting to thank him for giving him an order.

Merlin has been covered with wine before, this isn’t new to him. What is new is that he has a brother that takes great pleasure in dragging the unsuspecting noble to the front of the room and publicly shaming him.

“Have you so little sense of yourself that you must stoop to the humiliation of others for your own amusement? Perhaps if you spent more time thinking of what to do with your words you wouldn’t be so intimidated by the confidence of someone else. I would be surprised to learn if you had a mind since your only defense is to sling wine all over someone’s front. You are a disgrace to everything you proclaim to be and I would be ashamed of you if you were one of my men.”

It’s not the most direct way to banish someone and strip them of their place in court, but it is one of the more entertaining.

Of course, when a noble is demoted to a knight, he ends up at the mercy of the elder knights on the training field. It’s one of the only times Gwaine shows up promptly for a training session.

Merlin mumbles that Arthur didn’t have to do that, that he’s had worse, but later in the privacy of their rooms, Arthur says that he’s making up for the years where he wasn’t there.

“And it wasn’t just for you, it was for the knights too.”

“How noble.”

——————————————

It’s in the way Arthur still tries to turn into the tower corridor that first tips Merlin off. It’s the way his hands still twitch toward an old sword hanging on the wall. It’s the way he turns to his other side, not where Merlin always stands, expecting someone to be there. It’s the way he looks at the other side of Uther’s throne, expecting there to be another one.

It’s the way Merlin knows what feels like to miss another half of yourself.

“I want to find her,” he says quietly after a long day, “she’s your sister.”

Arthur pauses, fingers faltering on the edge of a cabinet. His head bows low.

“She is, Arthur,” Merlin says, standing, “and she’s mine too.”

“I know.”

“There’s still good in her, Arthur, I know there is.”

“I know.”

“I—“ Merlin swallows. “I’m to blame for what she’s become, I’m the one who poisoned her.”

“I’m the one who drove her away from the start,” Arthur says, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I’m not blameless either.”

There’s a pause.

Arthur glances at Merlin. “There was a time when I thought you were her. That the—the person I was missing was her.”

“She’s magic too, it makes sense.”

Arthur nods, staring into space. “But she wasn’t you. Her—I guess I didn’t know it was magic, then, but her—her magic never felt right.”

He turns to take a hunting satchel down from the hook.

“Do you know how to find her?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, “but you’re not coming.”

“What?”

Merlin holds his hands up. “She’ll try to kill you, you know it. She won’t listen to you. Not at first.”

“And she won’t try to kill you? You poisoned her!”

“I have magic. She can’t beat me.”

“Merlin.”

“I’ll be safe!”

“When have you ever been safe in your life?”

“Like you’re in any position to judge!”

The bickering continues until Merlin grabs Arthur’s arm and tells him that he needs to do this. That it has to be him, only him, that he knows how to reach Morgana in a way that Arthur can’t.

Arthur lets him go with a strict promise to be back in a fortnight, no more.

Merlin knows how to find Morgana. Arthur’s connection to magic isn’t like his, but he is born of the stuff. And so is Morgana.

There’s a tingle in Merlin’s fingertips non-stop when he’s in Camelot, his magic tugging him towards Arthur and the magic in him. But Uther’s blood flows in both of their veins, so if he focuses, he can find Morgana.

His travels lead him to a forest home, modest and slight, but secure enough that he knows he can’t just walk in. There are half a dozen places where she could be hiding nearby, half a dozen more where traps could be. So he picks his way carefully through the undergrowth and knocks on her door.

He expects to be knocked out and strung up. He doesn’t expect her to raise an eyebrow and try and bind him with a curse.

He bats the curse away without trying to hide the way his eyes glow gold.

Morgana’s eyes widen and she stumbles back. He raises his hands and weathers the spitting, the curses—just cusses, this time—of his betrayal, how dare he, and apologizes.

“You were the vessel,” he says as his only defense, “I didn’t think there was any other way.”

“And what if you told me?” She draws herself up, looking every bit the queen she was born to be. “I could’ve helped! Perhaps I would’ve taken it of my own free will, you had no right to strip me of that choice.”

“I know. And I am sorry. For all of it. For not telling you, for trying to kill you, for—for everything.”

She evaluates him cooly. “Well, I suppose that’s that, then? You want me to accept your apology and toddle back to Camelot?”

And the thing is…he can see it now.

He and Arthur don’t share that many features, but he and Morgana…

It’s the angular jaw. The way the nose slopes slightly to the right instead of the left. The way one eye is a little bit longer than the other. The dark hair, wavy but not too wavy. The slender build, the sharp shoulders.

The way their magic curls about their fingertips before the spell is cast.

Morgana seems to notice him staring and frowns, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he manages, still marveling at how he never noticed, “sorry, I just…”

“Just…what?”

His magic thrums in his hands, telling him to let it go, reach out to their sister, help her see. He obeys, opening his hand and letting the magic swirl up, into the air. Morgana’s eyes widen and she takes a step back, preparing a defensive spell of her own only for her jaw to drop as her magic touches Merlin’s.

It doesn’t feel like coming home, not like finding Arthur did, but it feels like something.

“What…how is this possible?”

“I’m your brother,” Merlin whispers, peering through the lattice of magic, “I—you’re my sister.”

At the word ‘sister,’ something in Morgana’s magic flinches. Merlin frowns, peering closer, eyes widening when he notices a dark patch, almost as if the magic is bruised from being constrained. His own magic touches it carefully, recoiling in shock.

“What is that? Morgana, what happened to you?”

She rubs her wrist absent-mindedly, her face contorting into a scowl. “The last person to call me ‘sister.’”

Merlin’s eyes widen. Morgana retracts her magic, burying it deep inside herself and taking a deep breath. When she looks at Merlin again, she looks almost like the woman Merlin met in Camelot.

“So. That means Arthur’s your brother too.”

Merlin nods. “I was…we were born of the same magic.”

“And that makes Uther your father.”

Merlin's face contorts in rage and Morgana snorts.

“Yes, that was my reaction too.”

“Balinor was my father,” Merlin says firmly, curling his hands into fists, “Uther is not.”

“But you have his blood,” Morgana says quietly, not meaning to hurt, just to inform, “and you are bound to him. Just as I am.”

Now it is Merlin that has to look desperately at Morgana, hoping for it to be anything other than the truth.

“You can’t have Arthur without Uther, Merlin,” she murmurs, “you have to accept that. You can’t have Arthur without Camelot. You can’t have your brother without your father.”

“And what about my sister?”

Her smile is sad. “I had neither for a long time.”

“I just got my sister,” Merlin says firmly, “I’m not letting her go again.”

“Oh, and that’s your decision, is it?”

Merlin blinks. “Um—well, I mean—if—if that’s okay with you—“

Her laugh is high, like pealing bells, and it makes him smile to hear it. “How you manage to switch between those two will always astound me. No wonder no one else ever figured out you had magic.”

“Excuse you, I did a perfectly good job at hiding my magic.”

“Gaius used to scream about it with the door open, Merlin, that’s not exactly subtle.”

“How is that my fault?”

She giggles and oh, is this what it’s like to have a sister?

Their laughter ends and Morgana crosses her arms, head bowed as she thinks. Merlin lets his magic flutter around the room, cleaning up, until she raises her head again.

“Do you think Uther can change?”

Merlin sighs. “I don’t know. But I do know we can change the minds of everyone else.”

“Starting with Arthur, I presume?”

“Arthur. The knights. Most of the council. The servants.”

“Got a plan for this, do you?”

“…not really good at plans.”

“Well, no, not if most of them involve poisoning sisters.”

“Hey!”

Morgana laughs again, then her smile softens and she rushes forward to wrap her arms around Merlin.

“Your magic feels warm,” she mumbles, “not like Morgause’s. Maybe I’ll enjoy being your sister.”

“And Arthur’s?”

“If he can pull his head out of his arse, we’ll see.” She lets him go and walks toward the front of the house.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“To see if we can both pull his head out of his arse, it’s so big we’ll need the two of us.”

“Right now?”

“Unless you think I should wait?” There it is. The tiniest hint of vulnerability in the way her voice wobbles at the end.

A question of whether Morgana would actually be welcomed back into Camelot, a question of whether Arthur would want her back. A question of how true this fantasy really is.

Merlin straightens. “No,” he says firmly, “let’s just hope the two of us can do it together.”

——————————————

Arthur never thought he’d see his sister again.

But the instant Morgana walks into his chambers, looking as if she’d never left, she barely has time to open her mouth to deliver a snappy remark before he’s rushing across the room and wrapping her in a hug so fierce it makes Merlin laugh.

Morgana laughs at him with some incredibly clever quip but he isn’t listening. He’s too busy hugging his sister. Who’s finally home, who’s finally here.

“…oh, alright, you big softy,” she mumbles, wrapping her arms around him too, “there. Are you happy now?”

“‘Gana.”

“Yes, that’s me. Is your head alright? Merlin, what did you do to him?”

“He’s happy to see his sister, Morgana.”

She sighs dramatically. “Oh, don’t both of you go all sappy on me.”

Arthur just pulls her closer, burying his nose in her neck. “‘Gana.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Oh, Arthur, I missed you too.”

It’s too much. He sticks out his arm and grabs Merlin’s tunic, yanking him closer. Merlin makes a noise of surprise as Arthur bundles them both into the hug. Morgana makes a slightly affronted gesture as she makes room for the two of them, pulling her hair out of the way as Arthur buries his nose between their shoulders.

“I certainly don’t remember him being this clingy, are you sure this is the same Arthur?”

“His head’s certainly big enough.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not exactly the most reliable thing to go on. He’s always been utterly obnoxious.”

“Don’t have to tell me.”

And they’re bickering like siblings and it’s right and it feels right and their magic is here now and he can feel both of them and it’s warm and it makes his chest tingle and—and—

“Oh, oh dear,” he hears Morgana murmur, “Arthur, are you—are you crying?”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Arthur, it’s okay.”

“Come, let’s sit down, if you fall over you’ll take the two of us with you.”

“Just try and breathe, it’s okay, we’re not going anywhere.”

Arthur can’t bear to let them go. Not even for an instant. Morgana stays with him, her arms wound tightly around his neck, her fingers scratching lightly through his hair. Merlin sits at his back, his chest warm.

“Come now, you silly man,” Morgana says, trying to keep the tears out of her own voice, “there’s no use crying over this. No man is worth your tears, remember?”

“You’re not a man,” he mumbles, “you’re my sis’er.”

“He’s got a point.”

Morgana sighs. “Oh, Arthur…”

He registers how long’s been crying only when he feels his head start to ring from how stuffy his nose feels. He hooks his chin over Morgana’s shoulder.

“Go on.”

“What?”

“Go on,” he mumbles, “tease me. I know you want to.”

“…I’m not going to tease you, Arthur.”

“Really? All this material and you won’t?”

“Not today,” she murmurs, sounding a little hoarse herself, “not—not today.”

She holds him tighter.

“Not when I’ve just learned I have two brothers.”

He can live with that.

She does tease him later, when he says that he hasn’t missed her at all—a blatant lie, that, and they all know it—or that he’s always been a model of a knight. Of course, she doesn’t have to train with him alone, anymore, she has her pick of the knights. And Merlin.

Because Morgana has magic.

Merlin has magic. Is magic, if the stories are to be believed. And Morgana has always been a quick study.

So sometimes, Arthur will just…watch them. But it’s always that. Just watching.

Merlin is the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. Morgana is a High Priestess of the Old Religion.

What is Arthur?

“You’re pouting, Princess.”

Arthur barely flinches as Gwaine plops down beside him. He does raise an eyebrow as he feels the rest of the knights sit down around him.

“I’m not pouting, Gwaine.”

“Sure you are.” He flicks Arthur’s arm. “You’re pouting.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Arthur sighs. “And what is it you think I’m pouting over?”

“The fact that you now have to share Merlin with Morgana.”

“That’s not—“

“You’re bright red, Princess, you know I’m right.”

“Enough.”

Lancelot lays a hand on Gwaine’s arm. Gwaine hushes. Percival glances around to make sure there aren’t any other knights near and nods.

“What’s troubling you,” Lancelot asks quietly, “and how can we help?”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Elyan sits up a little more. “There’s always something we can do.”

“Not with this,” Arthur mumbles, still watching the two magic users train, “not with this.”

Leon follows his gaze. “Impressive, aren’t they?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wish you had magic too?”

Damn you, Leon. Damn you.

“…no.”

Leon chuckles softly. “Come now, sire, no need to lie to us.”

“I just—“ Arthur sighs, scrubbing his face with his hands. “It’s fine.”

Leon lays a hand on his shoulder.

“…they’re both…incredible—don’t tell them I said that,” Arthur says sharply.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gwaine lies.

Arthur sighs again. “I just…I know I was born of magic, but…”

“You don’t have any,” Leon guesses, “not like they do.”

He shakes his head.

“Eh, you don’t need it,” Gwaine says, leaning up against Arthur’s side, “you’re plenty fine without it.”

Arthur’s head whips around to stare at him in shock. Gwaine raises an eyebrow.

“What? You are.”

“Since when do you give me compliments?”

Gwaine shrugs. “’S not about compliments, it’s about the truth. You’re able to do a shit load of things perfectly fine on your own, you don’t need to have magic for it.”

“He’s right, sire,” Lancelot adds, “your skills are a testament to you, not to whatever magic brought you into this world.”

“I’d follow you with or without magic.” Percival stands tall. “Just so happens you don’t have it. Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“You’re our commander,” Elyan agrees, “that’s that.”

Leon’s hand on his shoulder rubs soft circles, brushing away his protests. He’s not sure if he believes them entirely, not just yet, but maybe…

Maybe one day he will. After all, he thinks with a smile, he’s got some people to help him with that.

He never thought he’d see his sister again.

——————————————

“Mum?”

Hunith turns around and smiles.

“Merlin, come here.”

Merlin rushes forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm hug.

“Why didn’t you send word you were coming,” she scolds gently, “I would’ve gotten everything ready.”

“I wanted to surprise you!”

“Well, I am surprised. Sit, sit, tell me everything.”

Her son sits, idly toying with his hands. She frowns.

“What’s the matter?”

“I, um…I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“Where…where am I from?”

Oh.

Oh.

Hunith smiles and tells him the story. Tells him of how Balinor arrived one night, a little babe clutched in his arms. How he told her how the queen had two children, one that had to be kept safe away from Camelot. How his magic had reached out to her once she held him, wrapped around them as he fell asleep against her breast.

Merlin listens, tears in his eyes, as she tells him that she loved him from the moment she saw him, that he would always have a home here.

“You’re my mum,” he mumbles, wiping away tears, “and I—you’re always gonna be my mum.”

“Oh, Merlin, come here—“

She holds her son in her arms and thanks the magic of the world that gave him to her.

——————————————

Uther responds about as well as you’d expect.

As in, not at all.

At least, not until he realizes that there are three children who are about to make sure he does what he promised Ygraine he would, and if he doesn’t, they’ll do it for him.

He tries to deny having another son, one that was raised as a peasant, no less, only for Arthur to stand up in court and publicly acknowledge Merlin as his brother.

He tries to deny that Morgana is his daughter, only for Morgana to stand tall and proud by Arthur’s side as they declare their intent to rule as brother and sister.

He tries to deny that not one but two of his children have magic, only for Arthur to open talks with the druids by using his brother and sister with magic as ambassadors.

He tries.

He fails.

He wants to think that he still has his loyal knights, but Gwaine and Percival decide that they’re Merlin’s bodyguards, and Leon and Lancelot won’t leave Arthur’s side. Morgana doesn’t need her own bodyguards, but Elyan and Gwen are never far from her.

He wants to think he still has the support of the Council, but Gaius had stood and given a speech about being so happy to see Ygraine’s children home again and his words had been frozen before he could say anything.

He wants to think he’s still the king. But everyone is starting to look to Arthur, to Morgana, not to him.

Once, and only once, he considers getting rid of the boy.

When he wakes from a terrible nightmare of drowned children, burned houses, and Ygraine’s immortal disappointment, he doesn’t think of it again.

Uther isn’t dragged kicking and screaming from his throne, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t many who’d love to if he gave them the opportunity.

He’s not worth lingering on.

[98prilla]

Deathworlder Down

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AO3

based on @delimeful wibar

Warning for some disturbing imagery/body horror this chapter. Virgil’s having nightmares.

...

Fear.

 Pounding, aching fear.

 Shadowy figures surrounded him, discussing him in words he could almost hear, hushed voices he could almost understand, and it grated at him, it hurt his ears. He tried to cover them, but found he couldn’t move, not a muscle, his eyes were open but he couldn’t even blink, his fingers wouldn’t even twitch, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but despite his panic his breathing remained steady and even. The shadows moved closer, their whispers growing louder, echoing in his head, screaming tempests against his ear drums, and he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, but it just grew louder, and louder, and then it was the suited beings again, holding a scalpel, and he screamed, as his chest was sliced open, the flesh peeled away to reveal the organs beneath, his heart visible through the blood leaking from him, and he realized though he was screaming in his mind, he wasn’t making any sound, his vocal chords as paralyzed as the rest of him, and he couldn’t look away, as they started ripping out his insides, tearing him apart, the pain splintering through his being, blacking out his vision, and he tried, he tried desperately to writhe and claw and fight his way free, but couldn’t even lift his head, and he was aware of them adding new parts, shoving metal and wires and circuit boards into him, the pop and crackle of electricity against his skin shocking him, sending him into spasms that somehow defied whatever drug they’d given him, back arching at the intense, radiating heat flowing up his spine, and he finally did break free, break out of whatever drug they’d used, a keening, desperate wail shoving past his lips as he shoved himself off the table, as he snarled and clawed and bit and slashed, anything, everything, to get free, until he’d fought off the beings, his breathing ragged and uneven as he looked at the monster they’d made him, all mechanical parts and twisted limbs, broken bones and spasming muscle.

 “Virgil?” Suddenly a shadow Logan was there, looking down at him, head tilted and eyes empty, hands strangely still, assessing him like the specimen he was and he shuddered, twitching uncontrollably.

 “No. That isn’t Virgil.” Patton, voice hollow, and he screamed again, because his feathers were torn from his body, bent and broken nibs trickling blood down his wings, though he didn’t seem to care. “Virgil wouldn’t do this to me. And he did.” He shook his head, trying to deny it, but memories rushed back, his hands, moving against his will, the metal twisting around his bones, jerking him around like a marionette, Patton, begging, pleading, but he couldn’t stop, the single thought in his mind echoing destroy, destroy, destroy. His hands, ripping handfuls of feathers, feathers flying around the room, getting stuck in his grinning teeth, his manic laugh, his twisted soul.

“No… nonononono…” He curled tight on the ground, ignoring the fire racing through him, the intense, burning, heat, trying to make sense of this, of anything, noticing for the first time his hands were stained red, seeing Patton’s agonized face in his head, his hands on his throat, pressing down, down down-

 “Virgil!” Roman’s voice rocked his world, and suddenly his eyes snapped open, hissing at the sudden brightness, too confused to understand anything, vision blurry, from tears, he realized, his breathing stuttering in and out, barely enough to keep from passing out, his throat tight, barely a pinhole of space for air to wheeze in and out of, his chest felt so tight, so constricted, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was hot, why was he so hot, the wires, the wires twisting through his veins, no, he had to get them out, they would make him hurt them, hurt Patton, he couldn’t hurt Patton!

 He started scratching at himself, clawing at himself frantically, uncaring of the wetness slipping down his face, he had to stop it, he couldn’t-

 Bloody feathers, crushed neck, broken wings, shattered body, he couldn’t-

 Hands. Hands on him. He hissed, growled, tried to shove them away, but he was weak, so weak, he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, and they were stopping him, and he was going to hurt everyone, he had to let go, he had to stop himself, he was just a monster, just a toy, just a broken sack of bits and pieces that didn’t even fit together right anymore, why couldn’t they just let him stop?

 “please. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t, i… i…” He doubled over, curled into a ball, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, feeling as if he was shattering into a thousand pieces, broken and stomped on and wrecked.

 “kiddo. I need you to breath.” He flinched back, away from Patton, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head frantically, as he scooted away, the grip on his hands letting him go.

 “n-no… no! I’ll h-hurt y-y-you they’ll m-make me h-h-hurt-“ he broke off, running out of air, all of it dedicated to keeping the spots in his vision from growing larger, from taking over and plunging him into black.

 “virgil. You have never, never ever, hurt me. And they can’t hurt us, anymore. Do you remember that? We’re safe now, remember? You broke us out of there, and kept us safe. You’re safe, Virgil. We’re safe. We’re ok. We’re ok.” Patton repeated softly, using the gentle chirp of his native tongue, ruffling encouragingly when Virgil finally looked up at him, struggling for a few moments, before tentatively chirping it back.

 “We’re… we’re… ok.” He echoed slowly, tongue thick in his mouth, head pounding, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything, but he forced his mind to remember, to remember what he was missing, flashes of a slim, multi armed figure, of a bulky, scaled one, of a… a ship, and he managed a slightly larger, shaky breath.

 “M-Mindscape?” He managed, and Patton nodded, eyes soft with worry.

 “That’s right, kiddo. You got sick, do you remember that?” He remembered feeling not great, but that was normal. He remembered being dizzy, but that was all. He shook his head, feeling confused again, feeling slow and tired and hazy.

 “That’s ok, Virgil. I just wanna help, ok? Will you let me do that?” Patton asked, taking a small step closer. “Will you let me help?” His gaze flicked to the others in the room, pulling at a dull memory, at familiarity, he knew them, knew them and they didn’t spark… fear. Not quite. But the scaled one’s gaze was sharp and angry, and the crystal one’s gaze was sharp and piercing, and both sent unease tingling down his spine. But Patton was asking, and he trusted Patton, and if Patton trusted them, then they couldn’t be bad.

 “O-o-Ok.” He managed, letting out a soft sigh when Patton closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his leg, and instantly, the fight and stress drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut.

 “You’re gonna be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Then nothing.

…

“He's hotter, Lo.” Patton said, voice shaking, as he felt Virgil's forehead. Sweat coated his skin, and he was panting for breath, shaking, obviously in pain, not just from the lines of red up and down his arms, where he'd started clawing at himself, before Roman stopped him. “he’s getting worse."

 “We need to get him to drink. He’s severely dehydrated. I… hate to suggest this, but IVs may be the best option here. I know, it will cause added emotional strain, but his body does not have the strength or resources right now to fight off this illness. And I’d rather have him be upset or afraid than… than dead.” His words caused Patton to draw in his feathers, shrinking to nearly half his normal size, and he buried his face against Virgil’s side. Roman’s scales shifted, scraping against each other as they flattened, conflicting emotions racing through him.

 He didn’t like Virgil. Didn’t trust him, wouldn’t have him here, if it had been up to him, but the thought of him… dying, still sent a spike of unease through him, one he could pretend was just for Patton, who was so attached to Virgil.

 “ok. If it’s the only way, ok.”

 He disinfected and bandaged Virgil’s arms first, before letting Roman shift him back onto the couch, fetching the medical supplies and hooking up the bags. Finally, he was standing over Virgil with the IV line in hand. All he had to do was insert it. He found himself incredibly resistant, now, to the idea, now that he actually was doing this, mind flashing to the moments he’d seen in the vidi, the pain and agony that had accompanied nearly every experience with a needle, but this was different. This was to help.

 So he swiftly located the vein on the human’s wrist, slipping the needle in and securing it with gauze and tape, relieved when Virgil did no more than moan slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. He doubted the reaction would be so placid when he actually woke up to find a needle in his arm, but that was a future worry.

 “Alright. That should help hydrate him, as well as give him some of the basic nutrients he is sorely lacking in, as well as some very moderate medicines. I doubt anything we have would do him any harm, but I don’t want to take chances and accidentally make things worse. Patton… you need to sleep.” He added, looking at the disheveled ampen, who shook his head.

 “No, no, no! I have to stay! What if he wakes up?”

 “He won’t for a few hours, at the very least, which is long enough for you to get some sleep. You haven’t slept since we found him.”

 “Well neither have you! You’ve been pacing yourself silly!” He sighed, shoulders slumping.

 “Alright. You’re right. If Roman stays on watch and promises to get us if anything changes, will you come rest with me?” he asked, knowing Patton wouldn’t turn down that offer, not with how rarely he was willing to offer tactile comfort, but they could both use some, right now.

 “Ro? I know you don’t like him, but-"

 “I’ll take care of him. I promise, Patton.” Roman swore, kneeling down so Patton could hug him, smiling as he butted against the underside of his chin, before stepping back, chirping an ampen thanks, hesitantly following Logan down the hall and into his room, Roman hearing the door slide shut.

 He let out a low breath, scales flattening as he tried to calm himself, staring down at Virgil’s unconscious form.

 “I don’t know what to make of you. I will never say this out loud again, but you terrify me. And I will not lose another family, to humans. But… every time you panic or lose control or lash out, it’s always at yourself. It’s always to protect Patton. You always choose to harm yourself over any of us, but you’re still a human, a death worlder, a dangerous, violent, creature.” He said, though it sounded much less convincing now, that it usually did in his arguments with Logan or his silent fuming.

 Virgil moved slightly, his breath hitching, and his face creased, as if sensing Roman’s displeasure.

 “no… please… m-mom…” Virgil mumbled, trying to reach out to something that wasn’t there, something only in his mind, and after a moment, Roman realized Virgil was crying, curling tighter.

 He’d known Virgil had been stolen off his planet, but he’d never thought about the implications of it. He hadn’t considered that Virgil had clan, would have a mother or a father, that he’d lost everything, to aliens, without even having a chance to fight to keep it.

 Roman knew how it felt, to lose everything, in the blink of an eye.  

 “and then you go and say something like that.” He sighed, shifting into the chair left beside the couch, hesitantly reaching out to brush back the human’s hair, mimicking the motion he’d seen Patton do countless times, to soothe or relax the human, surprised as Virgil instantly settled, a shaky breath escaping him before his body seemed to go lax once more, leaning into his touch.

 “this doesn’t mean I like you. It’s only because I promised Patton.” He grumbled, not moving away, despite himself.

[homestuck-headcanonymous]

dinosaurs eating people (they didn’t get to say goodbye)

a/n: this is a whole lot of angst. tw for suicide.

the moment of silence after you die, dave strider thinks, must be the loneliest moment in the world. dread has always been woven into his bones, his blood, polluting every second he had- but not like this. nothing was like this.

he remembers the day they pulled apart from the alpha timeline like it was yesterday- maybe it was. he does not know when or where or what he is in this strange too-dark-to-be-darkness, and maybe he is nothing at all. It was the littlest thing- a gear was fixed from where it had broken, something to do with a door mechanism nobody ever used- and then it was gone. shattered. like a dead butterfly’s wings in the palm of a child’s hand grasping too tight. it *hurt*, almost, the knowledge of it- like a recoil from the shotgun bro had tried to teach him to use, the one that was stuffed inside of the hall closet in the apartment he hadn’t seen in years. terezi and rose felt it too, he could tell. he’d never seen grief-and-guilt-and-pain and pure, exhausted, aching resignation mix on his sister’s face like that, and it almost made his chest tighten and sting all over again as he saw her feel the string holding them to a future draw taut and snap back on her, like the lash of a too-tight violin string breaking.

it was so quiet that day. it felt wrong, but what could he do? it was grief, in a way, but it never felt like it. it felt like the second after you drop something important on the ground and it shatters. the moment you realize that you have done something irreparable. karkat came into his room that night while he stared at the ceiling. the scent of sopor was thick around him, and he didn’t have to say why. dave knew. he understood. after all, if you’re doomed, why not try and do whatever you can to ease that pain? karkat’s shoulders were shaking, and his expression was softened and blurred with tears as red as the stained glass window of the cathedral he saw once on a bus ride. it was a portrait of jesus on the cross, bloodied and red but still resolute, still willing to die for the future of those around him. dave held karkat that night, but neither of them slept very much. karkat still smelled like home to dave, underneath the saccharine-sticky scent of slime, and when he dozed off in the irregular moments of what he thought would have been almost dawn, he thought christ was a fitting metaphor for karkat. born to die, in a way, but to save others. who was this saving? in a moment of bravery, he left the lightest of feather-soft kisses on karkat’s forehead. the troll didn’t stir from his fitful slumber. he could never understand, dave thought, what karkat was going through, but it could have never been easy.

it was so easy to fall in love like that- the space when there is nothing but you and those you care about. karkat woke late the next morning, messy-haired and sleepy-eyed in the soft light of the alchemized fairy lights, and dave strider wished that he could take a million photos, just to see the scene forever, because karkat vantas was the most beautiful sight in all of time and space like that.

“thank you, dave. for letting me stay. you know. last night. i...i think i just needed to not be alone for a little bit.”

his voice is bleary and soft, and it feels like soft rain during a houston summer. dave could listen forever.

“and i know that you’ll just say that it wasn’t a big deal, or that it was nothing, or that it didn’t matter, but it did. it meant a lot to me. so...thanks. i’m.. glad you’re here.”

karkat’s hand is cupping his cheek now, soft and gentle and so warm that he wants to lean into it like a cat being pet, and it is the kindest way anyone had ever touched him. he realizes that his shades are off, set aside to sleep. he realizes that he doesn’t care.

when dave strider kisses karkat vantas for the first time, it is knowing that the world has ended, and seeing the wild, bright unknown of whatever comes after. neither of them quite knows how, and it is awkward and new, and utterly, wonderfully, perfect.

dave’s never considered himself a romantic, but maybe, he thinks, one day, that could be changing. he knows karkat loves that stuff, and when he tries to set up a picnic for the two of them in a room without much in it, the alternian fruit salad bites him, and the candles are smoky and burn stutteringly, but seeing the way karkat’s eyes light up the room and his quiet laugh of gentle disbelief makes his heart melt in relieved affection.

dave strider is completely, utterly, head over heels in love, and he knows it.

here, now, in this space of nothing he is becoming, he wished that he had said it a million times.

they never talked about it, that much. the world ending. everything ending. *them* ending. dave wishes that they would have. it just hurt too much, in the late nights when he thought of it, karkat’s head rested on his chest and neither of them sleeping. it burned too much, to gaze into the blazing sun and face it. he knew that they were out of time, but somehow, he always thought they’d get just a little longer.

the day he died was a little like that. rose stayed in her room alone, that morning. he heard kanaya knocking at her door softly, and he saw the wine-red blood and the blood-red wine spilling across the metal floor when kanaya entered, soaking into the rug that rose had spent weeks crocheting, the colours of lavenders and sunshine and stormy skies in soft woolen doily-patterns. he heard quiet whispers of “no no no no please no” filling his ears and it was only as he fell to his knees, his sister’s blood smudging his face, that he realized that they were coming from him. kanaya was curling into herself shaking like a leaf in the breeze, and dave wanted to too. it was like a gnawing hollowness, the denial of something right in front of you, of watching a chunk of your sliced-off heart bleed to empty on the ground. it was the beginning of the end. or maybe it was the end of it. when he saw karkat coming out of the winding hall where terezi’s room was, teal soaking his skin up to the elbows, he knew too. the instant dave touched karkat’s shoulder, all the comfort he could think to give, it was like the troll shattered, falling to the ground.

“’rezi...i..i tried so hard to save her....but i was too late....the blood....there was so much blood...”

dave doesn’t know what to say, really. what to do. how do you comfort someone when the world is ending? he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around karkat’s shoulders, as though he can hold him tight enough to turn back time. he wishes he could. just to stay like this for a few more moments.

they hold each other like that for a while. neither of them have the energy to spare for tears, but they grieve together. it is quiet. and for a moment, it feels like someday, everything will be okay. when dave looks out the window, he sees the collision course they follow. cleanup for heroes doomed to die. he knows that there will not be a someday. not for them. when he goes back up to rose’s room to invite kanaya down for coffee of a late breakfast, or anything to not make her stay alone, the door is just ajar, and her sewing kit- the one she always kept in her pocket, the one she loved so much- with the ivy-patterned canvas and the vintage scissors and the tiny little star sketchbook for design ideas- is strewn across the hall, pins and needles and spools of thread scattered and thrown everywhere. the scissors are gone- he remembers, distantly, how they had been a present to her from rose- how he’d walk out of his room in the middle of the night and find her still trying to alchemize what she wanted. how relieved rose had looked behind her tired eyes on kanaya’s wriggling day party, when her eyes lit up at the delicate embroidery scissors, with their little brass handles carved like lace with tiny roses. it had been a happy day. a few months before the split. he does not need to look, now, to know where the scissors have gone. he notices the jade-green blood, half-iridescent, soaking into his shoe far too late, and it makes him feel sick to his stomach.

dave goes back to his room. he grabs one of the jugs of bleach from the cleaning supplies cabinet they never really ended up using. idly, he wonders what they could have used all the time they wasted on them for. how many days could he have spent with the people he loved? what could have happened in those days falling from the timeline? he wants to hit something with the injustice of it all, punch and kick and scream and cry, because how could he have been so stupid? to have wasted the hours he doesn’t get anymore because he lost them?

it’s his turn, now. he knows it.

karkat is waiting inside his room, the quilt kanaya made for him as a christmas present reddened and damp where his tears have fallen. in a moment, karkat wraps his arms around dave’s neck, clinging onto him. dave wraps his arms around him too, and buries his head in karkat’s shoulder. he still smells like home to dave, and it makes dave feel like his chest is collapsing in on itself, concaved to less than a hollow space. the jug of bleach is set on the ground for a moment. it is not forgotten.

karkat sees it when he lets go. dave knows he knows in a split second.

“dave, you...this is some sick joke, right? some sick fucking joke? you can’t be..not you too, right?”

karkat sounds desperate, devastated- and dave strider has never hated himself for doing something more in his life.

but he still cannot stay.

he steels himself with the same determination, the same icy chill he was raised to have. a strider man hurts people for their own good, a million times those words were blazed into his ears while he lay bloody on a rooftop ringing again.

“go away, vantas. i need to do this. it doesn’t concern you.”

he sounds like *him*- like bro- and it almost makes dave flinch back on instinct- reach for a sword and glance around and brace for the impact of a sword against his skin.

karkat’s eyes are filling with tears again, and the impact of it hurts more than any strife ever could have.

“doesn’t *concern* me? dave, what the fuck are you talking about? i *love* you! you don’t need to do this. please,- god, just....*please*, don’t leave me alone here. please, don’t leave me *alone*.”

dave freezes for a second. karkat stares back. the last card has been played. it is a second too long.

“god, y’know what! *fine*!! i guess i *can’t* fucking stop you! because *apparently* wanting the guy you thought was your fucking *soulmate* to not spend his last fucking moments alive with you chugging off-brand human clorox is an unreasonable fucking request! maybe....maybe you just didn’t give as much of a shit about me as i did about you! maybe i was a braindead fucking dumbass to think that you ever even loved me enough to give a shit about what i think!!”

karkat slams the door behind him when he leaves. dave slides to the ground, his back against it. he can hear karkat crying, now- his momentary desperate anger flickered out to nothing but loss and loneliness. dave’s guilt feels almost physical, now- like hot wax melted onto his skin that won’t let go. his hands are shaking. he realizes that his shades have fallen off, and that he must have stepped on them without noticing. one lens is cracked, the other shattered- the frame is twisted beyond repair. the jug is heavy- but not too much. his arms shaking, he slowly lifts it to his mouth. time is running out.

in the end, dave strider doesn’t need to kill himself. in the moment the bleach touches his tongue, searing it, the meteor crashes into another, shattering apart. the impact kills them all. there are no survivors. there is nobody left to remember them.

and now, dave strider is here. there is nothing. it is dark. *he* is nothing. the last thought he has before all he was is no more is that he just wishes that the people he loved did not die thinking that they were alone. that karkat did not die thinking he was alone. that he could have gotten just one last chance to say goodbye. it is what he has been thinking all along. it never comes true.

[hexmione]

Ronmione Missing Moment

A/N: During quarantine I’ve been brewing up some Ronmione ideas. I’m currently rereading Order of The Phoenix and I’ve recently watched Chamber of Secrets. I’ve thought of a little missing moment. This is my first REAL Ronmione oneshot. I might’ve differed from the books a bit, but I hope you enjoy!

A/N pt2: A/N: You might be thinking, “Hey, I’ve seen this!” If you’ve seen this, it was probably on my other blog @gryyffindork​. I deleted most of my writing on that account and moved it onto this account!

Summary: After the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, Ron finds himself in the same place he was three years prior… at Hermione’s bedside.

Word Count: 1,634

Date Posted: june 12th, 2020

Date Reposted: August 26th, 2020

*gif not mine!*

—

They were still in the Department of Mysteries. Why the hell were they still in the Department of Mysteries? Where was the Order? Where was Hermione?

The thought of Hermione brought him back to life. Ron looked around wildly for Hermione, but then he saw her. He watched in horror as a jet of green light was released from Dolohov’s wand, “Hermione!” he yelled.

Ron quickly sat up in his hospital bed. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He spun around quickly and muffled a groan of pain. He looked down at his arms, and everything came flooding back to him:  

Sirius

The Department of Mysteries

The brains

The Order

Death Eaters

Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hermione

Hermione

Hermione

Hermione

Her name ran through his mind like a silent prayer. He finally caught sight of her in her hospital bed and let out a shaky breath. Neville, Luna, Harry, and Ginny had left the hospital wing earlier that morning, the only beds that were occupied were his and Hermione’s.

Hermione hadn’t woken up yet. Madame Pomfrey assured him that she would wake up soon, “She’s a fighter, Mr. Weasley. She just needs to recover,” She had said. He had given her a weak smile as he allowed her to apply the cold cream and bandages to his arms.

Ron looked around for any sign of Madame Pomfrey before slowly swinging his legs over his bed. He sucked in a breath as his feet touched the cold floor. His arms were burning, but he didn’t care, he needed to be with Hermione.

As he sat on the wooden chair next to her bed, he held back a sob. How could he have let this happen? How could he be so useless? He should’ve protected her. He swore that he would protect her.

Ron couldn’t help but think back to their second year. He had taken Harry’s invisibility cloak without telling him. He didn’t care. He needed to see Hermione. He remembered thinking that Hermione would’ve scolded him for wandering the castle after hours, but that was his Hermione.

His Hermione. When had Hermione become his?

Ron remembered speaking to her petrified self and holding back that same sob, “I’m so sorry Hermione. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every foul thing I’ve ever said to you. I’m sorry for not protecting you. Harry and I, we need you. I need you,” he took a deep breath, “we’re going to save you, we’re going to find a way. You’re going to come back to me.” Ron remembered gripping her hand so hard, his knuckles almost turned white.

Ron fell asleep by her bedside that night. He expected McGonagall to be furious, but instead, she gave him a weak, thin-lipped smile, “Head to the Gryffindor Common Room, Mr.Weasley. I’m sure Mr. Potter is wondering where you are."

From then on, Ron had promised to himself that no matter what, he would always protect Hermione.

Now, almost three years later, he had broken that promise. As he sat next to her bedside, he slowly stroked her hair. They were no longer children, how could they be?

He finally felt the hot tears streaming down his face. He quickly wiped them away. Crying was not going to bring back Hermione.

He needed her to wake up. He wouldn’t be able to survive without her.

He took another deep breath, "Hermione?” He whispered, “please, I need you to wake up."

He watched anxiously, but there was no change. The only sound was her steady breathing.

"Please, Hermione,” he begged, the desperation in his voice becoming clear, “just open your eyes.  I’ll even read Hogwarts: A History."

He watched her anxiously once more. There was no movement, there was no sound.

Ron ran his fingers through his hair as he allowed the tears to spill out of his eyes once more. The pain in his arms was nothing compared to the slow burn that was filling his chest. How could he continue to fight without her?

Ron was thrown out of his thoughts as he heard a small groan come from Hermione’s bed. Ron quickly looked up and found two, dark brown eyes staring back at him.

"Hermione!” He exclaimed. She let out a small grunt of pain as she tried to sit up, “no, Hermione, let me.” He quickly grabbed a pillow from an empty bed and placed it behind her. She winced as she leaned back.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. Thank Merlin. I’ve been going mad, I was worried you were never going to wake up.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she immediately winced, "Chest… hurts,” she stammered. Ron felt his spirits dim as he watched her face fill with pain.

“Do you want me to get Madame Pomfrey?” He asked hurriedly, already getting out of his seat.

Hermione pulled his arm down, “No, please… stay.” She whispered.

As Ron sat back down, she studied his face, “Were you crying?” She asked softly, as she wiped a fallen tear off his face.

Ron felt his ears go red, “I - well… maybe."

Hermione flashed him a soft smile, "Ron, I’m okay,” she paused for a moment, and Ron watched fear pass through her eyes, “The others? Are the others okay?” She said, gripping his hand tightly.

Ron hesitated for a moment, she had already gone through so much, how would she react to Sirius?

“Ron? What about the others?” Hermione said in a more demanding tone, which snapped him out of his thoughts once more.

Ron cleared his throat, “The others are all right. Neville, Harry, Luna, and Ginny left early this morning. I have to stay because of my stupid arms,” he said as he raised his bandaged arms.

“Oh Ron!” Hermione cried, “Is it painful? What happened? Are you alright?"

Ron chuckled, it was the first time he had laughed in days, "Relax, Hermione,” Ron looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling ashamed, “I don’t remember what happened. I went mad after I was hit by a spell. Ginny said that I summoned a brain and it attacked my arms and my chest. Madame Pomfrey says I’ll be okay, I’ll just have scars."

Before Hermione could respond, Ron let out a sigh, "I was completely useless, ‘Mione. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you."

"Ron! You’re not useless! You protected Ginny and Luna. You’re a hero, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione said, gripping his hand tighter than before.

He looked up and saw her struggling to catch her breath, “Hermione, I really should get Madame Pomfrey. You’re clearly in pain.”

“No,” she said, pulling him back down, “tell me the rest."

Ron swallowed, "The prophecy was smashed. The Order came and took the rest of the Death Eaters,” Ron continued to stroke her hair, “Bellatrix got away. You-Know-Who and Dumbledore fought."

"What about Sirius? Where was Sirius?” Hermione asked. Ron couldn’t bear to look at her.

“Sirius… well… he…” Ron felt his throat close up.

“Sirius what?” Hermione whispered. Ron couldn’t help but think that she already knew the answer.

Ron looked up at Hermione, her eyes already shining with tears, “No! He can’t be! What about Harry?"

"He’s trying to push through,” Ron answered, “He needs us."

Hermione nodded, "Ron,” she said softly, “can you lay with me?"

Ron looked at her in shock, he felt his heart flutter, "Um - yeah… sure."

Hermione moved over a bit on her bed, making a space big enough for Ron. Ron slowly slid next to her trying not to hurt her. Once Ron was settled in her bed, Hermione leaned against his chest. Ron wondered if she could hear how fast his heart was beating.

After a moment of silence, Ron spoke, "I dreamt that y-you died,” Ron stammered, his heart hammering at his confession.

Hermione turned her head to look at him, “I’m okay, Ron,” she grabbed one of his hands, “see?” She said as she placed his hand on her heart. Ron wondered if it normally beat that fast.

“Hermione, you have to promise me something,” Ron said shakily.

“Of course, what is it?"

"Promise me, that no matter what, we’ll never leave each other.”

“I won’t,” Hermione whispered, sounding breathless.

“Hermione, I mean it. I can’t do this without you,” the desperation in his voice coming back.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ron,” Hermione said, her nose was scarily close to his.

“Harry needs us. We’re going to need each other,” Ron said, his voice almost becoming as breathless as hers.

“We’re going to be there for him, and we’re going to be there for each other."

Ron nodded and looked down at Hermione. Hermione gave him another one of her fabulous smiles before kissing him on the corner of his mouth. Ron’s eyes widened in shock before he gave her a quick smile back. He returned the favor by giving her a quick peck on the corner of her mouth.

"Hermione, you need to rest,” Ron said with a yawn.

Hermione sighed, “Alright."

Ron moved to get off her bed but she stopped him, "Can you stay?” She asked, her eyes pleading.

It was Ron’s turn to give her a smile, “I’ll always stay."

As the pair drifted off the sleep, Ron gave Hermione a quick kiss on her head. He inhaled the scent of her hair as he fell asleep.

—

When Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall found Ron holding Hermione close to his chest as they slept, Professor McGonagall couldn’t help but remember that they had been there before. The same room, the same bed, the same girl, and the same boy.

It was then when Professor McGonagall realized that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had a fate that was written in stone.

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 19

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry

Word Count (Part 19): 3,130

Word Count (Total): 60,666

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic)

***

29th April, 1998 (continued)

The second Harry claps twice, the game commences. Light is immediately extinguished, and everyone runs off in the dark. I look around, squinting and willing my eyes to adjust to the lack of light as quickly as possible. The point of the game may be to test my skills, but I would also like to get used to being in darkness. I turn around, lazily walking in circles and keeping my ears peeled. A scuffle off to the left of me alerts me to another person close by. Determined, I dim the lights even further and creep off away from them. The person turns out to be Ron, his disgruntled slurs very distinct.

I force myself not to chuckle at how easy it was. It won’t be that easy soon. Grim, I decide to play it safe. Focus on not being caught, instead of on showcasing my new abilities. A footstep sounds to my right and, without thinking, I turn the lighting up. I am instantly blinded, and only then remember my focus. Oh well. It works, everyone in the room yelping, alerting me to where everyone is. Keeping my ears peeled, I continue to tamper with the lighting, dodging people and just being a general nuisance to these people who are trying to help me. I feel kind of bad, blinding them on repeat and then plunging them into darkness in the space of a second. A good friend wouldn’t do that. Then again, the people I face in the actual battle won’t be good friends, will they?

A shoe scuffs loudly right behind me. I don’t have time to do anything drastic, and my heart thunders in my chest. It sounds once again, slightly closer than before. Hands shaking, I jump to my right and make sure to land quietly. The next second, Harry’s voice cries out as he hits the floor. A sting of guilt shoots through me, but I push it aside. I wouldn’t deliberately hurt him, and he’s the one who tried to jump at me. Shaking my head and working for my heart to unclench, I prowl around the room. My footsteps are silent in the dark room, and I decide that I need to try one of the new challenges. Which one though?

There could be many benefits of wrapping darkness around myself and becoming invisible. It’s tempting—the sheer capability if I can pull that off is insane—but the room is pitch black. I’m practically invisible already! That leaves bending light to hide myself behind reflections. I can only imagine how taxing that will be on both my physical and magical energy, but I have to try. Harry will annoyed if I don’t; this whole game—hell, the whole day!—has been for my sake. To train me up so I can be useful in the battle. I can’t let this opportunity slide.

I think for a moment, allowing my mind to sink into memory. The books have been quite useful in the past, but I don’t remember anything about creating light mirrors. Sighing, I think back to the things Hermione and Harry might have said. Neither of them seem to know what to do either, my mind coming up blank. I’m alone in figuring this out. Maybe, instead of clenching and unclenching my fists, I could flatten them out? No, that’s too close to unclenched hands, like I’d do to brighten the room. I hum in annoyance. The next second I am being lunged at again, and I hurriedly dodge left. Ron exclaims loudly as he hits the ground. I scold myself in my mind. This is supposed to be a silent game. Shaking my head, I delve into my mind again.

What if I pictured a mirror in my mind? Or is that too close to imagining the sun? I groan silently, clenching my jaw tight. Maybe I could… I have no idea. There isn’t anything I can think of which I could use to channel the light properly. Someone utters something about bruising to the right of me. I don’t think they know I’m here. Smirking, I up the light so quickly it’s like the sun has been turned on. Everyone shouts and covers their eyes, and I realise that it was Hermione who was next to me. I darken the room again and creep into one of the far corners.

There must be something I can do. Harry wouldn’t have suggested it if he wasn’t certain I could find a way to do it. Throwing caution to the wind, I adjust the light so I can see a bit better. As everyone around the room starts to focus in on me, a memory strikes and an idea comes to mind. Smirking to myself and waving cheekily at the others, I turn my back on them and look over my shoulder. What Harry might have called a reflection, is in reality light being bent and stretched in a complete circle. This is easier to create than going invisible. In order to eliminate myself from view, I would have to bend light around myself and remove any naturally reflecting light. To mirror myself or anything else, I only have to hide myself and then amplify the reflected light.

Since the light is bending around a circle, it might make sense to face one way but look in the opposite direction, over my shoulder. It’s almost like I’m moulding myself into a circle. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. My eyes dart between the three people, each coming steadily closer. They’re suspicious, each and every one of them. They think I’m going to blind them, or literally remove the light from their eyes. Instead, I concentrate on morphing my body. I suppress a shudder; imagining myself contorted and blurred in space is not a pleasant thought. A gasp sounds out from somewhere in the room, and I wonder for a second if it’s worked. When my eyes dart around myself, I see a second me—an exact replica of what I look like right now—behind my body.

I snap my head back so I’m looking at the corner I’m standing in again, and then slowly turn around. My reflection does the same thing, and I’m left staring at the back of my own head. It’s not quite a reflection—as those normally face you—and is more like a duplicate of me a few metres in front. It doesn’t seem to change its position in regards to where I’m facing, always to the north of where I’m standing. As long as no one figures that out, they won’t know which is real and which is literally just a trick of the light.

“Draco,” Hermione breathes, “you did it.” Her voice is so quiet, like she’s scared it will shatter the illusion.

Ron has no such concerns, and lets out a wild whoop. “That’s wicked cool mate!”

Harry approaches slowly, his figure visible in the less-dim-than-normal light. “Dray,” he murmurs, walking towards the fake me. “This is amazing.” His face is taken over with pride and wonder, and he stops just short of the illusion. “Which one is real?”

I lift a hand and wave, my reflection doing the same. “Me, of course,” I say. My duplicate speaks at exactly the same time, no trace of an echo to give it away.

Harry shakes his head. “That doesn’t help.” A grin splits his face, and he backs away. “I guess that’s the point though, isn’t it?”

I nod my head at him, delighted at the prospect of the game continuing.

Without any warning, I lunge forward into the group and drop the light all the way down. It’s so dark I can’t see anything at all, not even the fake me. The other three gasp and shriek, and run after my duplicate. They don’t know they have the wrong one yet. Wouldn’t it be fun to mess with them a bit… Allowing a sly smile to cross my mouth, I wave my arms around wildly. Distantly, I feel my arm collide with something. The sensation is odd, not entirely present in a way. My duplicate must have hit someone. That’s interesting. That means that my magic has made it somewhat solid, instead of letting things fall right through the bent light. If the fake me is fatally hit, does the illusion disappear? I’ll need to ask Harry, and possibly do some more research.

Satisfied with my progress for now, I pull the light back and flatten it out again. My reflection wobbles and then curves, morphing around the empty space and flying back to me. Ron curses when he realises they were at the wrong one, and instantly jumps closer to me. I ram the light up and blind him momentarily again, only slightly apologetic for the trauma I’ve put his eyes under today. He drops to the floor and Hermione runs over to him. A second later she stands back up and laughs loudly, before running to where I am. I plunge the room back into darkness and sprint off, not really trying to avoid stepping on people’s toes.

***

“Time out!” Harry’s voice fills the room an hour later, and I turn the lights up so everyone can see normally.

“About bloody time,” Ron grumbles, stepping forward from the back corner where I created my duplicate. Maybe he was hoping I’d move back over there…

“That was brilliant, Draco!” Hermione smiles, nudging Ron as she passes and murmuring something that sounds like ‘be nice, your eyes can be healed’.

I blush slightly, pleased at the compliment from Hermione but embarrassed at the attention.

“Draco,” Harry says from the front, gathering our attention once again. “That was really good!” He leaves time for the other two to cheer and whoop, and I feel my blush deepening. “However,” his voice cuts through the room, “you have raised a lot of questions that I would like to have an answer for before Saturday.”

I nod, having expected the answer. “Yeah, the reflection is rather curious. It doesn’t seem to follow normal rules of magic or physics, and I have a couple of very particular questions.”

“Yes, I thought you might. It looks like we have a ton of research we need to get done, doesn’t it?” Harry pulls a face.

I chuckle at him. “Yes, it seems like we might.”

Harry pauses for a second, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. I only just withhold myself from teasing him about not straining himself. “You didn’t try to go invisible,” he eventually says.

I shake my head. “No, I didn’t want to try two new things at once,” I explain. “I also remembered something I overheard from some of the younger students back at Hogwarts, about going blind because light can’t hit the retina.”

Hermione looks amazed. “You know Muggle science?”

I glower at her. “I may have been raised by a psychotic father who wants to help a void of a man commit genocide, but yes I know Muggle science.” I pause, wanting to add something to soften my tone. “Also, it helped keep me occupied while I was trapped in my room.” I especially enjoyed the psychology books, but I don’t see the need to mention that.

She accepts my answer—and my harsh tone—with a simple, somewhat sympathetic, nod.

Harry draws our attention back to him, and when I glance in his direction he looks like he has a plan. A very detailed plan, I amend, now that I’ve noticed the glint in his green eyes.

“Let’s divide the research between the four of us,” he starts. “Draco, you should write down everything you’ve noticed about your abilities and any questions you have. Hermione, you and I will look through as many books as possible trying to gather information. Ron, could you sort the books into piles so that we have some idea of what to look for in each?”

Ron pumps a fist in silent applause. “If that means I don’t have to read a bunch of shit I don’t understand, then yes!”

Harry chuckles. “That is exactly what that means, yes.”

“Where are your books?” Hermione asks. I’m sure she knows exactly where they are, and by Harry’s smirk he thinks so too, but he points downwards to the drawing room anyway.

“They’re all piled down there from the last time we crashed it to do research,” Harry explains.

With a nod and a surprisingly energetic nod, Hermione bounds out of the room and down the stairs.

“How does she have so much energy?” Ron groans. I look at him, and for the first time I notice the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and neck. When I flick my attention to Harry, I see him flushed and sweaty too, his normal mop of hair somehow worse than normal.

“I don’t know,” Harry pants, shaking his head.

Harry walks over to the door and opens it, holding it out for both Ron and I to cross through before following us out. Harry’s hand finds it’s resting place on my lower back once again, and he presses into me to direct me back down the stairs and into the drawing room. A month ago I would have kicked him and tried to get away; it’s amazing how quickly things can change.

Ron calls out in what can only be described as frustration as he enters the room. He’s seen the books. Okay. Maybe Harry and I have gone a bit overboard with research, and maybe we have the equivalent of a small library strewn around, but it isn’t quite worth screaming over. Certainly, the piles of books on every surface are a bit daunting, but he isn’t going to be opening any of them past the index! A rush of guilt for Hermione and Harry jolts through me, but I push it down. I’ll help them after I tell them what my thoughts are, and it’s not like any of them actually complained. Hell, Hermione practically ran down to get started.

Wordlessly, Harry gestures for me to start writing everything I’ve noticed and every question I have down, and I pick up a notebook and Muggle pen off the bookshelf. Settling in on one of the arm chairs, I begin to note down anything that could prove useful. The Muggle science stuff is first, and my knowledge about bending and morphing light takes up most of the first page. Then come my observations. The fact that my duplicate is always to the north of me regardless of where I’m facing; the tiny reaction my own body had when the duplicate came into contact with someone. A couple more fill the rest of the page, and I turn it over to continue on the back. My questions follow my observations, and there are quite a few of those. What happens to the duplicate if I’m seriously injured or die? What happens if the duplicate is hit with an Unforgivable or otherwise fatal curse? Is there only a certain length of time that the reflected version of myself can exist for, despite me being in prime condition? Many more are written down, and the back of the page is now covered in my neat script.

I tap Harry in the armchair next to mine, and silently pass him the page. He grins at me and scans it quickly, before flipping his book back to the index and navigating to a totally different page than the one he was on when I tapped him. He then floats the paper over to Hermione, making sure it hits her in the face. She glares but looks it over all the same. She taps Ron with her foot, and he looks up from the ground where he’s sorting the books into categories of some sort. He takes the page and reads it quickly, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he continues with his pre-existing piles. When Hermione rolls her eyes, I realise why. Hermione thought he’d have to start again after seeing my notes. And Ron was correct all along!

Smiling to myself, I pick up my own book and open it to the index. It’s a big, heavy book on Fallen Angels, and I scan the list of contents. I find a section devoted to Risen Angels’ powers, and I flick to it. Most of it’s probably useless, but it’s worth a try.

***

“Would anyone like a cup of tea? Or something stronger?” Harry asks the room a while later. Night has long set in by this point, and a mug of coffee sounds like the only way I’m going to stay awake. I’m utterly exhausted, my body becoming sore and stiff from hours of disuse after hours of activity.

“Actually, we probably have to be going,” Ron says. “I have some more organising things to do, and I might not have enough time to do them if I leave it much later.” At this he pulls a face, his lip curling and nose scrunching up.

Hermione smiles a small smile at him before turning back to Harry and I. “I can come back if you need me to, but…”

“But you’d rather be with Ron,” Harry finishes for her. Even though the words ‘since you might only have two days left’ aren’t said out loud, they linger in the air, heavy.

She purses her lips and nods. She begins to say something but Harry cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll be fine. Off you go.” He practically pushes her and Ron towards the fireplace. They exchange hugs and halfhearted reassurances, and then they’re gone in a plume of green smoke.

The drawing room is astonishingly silent very quickly. The fire crackles in the grate still, but apart from that and our breaths, the house is quiet. Mother checked in on us a while ago, growing tired and heading off to bed. She had teased us about spending all day working and training, but she sounded very proud of me and our progress. Now though, she’s in her bedroom and sleeping soundly.

“Draco?”

I startle back into the present, Harry’s face right in front of mine. His green eyes are tired and weary, but his mouth is crinkled into a smile. I return it and lean forward to press my lips against his. He sighs contentedly, his arms wrapping up around my neck.

“Come on,” he murmurs into the tiny space between us. “I’m going to draw you a bath.”

“Okay,” I reply just as quietly. Despite clearly being exhausted, Harry scoops me up and carries me into the closest bathroom to get me ready for a relaxing bath to help soothe my muscles.

***

A/N: Sorry for the delay, uni got the best of me with new assignments. Here it is though! I hope you’ve all had a good week and are staying safe Xx

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[trellanyx]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

AO3 LINK

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.

“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”

Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.

“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”

“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”

“We had an agreement.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”

Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.

“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”

Shut your stupid mouth and die already.

Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.

“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”

Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.

Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”

“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”

Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.

“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”

“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.

Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.

But when he did decide to pay attention…

Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.

“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”

“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.

The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.

“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?

When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.

“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”

“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”

In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.

Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.

“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”

Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”

“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.

Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?

He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—

“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”

Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.

The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…

And then it began to glow.

Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.

“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”

Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.

The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…

Oh.

Aziraphale.

I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?

The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?

Who would love him?

I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.

Gabriel waved. “So long!”

I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.

I want more time.

“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.

I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.

The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.

“Auf wiedersehen!”

But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.

I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!

“Goodbye.”

…I don’t want to go.

Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.

A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.

The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.

Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.

He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.

Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.

“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”

A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.

“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.

“Monsters.”

Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—

“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”

“No.”

Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”

“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”

Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Aziraphale, what—”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.

“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.

“Do not interfere. Please.”

“Azira–”

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”

“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”

“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”

Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.

“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”

A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.

Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.

Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.

With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.

Discorporated.

Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.

“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”

Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.

“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark.  “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”

“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.

Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”

Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”

“You’ll Fall for this.”

Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.

“So be it.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.

Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—

A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.

All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.

What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.

Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.

Aziraphale screamed.

“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—

“STAY BACK!”

Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.

Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.

That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.

Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.

Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.

Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—

With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.

He was stalling.

By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.

Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.

Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.

Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.

Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...

It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.

Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.

Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.

Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.

He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.

It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.

He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.

As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.

With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.

The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.

“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.

“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”

Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.

“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”

Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.

Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.

Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.

The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.

“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.

“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”

“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.

“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”

“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”

“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”

Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?

Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.

“…And Gabriel?”

Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—

(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)

—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.

“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.

“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”

The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.

“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”

Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”

Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”

“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”

“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.

“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”

“Aziraphale—”

“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”

“Stop sounding so calm about this!”

Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.

“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”

“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.

“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”

“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.

“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”

He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”

The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.

If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.

Don’t drag him down to my level.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.

“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”

A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.

“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.

“I did.”

“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.

“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”

“And the second?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”

This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.

[awstrck]

Should I finish this?

A truck sped down the streets of Gotham fast, zig-zagging between every car. The truck pulled into a loading dock and the man behind the wheel looked to the other man beside him, "You think we lost her?" He questioned him shakily and the guy looked at the side mirror, seeing nothing but an empty road.

He turned back to the henchmen and shaked his head, "Alright. Good." As those words leave his mouth, a masked woman pounces on the windshield with a hard glare.

"No, you're anything but good." Helena snarled as the two men screamed bloody murder and another guy in the back of the truck held up a gun and started shooting at the windshield, not caring if he hit one of the two in front. He just wanted Huntress off their asses.

Helena dodged the bullets easily but this caused the driver to ram into a steel box, luckily she had time to jump off the running truck. She then opened the door and yanked the two henchmen out of the truck, noticing the third one aiming a gun to shoot at her.

The young heroine disarmed him quickly and knocked his head with it, knocking him out. Helena then turned to the two henchmen, seeing as they were trying to get away. She took out one of her gadgets and threw it, making a perfect shot as the rope swung around the two criminal's feet, making them fall flat on their face.

Helena then walked over to them and shoved them against one of the steel boxes, "Look gentleman, it's been a long night and I am not in the mood for any of you're bullshit, so answer my question and I'll-" a sound cut her off from the truck.

The aluminum container inside started to open as the giant android stood up and stepped down, making the whole ground shake. One of the henchmen's eyes widened, "What the hell is that thing!?" He shouted.

Helena sighed as she turned back to them, "That would be Amazo, an Android that can absorb any and all natural skills and abilities of people he gets close enough to." She explained. Now wishing she had backup, there's no chance in hell she'd could take down that thing by herself.

"What kind of people?"

"Meta ones."

And with that, she took out a smoke bomb and threw it at him but he caught it, making the black smoke leak out from the ball. Helena took that opportunity to knee the Android in the head and kick it while in the air, striking another blow to his head while he was down.

She attempted another hit but Amazo caught her arm and flung her to the side, she tried to block his attack but failed as the punch sent her flying into some shipment cargo. Helena groaned in pain as she hit the floor but ignored it and got back up on her feet.

A familiar voice then intervened, "Packs quite the punch for a toaster on steroids, huh?" Dick joked behind her.

Helena smiled as she turned around to find her big brother standing on top some cargo, "Nightwing, as I live and breathe." She said and placed a hand on her hip.

"Need a hand?"

"If you got a high tech device capable of disabling a meta android in that gauntlet, sure."

Dick then flipped down towards her side, "I don't but I do have a decent fighting style and good looks." He suggested and Helena stifled a laugh.

"I don't think Amazo's interested in a relationship, Dickie." She stated and Dick feigned a hurt expression on his face while placing a hand on his chest.

"Let a boy dream, H!"

Helena was about to reply when a cargo box was thrown they’re way and pushed Dick, "Watch out!" She yelped as she landed on top of him.

"How about you dream later and help me take down this robot, huh?”

"Yeah!"

The two then got back up and used everything they had to stop Amazo from wreaking havoc on Gotham City, eventually some electric plastique blew the Android's head off and they could go home in one piece tonight.

But not before getting some answers from the henchmen who were carrying the thing.

"This shipment was made for the Black Mask and I doubt you were behind this. Who do you work for?" Helena questioned, keeping a hard glare on her face.

She inherited a lot of things from her father, even the famous bat glare.

The three henchmen trembled under her intense gaze, “W-we don’t work f-for anyone! This was all our i-idea, I swear!" one of them stuttered out but their answer didn't satisfy Helena's curiosity.

Giving a nod to Dick, he pressed the button and headless Amazo dropped down an inch above the three henchmen, making them scream in horror as black liquid dripped on their faces.

"Alright, alright! I'll talk just stop!"

Dick then levelled Amazo back up and walked beside Helena, "We're working for the Red Hood, we got no choice. He got a-" He was cut off by a bullet piercing his chest. The other two henchmen followed on pursuit.

Dick and Helena moved out the way and took some cover behind a truck, "The shots came down from the rooftop, a sniper." He informed her and she gritted her teeth as she looked at the three dead bodies.

The two then came out of hiding and Helena took out her binoculars to examine the rooftop and identify the sniper. She zoomed in and caught her killer, "See him?" Dick asked.

"Yeah." Helena spat and shot her grappling gun in the sky as her jet appeared above her and took off, leaving Dick behind.

"Hey, wait!"

"Sorry, only got one seat built in!"

Dick sighed, "Like father like daughter." He said to himself and groaned as he realized she left him to deal with the deceased bodies.

Helena got in the jet and took control of the shift, looking at the map to see where her target had run off to and then looking out the window.

'He's running on foot, not a smart move' Helena smirked to herself as she switch directions to see where he jumped off to. She then found him getting in a car and driving into traffic, zig-zagging in between lanes and bumping into every car.

Helena noticed that there was a tunnel ahead and pressed a button that would enclose the space between the jet's wings. She got close enough to her target's vehicle and shot a hook at the roof.

"Gotcha now." Helena said to herself but spoke too soon when the roof was detached from the car. Gritting her teeth in anger she cut the grappling hook continued following him, recognizing where he was leading her too.

Ace Chemicals.

'Why is he leading me here?' She asked herself and watched as he crashed the car into building and she decided to put the jet on autopilot, jumping out and landing through a glass window on a walkway above various pots filled with acid.

Helena looked around for the sniper and found the vehicle abandoned in front of a container full of acid, she then looked around at the acid and thought about him. The Joker.

This was where he was born and what made him what he is today, a madman.

"What are you thinking about in beautiful head of yours?" A robotic voice asked behind her and she whipped around to see her target above her.

He was dressed in a brown leather jacket, kevlar armour underneath, cargo pants, combat boots and a red helmet. 'Interesting fashion choice' she thought.

"Who are you and why did you just shoot my intel?" Helena interrogated the man before her and he chuckled while jumping down in front of her.

"Can't have people snitching on me and the name is Red Hood."

Helena balled up her fists and got into her fighting position, "So your the one who has been a pain in my ass-" Red Hood cut her off.

"A very thick ass, might I add."

Helena smirked, "Flattery won't get you out of this one, biker fetish."

***

I was watching Batman: Under the Red Hood for the 102838392 time and wrote this at 3am

[demonsofhunting]

"That's My Boyfriend!"

( A Destiel One Shot )

Summary: Dean wakes up in a foreign environment. He's hurt and can't remember anything. And he isn't alone.

Warnings: a good amount of angst, fluffy ending ( aka one of my fav things to do XD )

Words: 1500

A/N: What even is the layout of this title?! I'm so sorry guys, tumblr is being a bitch lately. XD Anyway, have some sweet angst to get you through the day, some cuteness included. I'm a sucker for Cas protecting/saving his fav human... *dreamy sigh*

[ This is very lose connected to season 9, so the conflict between Crowley and Abbadon is mentioned, but you don't need to know the season to read this fic♡ ]

I hope you'll like it! Enjoy! <3

Dean struggles to open his eyes. Pain pulses in the back of his head, his body feels like he's paralysed. He coughs, quietly. After a couple of heavy breaths, he finally manages to clear his sight. He's lying on the ground, his head resting on his right shoulder. It's a floor made of wood, probably of an old, empty house. It's full of spiderwebs and dirt, so he's pretty sure about the 'empty' part. Spiderwebs, dirt and...blood.

There's much blood on the floor too.

Dean blinks, his thoughts are crawling through his head in slow motion.

Where the hell am I?

He tries to remember, but he can't. There's just a big, blank space.

Fuck.

He moans, trying to move. He manages to raise his right hand, but cries out as the pain flashes through his whole body.

Why does it hurt so much? What's wrong with me?!

Dean starts to panic, he can already feel his heart beating faster. He sweats, everything is about to black out again.

Don't you dare to pass out! Calm down, Dean! You need to focus.

He tries to slow his breathing, carefully. Then he counts to three, silently, and pulls himself in a sitting position. It hurts like hell and doesn't work at all, but at least he manages to lift his head a little to look around. He blinks until his stupid sight stops to be blurry, and scans the room within a few seconds.

Oh shit.

There are bodies on the floor.

Many bodies.

Demons. Their eyes are burned out, seems like some of them were additionally stabbed with an angel blade too.

They're all more than just a little dead.

It's about five or six of them, the blood of their dead vessels is still running over the floor, thick and disgusting.

Did I kill them? How?

Apart from the painful noise in Dean's head, it's absolutely quiet in the room. Too quiet.

There are a couple of windows, but they're all boarded up. Only a few sunrays are crawling through the small cracks. Dean looks down in himself, checking how bad he's hurt.

Well...I kinda fucked up, did I?

He did. His clothes are full of blood too, his flannel and his jacket are in shreds.

"Son of a bitch," he rasps, coughing. There are cuts all over his body. It seems like somebody wanted to carve words in his skin and messed up, horribly.

No wonder I feel like somebody tried to peel my skin off.

He inspects his hands, and can't hold back a little gasp. There are big, aching bruises on his wrist, just like he had been tied up, roughly.

What the -

He shakes his head, suddenly mad at himself for not remember anything that happened to him. The last thing he knows is that he was on a hunt with Cas, nothing serious just a little demonic accident in a small town. Sam stayed at the bunker, trying to find out something about angels and stuff. Since they fell, they have been nothing but a pain in the ass.

And now I'm here with one of the heaviest hangovers I've ever had. Awesome.

Dean decides to think about the weird circumstances later. He has anything but time for that now. The elder Winchester listens again, carefully.

Silence.

"Well," he mutters, already preparing himself for a great amount of pain, " Let's get out of here."

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

It's way more difficult than it seems, to walk on your own feet while feeling like you have been run over by at least four trucks. Dean makes a face, trying to pull the old door open, that hopefully leads to the floor of the old house. He sticks his head out first, one hand already longing into the the inner bag of his jacket. The floor is dirty and empty, fortunately. His weapons are gone, of course, and he finds nothing.

Well, it was worth a try.

Dean sneaks down the floor, always close to the wall in case he needs something to hold on. His heart beats, loudly.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, actually it's the only thing that keeps him up right now.

At the end of the hall, there's another heavy, wooden door. The elder Winchester leans against it, carefully, his hand already on the door handle. It opens with a loud creak. Dean narrows his eyes, expecting thousands of demons to run him over.

But nothing happens.

The hunter sighs in relief, and pushes the door open, eventually.

His heart skips a beat as he takes a look inside the room behind.

There are feathers, oh so many feathers. They're covering the floor, mixed with liters of light blood. Dean feels like he needs to throw up. Right now.

His knees are giving in, and he falls to the ground. His whole body is shaking.

Suddenly, he remembers something.

He remembers that he wasn't the only one who was brought here.

Cas.

There's a rumbling noise coming from the open door to the room next to the one with the massacre on the ground. Dean winces, his head flows up.

A shadow crawls over the ground near the doorstep, becoming smaller and smaller. And then someone clutches the frame with bloody hands, pulling himself into Dean's sight, slowly.

"Hello, Dean," a hoarse voice says, and suddenly, all the hunter wants is to cry in relief.

"Cas!" he cries out, trying to get on his feet, ignoring the pain, "What the hell is going on? What happened here? A demonic orgy that turned out to be a gigantic massacre or what?"

Cas sticks his head into the room, his blue eyes being a heavy contrast to all the blood that covers his trenchcoat. He looks pretty tired, squinting his eyes.

"I don't understand what you mean, Dean," he mutters then, walking over to the hurt hunter, pulling him in a big hug. After that, he kisses his forehead, softly. Dean collapses in his arms. He looks up to the other, diving into the blue seas that are his eyes.

"What are you doing here? Where is Sammy? What happened?" he repeats, his voice is almost breaking.

Cas swallows, tugging Dean closer.

"It's okay," he begins, "It's over."

Dean nods: "I can see that. But - "

"They were after us and I didn't see them coming. It was a bunch of demons, powerful ones. Abbadon sent them, I think."

Dean winces. "Oh hell no. I hate this stupid bitch. The next time I see her she will be dead before she hits the ground!" he growls in frustration.

Cas sighs: "That was exactly what you said last time. And the time before that time. And - "

"Okay, okay, I get it. Just ignore my stupid comments and go on," he interrupts the angel, trying to hide the pain that still pulses through his body like there are flaming swords carving through his insides.

"They brought us here. They separated us, tortured us without any reason. Believe me, you don't want to see what my wings look right now. I broke free, and managed to kill them all. Obviously, they didn't thought that I would be powerful enough to beat them," he continues, seriously, "And well, it seems like Crowley isn't any longer the king of hell. Seems like Abbadon claimed his job. That could be why she was in charge of so many demons. And she has a thing for you, Dean. It makes me more than just a little uncomfortable, and I have no idea what you said to her to make her that mad at you, but..."

He looks down at Dean, making a face.

The hunter shrugs, wincing a little: "Maybe I said that she's an ugly whore. I mean, she obviously is one."

Cas cocks his head, a small smile on his lips, on of his hands touching Dean's forehead, gently.

After a heartbeat, all the pain is gone and the hunter relaxes.

"Thanks, honey," he mutters, giving the angel a small kiss. Cas chuckles, quietly.

"Where is she now?" Dean asks, eventually. The angel hesitates.

"I couldn't find her. Seems like she was too busy carving things in your...your skin to hear me killing her people. As soon as she noticed, she knocked you unconscious and fled. God, I'm so glad that you're alive, Dean," he mumbles.

"Yeah, I'm glad to," the hunter adds, thoughtfully. He licks his lips.

Cas swallows: "Uh, this isn't my blood by the way. Just in case you were worried." He looks down on his filthy clothes. Dean laughs, softly.

"What did you do in that room?" he asks, pointing in the direction where Cas came from. The angel tilts his head.

"There is a telephone in it. I informed Sam. Maybe they will be after him, next time. We need to be prepared," he tells the other, nodding, slowly.

"That's my boyfriend!" Dean chuckles, kissing his angel again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Aaaand that's it! Thank you so much for reading and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit, I will love you forever! <3

Feel free to tell me if you found mistakes, too. I know that this is far from perfect. ♡

Destiel/Forever Tags: @adoptdontshoppets @rebeloftheseas @ablavalba @smodernlife @ignis-glaciesque @trenchcoatsandfreckles @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @xsghn @helpmeluci @legendary-destiel @leahslovelylibrary thank u!💕

[sleepyfan-blog]

Imagine RBDS Nightmare sometimes dying on purpose when he either wants to annoy Dream or make the other leave him alone (if asking for that doesn't work)

Dreamswap is by @onebizarrekai​

Reverse Bond AU is @hisame-amadashi​‘s idea, shared via discord. You asked for this.

warnings: manipulation, temporary character death, swearing, unhealthy relationship, suicide, blood

characters and pairing: DS Dream, DS Nightmare, DS Dreammare

word count: 2,027

Summary: Dream won’t back off, so Nightmare does something drastic that will hopefully get him to leave him alone a little more.

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

“Dream, for fuck’s sake, leave me alone! I am capable of taking care of myself without anything awful happening. Besides, you chased off the villagers. It’s not like there’s anyone else who wants to hurt me.” Nightmare growled, glaring at the taller guardian as he tried to get his gold shadow to back the fuck off. “You’re driving me crazy! I just want a bit of time to spend to myself! You never really cared what I did before they killed me unless you were scolding me for playing pranks on them or embarrassing you.”

Dream flinched back a little bit at Nightmare’s words, shivering a little and looking down. He…. He hadn’t been so dismissive of his other half, had he? “I… I’ve always cared for you, Nightmare. Perhaps I didn’t show you that as well as I should have… But I do… If you want some space I… I’ll leave you be.” He’s just… Not entirely sure what to do with himself - not after he’d chased away all of the villagers. He didn’t know which of them had killed Nightmare, but the jubilation and glee that they all had taken in his other half’s death meant that none of them should be allowed to be near the other.

He’s come back from the dead a couple of times… But he should never have died the first time, in Dream’s opinion. Tending to the other’s limp and lifeless body and desperately praying to whatever would listen that whatever magic that had brought Nightmare back would do so again. Dream walked swiftly away from Nightmare and the tree, headed in the direction of the abandoned village. Occasionally mortal travelers tried to stay - Dream would tolerate their presence for a day, perhaps up to three, depending on the weather conditions and their emotional state.

However, if Dream felt as if they were even thinking of staying, the positive guardian would chase the mortal or mortals off. He teleported to the edge of the abandoned village, wandering through the empty cobblestone streets. He had made it about half way through his search of the place when he felt Nightmare’s magic shift. Panic seized the positive guardian and he instantly teleported back to Nightmare’s side, Checking the other as he reached out for the negative guardian - freezing for a moment as he saw the other on the edge of the very tall cliff that they’d agreed to never go near a very long time ago. “N-Nightmare, what are you doing?” Dream called out, worry and uncertain.

Nightmare, who had been grinning a little bit as he wandered dangerously near the edge of the cliff, suddenly turned, a scowl suddenly appearing on his face “Oh, for fuck’s sake! You said that you’d leave me alone! Why the hell are you here now?!”

“I…I-I felt your magic shift and was worried. Please be careful Nightmare!” Dream called out, taking a tentative half-step towards his other half, shaking a little bit. He wanted to run forwards, scoop up the negative spirit and haul him away from the edge… But he could only imagine how poorly that would go.

“I was having a bit of fun! Getting my soul pumping a little bit. You worry to fucking much. I’m fine. See?” Nightmare responded as he moved even closer to the edge. His eye lights burned brighter when Dream flinched and took a couple of small steps towards him “If you actually trust me, you’ll stay right where you are. Or come grab me and prove me right - you don’t trust me and you treat me like I’m a child.”

Dream froze in place “I respect and care for you as the adult you are, Nightmare. I just… I-I want you to be safe.” he has no idea what will happen if the other dies again. He’s not sure if he’d be able to survive it.

“Psssh, you worry too much! See I’m fine.” Nightmare leaned towards the edge of the cliff, a wicked grin on his face “You should really learn to back off. Otherwise it’ll be the death of me.” with that, the negative guardian took a very deliberate step backwards off the cliff, in the same moment, lashing out at Dream with his magic with enough force to send the positive guardian to his knees at the strength of the magical attack.

The sudden fury - as well as what Nightmare had just done stunned the winged guardian for several crucial, agonizing eternities before he could force himself to start moving, a worried scream of “NIGHTMARE, NO!” He threw himself off the cliff after his other half. He was a fraction of a second too late, and Nightmare slammed against the jagged rocks below, his bones breaking with a sickening crunch, the other’s cyan-tinted violet magic bleeding copiously everywhere his body had struck the rocks.

Dream landed on the rocks, turning Nightmare over with trembling fingers and light magic as he checked the other’s pulse - it was beating, faintly, but still. The winged guardian began to pump healing magic inside of the other “No, no no no! Please.. Please don’t… N-Not again… N-Nightmare p-please stay with me!”

“When… I ask you… To leave me alone for a couple of hours… You better… Fucking do it… Or… I-I’ll do this again…” Nightmare threatened, a small smirk appearing on his face, before his eye lights faded away completely and the other’s body stilled completely.

Dream carefully gathered his other half’s body close to him, his shoulders shaking with the suppressed sobs as he continued to pump healing magic into the other’s still-warm body “Y-You d-didn’t ha-have to d-do this… N-nightmare p-please d-don’t leave f-forever… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m s-so sorry…” he hugged the other close to him, ignoring the way the other’s blood started to soak through his clothes.

It took him a couple of tries, but Dream managed to get airborne, flying back to their Tree, gently setting Nightmare in her branches, on the bough that he so often liked to lounge in and pelt rocks at the mortals at - or poke at Dream himself while he read. He trembled a little as he pressed a loving kiss to the other’s forehead, whispering softly “I love you, Nightmare. I love you so much. If… I-If space if what you want… I-I’ll give it to you. I just hope that you’ll forgive me visiting you while you… While you rest once… Or twice a day. I’ll make sure to set out a new set of clothes for you, so that you won’t have to wear bloody clothes when you wake..”

Everything inside of the positive guardian wanted nothing more than to stay with Nightmare - to give the other more healing magic… But the other had made such a graphic point about wanting some time alone… The least he could do was honor the other’s request… Even if leaving Nightmare’s body meant that he was leaving his own aching, bruised and battered soul with Nightmare as he did so.

~

It took Dream a week to find the nearest mortal settlement large enough to have the fabrics in the colors that he needed, and another two, working as a healer, to acquire the money that he needed in order to pay for the fine cloth that he knew that Nightmare preferred to wear, the vibrant purple hue particularly difficult and expensive to find. He’d washed his own clothes in a spring, so that the violet magic didn’t show. True to his word, Dream only checked  on Nightmare’s body at dawn and dusk, either working with the mortals or sleeping in the village (… nightmares of the other dying in dozens of different ways, accusing him of pushing the other to it).

The winged guardian draped the clothes so that they would hang without wrinkling in a spot that Nightmare would easily be able to spot when he woke up. How long would it take? As each day passed without so much as a twitch of movement from the other, the more worried that Dream became. But the other neither dusted as monsters did, or became stiff and excreted fluids and substances, as humans did after death. Nightmare’s soul hadn’t shattered upon his… his…

His death, as all mortals’ souls did (human and monster). And the other had come back from the dead twice before this. Once when the villagers had beat him to death, the second the other had accidentally fallen out of the tree while napping and struck his head fatally on a rock. So perhaps, Dream would be lucky and regain his other half for a third time. He wandered the world during the days - and at night, when he was unable to sleep, due to the guilt and the night terrors that tormented him when he slept if he didn’t drop where he stood from exhaustion.

Summer turned into Fall, and on the autumnal equinox, at dusk, Dream checked the tree as dusk fell, and noted the neither Nightmare, nor the clean clothes were there. He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes, concentrating. A broad smile appeared on his face as he sensed Nightmare’s magic closeby. Strong and vibrant. He desperately wants to go to his other half but the other’s words from months ago which will likely feel like minutes or perhaps hours to Nightmare, ring resoundingly in his head… and with an aching, gaping wound where his soul would be, Dream turns away from where he can sense his other half, intent on teleporting back to where he’d been exploring before - a fascinating cave system that had different weather regions distinct in each of the sections.

“Dream…? Holy shit there you are! I’ve been looking for you all day! I could barely sense you… I can still barely sense you, now. The hell have you been up to?” Nightmare calls out suddenly from behind the winged guardian, causing Dream to jump and spin around.

“… You asked me to leave you alone. I… I couldn’t quite manage it - I’ve been checking up on you at dawn and dusk… B-But apart fr-from that I’ve l-left you b-be as you’ve so desperately wanted.” Dream admitted, glancing briefly at the shorter guardian before looking away, shrinking in on himself a little. All he wanted to do was to run to Nightmare, pull him in for a tight hug and beg the other not to do that again… But Nightmare had done that for space and he didn’t want to make the other lash out like that again so soon.

“Holy fuck, you look like a mess. And what have you done to your wings?!” Nightmare demanded, walking a coupler of steps closer to Dream.

Part of him wonders if this is a test of some sort - should he take the same number of steps back? He stares at the ground, trying to steel himself. If he doesn’t look at Nightmare, he won’t break down into tears and try to tackle the other… Probably. “It’s difficult to groom my wings on my own… and I had no reason to try nor anyone else who I trust enough to do so… So they’ve been like this for a while. And I couldn’t sleep unless I passed out where I stood when you were… D… Dead…”

Gentle fingers slide along his jaw and force him to look at Nightmare directly, as the other states “I didn’t mean vanish to the other side of our world, by give me space… I meant like… Poke around in the library for a couple of hours. I love you Dream, even if you do get overbearing… Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, silly bird. Come on, I can tell you’re about to pass out again. Come on, sit with me - put your head in my lap and sleep. I’ll fix up your wings, alright?”

“You… I… Okay…” Dream responded, his voice weak and trembling as he presses into Nightmare’s touch, following the other to the tree. It’s not long before he falls asleep, curled up in his beloved’s lap, beginning to purr for the first time in months.

[waywarddaughterwrites]

A/N: You guys I have no idea why I’m having so much trouble with tumblr right now. Here goes my third attempt at posting this fic. Maybe it’ll work this time? It didn’t seem to like it last post when I added a title so I’ll leave that off of this one. Anywhoo...on the second day of ficmas, yours truly gave to thee, mistletoe kisses, and snowballs and fun by a tree!

Day Two: Mistletoe!

Day One Day Three

Read Me on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993947

Tag List: @kissofthebadwolf @eurusholmmes @ourloveisforthelovely @pensysto @hankypranky

*****************************************************

The bunker was under attack. That much was clear. The enemy? A sweet-toothed archangel and his unending supply of Christmas cheer. He had taken in yours and the Winchesters’ disappointing amount of interest in Christmas and decided to supplement your lack of enthusiasm by tripling his own. The annoying pile of feathers could be found at any given moment putting decorations in random empty spots (how he kept finding wall space was beyond you, the bunker looked like Santa’s toy shop threw up in it) and singing Christmas carols obnoxiously loud and off-key. Not even your bedrooms had been spared. You woke up one morning to tinsel, fairy lights, and fake snow falling softly from the ceiling, disappearing before it hit the floor. It had taken the archangel half a day to get you to forgive him (not that you hadn’t tried to drag it out...you were a sucker for those puppy eyes and were nursing a crush on the angel anyway so it was only a matter of time before you caved). You had to admit, though, the effect of the snow and the twinkling lights in your room was charming, so you allowed them to stay. Your room wasn’t nearly as horrendous as the boys’ rooms, anyway.

By far the most annoying ammunition the angel was packing was his obsession with mistletoe. It was constantly popping up in the most random spots. You’d developed the habit of glancing at the ceiling of every entryway you walked through, as the mistletoe tended to appear randomly and unannounced. Dean had learned the hard way two days in that this mistletoe in particular was special: it locked you in place until you’d received a kiss to free you. Why Gabriel had chosen this particular brand of torture was beyond you. Dean had been stuck in the doorway of the library for almost an hour before you’d gotten back from the store and were able to peck his cheek. Since then, you and the boys were much more cautious around doorways. Sam was by far the worst, with his habit of reading books and walking at the same time. Nearly once a day you heard your name called in agitation and you had to go free the poor man. Dean was more cautious and had only been caught once this week. You’d wished you’d had a camera to capture his bright red face when Castiel had been the one closest to him and kissed him soundly.

Castiel and Jack had both been caught by the little plant a handful of times. It took some explaining at first for Jack to understand why he suddenly couldn’t move and why one of you kissing him was the only way to get free. He seemed thoroughly amused by this odd new game, although he’d taken to watching his steps carefully, as well.

The one you couldn’t understand was Gabriel. He was caught under the mistletoe nearly as often as Sam was. He was the one who invented the little hellish game, so why didn’t he simply get rid of it if it caused him so much trouble? You asked him once, after kissing his cheek for the third time that day.

“Aw, Sugar, where would the fun in that be? It’s all a part of spreading the love on Christmas! Besides, if my punishment is getting kisses from you, Sugarlips, it’s not a bad way to spend the day,” he finished with a wag of his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes and flushed at the ridiculous nickname. The next time he was caught, you sent Castiel to him, who thought nothing of planting one smack on his lips, much to Gabriel and Dean’s collective chagrin. The mistletoe’s spontaneity slowed a bit and became more predictable after that.

You glanced up as you walked toward the doorway to the kitchen and saw the tell-tale glitter of the plant forming. Stepping around it, you entered the kitchen, where Sam and Dean were already leaning on the counters, drinking their morning coffee.

“How come you’ve never been caught by the mistletoe, y/n?” Sam asked.

“Simple,” you shrugged. “I pay attention to my surroundings.”

“Yeah, but no one is that over-observant. Even Cas has been caught once or twice,” Dean supplied.

“Not that that’s been a problem for you, Dean-o,” Gabriel responded as he walked into the room. As Dean blushed, Gabriel went to take another step and found he couldn’t. Looking sheepishly your way, you sighed in exasperation and rolled your eyes before stepping over to him and kissing his cheek.

“Speaking of unobservant. That’s the second time this morning, Gabe.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Heh, yeah. Sorry. I should look where I’m going more. Have you really never been caught by the mistletoe?” He asked suspiciously.

You grinned at him in triumph. “Not once!” You proudly proclaimed. “Not that it matters much, I may as well have for all the kissing I’ve had to do to all five of you the last two weeks. I’ll be glad when it’s gone for good.”

Distracted as you were by the coffee you were pouring, you missed the odd emotion that briefly played on the archangel’s face at your blasé proclamation of how much kissing you’d done recently. Sidestepping the mistletoe in the doorway, you made your way back to your bedroom.

***

Of course. Of bloody course. Now is when it happens. Now you’re too distracted to notice where you’re walking. Now, when the boys had gone to do some Christmas shopping—they still didn’t buy into the Christmas cheer thing but they had some extra money from pool hustling during the job last week and decided to buy everyone presents (you were pretty sure a certain Angel of the Lord had piqued Dean’s interest in gift-giving) and had taken an overly enthusiastic Jack along with them. Castiel and Gabriel were off on Heaven business. You were alone in the bunker and now—NOW—you’d forgotten to look up and were stuck, rooted to the spot, in the entryway of the library. You’d been here for an hour already and had discovered you could at least sit down. You’d begun to pick the link from your sweater and flick the balls toward the wall, having reread the report you’d been reading four times already.

At last, just after your two hour mark of imprisonment, you heard a flutter of wings in the next room over.

“Finally! Whoever that is, get your feathery butt in here!” You called. A bemused Gabriel came waltzing into view. You glared at him as his expression evolved into a thoroughly amused smirk.

“Oh, and what do we have here?” He asked facetiously. “The high and mighty herself trapped by such a foolish trick as cursed mistletoe?”

“I swear, Gabriel, there’s gonna be an angel on top of the tree instead of a star if you don’t get over here and kiss me.” You blushed furiously as the words left your mouth. “I’ve been here for two hours already,” You tacked on a Little desperately.

His eyes widened and he laughed at your grumpiness. His expression softened into something you couldn’t name, but it made your heart stutter in your chest. You were acutely aware of him as he sauntered toward you and gently grasped your shoulders. His head bent down and your breath caught as he softly pecked your cheek with his lips.

“Merry Christmas, y/n.”

[vinylackles]

chapter six: my heart will go on

a story about an angel, a hunter, a choice, love, a kitten named bumble, and will

masterlist of chapters ||  ao3 link

authors note: it’s been a minute!! if you’re still sticking with this story, thank you!! this chapter is a bit shorter, just getting back into the groove of things. hope you enjoy!

Tired of the amazon, they decided to meet elsewhere this time. A luxury of being an angel he supposed, they debated briefly over prayer before settling on going to the swiss alps, finding somewhere secluded high in the mountains. He wasn’t sure if the cold air stinging his eyes was from the speed of his flight or the wind in the mountains, but he didn’t have much time to debate.

“You haven’t opened it yet?” Sel spoke before his wings had even stilled, landing so close to Cas that he took a step to the side to create some distance. 

“Supposedly the contents of this box torture the individual, to keep it from being opened in times other than emergencies.”

“Sounds lovely. Leave it to charming little Balthazar.” The archangel rolled his eyes, brushing some of the snow that was falling off of his hands as he reached out for the box. Cas looked up at him in confusion. Sel returned the sentiment, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Castiel, this was my idea. I don’t want you to undergo any necessary pain, and I wouldn’t ask that of you. If anyone has to go through torture, let it be me.” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“The one who opens the box is the one that the room reveals itself to. You can’t return to heaven to seek it. Besides, your grace is more powerful than mine-“

“And I would be able to heal you easier than you would I. I suppose there’s no other way then. Well just know, I’d give anything not to have you do this.” 

The words caused Cas’ throat to tighten and he bit back the bile, pushing the memory that the words brought back down.

“I hope it’s not too painful Castiel. And I will be here the whole time.” Sel’s voice was laced with concern, and it gave him a sense of comfort that he hadn’t felt with another angel in a long, long time. 

His hand was shaking a bit as he reached out, pinching the lid between his fingers. He slid it open carefully, easing it back to reveal whatever was inside. He tensed, expecting something to jump out at him when he finally removed the lid entirely. To his surprise, there was a small ring within the box. If he didn’t feel so apprehensive, he may have actually thought it to be pretty. But this was Balthazar, and he knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. Hesitantly, he slid the ring onto his finger.

“Hello.” The angel’s voice rang out as soon as the metal stopped moving on his skin. Cas looked to Sel, but the archangel was only watching him. It was obvious now that the voice was only audible to Cas, despite the fact that it was deafening to him. 

“You seek entrance to my weapons room I presume. State your name. Thinking will suffice, I am only in your head after all.” 

Castiel, he thought as clearly as he could, closing his eyes to focus on what Balthazar was saying.

“Ahh yes. Hello Cas. You’re probably wondering how I’m speaking to you, considering I’m dead, thanks to you. This isn’t real, and the ring was enchanted by a dear witch friend of mine. She didn’t believe that I could survive the peril that it causes. Two full days of Celine Dion serenading me with that god awful song, I about lost my mind! But I won it from her, naturally, and now I’ve repurposed it for this. In order to unlock the directions to my weapons room, you must endure the torture that the ring mandates. The spell reaches into the deepest parts of your mind, and uses it against you. Take it off, cheat, or try to weasel your way out, and the ring with disappear from your finger and you will have nothing. Do you accept?” 

Yes. Cas thought clearly. There was an odd sensation in his chest, and he felt as though he were flying, though he knew his feet remained on the ground. “Good luck brother. You’re going to need it.” 

And with that, Balthazar’s voice was gone and everything was black. Bracing for pain, he could tell he was no longer in the cave with Selaphiel, but he couldn’t place where he was immediately. And it was quiet – too quiet. For a moment, he thought that he was back in the empty. But then, he heard it. Echoing off the walls he couldn’t see, piercing through the space and filling it from every side.

“CAS!”

It was Dean. He’d know that voice anywhere. And it wasn’t just Dean, it was Dean in pain; a sound he was unfortunately far too familiar with. And he should have known, he should have expected this. 

He knew it wasn’t real, he knew it was just the ring, and he knew Dean was safe wherever he was. But that didn’t stop him from running, clawing his way through the darkness after the sound like he would die if he didn’t get there right then. He felt as though he would. 

The black gave way and he was suddenly in Dean’s bedroom. There was a faint trace of light in the room, just enough for him to see Dean’s outline on the bed. He was curled on his side, like he usually slept, with his arm tucked under the pillow. It had been a nightmare. He hadn’t called out like that for anyone since Cas started staying in his room with him. The pang in Cas’ heart at the sight was more powerful than he would have ever thought possible. How had it only been a day since he’d seen him?

The angel moved to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, relaxing at the feel of his familiar cotton t-shirt under his fingertips. The room smelled just like he remembered, felt just like it should.

“Dean I’m right here, you’re just having a nightmare. It’s okay,” Cas soothed him, rubbing on his shoulder just hard enough for him to wake up.

Dean turned over to him, like he always did in the mornings when his eyes fluttered open. He was expecting the usual groan, the searching hand, looking for him. But when he finally rolled all the way over, all Cas could do was scream. It was a sound that had never left him before, and it ripped through his throat and out his mouth without warning. 

Dean’s eyes were open, but they were empty. There were new freckles along his cheekbones and nose, and when Cas grabbed his face they smeared, leaving bright red streaks as the blood spread. 

“No, no no baby c’mon, wake up,” Cas groaned, moving to hold Dean in his arms. His limp body toppled out of the bed and onto the floor. Cas caught him, holding him up with one arm. He used his other hand to begin healing him, even though he didn’t know where the bleeding was coming from.  But no blue light came from his fingers, and he suddenly realized just how heavy the man in his arms was.

It hit him like a ton of bricks. He was human again. And there was absolutely nothing he could do. Dean’s body shivered in his arms and he realized that he was still alive, still pulling ragged, painful breaths in through his dry lips.

“It’s okay love, shh it’s okay, I’m here.” The words left Cas like a reflex, taking any opportunity he could to bring Dean the comfort he couldn’t provide.

“Help me.” Dean’s voice was broken and raw when he looked up into the angel’s eyes. Surely his eyes hadn’t always been that green, his face that beautiful. Before Cas could answer, another voice spoke out, echoing and mighty.

“This is what you wanted Cas. You asked for this once, remember?”

It was God. He wasn’t sure if he was in the room, or if he was just in his head. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from Dean to check.

“I don’t want it anymore, please Father. Help him, heal him.” Cas was sobbing, the broken sound seeming to surround both of them, coming back at all angles.

“You wanted to be human. This is what it means. This is what it feels like.” 

“No, no it isn’t. It wasn’t supposed to be this.” 

“You were selfish. You doubted your nature, you disobeyed. You wanted to feel, to love. You wanted more. Being an angel wasn’t enough for you, was it Castiel? Now look what you have. Look what you’ve become. You can’t protect him; you can’t protect anyone. Kelly trusted you with her son, and you can’t save him either. You are worthless Cas. To me, and to everyone around you. Without your grace, you are nothing.” 

Cas turned then, his blood boiling. He expected to see his father’s human form, but instead stood a much taller man, his broad shoulders silhouetted by the hallway light. And in his arms, a much smaller form. Cas didn’t think there was anything left in his heart to break, but he felt the tiny slivers shatter as he realized what he was seeing.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice came out as if he was being strangled, and if he hadn’t been holding Jack in his arms he probably would have fallen to the ground right then.

The younger Winchester took a few steps into the room, dropping to his knees as he took in the sight before him, his brother bloody and dying. It wasn’t anything new to him, but Cas could tell that this time was different.

“I left him with you, I thought he’d be safe,” Sam said, and his voice wasn’t angry. It was disappointed, and somehow that was worse. 

“I’m so sorry Sam. There’s nothing I can do, I-I tried.”

“I did too. I was too late.”

It was only after his words that Cas realized how pale Jack was, how limp his small body looked in Sam’s lap. He didn’t have to put a finger to his neck to know that his pulse was gone but he did it anyways. His fingers shook against his son’s skin, and he grabbed at his shirt, his shoulder, anything he could get his hands on. Cas pulled Jack into his side with his free arm, still clinging to Dean with the other. 

He wasn’t sure why he started to rock the smaller boy back and forth. He had read about it in a parenting book, but he knew in his mind that Jack was much too big. His instincts didn’t seem to care. So he held his boy as tightly as he could, whispering his apologies to his unhearing ears, hoping that wherever he was, it was better and he was safe, and with his mother. 

And while he did so, he felt Dean stop breathing beside him. The tears turned to sobs that turned into heaving, and his muscles began to weaken with the force of it. Against his will he felt Sam pull Dean’s body away from him, and when he could finally see through his tears, Sam was holding Dean tight against him, still as a stone expect for the hand that was running through his short hair. And somehow, Dean seemed more comfortable there. His body seemed to belong there, with his brother and it hit him then. Dean didn’t need anybody but Sam, he never did. There was no room in his shielded heart for anyone but his brother, his family. 

“Sam. Sam, I’m so sorry.” Cas tried to speak.

“Enough Cas. Just, enough.” 

It took some effort, but Sam stood from the ground, picking his brother up in his arms. He carried him out of Cas’ sight, closing the door behind him without a word.  It took everything in him not to get up, to chase Sam out of the room and pull Dean back into his arms where he belonged. The cold metal of the ring on his finger felt like it was burning, begging him to take it off and throw it across the room, but he knew he couldn’t. So he just watched as Sam left, until all that was left was the darkness of the room, the weight of Jack in his arms, and the knowledge that he had lost everything that had ever loved him back.

leave me feedback?

chapter seven: coming soon

[trashyocstash]

after all this time, i finally finished the second part to the vampire au story. i’m not entirely satisfied with it, but i hope you like it anyways. this takes place a year after the story, in 1855.

warnings for a brief mention of suicide and smut.

Vampire Julie was alone in the kitchen, smiling as she put the finishing touches on a pie she was baking for her and her lover Rick.

They’d gotten together last year, and ever since then, Julie had never been so free or happy. She had found true love, and was now a vampire, no longer chained to the Victorian society she came from. And as a vampire, she felt like she’d really changed, Julie was feeling more confident in herself, and now had a love for the dark and macabre. She and Rick would have dates in graveyards together, travel in haunted locations, and explore dark foggy woods. In addition, she also now wore all black, enjoyed drinking blood from skull cups, and the house she lived in with Rick looked haunted, which she liked too.

Deep in her mind, she was still sad about losing her parents, she knew if there was indeed an afterlife, she'd never see them again. But thankfully, she had been working on overcoming this. Sometimes she wondered how they would react to knowing their own daughter had become a vampire, thinking they might be shocked at first, but would come to accept it.

Julie shook her head, there was no time to focus on that, it was time to focus on Rick instead, who she knew would be coming home soon from a hunt, with a nice delicious pie waiting for him.

She then heard a knock at the door, and opened it, greeted by a bloody Rick, who was dragging a body behind him. “Hey Batty! I'm back from my hunt!”

“I can see that sweetheart.” Julie smiled, noticing the blood on him and the body. “Now, why don't you clean the blood of you, and put the body away okay? When you get back, you can eat some pie I made for you.”

He gave her a big smile. “Y-You did? That’s great! W-Where i-is it?”

“In the kitchen.” She answered. “I know how hungry you get after a hunt, and so I thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? I love it!” Rick beamed.

He tried to make the move to eat, but Julie stopped him and made him go to the bathroom to clean up. Rick grumbled, dragging the body away with him.

He came back later, taking a few pieces of pie and setting them on a plate. Julie took some pieces too, and they sat down to eat together, making sure to pour blood into cups too.

“By the way Batty, do you wanna practice your flying skills with me after we finish eating?” Rick asked. “I think it would do you some good.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful! Of course I will!” She agreed.

He grinned. “It's a-a date.”

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

After they finished eating, Rick and Julie headed outside and turned into bats, though it took Julie just a little bit longer to turn into a bat than Rick, but she felt like she was getting the hang of it.

“Let's get going.” Rick told her with a wide smile, then started to fly off.

She followed him as best she could, quickly flapping her wings so she could reach him. Eventually, she did, and was pretty pleased with herself.

“You're really getting the hang of this!” He praised.

“Thank you..” Julie blushed. “It's a little hard, but I'm trying my best.”

“You know what they say Batty, practice makes perfect.”

“Indeed it does.” She smiled.

Rick and Julie continued to fly together as bats, while Rick helped her from time to time. But the further they went on, the better she did, which he took notice of. He was very proud of her, pleased to see how far she'd come since the first time she turned into a bat, when she'd quickly fallen before Rick saved her, and had struggled during her first flying lesson. But she was a fast learner, picking up on things quickly, which made things easier for the both of them. One day, he knew they could fly in harmony together, high in the sky, content and without worry. And he knew too that they'd be there soon.

As they continued to fly, Julie found herself in awe of the sights around and below her. The moon shone brightly in the sky, the green of the forest, the stars, bodies of water, and the occasional building from time to time. Seeing everything from so high in the sky was always so exciting and exhilarating for her, and every time she flew, she felt like she never wanted it to end. The fact Rick was with her made it even better.

But soon, it did end. Julie followed Rick as he landed on a clearing in the woods and turned back into a vampire, with her turning back into a vampire as well.

“Oh Rick, that was so much fun!” Julie exclaimed.

“Yep, it w-was.” Rick agreed. Julie then kissed him deeply, and he returned it.

“So, what do you wanna do now my moonbeam?” She asked.

He thought for a moment, before an idea came to his mind. “Aha! I-I g-got it! Why don't we race in our wolf forms? I wanna s-see how well you're getting the hang of your wolf form!”

“That's a wonderful idea!” She beamed. “Let's do it!”

Rick watched as she turned into a wolf, again, taking some time before it worked. But when it did, she had turned into a beautiful red wolf. He followed her, turning into a dark wolf like he had before.

They went beside each other, and started to run alongside each other. At first, Rick seemed to be getting the upper hand, or paw rather, as he was in the lead. But to his surprise, Julie ended up taking the lead, and in the end, she won.

When they finished their race, arriving out of the forest, both Rick and Julie stopped and looked at each other, with Julie giving him a toothy grin. “I won!”

“You sure did, I'm proud of how you've come.” He then licked her face as she blushed.

“You're too sweet Rick, you know that?”

He really didn't think of himself as sweet, but was flattered. Rick licked her face again. “And so are you.”

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

They turned back into vampires, and stayed outside a little bit longer. The two of them sat on a hill together, watching the moon and stars as they cuddled.

Until becoming a vampire, Julie had never realized how beautiful the night was, as she'd never been able to fully appreciate it beforehand. But now she could, and did. To her, the night was far more beautiful than the day, and that wasn't just because she burned in the sun, but because the view of the stars glimmering in the sky, and the moon glowing looked far more lovely than the sun shining.

Rick turned his head over to see her and smiled, noticing how enchanted she was by the night sky, and smiled, placing a kiss on her cheek. She noticed the kiss, and when Rick turned his head away, she kissed him back. In retaliation, he started showering her with kisses, making her laugh and giggle.

When he finished, Julie rewarded him with a kiss on the lips, feeling his fangs brushing against her. “I love you so much…” She said softly, giving him a look filled with pure love and adoration.

“I love you too my Batty..” He smiled, letting his fingers gently caress her curves.

Julie rested her head against his chest, laying her hand on it. She could hear his breathing and smell his maleness and the forest nearby, accompanied by a heartbeat. She didn't know why he had one if he was undead, but he said only his corpse form lacked a heartbeat, but since the form he usually took that looked like him while alive, he did have a heartbeat. She'd accepted this, finding it made sense.

They continued to lay down together like that, until they decided to return home. Julie and Rick got up, turned into bats, and flew back to their home.

Once they arrived, Julie got an idea and looked over at Rick. “A dance my love?” She asked, holding out her hand towards him.

He smiled at her and took her hand. “Of course B-Batty.”

The vampire couple walked into a room with a lot of empty space, and began to slow dance, with Julie leaning her head against Rick's chest.

Growing up upper class in Victorian society meant she'd been taught how to dance at a young age for dances, something the other upper class members did. So, Julie was pretty good at it, and had attended a few dances in her life, with her parents hosting a few as well. But since they died, she hadn't danced, until she and Rick got together. And now, dancing together was something they enjoyed doing. It was quiet, peaceful, and they could be close.

Of course, Julie had to teach Rick how to dance, and he was still learning, but doing better than when he first started.

When they finished, they shared a kiss while they're hands were interlocked.

“You were wonderful.” Julie praised.

“So were you.” He smiled.

Thinking about how much her life had changed since turning into a vampire, Julie remembered all the rules and etiquette. Pretty much everything had rules that were expected to be obeyed: how to talk, how to sit, how to eat and more. She hadn't been allowed to leave her home without an escort at one point, due to being unmarried, and dinner parties were a nightmare.

Julie had also always loathed the rules surrounding courtship, being the romantic she was, she didn't like the idea of not being able to marry who she wanted, and all the other rules surrounding it.

The world she came from wasn't one she belonged in. Even as a child, she had felt alienated and different. She had no friends, and while she had longed for love, no suitors captured her interest, nor any other male that had attempted to woo her. People thought of her as strange and never paid much mind to her, in their eyes, she was nothing but “an odd red-haired girl who's too quiet and needs a husband.” It didn't help that her parents were disinterested in things like balls, and never really did anything at them except hoping Julie found a husband. They'd also only ever owned a few servants who didn't even stick around long. Julie and her family were really all seen as odd and strange, only tolerated for their wealth.

Things only worsened when her parents died. Julie ended up secluding herself, never attending anything she was invited to, and eventually, she was simply left alone. She didn't have anyone but her.

Until she met Rick that is.

Julie finally felt like she had a place in the world, one where she could be with a man she loved, and without rules or etiquette everywhere. Holding his hands and having him close was a reminder of how glad she was to be with him. And being a vampire meant this life would never end, and she was happy with that.

As for what they would do next, something came to Julie's mind, and she blushed. “I have a surprise for you Rick.”

“You do? Do I need t-to cl-close my eyes or something?” He asked.

She giggled. “No, I'll be in our room and tell you when I'm ready okay?”

“Okay!”

Rick watched as Julie zoomed off into their room, and thought about what the surprise could be. He wasn't too sure though, but he was excited nonetheless.

Soon, he heard her call his name and opened their bedroom door. His jaw dropped when he saw the sight before him: Julie in sexy black lingerie.

“J-Julie?”

She smiled and walked up to him, giving him a kiss on the lips. When their lips parted, she could see he still looked shocked. “I take it you like my surprise?”

“Where did you even get that?” He wondered.

“Took some old lingerie and made some adjustments. I thought you would like it, and I'm glad to see you do.” Julie explained, laughing a bit at the end.

Rick was speechless for a moment, until he finally snapped out of his flustered state and grabbed onto her. This caught her off guard, and she stared at him with a blush on her face, before he roughly kissed her and let his hands roam her body.

“R-Rick..” She moaned, but was cut off with another kiss.

He growled and ripped off her lingerie before shoving her on the bed. She barely had time to respond, as he began to eat her out not long after.

“Rick! Uh yes!” She cried out, gripping onto his hair.

He continued to lick, letting his hands grip onto her thighs until he got her to cum.

He then pulled away, and Julie noticed the large bulge in his pants. She blushed at the sight, excited to feel his cock inside of her.

Snarling, Rick quickly shoved himself in her warmth, moving fast and fucking hard.

Julie moaned, her mind a blur as he fucked her. She hadn't expected him to be like this, but guessed the sight of her in the lingerie caused it. Not that she minded, she loved when he was rough and aggressive with her, it was very exciting for her, knowing she could make her lover act like this.

She then felt him cumming inside of her and gasped, before he swiftly pulled out, her body shaking from getting fucked so hard.

“You are mine.” Rick growled. “All mine.”

“Yes..I'm all yours...forever..” Julie replied breathlessly.

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

Rick managed to cool off a little later, and noticed the sun was starting to rise.

“Guess this means it's time to go to bed him Batty?” He asked, a grin on his face.

She nodded, putting on her nightgown. “Indeed it is Moonlight.”

They both headed into bed together, and snuggled up next to each other, with Julie resting her head on Rick's chest.

Being together made them feel content and happy. Rick had been alone for so long, wanting death so badly, but being able to die; he didn't feel like he had a reason to live, until he met her. She gave him the reason to live, and to be happy. Without her, Rick felt like he would've remained depressed, lonely and suicidal.

But now, he was happy with life, every night was filled with joy and love, being with the woman he loved the most in the world. Rick felt so lucky to have her in his life. He knew that no matter what, he would always have her by his side, loving and supporting him, being a shoulder for him to cry on when he needed one.

And no matter what happened in their future, they would be ready to face it, together.

[everything-is-by-design]

SPN!Lucifer & Reader Shipping Imagine

Gender neutral imagine. We’re just going to assume that the reader is friends with the Winchesters. Gabriel, Castiel, and Balthazar are mentioned. I didn’t include Jack because I didn’t want to. Sorry, not sorry. This is also relatively dirty, because Lucifer, honestly. This was fun to write. Hope y’all enjoy it!

-He pops up into your life and always scares you, the slight flutter of wings never being enough notice. “Dammit Lucifer! You need a bell around your neck.” He obviously doesn’t stop, finding subtle amusement in making you jump. He makes up for it with kisses, which you never deny.

-He shows up where you work and bugs you, “Are you done yet?”, “I’m bored, are you done?” He also makes sure to be invisible to everyone but you, so you look like a crazy person who is talking to yourself. He thinks this is amusing as well even though it drives you crazy. He thinks kissing will make up for anything, really.

-If customers are rude to you at work he threatens them, “You know, no one would miss her, she’s being a bitch to you.” “Lucifer, stop. You can’t just kill rude people.” “Sure I can, I’m the devil.” You glare at him. He smiles.

-Lucifer is basically a cat, he paws at you constantly, usually your butt. You have to smack him in the arm to make him stop. He waits for any opportunity for you to bend over so he can prod at your ass. You consider seeing if he would chase a laser pointer. “Lucifer, stop it!” You secretly kind of like it.

-He hates the fact that you’re friends with the Winchesters, and tries to intervene when they call you. He will go so far as to hiding your phone on you and then will act completely oblivious as to its whereabouts. “Seriously, Lucifer? You’re such a child.” “Yeah, but you love me.” More glaring and smiling.

-When you manage to reunite with the Winchesters, Lucifer tags along. You insist that you can handle yourself. His harsh gaze softens when he thinks of you getting hurt. “Lucifer, I don’t need a babysitter.” “Just think of me as your guardian angel.”

-He gets incredibly jealous when you interact with the boys, especially if you touch them in any way, even if it’s platonic. He times your hugs and yanks you away if you’ve exceeded ten seconds. “Okay, that’s enough.” “Lucifer, it’s just a hug.” “Don’t care.”

-He’s always flirting with you and uses his Grace to tease you at the worst times and usually in public. Of course, you adore the sensation and very rarely ask him to stop. “Don’t make a sound.” “Or what?” “Or else I’ll have to punish you.”

-Your touch drives him insane and you know it. He had no idea how much of an effect a human could have on him. Even the smallest bit of contact makes him shift on the spot. You’ll rest your hand on his thigh and trace small circles into his pants absentmindedly. He tries not to let you see how much it affects him but fails and pounces on you.

-He refers to you as ‘mine’ all the time. He makes you say that you’re his. You love saying it, mainly to see the desire and satisfaction rise in his eyes. “You’re mine too, ya know.” “Oh?” “Yup, and I will cut down anyone who tries to take you from me.” He praises your violence.

-Any time you go shopping for clothes, you come home and your choices have somehow mysteriously changed colour. Lucifer taps his chin and smiles, “Ah, yes. Red suits you nicely.” “Yeah, except most of these items were black and blue.” “Weird, I wonder what could have happened.”

-You’re in heat most of the time around him, and he tortures you endlessly. You’ll be on your bed and he’ll stand over you, arms folded and admiring your squirming as he edges you with his Grace. You begging for release gives him the biggest hard-on, as well as you saying his name out of pure desperation. “What’s the magic word, pet?” “Please.” “Please what?” “Please Lucifer.” He snaps his fingers and you slip into ecstasy gasping his name in an unholy chant.

-You pray dirty things to him. All. The. Time. And you’re graphic about it too. He’ll show up all ragged and almost sweating a little. “Oh, I like the way you think.”

-You challenge his dominant nature, in which he’ll pin you to the wall with his hand around your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on your throat but you revel in the feeling. Seeing your eyes roll back into your head from the gesture turns him on to no end.

-You’re bratty with him. You make jabs at him and bug him for the sole purpose of his domination over you. He’ll hold out for a decent amount of time but after you keep irritating him, he’ll snap and fuck you into submission. “Is this what you wanted, huh? To be my little bitch?” “Fuck yes, Sir!” “Who do you belong to?” “Lucifer! I belong to Lucifer!” The grin on his face pushes you over the edge.

-Even though you adore challenging him, you’re also quite obedient, and you enjoy seeing what this does to the great and powerful archangel. “On your knees.” “Yes, my king.” Lucifer bites his lip as lust fills his eyes.

-When you’re ‘dying’ of hot flashes, you make him take his shirt off and press yourself against him. He pats your back awkwardly, “Are you okay?” “I’m so warm and you’re a walking ice box.” “Is that a compliment?” Lucifer wraps his arms around you and you sigh happily. He’ll kiss your forehead and smirk at what an adorably strange human you are.

-You ask to see his wings. He’ll show you the shadow but you roll your eyes and gingerly ask if you see his actual wings. After some consideration he agrees. He releases the huge appendages and you marvel at their beauty. Even though his wings are black, they aren’t empty like the vacuum of the void. More like the vastness of space with chaotic glinting stars embedded in each feather. You’re completely mesmerized and you run your fingers through his wings. He watches you with admiration. You repeat the word ‘beautiful’ consistently. He moans as you preen him and he holds onto his control as tight as he can before snapping and ravishing you.

-He enjoys preening very much, having never experienced it previously. To an angel, preening/grooming is very intimate and also quite relaxing. You’ll sit on the couch and Lucifer will be sitting cross-legged on the floor with his wings spread wide while you run your fingers through his feathers. His head usually slumps forwards and his breathing is heavy. It always looks like he’s falling asleep. “You okay over there Satan?” “Don’t stop.” “Feels good, huh?” “You have no fucking idea.”

-When you’re away from him you notice that there are always a few demons close behind you. They trail you and peek around corners to keep an eye on you. You always catch them looking at you and you give them ‘what the fuck’ looks, to which they avert their gaze completely. You ask Lucifer why demons are stalking you, “Seriously, is that necessary?” “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

-You end up buying the stalkers demons coffee which they hesitantly take and smile a ‘thank you’. You have to reassure them, “It’s not poisoned.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “You’re scared of him, aren’t ya? It’s okay, I won’t say anything.” “Bloody terrified, ma’am.” You laugh hysterically.

-Lucifer claims you as his mate and always has a hand on you in some fashion when you’re both around his siblings. Lucifer stares menacingly at them and they keep their distance; save for a few. Gabriel likes to present new and exciting candy to you and you return the favour. Castiel helps you plant flowers to help the bees. Balthazar shows you his aged scotch with a proud smile, you play him ‘My Heart Will Go On’ and he frowns at Lucifer who laughs.

-Lucifer talks to you about his siblings and his father. He opens up to you and you feel incredibly privileged. He shows emotions around you and when you validate them an unexplained warmth fills his essence and he falls further in love with you. He listens to you too, but you almost have to give him a warning before you start talking because you know he’ll get all huffy at the thought of someone hurting you in any fashion. “If I tell you this, you can’t kill them.” Lucifer pouts. “I mean it, Luci.” “Alright, I won’t do anything.” His childish smile makes you suspicious.

-He is surprisingly affectionate with you; giving you forehead kisses, cheek kisses, being gentle and kind with you. He will hug you, sometimes randomly and you always embrace him until he lets go. However, he does the same for you so now neither of you really know when to let go. Lucifer is still an angel and doesn’t really understand time or human interactions, “Should I let go now?” “If you want to.” Lucifer thinks this is a test, “Do you want me to?” “Of course not, halo head.” He laughs at your sad attempts at insulting him.

[namjoontunes]

Lost and Found (BTS members x Reader)

Genre: Fantasy AU, Fluff

Summary: In a world where mythical creatures like dryads and vampires are commonplace, how will a household of supernatural humanoids react to their new kitten being a shapeshifting girl?

Warning: Blood and injury mention, but nothing bad

Word Count: 1.7k 

Author’s notes: This is my first BTS story, and really the first fic I’ve published to Tumblr. I was reading Silver by @dianas-world​ when I was inspired to write this, so if there are any similarities that’s probably why! I’m not really sure where this story is gonna go but I basically have the first 3 chapters (if u include the prologue) written already so you can look forward to those! I changed some of the “features” per se of some of the mythological creatures just to make the story more interesting or easier to write. The romance might take a little bit to get to but I promise it’s coming!  Main character is a shapeshifter, Jin is a dryad, Yoongi is a vampire, Hobi is an angel, Namjoon is a werewolf, Jimin is a kitsune, Taehyung is a fairy, and Jungkook is a dragon hybrid. Enjoy!

AO3

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Prologue

Deep in the woods, down the winding road and by the side of the long dirt driveway, there was a chickadee, perched high in a pine tree. It’s right talon was supporting all the bird’s weight, as it’s left hung limply in the wind, mangled and bloody. It’s feathers were dull and ruffled, it’s stomach painfully tight, it’s mind tired.

The chickadee was staring intently into the window of the house opposite it, watching the boys inside go about their evening, as it had been doing for the past hour. They seemed kind. Their interactions with each other looked to be filled with playful love. But what was really fascinating was they all seemed to be just like the chickadee. Still, you can’t tell a lot about people by watching from a distance for a little while. Sometimes you just need to have faith.

And so, deciding to put its faith in the kindness of others, the chickadee flew down towards the house, landing delicately on the front porch. As it touched down, the chickadee’s form began to change, feathers shifting into fur, wings becoming legs, sharp talons turning into sharp claws, until finally a kitten about two handfuls big sat where the bird once was. Her back left leg was torn and mangled, just as the chickadee’s was, and the hunger in her stomach remained as potent as ever.

Staring up at the door, the kitten let out the loudest mew she could manage, hoping she could be heard over the commotion inside. Every inch of her body was on high alert, ready to run if things began to go south. The kitten meowed again, and then again, her voice soft and pitiful in the autumn winds.

Suddenly, the door in front of her swung open and she ran back a few feet as yellow light poured into the darkness. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, his face broken into a smile as soon as he laid eyes on the kitten. “Ha! I told you guys I wasn’t hearing things, there is a cat out here!” The man called back into the home.

Crouching down, he extended his hand towards the brown tabby, making kissy noises as he did so. “Come here kitty kitty, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The man was still grinning as he called out to the kitten huddling in the dark. As she considered her options, or lack thereof really, the kitten’s eyes were drawn to one of the reasons it had decided to take a risk and trust these strangers: the pair of white feathery wings sprouting from his back.

Her initial stakeout of the house revealed that the house contained multiple non-humans, much to her surprise. Supernatural creatures, humanoid and otherwise, were well known in this world, and you could find them in just about any town. But they were far from the majority. Non-humans were frequently looked down upon by ‘normal’ people, often labeled as dangerous and unnatural. As a supernatural creature herself, the kitten found solace in the company of other non-humans, and finding a home with what appeared to be seven non-humans seemed to be a gift from god in her moment of need.

As the kitten hesitated, more faces appeared in the doorway. It was hard to distinguish their faces against the bright light coming from within the home, but she could hear them speaking to one another.

“You weren’t kidding Hobi there really is a cat out here!”

“Of course I wasn’t kidding, you guys should believe me more often.”

“Awww it’s so cute can we keep it?”

“What if it has rabies Tae?”

“No it looks sweet I doubt it has rabies!”

“Can I go pick it up?”

“No Jimin you’re gonna scare it off. We’re probably already frightening it enough all crowding around it like this. All of you get out of here let Hobi take care of it.”

“Someone grab me a can of tuna or milk or something this poor thing looks like it hasn’t eaten in days”

The kitten had backed further away from the commotion, but calmed down a bit once the doorway cleared. Usually she tried to stay on her own, and being around so many people frightened her. But she knew she needed help, not to mention the promise of tuna made her empty stomach growl.

The angel, who the cat had deduced was named Hobi, was still smiling at her with his hand out, murmuring soft reassurances. Ever so slowly, the kitten hobbled over to him, watching carefully for any signs of aggression or ill intent.

“There you go. Poor thing, what happened to you? It’s okay now, we’ll take care of you.”

The tabby meowed quietly in response to his words. She had almost reached his hand when another figure appeared in the doorway, holding two bowls. The imposing horns on the person’s head signified some sort of supernatural heritage to the cat, but she couldn’t quite tell what.

“I got the tuna and the milk, hyung.”

“Alright put it down next to me and then get out of here, I’ll let you guys know when you can come see it.”

The unknown person did as he was told, and quickly disappeared inside the house. As the scent of tuna drifted over to the kitten, hunger overcame fear and she limped her way as fast as she could over to the bowl. Purrs erupted from her chest as she enjoyed her first real food in a few days.

The angel watched the kitten feasting with a smile on his face. He reached his hand down and gently placed it on her back, hoping he wouldn’t scare her away. She froze at first, debating whether or not to flee, but quickly went back to eating. The angel began to gently stroke the tabby’s fur, and she found herself enjoying his gentle touch.

After she had stuffed herself on tuna and milk, the kitten limped closer to where Hobi was crouched and plopped on the ground, her injured leg splayed out beside her as if to showcase it to him.

“Poor little baby,” he cooed to the kitten, frowning at her injury. “Here, let’s take you inside and see what we can do about this boo-boo!”

As gently as he could, Hobi scooped the kitten into his hands, being very careful of her leg. As he entered the house, the rest of the boys rushed away from the window where they had been watching and started grouping up around Hobi.

“No no no you all back up we still need to give this lil guy some space. It’s leg is hurt, Namjoon can you grab a pillow and bring it to the kitchen table?”

Now that the kitten was in the well-lit house, she could make out the members of the household in detail. The one Hobi referred to as Namjoon appeared to be a werewolf or some sort of dog hybrid, as indicated by the ears on top of his head and the tail wagging excitedly. As the tabby got a better look at the horned boy she guessed he was some sort of dragon hybrid. It was much easier to guess what kind of supernatural creatures they were from inside the house as opposed to up in a tree, and the kitten noticed a fairy, a kitsune, a dryad, and a vampire among those she hadn’t already identified. So many different heritages, all living together in one home. It made the kitten hopeful about her possibilities of fitting in here.

Namjoon came back with a pillow and set it down in the middle of the table Hobi was approaching. As carefully as he could, the angel placed the kitten on the pillow, making sure her injured side was facing up. He sat down in the chair closest to her and started examining her leg. Namjoon was still hovering around, his tail thumping against various furniture. “It’s so cute!!! Can you fix it’s leg Hobi?”

“I think so, but it might be a while before it will be 100% better.”

“So that means we get to keep it, right?” asked the dragon hybrid.

“A pet’s a lot of responsibility,” the vampire pointed out.

“Yeah,” the dryad agreed. “I’m not cleaning any litter boxes so if you want a cat you guys will have to care of that.”

“Me, Jimin, and Jungkook can take turns cleaning the litter box, right guys?” The fairy turned to the kitsune and the dragon, hoping they’d agree with his plan.

They both nodded in affirmation and the kitsune added, “Yeah, that’s a good idea! Can we please keep it, hyungs?”

Hobi and Namjoon looked at each other, and then at the dryad and the vampire boy. “What do you guys think?” Hobi asked. “I’d feel bad sending it back outside, and if Namjoon’s tail is any indication he’s already smitten with the little kitten.”

The vampire shrugged, watching as Namjoon playfully shoved Hobi. “I’m fine with it, it doesn’t seem like it’ll be too much trouble. And it is really cute”

“I agree with Yoongi. As long as I don’t have to clean any litter boxes, I’m fine with it staying,” the dryad concluded.

“Great! Well I’ll work on healing this little guy- err,” Hobi turned to the kitten, examining it closely before continuing, “This little girl, actually, and then we can figure out a name.”

The kitten had been starting to doze off on the pillow, but was jolted awake by hands touching her. “Shhh it’s okay little kitty,” the angel cooed. “You’re gonna feel a lot better in just a second.”

Hobi closed his eyes, his hands still on the kitten, and a sudden warmth overtook her. It felt like her fondest memories were flowing through her body, from her mother’s smile to her old friend’s laugh, seeing the first spring flowers and falling asleep near her loved ones, all of it spreading throughout her until she felt like her bones had become sunshine and her veins had turned into flowers.

After a few moments of bliss, the glow that had been radiating from Hobi’s hands dimmed until it was no more, leaving the kitten feeling at peace. Her leg, which had previously been raw and bleeding, was now a closed wound, though not completely healed.

“I did the best I could,” Hobi announced, “but it’ll still be a little while before she’s 100% better. Now, anyone have any ideas for names?”

The kitten didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, having drifted off into a deep sleep, her old memories still lingering in her mind.